Issue 3 Edition 4 November 2021
We are proud to present Jonathan Koven’s new novel,
Below Torrential Hill took a well deserved second place in the
Electric Eclectic Novella Fiction Prize
The book was lauded by our judges for its ambitious, imaginative, and innovative approach which explores the boundaries of creative writing. "Below Torrential Hill is a superb story about a disenfranchised, fractured childhood and the many sundry disturbances that come about when one is on the cusp of adulthood . . . Koven’s sentences possess an uncanny craftsmanship, both musical and muscular . . . Taken as a whole, Below Torrential Hill is a vivid, candid and deeply insightful look into a teenager's world, one which is precarious, fleeting, and fraught with the early losses we’re all subject to, losses that end up being transformative, thereby creating the crux of a lasting identity." Elizabeth Kirschner, author of ‘Because the Sky is a Thousand Soft Hurts’
Pocketbook Paperback Release - December 2021 (Amazon)
What an exciting edition of Electric Press we have, and just in time to help you choose some ideal, and personal, Christmas gifts for the ones
you love. Presents are especially well received when the recipient knows you have put thought, and a lot of effort, into selecting something ‘just for them’. Packed into this edition of Electric Press are some wonderful books I am certain will fulfil your gift buying criteria. Along with the books we feature, Electric Press brings you informative
articles, such as the one on Wigtown in Scotland, literary insights from Debbie Hampton, Michael J. Stern, and Leslie Tate . Two excellent stories to entertain you by Jane Risdon, and Lynn Miclea. This edition’s cover article, a piece about Charles Dickens, is ‘exceedingly’ appropriate as we head towards the festive season. In this issue we ask you, our readers, to write to us with your thoughts about Electric Press, books, and reading. We are keen to know your views on the literary world. I look forward to receiving your emails.
As this is the last edition of Electric Press this year, the next issue being the February 2022 edition, I take this opportunity, (a little early I know), to wish you all a Happy Christmas, and a wonderful New Year. Keep Happy,
Paul Editor in chief, Electric Press – Literary Insights magazine.
Now available from Amazon as a complete set, in a single transaction. (Kindle/eBook only)
https://amzn.to/3kgh0m8
The ‘Tales
of Crime & Violence’
collection is a compilation of many
short, and not so short stories. The ideas and inspiration are as varied as each of the individual stories themselves. Although all the tales in these books are about committing crime, or being involved in acts of violence, the real stories are those of the people involved, why and how they came to be in their situation, were forced, coerced, willing participants, or victims? The stories in the ‘Tales Crime & Violence’ collection have underlying factors, deeper meanings, twists, and stings to savour and enjoy.
Kindle-eBook-Paperback
https://amzn.to/3kgh0m8
Page 7 Wigtown. Scotland's official ‘booktown’. Page 13 Leslie Tate asks, “Where's the 'Me' in my Novels?” Page 20 The effects of Reading, by Debbie Hampton. Page 29 Dying to Meet You. A story from Jane Risdon. Page 39 Michael R. Stern, an insight into Writing contests. Page 45 A bit about Reading. Page 52 Dying to Meet You, (part two) Jane Risdon. Page 61 And then it is Winter. (Life insight). Page 67 Charles Dickens. This edition’s cover article. Page 72 Sacrifice. A story by Lynn Miclea.
by Claire McGowen
The party should have been perfect: six couples from the same baby group, six newborns, a luxurious house. But not everything has gone to plan, and while some are here to celebrate, others have sorrows to drown. When someone falls from the balcony of the house, the secrets and conflicts within the group begin to spill out … DS Alison Hegarty, herself struggling with infertility, is called in to investigate. She’s convinced the fall was not an accident, and finds the new parents have a lot to hide. Wealthy Ed and Monica show off their newborn while their teenage daughter is kept under virtual house arrest. Hazel and Cathy conceived their longed-for baby via an anonymous sperm donor―or so Hazel thinks. Anita and Jeremy planned to adopt from America, but there’s no sign of the child. Kelly, whose violent boyfriend disrupted previous group sessions, came to the party even though she lost her baby. And then there’s Jax, who’s been experiencing strange incidents for months―almost like someone’s out to get her. Is it just a difficult pregnancy? Or could it be payback for something she did in the past?
It’s a nightmare of a case, and as events get even darker it begins to look impossible. Only one thing is clear: they all have something to hide. And for one of them, it’s murder.
Paperback https://amzn.to/3F3ly7z Audio CD, MP3 Audio https://amzn.to/2ZM4vqz Claire McGowan grew up in a small village in Northern Ireland, and now lives in London. She also writes women's fiction under the name Eva Woods.
You can find out more about Claire and her books at http://www.ink-stains.co.uk
Wigtown
was
officially
designated
as
Scotland’s National Book Town in 1998, and is now home to a wide range of book-related businesses. A book lovers haven; and with over quarter of a million books to choose from, old and new, it is impossible to escape empty-handed. Situated in the southwest of Scotland, with the Central Belt & Ayrshire to the north,
Cumbria & the Lake District to the south, the Scottish Borders & Northumberland to the east,
and
Ireland
to
the
west,
this
kaleidoscope of beautiful pastoral landscape, rugged
coastline,
woodland
and
forest,
moorland and mountain is a rich cultural melting pot.
The
annual Wigtown Book Festival offers
more than 200 events for adults, children and young people including literature, music, film, theatre, arts and crafts. The festival takes place for 10 days each autumn and has welcomed speakers such as Ian Rankin, Clare Balding, Celia Imrie, John Simpson, Joanna Lumley, Douglas Hurd, Sally Magnusson, Richard Holloway, Mairi Hedderwick, Nick Sharratt, and Cathy Cassidy.
WIGTOWN is the
HONORARY QUIDDITCH TOWN Wigtown has been recognised as an Honorary Quidditch Town in celebration of the new book, Quidditch Through The Ages Illustrated Edition, an essential companion to the Harry Potter series and guide on the wizard’s favourite sport. To mark the release of the book written by J.K Rowling and illustrated by Emily Gravett, Bloomsbury Publishing presented the Chair of the Community Council, Sandra McDowall, with a decorative banner featuring gold Quidditch fictitious
hoops
celebrating
Quidditch
team,
the
town’s
Wigtown
Wanderers. Wigtown Wanderers feature in the wizarding world’s Quidditch league and the banner also bears the town’s Quidditch team crest, a bold design featuring a butcher’s cleaver.
The
socially distanced presentation took
place with two young Harry Potter fans in the town square, a historic site from the Georgian era, fringed by trees. During the official presentation, the young Harry Potter fans celebrated on their Nimbus 2000 broomsticks in the main square of Scotland’s National Book Town. Throughout the week, Honorary Quidditch Town presentations will continue safely and in line with government guidelines across the UK
and Ireland. The ceremonies are being held at prehistoric sites, stone circles, medieval castles, Roman forts and churches, celebrating the release of Quidditch Through The Ages and the real-life
towns
represented
by
Quidditch teams in the Harry Potter series. In these challenging times, people planning a visit to Wigtown or any of the Honorary Quidditch Towns should check the guidelines and rules of the government, local authorities and specific tourism attraction before making the trip.
Wigtown’s
Booksellers are delighted
at the new designation and hope to welcome Harry Potter fans to the Book
Town for many years.
A perennial bestseller in the wizarding world and one of the most popular books in the Hogwarts School
library, Quidditch Through the Ages contains all you will ever need to know about the history, the rules - and the breaking of the rules - of the noble sport of Quidditch.
https://amzn.to/3Cj5Djq
The Booklovers Catalogue — a comprehensive guide to Electric Eclectic books Electric Eclectic is a decentralised international co-operative alliance of Indie Authors, managed by its members, forming a strong branded synergy of collaborative association specialising in authorship, book branding, publishing, marketing and promotions.
Read for FREE https://issuu.com/electricpress/docs/eecatalogue_comp
Paperbacks Our
paperback books are no different to any other paperback. Some are
novels, others are short story collections, anthologies, or non-fiction. Generally, Electric Eclectic paperback trim size are a standard 6”x 9”, preferred by Amazon and other online bookstores. However, book sizes are set by the author or publisher, so may vary in size; 5.25”x 8” is another popular format and several of our books are of this dimension. The internal format and presentation of each Electric Eclectic paperback is bespoke designed by the books author or publisher, so each book will reflect their style & wishes.
Pocketbook Paperbacks Electric Eclectic Pocketbook Paperbacks are simply smaller sized paperbacks. They are designed to be easily placed in a bag, purse, or indeed, a pocket, even
those of your blue jeans, hence the term ‘Pocketbook’. This makes them the perfect books to carry when commuting, travelling, when on holiday or vacation. Each Electric Eclectic pocketbook carries at least one a full length story, neatly formatted into a book which is only 4”x 6”… no wonder these are quickly becoming popular as an alternative to eBooks.
E-Books Electric Eclectic books began by producing eBook Novelettes and Novellas as an easy way for readers to find high quality books and ‘new to me’ authors, or their next ‘favourite author’. Our authors continue publish their ebooks under the Electric Eclectic brand, which means we have fascinating and ever growing library from which to select your books. You can find our ebooks, paperbacks and pocketbook paperbacks by typing ‘Electric Eclectic books’ into your Amazon search bar, or visiting our store, @Open24 http://bit.ly/EEbooksonOPEN24 Many of our books are also available from other bookstore such as Apple
iBooks, Barnes & Nobel, Kobo, Taylor & Baker, Google books, and more.
This is not the
Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater stories you may have read as a child. Oh, no This is a tale from M J E l l i o t t , known as
‘T h e H or r or B l ok e ’ . Need I say more?
The Peter in this story is Peter Gord, a simple man with simple tastes. He loves cooking and baking, window shopping for bakeware and kitchen appliances, and checking out the latest cookbooks. Unemployed Peter enjoys these things in between doing his housework. However, Peter's greatest pleasure is fantasizing about murdering his wife, Delores. The brash, overbearing Delores, takes every opportunity to belittle him. In his mind, Peter gets his revenge by slashing her throat, or baking ground glass into her cookies.
When Peter finally gets a job, one at a local charity helping the poor and homeless, his fantasies become darker… and more brutal. Of course, Peter would not act on his fantasies, would he?
https://amzn.to/39Vy1vQ
Leslie Tate asks,
“Where's the 'Me' in my Novels?”
On
the face of it, everything I write is semiautobiographical. Even if it’s third-person I can reference some of it to my life. I seem to need some kind of realia to set me going - which can be a remembered phrase or an image from the past. That means, although I try to write outside my experience I find, in the end, only the personal does it. But this reliance on fact makes me feel at times that my imagination is limited. Of the two types of novelist, adapters and fantasists, I’m with the former. So, in my new novel, Love’s Register, I’ve drawn on my childhood, my hippy days, my '80s
political activism and my love affair with Sue Hampton, my wife. I'm not the sort of author who reads about something in the newspapers and turns it into story. There’s ego in there, even when it’s hidden. Adapted, of course, to impersonate my characters.
So, isn’t this all rather a lot of me?
Well,
authenticity is important, and it helps with
consistency. I also find that characters need models. But writing like this isn’t simply copying, because what starts from experience soon takes off in its own direction. In any case words are selective, so in some ways a novel is a cutdown of life. In Love’s Register the Oceania sections about Professor Hereiti were the furthest away from my lived experience. I used two friends, Lillian Howan, and Lucy van Hove, plus Wikipedia, a visit to the Oceania exhibition, and Lewis is the non-binary author of six novels,
Hyde’s book The Gift to help me.
who studied writing
Even then, the parts of Hereiti’s interview where she talks
with the University of
about her childhood Gods were my experience dressed up
East Anglia, and
as hers:
interviews creative and community-
“When I was a child, I went in fear of what I called the
engaged people
Gods in the garden. I believed they’d taken cover under
weekly on his
website https:// leslietate.com/
the leaves of the tiaré flower and were watching. At any moment they might jump out and eat me. I’d tried various ways of shutting them out – running past their hiding place, or wrestling them in my mind, or sitting
with my eyes shut pretending they weren’t there. In fact, without knowing it, I was acting out the theory of fight/ flight/freeze! But one day I did the unthinkable. Like Newton or Marie Curie, I experimented on myself. I pushed my way in under the tiaré bush and joined them. Suddenly the power I was afraid of was sitting inside me. I’d turned myself inside out, from victim to agent. It was
then I discovered our deepest fear is the gateway to our true selves.”
As a novelist, I find myself blending together ‘me’ and ‘them’. I call it the super-personal. As I write through my characters, I’m looking for turns of phrase that point towards the generic and the wider context. To give one example from the '60s part of Love’s Register: ‘His experience became a part of the newfound freedom, of soul upfront and mind expanded, of closeness to being and deepened understanding. A wide-open world where the young were authentic, doing things on impulse, with expression, saying what they thought. For this was their right, an important statement. It belonged out there in an all-public space where people went barefoot, swore, made love, took pleasure: an all-out world, a drama of allowance.’ So, the movement is back and forth between mind Leslie Tate reading at a Milton Keynes Foodbank Event. Photo by Ashra Burnham
and the world, the imagined and the real. And in that process, I use my own inner voice to go inside my characters. But, of course, in doing so, I listen carefully, and edit to avoid faking it. My aim is the opposite – to jump the gap and enter into a second skin. And, yes, that’s ego, but put to service.
One
final example of ‘voicing’ characters from
Love's Register. This interview with Joe, Mia and Cass Lavender (children of Matt, the book’s first protagonist) was based on what I learned from
working at a stand-up comedy venue and as a radio presenter.
Welcome to the G-G-Generation
Show, the #b4Igetold, where we
dig deep into the 60s. This week we turn the spotlight on children of hippie parents. And hey, we’re here to interview Lavender Blues, a young pantsdown comedy act #3shadeslurve who get off, so they say, on oversharing.
I asked Joe, Mia and Cass about their gigs and how their parents re-late to what they do. Cass: Our parents? It was their idea. Reality TV. About us all. Mia: Ha ha ha. Yes, Matt and M sit front row and heckle. Or they write academic articles about what we do, or should’ve done. Joe: They’ve got into it now. But it was crossed legs at first and deep breaths. Lots of NIMBY. “I didn’t say that, did I?” that kind of thing. But you only stay red-faced for ten mins max. After that you float off
into space. Mia: S… happen, man. Gen Show: So why call it ‘confessional stand-up’ and why the f*** do it? Joe: Suppose we get off on #doit. Blagging it, like our parents did. Going onandonandon about being us, or being them.
Mia: Actually, we’re performing seals, grey ones with thinking caps – get it? - saying HELLO everybody, wakeywakey. Time to thinky-think. GS: Think? About what? Cass: Anything. UFOs, I Ching, levitation, fairy rings, getting laid, antiwar marches, whatever our parents got up to. Joe: Or down to. Like being out of your depth, feeling silly and acting hip. They worked hard to cover. Cass: Yeah, and ego-tripping. And looking down their noses at
straights, right!? GS: Really? And they still do all that? Mia: Oh no. But they say they thought they were special. Like whole the world was watching, all day every day. Cass: Yay. And we’re just laughing at ourselves 2day. Poking fun at what it’s like to grow up spoiled rotten. GS: OK, right now, folks, we’ve a few ads coming up, but hey, just stay listening. AFTER the break, we’ll give you a lot, lot more about the real live show….
Love’s Register
tells the story of romantic love
and climate change over four UK generations. Beginning with ‘climate children’ Joe, Mia and Cass,
and ending with Hereiti’s night sea journey across Oceania. The book’s voices take us through family conflicts in the 1920s, the pressures of the ‘free-love 60s’, open relationships in the feminist 80s/90s, and a contemporary late-life love affair. Love’s Register is a family saga and a modern psychological novel which explores the way we live now. For a signed copy of Love's Register in pounds go to, https://leslietate.com/shop/lovesregister/ For the paperback in other currencies use, https://tslbooks.uk/product/loves-register-leslietate/
For the ebook in all currencies go to, https://www.lulu.com/en/us/shop/leslie-tate/lovesregister/ebook/product-m5rqp7.html
Electric Eclectic
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Cover 350gsm, paper stock 90gsm
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Keep in Touch HERE
Debbie Hampton
I
am jealous of my retired mother who is in a
book club and makes regular trips to the library. There is something soothing about the quiet calm of a library and the smell of all the books. My Grandmother, Eva, used to go through two or three of those bodice-ripper romance novels every week. She had grocery bags full of the steamy paperbacks sitting around. I am willing to bet her goal was not to keep her brain healthy, but little did she know that she was.
Whether
you read textbooks, the latest best-
sellers, or steamy paperbacks, you are giving your brain a workout with every page you turn.
Science has determined reading benefits your brain in many measurable ways.
One
study looked at 31 adults who started
reading at an early age, 22 individuals who learned to read as adults, and ten people who were illiterate. The scientists used functional magnetic resonance imaging scans to measure, and compare brain function, of the participants as they responded to oral language, written language, and visual tasks. In
readers,
the
occipital
lobe,
the
visual
processing centre of the brain, was more developed. This means readers could process visual information more efficiently.
This
brain trait could translate into enhanced
imagination, and creativity skills, as well as being able to visualise the future better for decision making and planning. The readers’
parietal lobes were also strengthened. The parietal lobe turns letters into words, and words into thoughts. It’s essential to writing and reading comprehension. Reading
helps
people’s
brains
process
information both visually and verbally more effectively. Brains that cannot read might also struggle to process verbal information, which could be why a slow reader may lag in other academic areas. Reading improves every aspect of a person’s communication skills.
Another
study
found
reading
improved
communication between areas of the brain. One
hundred hours of intensive reading instruction increased the quantity of compromised white
matter in children’s’ brains to normal levels. The article, How Reading Increases Your Emotional Intelligence & Brain Function: The Findings of Recent Scientific Studies, explains: “Humans have been reading and writing for only about 5000 years; too short for major evolutionary changes,” writes Greg Miller in Science. “We got by well enough for tens of thousands of years before written
language.
But
neuroscientists
theorise
reading ‘rewires’ areas of the brain responsible for both vision and spoken language. Even adults who learn to read late in life can experience these effects, increasing ‘functional connectivity with the visual cortex,’ some researchers have found, which may be the brain’s way of filtering and fine-tuning the flood of visual information that calls for our attention in the modern world.”
Studies show staying mentally stimulated can slow the progress of, and reduce, the risks of Alzheimer’s, and dementia. You have a ‘use it or lose it’ brain. Information rarely accessed, and behaviours seldom used, cause a decrease in those neural pathways, and connections may be completely lost in a process called ‘synaptic pruning.’ You may be unknowingly contributing to your brain’s decline by not challenging it. Activities like reading, jigsaw puzzles, and chess give your brain a workout, and keep it actively stimulated.
Did you ever notice how stress disappears when you lose yourself in a good read? If you are looking for a
way to de-stress, grab a book, and let your mind forget about your problems for a while.
According
to a 2009 study, reading reduced
stress levels by as much as 68 percent, which is more than listening to music, having a cup of tea, playing video games, or going for a walk. Scientists noted the participants who engaged in just six minutes of reading experienced slowed
heart
rates
and
reduced
muscle
tension. Study co-author Dr. David Lewis, a neuropsychologist at Mindlab International at
Sussex, said: “It really doesn’t matter what book you read, by losing yourself in a thoroughly engrossing book you can escape from the worries and stresses of the everyday world and spend a while exploring
the
domain
of
the
author’s
imagination. This is more than merely a distraction but an active engaging of the
imagination as the words on the printed page stimulate your creativity, and cause you to enter, what is essentially, an altered state of consciousness.”
For some, reading books is a way to escape the real world, and the people in it. Research shows reading can improve social skills to help you deal with those people. One study found individuals who read fiction may be better at generating what is known as ‘theory of mind.’ Theory of mind is the ability to understand others’ mental states, beliefs, desires, and differing thoughts. It is a skill essential for complex social
relationships. Another study found individuals who read fiction scored higher on tests of empathy than those who read nonfiction.
The more you read, the more words to which you are exposed. Investigation provides strong support for the correlation between word-reading skill and
vocabulary. Science confirms the importance of reading to the process of vocabulary acquisition in children and adolescents.
In
adults,
a
larger
vocabulary
corresponds with a higher income. I read somewhere the average American reads a book a year. In contrast, the CEO of a company averages around 60 books a year. Enough said.
When you read, your brain is doing a lot more than just deciphering words on a page. Reading is more neurobiologically
demanding
than
processing
images or speech. It is a neural workout. As you read, disparate parts of your brain, such as vision, language, and associative learning, work together. According to one study, Reading can help protect
memory and thinking skills, especially as you age.
The authors even suggest reading every day can slow down late-life cognitive decline. In other research, reading has shown to slow the rate of memory deterioration and the decline of other key mental capacities. This translates indirectly as reading can directly help people live longer.
The act of reading helps to heighten overall brain function and increase memory. Scientists at the University of California, Berkeley, found it can lower the levels of beta-amyloid, a brain protein involved in Alzheimer’s, by keeping the mind
cognitively stimulated. Reading is linked to slowing mental decline by improving overall mental flexibility, an important component to developing and retaining memory. Another study determined becoming engrossed in a novel enhances the brain’s resting-state connectivity and over-all function. Specifically, reading fiction improves the reader’s ability to put themselves in another’s shoes, and flex imagination in a way similar to the visualization of a muscle memory in sports.
Heightened connectivity was seen in the left-temporal cortex, an area of the brain associated with receptivity for language, and the central sulcus, the primary sensory motor region. Neurons here make representations of sensation for the body, a phenomenon known as grounded cognition. Just thinking about running, for instance, which can activate the neurons associated with the physical act of running.
Creating a bedtime ritual, such as reading before bed, signals to your body that it is time to wind down and go to sleep, according to the Mayo Clinic. You will want to be sure to read a real book though, and limit your screen time before bed. Screens like e-readers and tablets keep you awake longer, and disrupt your sleep. That applies especially to children. Fifty-four percent of children sleep near a small screen and get an average of 20 minutes less sleep according to research. So, reach for the literal page-turners before switching off the light.
Although more and more people are reading electronically, it seems safe to say physical books are not going anywhere. (Personally, I can’t stand to read electronically. I want to hold a book in my hand.) It is a good thing too. As it turns out, diving into a page-turner has benefits that e-reading does not. Research indicates reading on a screen slows you down, and you absorb less of what you read. Neuroscience has revealed you use different parts of your brain when reading from a piece of paper and from a screen. Reading on screens trains your brain for ‘non-linear. reading. This is when you skim a screen or your eyes dart around a web page.
Science
says the tactility and permanence of paper pages provide your
brain with a different cognitive and emotional experiences, which can lead to deeper understanding and better comprehension. The scrolling necessary when reading electronically has two negative impacts. Even the small effort required to drag a mouse, or swipe a finger, is a significant diversion of attention.
Text flowing up and down a screen also disrupts visual attention. It constantly forces your eyes to re-focus and search for a new starting point.
I want to apologize to all the women I have called pretty, before I’ve called them intelligent, or brave.
I am sorry I made it sound as though something as simple as what you’re born with is the most you have to be proud of, when your spirit has crushed mountains.
From now on I will say things like, you are resilient or, you are extraordinary.
Not because I don’t think you’re pretty, but because you are so much more than that. Rupi Kaur, Milk and Honey Image © PaulWhite https://paulznewpostbox.wixsite.com/artworks
Rupi Kaurs first book, Milk and Honey is the poetry collection every woman needs on her nightstand or coffee table. Accompanied by her own sketches, the beautifully honest poems read like the everyday, collective experiences of todays modern woman. Erin Spencer, Huffington Post .
https:// amzn.to/3AgypQr
Part one of the Cassidy Newbold trilogy from
Karen J. Mossman
A woman is dead, and another is missing. The only person who can save her is Cassie. (Cassidy Newbold) With no clues, and time running out, her brother, Detective Newbold, desperately needs her help. He is counting on Cassie’s clairvoyant and empathic abilities to locate Chantelle. Now, it is up to Cassie to read the signs, and rescue her lover’s sister. Will she find the answers in time? “He could be anywhere,. He may be striding down this very street. That’s what made him dangerous. He could be choosing another victim while everyone thinks his a regular guy. They wouldn’t know what he’s done, or the life he’s taken for his own gratification.’”
https://amzn.to/2YkFKBg
A wonderful short story from the author Jane Risdon, the co-author of ‘Only One Woman,’ with Christina Jones (Headline Accent), and ‘Undercover: Crime Shorts,’ (Plaisted Publishing). Jane has many short stories published in various anthologies. She writes for several online and print magazines, such as Writing Magazine, and The Writers’ and Readers’ Magazine. https://janerisdon.com
Carmine
Musso looked at the queue of
fans snaking around the outside of the village library chattering excitedly, eager to grab the most comfortable seats at the front once the librarian opened the doors. He’d really rather be doing something else. Another evening talking about his books was something he normally loved but not this time; he just wanted to sit in front of his TV with a Scotch and relax. The last few weeks had been hectic
promoting his latest offering, ‘The Woman with the Special Smile,’ and the strain was beginning to tell.
His bloody agent kept
booking more and more events into his already rushed schedule. She knew he had to finish the next book in the series before the end of the summer and he could do without talking to another room full of
women.
He
often
wondered why
he
appeared to appeal increasingly to female
rather than male readers, and why they all seemed middle-aged these days. How was he supposed to plot and write when his agent had him cruising up and down the motorway day and night, that’s what he wanted to know? It’s all too bloody much, he thought as he slipped in the back entrance preparing to greet the welcome committee.
Stacks of his series of novels were placed on a desk beside his seat along with posters proclaiming his ‘outstanding talent as a scene-setter,’ and ‘another wonderful master-piece from a master story-teller,’ ready
for
his
personalised
audience message
to
purchase,
and
with
autograph,
a at
considerable discount following his talk and the inevitable, ever tedious, question and answer session when his ‘public’ wanted to get inside his head to probe his writing processes. He got to his feet after the intense-looking head librarian introduced him and began talking about his first book, how he became a writer, and he read a few chapters of his latest offering which, he was pleased to note, seemed to go down very well with his audience.
Only two men were present, he
observed, as he gazed around the room at the hands raised in anticipation of being chosen to ask a question. He sipped the water kindly provided for him, his throat dry and constricted suddenly. ‘Carmine, I’ve read everything you’ve written, and I love you.
You’re my favourite author.’ A forty-
something, plain looking woman in a tight black dress with plunging neckline got to her feet, smiling
broadly at him. ‘When I read chapter six I just knew
you’d written it just for me’. A ripple of laughter filled the airless cramped library where seats were arranged in between the bookshelves, all facing Carmine who was squeezed between ‘Crime and Thrillers,’ and ‘True Crime’. ‘And me.’ Several ladies shouted as Carmine smiled and nodded towards another reader who’d had her arm in the air forever. ‘Madam, your question please?’ he asked hoping the now vaguely familiar woman in black would sit down and shut up.
He was sure she’d been at
several other events of late come to think of it and was becoming a bit of a pest. Is it her? He sipped more water, his throat still dry. ‘Carmine, I’ve loved everything you’ve written, and I
can’t wait for the new book. When will it be ready? Will DS Blake marry the reformed drug-dealer, and will you be killing off Chief Inspector Raven?’ The woman blushed to the roots of her L’Oréal strawberry blonde hair as she spoke, her arm still in the air. ‘He must be near retirement age by now or isn’t he going to age any further?’
Question
after question followed as he patiently
answered his fans. He knew he should be more gracious this evening, but he was so tired and more stressed than usual. The note he’d received – left on his windscreen sometime during the night outside the B&B where he was staying - had really shaken him. His first thought was that it was a prank, local kids messing around, but just before he’d arrived at the library this evening he’d stopped off at a local
petrol station to relieve himself and when he returned to the car there was another note, left on the windscreen. Someone must be following me, he realised, as he read the typed words with shaking hands. ‘You must be dying to meet me and at last you’ll have your wish. I’ve understood the messages hidden in your books, and now the time is right. It can’t go on like this’.
His
thoughts kept straying from his audience, the
notes occupying his mind. The first note had been pushed through his letter-box about ten days ago, sometime during the night he assumed, when he’d managed to spend a couple of nights back in his own bed – his engagements being too close to home to warrant a B&B.
‘I’ve been watching you. Enlightenment awaits you. You must be dying to meet me and at last you’ll have your wish. We’ll meet soon. No-one will stop it’.
He’d laughed with his wife and binned it.
They were
used to fan mail and even the occasional unwanted, but enthusiastic, visitor at their home. She said he thrived on it – his ego being what it was. He was a handsome man after-all, that’s why she married him. There had recently been a few hang-ups on the phone too, but with telemarketing computers calling all hours of the day and night they’d both ignored it and got BT to block such calls. He’d been away on tour since then; his wife seemed to think it had worked. Carmine thought about his author friends
and wondered if they suffered this type of fanworship.
The
note left on his windscreen outside the B&B
worried him, but he’d been late setting off for the library and didn’t get chance to dwell on it too much – until the petrol station. That shook him rigid. ‘I can’t wait. I know you can’t. I know you’re dying to meet me tonight and everything will be perfectly clear when we’re together. Look for me if you can, but I’ll find you, never fear. Everything you have ever written has been leading to this moment; our
special moment. Soon, eternity’.
Someone was aware of his every move.
Should he
call the Police? He tried ringing his wife, but she was not answering; probably having a night out with the girls and can’t hear the mobile he decided. What to do? An over-zealous fan perhaps - would the Police take it seriously? Lots of authors were
stalked by fans, fans who’d fallen in love with them. Surely that’s all this is, he told himself. Keep calm and carry on.
He
scanned the audience, noting the woman in
black was watching him intently, a sly smile on her lips. Was it her? But then the strawberry blonde kept staring at him and actually winked when he caught her eye. Was it her? He felt panic rising in his chest. It seemed that every woman in the library was a threat to him. His temples thudded and his palms began to sweat. What did it all mean? Was he in danger? He took another drink of water – his mouth felt so dry and his throat so tight. ‘Please put your hands together and thank Carmine
for his wonderful talk this evening and his patience answering all our questions.’ The head librarian
shook his sticky palm and smiled, her eyes dancing with delight. ‘He has been wonderful and I for one have been
dying to meet him, as I’m sure those of you who know of my love for his books can tell you’.
Laughter rippled through the room. ‘Carmine will sign any books you want to purchase or those you have with you. Refreshments are being served in the Children’s Section. Thank you’. Carmine, smiled and bowed his head automatically, trying to look appreciative.
The librarian still held his hand,
squeezing it gently and, he realised with horror, was rubbing her thumb along his wrist rhythmically. Oh Christ! Was it her? Applause filled his ears, and his head swam. He stumbled and her arms encircled him. ‘Oh Carmine, here, sit down, you look over-come. Let me get you some tea,’ she said,
helping him back to his seat. He leaned back and shut his eyes, breathing deeply, trying to centre himself. ‘Sorry, I don’t feel that good I’m afraid,’ he mumbled. A chattering queue of anxious fans formed in front of him, books ready to be signed and paid for. Concern in their eyes as they stared at him. ‘I’ve come all the way on the bus to get my book signed. I hope he isn’t going to get taken bad and I’ll not get his signature.’ One buxom matron muttered under her breath.
Several
others whispered amongst themselves, but he
couldn’t hear what they said. He felt awful; embarrassed. Why did he suddenly feel so terrible?
He could hardly
breathe. A heart attack? Was he going to drop dead in the middle of a stupid bloody library? thought began to form,
but he tried to hold it back. Surely not. How could it be? He wouldn’t allow himself to go there.
It was too terrible.
Continued on Page 52
There
is a fundamental opportunity for
happiness within our reach, yet we usually miss it; Ironically, while we are caught in attempts to escape our pain and suffering.
Drawn
from traditional Buddhist wisdom,
Pema Chödrön's radical but compassionate advice, for what to do when things fall apart in our lives, goes against the grain of our usual habits and expectations.
There is only one approach to suffering of lasting
benefit,
Pema
teaches.
That
approach involves moving toward painful situations with friendliness and curiosity, relaxing into the essential groundlessness of our entire situation.
P e ma C h o d r on It is amid chaos, we discover the truth, and love, they are indestructible. Included in the book are ways to use painful emotions to cultivate wisdom, compassion, and courage. Methods of communicating which lead to
openness, and true intimacy with others. Practices for reversing negative habitual patterns. Techniques for working with chaotic situations. Tools for cultivating compassionate, energetic social action “Things falling apart is a kind of testing and also a kind of healing. We think the point is to pass the test, or overcome the problem, but the truth is most things do not get solved. They come together, and they fall apart.
Then they come together again and fall apart again.
The healing comes from letting there be room for all of this to happen, room for grief, for relief, for
misery, for joy. When we think something is going to bring us pleasure, we do not know what is going to happen. When we think something is going to give us misery, we do not know. Letting there be room for not knowing is the most important thing of all. We try to do what we think is going to help. But we never know if we are going to fall flat or sit up tall. When there is a big disappointment, we do not know if that is the end of the story; It may be the beginning of a great adventure. Pema Chodron
When Things Fall Apart
h t t p s : / / a m z n . t o / 3 z Y I Yr c
Find out more The Pema Chodron Foundation https://pemachodronfoundation.org/
1. A fine is a tax for doing wrong. A tax is a fine for doing well. 2. He who laughs last, thinks slowest. 3. A day without sunshine is like, well, night. 4. Change is inevitable, except from a vending machine. 5. Those who live by the sword get shot by those who don't. 6. Nothing is fool proof to a sufficiently talented fool. 7. The 50-50-90 rule: Anytime you have a 50-50 chance of getting something right, there's a 90% probability you'll get it wrong. 8. It is said, if you line up all the cars in the world end-to-end, someone from California would be stupid enough to try to pass them. 9. If the shoe fits, get another one just like it. 10. The things that come to those who wait, may be the things left by those who got there first. 11. Give a man a fish and he will eat for a day. Teach a man to fish and he will sit in a boat all day drinking beer. 12. Flashlight: A case for holding dead batteries. 13. God gave you toes as a device for finding furniture in the dark. 14. When you go into court, you are putting yourself in the hands of twelve people, who weren't smart enough to get out of jury duty.
is a story of friendship and family, overcoming obstacles and finding the joy of life in even the smallest things. Sarah teaches a lesson on the way to treat those different from us.
2021 Readers' Favorite Awards Honorable Mention
Sarah
and
the
Dragons
is a
heartwarming adventure tale for children and adults alike as it touches upon the universal themes
of
love,
friendship,
family,
and
empathy. The characters are colorful with distinguishable quirks. You can't help but adore the relationship between Sarah, Trevor, and Sebastian.
Amazon USA
The three cousins and Mayor Fruddy Duddy
https:// amzn.to/3FnYFfb
Author Michael R. Stern crafts a world that is
also provide their share of entertainment. inspired and wondrous and deftly captures a sense of childlike wonder and awe in the narrative.
Amazon UK
https:// amzn.to/3ljyY7Q
The Dragon Island felt original and creative, and I enjoyed the lore and history of the dragons. If you're itching for a feel-good adventure with dragons, Sarah and the Dragons is just the book for you.
As
a writer, entering a writing contest is an act of
courage. Regardless of the kind of book, a contest pits the writer against the potentially thousands of books that may be “competition.” I use quotes for competition because the real struggle is not with other writers, but an internal battle with
self-doubt
and
the
need
for
validation
and
recognition. Contests and competition are not really with an opposing group of adversaries, most of whom are searching for the same accolades. In fact, for most writers, someone’s success is a cause for celebration, one that reinforces a basic fact–you can do it too.
As a reader, an award should be intriguing when looking at an addition to a list of books to read. The writer has impressed other readers enough for them to say, “you might want to read this one.” As a reader, you might skip a book with an award because it’s not the type of story you like to read. The most popular genre is Romance, followed by mysteries, science fiction/fantasy, and thriller/horror. My favorite has been history and biography, both fiction and non-fiction. You may find that even with an award, a book in a different genre just isn’t going to pique your interest. Nor will an author whose name you don’t recognize, so you
focus on books written by authors you know and like. And that’s the point
I
want you to know my name, see my books, and
say, “this is one I want to read.” So, I have entered contests, with the goal that my creativity, writing style, character design, story plot, and general enjoyment will transform an unknown author into a household name. Do you know who Samuel Clemens is? How about James Michener, W.E.B. Griffin, J.K. Rowling? Or Dan Brown, David Baldacci? Perhaps you know C.L. Schneider or
James Quinn?
One of the most successful writers in history, with more than five hundred million books sold, sold books to around one hundred million people who bought each of the books in the series. With a world population approaching eight billion, and with no question about the success, it’s still a small percentage of possible readers. Some people just couldn’t get into the story. Of course, I’m talking about J. K. Rowling and “Harry Potter.” And in my mind, if she can do it, so can I. And you can ask any writer if they have a similar thought. Most will say yes.
Many writing awards exist, some more important than others. Take for example the Nobel Prize for literature, or the Pulitzer. The winners here have authored books that may transcend time or have created
the
perfect
combination
of
story,
characters, dialogue, conflict and resolution that rises above the competition with something special. Yet, an award-winning book in any contest can claim the same exceptionalism. When you see the Award-Winning label, you can be assured that a judge believed that the story was different enough
to be worthy of your attention.
I entered a contest last spring, with my latest book,
When people ask what it’s about, I say that it’s a kids’ book for adults. A new genre, perhaps? I hoped it would gain recognition and get some traction in the marketplace. I waited patiently for the results to be announced. Frankly, I have no idea how many books were entered, but my fingers were crossed throughout the spring and summer.
Finally, when the winners were announced, I went straight to the winners' list. I didn’t win. I did receive an honorable mention. Not what I hoped for, but still, it’s a victory because the story must have impressed the judges in some way. A contest success is like a giant review, which tells potential readers that this book is worth checking out.
Did you know that in today’s writing market, over a million new books are published each year?
Most are written by people like you and me. Just plain folks who have a compelling need to tell a story. I know quite a few of those folks. There are a great many writers who spin a wonderful tale. You may find a new author that becomes your new favorite. And with eBooks available at such low prices, you can build a huge electronic library that won’t require dusting!
will be classified as a work of fiction, but this would only be partly true. Most of the adventures, the three intrepid travellers are involved in, are based upon true events. Billy, Joe, and Tom's journey took place in the late 1960s. At that time driving conditions throughout the world were quite different from those which exist today.
https://amzn.to/3DHGIqD
Billy,
Joe, and Tom, make their way eastwards
across Europe from France, as driving conditions deteriorate. They continue through Iraq and Afghanistan as their worries change from unkempt roads to sadistic border officials to dealing with bandits. As their adventures continue, Tom and Joe find ways to keep Billy's volatile character in check and join heads to find their secret techniques to avoid bandits. Much of the story concerns each character's development throughout the long journey.
The two youths mature rapidly, but Tom becomes a completely different man.
Don was lucky to be offered a seven-year apprenticeship with Chadburns, a company producing ship's telegraphs and other maritime equipment. While serving his apprenticeship, and later as a designer draughtsman, Don spent nine years attending night schools. At the end of the ninth year, he had been awarded, in the field of Mechanical Engineering, a Pre-National Certificate, an Ordinary National Certificate, a Higher National Certificate, and he passed all the extra subjects required by the Institute of Mechanical Engineers. Don was accepted as a Graduate Member of the Institute of Mechanical Engineers and, later, as an Associate Member of the Institute of Mechanical Engineers. Following several years as a designer, he decided to make a career change. After completing a full year's course in technical teaching, in Bolton, Don started out, on what was to be his main interest, for a major part of his working life. Don spent nineteen years developing courses and teaching in the UK, Bermuda, Saudi Arabia, Bahrain, and Algeria. He believes his most productive years were spent in Saudi Arabia, where he held the academic rank of Associate Professor, and where he was the Director of the university's engineering laboratories.
On
his return to the UK in 1978, Don discovered the number of
apprenticeships in the engineering industry had decreased dramatically, and
few courses were being offered for their advancement. He decided to make another career change. After a full year's course on Technical Authorship in 1987, Don set off on a new, challenging and rewarding career, writing technical documentation for companies, including Shell UK, Shell International, Heinz Foods Ltd, and British Nuclear Fuels. Something which kept him busy for a further 12 years.
The Sting in the Khyber's Tail, by Don Howard, is published by Austin Macauley Publishers, and is available on Austinmacauley.com, Amazon, and all major booksellers.
by
Elizabeth Horton- New ton The characters are well-observed and the descriptive passages evoke the time and place of the tale to perfection. You can feel the heat rising off the street in summer, and the ice on the inside of the windows in the winter.
You don't just read this story, you live it.
Life
in
post-Depression
America
was
a
combination of people desperate to survive at any cost and people who clung to their morality. Sometimes the lines between right and wrong blurred. Through it all, families stood strong and enjoyed the simple pleasures life offered. To a couple of brothers in mid-America, rules were sometimes made to be broken, two quarters were treasures to be saved for a rainy day, secrets were kept, and lives were dramatically changed.
https://amzn.to/3B5vPOj
One of the reasons we read books is because they offer a rich tapestry of details, allowing us to see the world of the author, and go on their journey with them. Quality matters more than quantity. If you read one book a month but fully appreciate and absorb it, you will be better off than someone who skims half the library without paying attention.
We should not read stuff we find boring. Life is far too short. Finishing the book is optional. You should start a lot of books, and only finish a few. Arthur Schopenhauer say’s “one can never read too little of a bad, or too much of good books: bad books are intellectual poison; they destroy the mind.”
Life is too short to finish a bad book.
Author
and librarian, Nancy Pearl advocates the ‘Rule of
50’. This entails reading the first 50 pages of a book, then deciding if it is worth finishing. The rule of 50 has an interesting feature; once you are over the age of 50, subtract your age from 100 and read that many pages. Pearl writes, “If, at the bottom of page 50, all you are interested in is who marries whom, or who the murderer is, then turn to the last page and find out. If it is not on the last page, turn to the penultimate page, or the antepenultimate page, or however far back you need to go to discovoer what you want to know… When you are 50 years of age, subtract you age from 100, and the resulting number (which of course, gets smaller each year) is the number of pages you should read before you can guiltlessly give up on a book… When you reach 100, you are authorized (by the rule of 50) to judge a book by its cover.”
There are no rules when it comes to choosing books. We do not have to read bestsellers, or classics, or books everyone else raves about. This is not school, there are no required reading lists. however, there is an advantage to be
gained from reading things other people are not reading, because you will gain knowledge and insights not everyone else has. What are you reading the book for? Entertainment? To understand something or someone you don’t know? To get better at your job? To improve your health?
To learn a skill? To help build a business? You need to have some idea of what you want to get from the book. If you don’t read with intention, what you read will never stick. If you are looking for business insights, read for that. Although it is not always practical, matching books to our location and circumstances can be powerful. Books will have a greater resonance as they become part of our
experience. If we were doctors, we would prescribe books. They can be powerful and healing. “The things you’re looking for, Montag, are in the world, but the only way the average chap will ever see ninety-nine percent of them is in a book.” Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451
Decide the times you will be reading, then focus on the book and nothing else. No quick Twitter checks. No emails. No cell phone. No TV. No staring into mid-air. The goal is not to read as many books as possible. The goal is to gain as much wisdom and insight into life as you can. “Every time I read a great book, I felt I was reading a kind of map, a treasure map, and the treasure I was being directed to was, in fact, myself. But each map was incomplete, and I would only locate the treasure if I read all the books, and so the process of finding my best self was an endless quest. And books themselves seemed to reflect this idea. Which is why the plot of every book ever can be boiled down to ‘someone is looking for something.’” Matt Haig, Reasons to Stay Alive
The First World War
largely directed
the course of the twentieth century. Fought on three continents, the war saw 14 million killed and 34 million wounded. Its impact shaped the world we live in today, and the language of the trenches continues
to
live
in
the
modern
consciousness. One of the enduring myths of the First World War is the experience of the
trenches was not talked about. Yet dozens of words entered, or became familiar, in the English language as a direct result of the soldiers' experiences.
Trench Talk: Words of the First World War, looks at how the experience of the First World War changed the English language,
Adding
words that were both in slang and
standard military use, and modifying the usage and
connotations
of
existing
words
and
phrases. Illustrated with material from the authors' collections, and photographs of the objects of the war, the book looks at how the words emerged into everyday language.
The First World War (WWl), or the Great War as it is also known, impacted on the world, and helped shape the way we live today. One
often
overlooked
influence
this
war
bequeathed is the influence the common speech of trenches has on our modern-day language.
Dozens
of words and phrases entered, or
became familiar, irrevocably changing standard English by adding slang and terms of, until then, military terminology. It was a period when public English became a melting pot of slang,
officialese, jargon, invention, adoption, and swearing, not only from all parts of the British
Isles, but from the Empire, allies, and the enemy. These ‘new’ words were condensed, mixed, confused and mispronounced.
Terms for being killed introduced, Getting it, Buying it, Hopping it. While, Getting ‘em, (The Jitters), was understood as being afraid, as is, Getting the wind up. Many of the words came from the use of soldiers using euphemisms, to avoid being censored when writing their letters home.
In
such letters one may have written such as, I am going on fine, or
Pulling on fine, rather then getting on fine. If a soldier was in good health, one could expect him to say he is, Knocking about. If short of money he would be, Spent up. Something of poor quality could be described as, Not up to Snuff. Boasting became ‘Swank’ and the person could be ‘Shot Down’ for acting such. The Tamworth Herald stated, on 15th of May 1915, ‘Active service slang is made up of an inextractable tangle of Indian, French, German, Military slang an any other which comes within a Tommies earshot.’
Mush (guardroom), Muckin (butter), Chukkaro (youngster), and Mallum the Bat (understand), were derived from Hindi. Crummy and Lousy became general terms of disgust. Sector, Rank and
File, Trenchcoat, Cushy, and Bumf now extended beyond Flanders and are still in use today.
Hardcover edition
https://amzn.to/39GIdIt Kindle/eBook version
https://amzn.to/3m25E4I
Electric Press
would love to hear from you, our readers,
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armchair, in the lounge, or a bench in the garden. What books do you choose for a holiday or vacation? Do they differ from your regular reads? Do you have music playing while you read, or are you an audio book fan? How about letting us know what you prefer to snack on while reading. Do you read ‘bedtime’ stories to your children, if so what are their ‘most loved’ books? What lets a book down? What do you consider a ‘bad’ book.
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Continued
He reluctantly drank the tea offered him and, after a while, revived enough to enter into small talk whilst
From
he signed book after book. The librarian hovered
Page
and signed and the last of his fans had vacated the
32
heavy and not focusing too well. No-one seemed to
anxiously beside him. Soon all the books were sold building. His head still thudded, and his eyes were be bothered about being with him for all eternity, so he pushed the fear and worry out of his mind as he tried to gather himself ready for the journey to his next B&B some twenty miles away. Perhaps he was having a panic attack – he’d had one when he was a teenager and it felt similar, he recalled – so he took deep breaths and tried to calm himself, wondering if he’d got a paper bag in the car he could blow into it. It all starts again tomorrow, he thought wearily as he finally stood up, ready to pack his things away and
head for the car. ‘Here, let me help you take your things to the car.’ The head librarian appeared beside him once more, a kind smile on her face. ‘Thanks, but I can manage,’ he said, wanting to get away and into a bed as soon as possible. He thanked her and her staff, shook hands with everyone and escaped faster than was perhaps dignified.
They
waved him out of sight as his car disappeared into the night.
The
Sat Nav. instructions directed him towards his
B&B just under twenty miles away, via country lanes and open farm-land. He had to concentrate hard to stay on the road in places and he wondered about the wisdom of relying upon the technology. He preferred maps, but his wife insisted they get GPS for the car so
he could find his way to his talks, especially at night. Soon he was in deep countryside, not a light or a house to be seen. The road was full of potholes; he had to swerve to miss a fox which sent him into a large hole with such a bump, his head hit the car roof. His temper was beginning to fray, and tiredness was making his reactions sluggish. He just wanted to get to bed. After about half an hour he decided that he’d had enough. He stopped the car and pushed the seat back so he could have forty winks before going on with the journey.
He was woken by screeching and a lot of rustling in the bushes beside the car, he’d had his window opened slightly and the noise made him jump. At first he couldn’t work out where he was; confused,
he rubbed his eyes and looked around. It was pitch black and still, apart from the sounds of nocturnal creatures scrambling around.
He looked at his
phone - it was only 11pm – he’d been asleep for about fifteen minutes.
Carmine put his seat
upright, found some boiled sweets in the glove compartment and tried phoning his wife at home. No answer. He tried her mobile, but it went to voice
mail. He left her a short message and decided to send her a text in-case she was still out with her mates and had her phone turned to silent. Carmine made another phone call but again he only reached a machine; she wasn’t in either. He was being stupid thinking she had any part of this, he decided. Why would she? They had a lot going for them after-all. He put that thought out of his mind as well.
The moon appeared briefly as he took a bend in the road, a little too close to the edge of a ditch he noticed, narrowly missing an overhanging tree branch. His heart thumped as he concentrated on driving in the centre of the narrow, unmade road. Cursing the Sat Nav. and his wife’s programming, his agent for not booking a proper tour with someone to accompany him to do the driving, and he cursed the note-writer for causing him such anxiety; he still hadn’t decided whether to call the Police or not. And yet a thought niggled
him – a thought from the past. Carmine began to think about his new book and mentally went through the plot he’d come up with so far. He didn’t register the swaying light at first, thinking it was moonlight dancing on a puddle, but as he drew nearer he saw it was a torch or lamp moving back and forth across the road; he had no idea how far ahead, but suddenly he could see the outline of two figures standing in the centre of the road and he had to brake sharply to avoid hitting them. As he began to lower the window to shout to the figures, his eyes were dazzled by a bright light; a torch he realised, being thrust against the glass. He put his arm over his eyes, ‘What the hell are you doing you bloody idiots?’
A
hand reached through the window and grabbed his hair, smacking
his head against the steering wheel, dazing him.
The door was
yanked open, and someone lent over him, releasing his seatbelt and he felt himself being pulled from the car. He tried to resist, grabbing the window, trying to hang on but whoever was pulling him was strong and soon he was on the ground.
The internal car light
remained on, and he caught a glimpse of two pairs of shoes; one male and one female, which looked vaguely familiar. So far no-one had spoken.
Confused he tried to stand but took a blow to the side of his head with what felt like a fist. ‘What the bloody hell?’ He covered his head with his arms, but another blow fell on his back, this time it felt like a heavy object, and he screamed out in pain. ‘What do you want, I don’t have any money?’ No-one answered but another blow landed on his left shoulder, and he fell flat on his face in the muddy road, winded, unable to move.
A foot shoved him on to his front and the torch played over his face. He shut his eyes, fearful of another blow, terrified of what was coming next. He waited; nothing happened, so he opened his eyes slowly. The torch moved from his face and played on that of his attacker, a man, he saw once his eyes adjusted. A stranger who leered at him, amused it seemed. Another person came into his line of vision, and he gasped in shock as
he recognised the face leaning over him, twisted with hate and anger. Confusion filled his mind as pain began to throb throughout his body. ‘You?’ he gasped. ‘What are you doing?’
Before
his wife could answer, the man leaned over Carmine and
pressed cold metal against his temple. Carmine knew it was a gun and then it all became clear. His wife was the daughter of a Mafia crime
boss who’d tried to stop her marrying outside the ‘Family,’ ten years ago, when Carmine had been an investigative journalist writing about her father and his business dealings for his then newspaper. They’d fallen in love, and he’d dropped his investigation in return for her hand. Recently he’d met someone else, another writer, and they’d started an affair. Not only that, but they’d also started writing a novel together, in secret, about crime syndicates operating in the Midlands which they
planned to publish under pseudonyms. Carmine thought his secrets were safe, but now he realised he’d been rumbled.
His
wife’s family swore that if he ever spoke of their
business, if he ever cheated on his wife, they’d kill him. Somehow they’d found out. The notes, the calls, all made to frighten him, but his ego hadn’t allowed him to consider her family being the threat to him. He’d been convinced it was a woman, a fan, someone who lusted after him because of his writing. Fear crept over his prone body.
‘You don’t know me,’ the man whispered close to his ear, ‘but I know you Carmine. I know all about you, and I’ve been dying to meet you.’ Then he pulled the trigger.
Undercover: Crime Shorts, by Jane Risdon
was the February Free Book of the
Month on the virtual library and festival site, MYVLF.com, and Jane’s live video interview features in their theatre. She is a regular guest on international internet podcasts including Donnas Interviews Reviews and Giveaways, and on radio shows such as theauthorsshow.com, chatandspinradio.com, and The Brian Hammer Jackson Radio Show. Undercover: Crime Shorts is being used by Western Kentucky University, Kt. USA, in an Introduction to Literature Class, for second year students Autumn 2021. Jane will also be doing a Zoom Q&A session with the students in October 2021. Jane is the Lead Panellist, next March (2022), for an online discussion of The Intersection of Literary Fiction and Women’s Literature at LitCon, an author’s conference out of New York USA.
Jane’s latest 100-word piece of Flash Fiction entitled Payback, will be read by her for Showboat TV Equinox Online Festival on 25th September 2021 as part of the event’s Spoken word segment. Before turning her hand to writing, Jane worked in the International Music Business alongside her musician husband, working with musicians, singer/songwriters, and record producers. They also facilitated the placement of music in movies and television series. Earlier in Jane’s career she also worked for the British Ministry of Defence in Germany, the Foreign and Commonwealth Office in London and various other public service departments.
Jane is represented by Linda Langton of Langton’s Literary Agency in New York City, New York USA. You can contact Jane, via Linda, at: w w w. l a n g t o n s i n t e r n a t i o n a l . c o m
Jane Risdon enjoys history, science,
since she was a child, always having
astronomy, and she adores walking.
her head in a book whenever she had
Photography is a passion, as well as a
a minute to herself.
host of other interests. When Jane is not writing
she can
Jane says,…
often be found out and about with
“My favourite authors were (and still
her camera, photographing places of
are):
interest, such as our beautiful English
Enid Blyton, Robert Louis Stevenson,
countryside,
villages,
churches,
cathedrals, and our wonderful stately homes and gardens – which she often blog about.
and other authors of adventure. When I got older I couldn’t get enough of
Agatha
Christie,
Daphne
Du
Maurier, Raymond Chandler, John le
“I call them my ‘jollies,” she says.
Carré, and more. Actually, I read everything and anything to do with
Since leaving her crazy life in the
crime and espionage and still do.
music business, Jane fills her days
Nowadays my favourite authors more
writing,
are more varied:
and
concentrating
on
developing her career, instead of those
of
the
recording
artists,
songwriters, and record producers, whose careers filled her every waking moment for decades. Jane loves reading and has done, ever
I love Kathy Reichs – she got me interested in Forensic Science and because of her I managed to take and pass several Forensic Science and Criminal Justice Courses with reputed universities, online.
I also love Stella Rimington, former
usually for anthologies she frequently
Director-General of MI5, and one of
contributes to.
the main sources of inspiration for my
Over the past 11 years, Jane has been
series, Ms Birdsong Investigates. LAVINIA BIRDSONG is a former MI5 Officer whose career goes belly-up following a disastrous joint operation with
MI6
and
her
partner/lover
Michael Dante. In her search for a missing woman she finds herself embroiled with Russian Mafia people traffickers and Ukrainian drug and gun runners.
published in numerous Anthologies, Online and print Newsletters, and Magazines,
including
Writing
Magazine, and Writers and Readers’ Magazine. She also write articles, as well as Short Stories and Flash Fiction. Jane is a regular Guest Author on global internet radio shows including The Authors Show, Chat and Spin Radio, and The Brian ‘the Hammer’ Jackson Radio Show.
Book One . Ms. Birdsong Investigates Murder in Ampney
Parva:
Operation
Matryoshka Book Two Ms. Birdsong Investigates: Murder at the Observatory Book Three Ms. Birdsong Investigates: The Safe House Other authors I love are Peter James, Michael
Connolly,
David
Baldacci,
Nelson DeMille, Karin Slaughter. They are all favourites – but I have many.” It is no surprise that Jane writes Crime/Thrillers (mostly), although she
has ventured into other genres from time to time if the story dictates,
GoodReads https://www.goodreads.com/ janerisdon Amazon https://www.amazon.co.uk/JaneRisdon/e/B00I3GJ2Y8 Facebook https://www.facebook.com/ JaneRisdon2/
T H I S I S N OT A ‘ WA R ’ STO R Y Life in the War Zone, poignant,
eye-opening
stories
is a collection of and
articles,
written primarily as fictional accounts, yet based on true experiences from major war zones around
the globe. Each story and article is formed from interviews, discussions, reports, and dialogues from those affected by conflict.
This is the book ‘they’ do not want you to read.
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The Rabbit Joke, is a
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It is written to be read to children by adults, or elder siblings,
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Get The Rabbit Joke on this link
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Anon
You
know… time has a way of moving
quickly, catching you unaware of the passing years. It seems just yesterday I was young, just married, and embarking on my new life with my mate. Yet in a way, it seems like eons ago. I wonder where all the years went. I know I lived them all. I have glimpses of how it was back then, and of all my hopes and dreams. But here it is, the winter of my life, and it catches me by surprise... How did I get here
so fast? Where did the years go, and where did my youth go? I remember well seeing older people through the years and thinking those older people were years away from me, and my winter was so far off I could not fathom It, or imagine fully what it would be like.
But here it is. My friends are retired, and grey-haired; they move slower now, and I see an older person when I peer into the mirror. Some of my friends are in better shape than me, and many far worse for wear. I see the great change. Not like the changes we remember from when we were young and vibrant, but, like me, their age is beginning to show, we are now those older folks we
used to see ,and never thought we would be.
Each day now, I find simply getting a shower is a real target for the day. Taking a nap is not a treat anymore, it is almost mandatory; because if I do not sleep of my own free will, I fall asleep wherever I am sitting.
And
so, I enter into this new season of my life
unprepared for all the aches and pains, and the loss of strength, and ability to do all those things I wish I had done before now, but never did. At least I know, though my winter has come, and I am not sure how long it will last, this is my hope; when it is over on this earth, I pray it is not over and a new adventure will begin. Yes, I have regrets. There are things I wish I had not done. Things I should have done, or done better. Indeed, there are many other things I am happy to have accomplished.
It is all in a lifetime. If you are not in your winter, yet, let me remind you, it will be here faster than you think. Faster than you can possibly imagine. So, whatever you would like to accomplish in your life, please do it quickly. Do not put those things off too long. Life goes by far too quickly. Do what you can today. You can never be sure whether this is your winter or not.
You have no promise you will see all the seasons of your life. Live for today. Say all the things you want your loved ones to remember, and hope they appreciate and love you for all the things you have done for them in the years past. Life is a gift. The way you live your life is your gift to those who come after. Make it a fantastic one. Live it well.
Health is real wealth, not pieces of gold and silver. Lastly, consider the following. Today is the oldest you have been, yet the youngest you will ever be., so enjoy this day while it lasts. Your kids are becoming you. Going out is good. Coming home is better. You forget names. That it is okay because other people forgot they even knew you. Now you realise you are never going to be really good at anything. The things you used to care to do, you no longer care to do; but you really do care that you do not care to do them anymore. You sleep better on a lounge chair with the TV blaring than in bed. You miss the days when everything worked with just an ‘on’ and ‘off’ switch. You tend to use more four-letter words, like what, and when. Now you can afford expensive jewellery, it is not safe to wear it anywhere. You notice all the tops they sell in stores are sleeveless. What used to be freckles are now liver spots. Everybody whispers. You have 3 sizes of clothes in your closet; Two of which you will never wear again.
But Old is good in some things: Old Songs, old movies, and best of all, old friends.
Stay well, my old friend Remember… It is not what you gather - it is what you give that tells the kind of life you live.
Fine art print of ‘Duke’ Pigments vaporized onto aluminium Limited edition – signed by the artist 30 x 42.2cm - 12” x 16 ½ “ Only £75.00 (plus shipping)
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Electric Press magazine says, “Intrigue, manipulation and outright lies abound throughout this story, making it a genuine 'unputdownable' book. This is a 'Genuine Must Read'.
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Once again author Paul White has tantalized me with a sultry thriller laid out so craftily I didn’t see the turns coming. .
A New Summer Garden, delves into the twisted minds of his characters, exposing the dark underbelly of greed and deception hidden by beauty and wealth. With her husband, Peter, supposedly out of town, Rachelle sets to seducing the willing gardener. When Peter returns home unexpectedly, he finds Rachelle entertaining Sam in bed. Of course, Peter is not the epitome of fidelity in the marriage. Determined to teach Sam a lesson and put him in his place, Peter uses his criminal contacts to set Sam up. What follows is a tale of spoiled, rich people who think nothing of manipulating others. Sam is the perfect chess piece in their game of revenge.
White has a knack for drawing the reader into the world he creates, teasing with the promise of surprises to come. I highly recommend A NEW SUMMER GARDEN to anyone who enjoys a wellwritten suspense story. Electric Eclectic has another winner to add to their fine collection of novelettes. Elizabeth Horton-Newton, Author
Read back editions of Electric Press
May 2019
February 2020
August 2019
November 2019
May 2020
August 2020
‘CLICK’ On the cover image of the edition you wish to read. November 2020
Charles Dickens great
contribution
literature.
He
was
is much loved for his
to
classic
the
English
quintessential
Victorian author. His epic stories, vivid characters and exhaustive depiction of contemporary life are unforgettable. His own story is one of rags to riches. He was born in Portsmouth on 7 February 1812, to John and Elizabeth Dickens.
The good fortune of being sent to school at the age of nine was short-lived because his father, inspiration for the character of Mr Micawber
in
'David
Copperfield',
was
imprisoned for bad debt. to
Marshalsea
along
with
their
patriarch. Charles was sent to work in Warren's blacking factory and endured appalling conditions as well as loneliness and despair.
After
three years he was returned to
school, but the experience was never forgotten and became fictionalised in two of
his
by S. Eylinge, 1869 (British Library, via Flickr Creative Commons)
The entire family, apart from Charles, were sent
Illustration from Dickens’ A Christmas Carol
better-known
novels
Copperfield' and 'Great Expectations'.
'David
Like
many others, he began his literary
career as a journalist. His father became a reporter and Charles began with the journals 'The Mirror of Parliament' and 'The True Sun'. Then in 1833 he became parliamentary journalist for The Morning Chronicle. With new contacts in the press, he was able to publish a series of sketches under the
pseudonym 'Boz'. In April 1836, he married Catherine Hogarth, daughter of George Hogarth who edited 'Sketches by Boz'. Within the same month came the publication
of
the
highly
successful
'Pickwick Papers', and from that point on there was no looking back for Dickens. As well as a huge list of novels he published autobiography, edited weekly periodicals including 'Household Words' and 'All Year Round', wrote travel books and
administered
charitable
organisations.
He was also a theatre enthusiast, wrote plays,
and
performed
before
Queen
Victoria in 1851. His energy was inexhaustible. He spent much time abroad; for example lecturing against slavery in the United States, and touring Italy with companions Augustus Egg and Wilkie Collins, a contemporary writer
who
inspired
Dickens'
final
unfinished novel 'The Mystery of Edwin Drood'.
He was estranged from his wife in 1858, after the birth of their ten children, but maintained relations with his mistress, the actress Ellen Ternan. He died of a stroke in 1870. He is buried at Westminster Abbey.
A Christmas Carol, probably the most popular piece of fiction that Charles Dickens wrote, was published in 1843. The publisher was Chapman & Hall (although Dickens paid the publishing costs) and the illustrator was John Leech. Sales of Martin Chuzzlewit, also published by Chapman & Hall, had been much less than expected.
The owners of the company began to lose faith in the marketability of Dickens’s work. As a result, they proposed that A Christmas Carol be issued in an inexpensive collection of Dickens’s works or possibly as part of a new magazine. Dickens was adamant A Christmas Carol be published as a high-quality, stand-alone book. After a discussion between the parties, they came to an unusual agreement. Dickens would fund the publication of A Christmas Carol. He would receive the profits. Chapman & Hall would be paid for the printing costs and receive a fixed commission on the
number of copies sold. Since Dickens was paying for the publishing of
the book, he wanted the book done his way. There were issues with the colour of the
endpapers, the title page, and the book binding.
A Christmas Carol was the most successful book of the 1843 holiday season. By Christmas it sold six thousand copies and it continued to be popular into the new year. Sadly,
A
Christmas
Carol
wasn’t
the
moneymaker Dickens hoped it would be. Sales were good, but the publication costs had been high. The book is as popular today as it was over 175 years ago. Charles Dickens, through the voice of Scrooge, continues to urge us to honour Christmas in our hearts and try to keep it all the year round.
Dickens was involved in charities and social issues throughout his entire life. At the time he wrote A Christmas Carol he was very concerned with impoverished children who turned to crime and delinquency in order to survive.
Dickens, as well as others, thought education could provide a way to a better life for these children. The Ragged School movement put these ideas into action. The schools provided free education for children in the inner-city. The movement got its name from the way the children attending the school were dressed. They often wore tattered or ragged clothing.
In September of 1843 Dickens visited the Field Lane Ragged School. In a letter to his friend, Miss Coutts, he described what he saw at the school: I have very seldom seen, in all the strange and dreadful things I have seen
in
London
and
elsewhere
anything so shocking as the dire neglect of soul and body exhibited in
these children. Dickens is quoted as saying, “And although I know; and am as sure as it is possible for one to be of anything which has not happened; that in the prodigious misery and ignorance of the swarming masses of mankind in England, the seeds of its certain ruin are sown.”
A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens: A student-friendly edition (2021) With extra-wide margins for making notes.
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The crisp, cool, fresh air invigorated Derek as he hiked through Briar Oaks Woods. He enjoyed hiking, and he loved trees, especially in autumn, when the leaves turned beautiful shades of red, orange, and gold. It was the most spectacular time of year to hike. After an hour of hiking, he headed back down the main trail, stopping for a few minutes to rest and drink water. He was putting his backpack back on, to continue walking, when a chill ran up his spine. Something felt off, but he wasn’t sure what. It seemed darker than usual for this time of day. It was mid-afternoon; dusk was falling too early. It should not be so dark, or cloudy, so early. He shrugged it off, resuming his walk down the dirt path. A cold wind unexpectedly blew through the trees, rustling the leaves. There were no storms predicted, the change in
temperature made no sense. He looked around, a tinge of disquiet running through his mind. Whispers floated in the air; a terrifying eeriness penetrated his bones. As Derek listened, a strange howl sounded, raising goosebumps on his arms. Were there wild animals in these woods? Nervously looking around, he saw nothing. He heard leaves crunching behind him.
Spinning
around, muscles tense, Derek surveyed the
area. Nothing moved or seemed out of place.
the back of his neck stood on end. Something was wrong.
Whatever it was, Derek didn’t like it. He walked faster,
wanting to get out of the woods as fast as possible. A dark gray cloud floated above the pathway, veering into the trees, appearing to move deliberately. How was that possible? Maybe it was his imagination from being spooked. Derek hurried along the path, scanning the woods
around him as he went. A wailing echoed, followed by a sob. It sounded human. Derek crept towards the sound, peering through the trees. It sounded again, clearly a woman’s cry.
Without
hesitating, he left the path, scrambling
through the trees toward the sound. Another sob reached him. This time a frantic, terrified cry. “Hello?” he called out. “Is someone there?”
“Yes, yes,” answered a woman’s desperate voice. “Please help me.” “I’m coming.” Derek picked up his pace. After another minute, he saw a flutter of white cloth in front of a tree, and moved towards it. His eyes widened when he saw a woman, wearing a white blouse and jeans, tied to a large tree. He gasped in astonishment and rushed forward to help her. “What happened? Are you okay?”
The young woman sobbed and choked. “Please ... please ... cut me loose. They are trying to kill me.” Derek worked at untying her. “Who are they? Why do they want to kill you?” Her voice wavered. “Two men. They are offering me as a sacrifice.” “What?” He asked in disbelief, pulling the rope away, freeing
her. “I’m Derek. What is your name?” “Are you injured?” She rubbed her skin where the rope had dug into her wrists, then her hand rose to her reddened cheek. “I’m Anna. One of them slapped me when I tried to get away. But I’m okay. We need to get out of here. They will be back.” “Can you walk?” She nodded. He motioned with his arm. “Good, follow me.”
Derek led her back to the dirt path, glancing about frequently to ensure she was following. “Just a couple miles down this way and we’ll get to the parking lot.” He glanced at her as they walked down the trail. “You are shaking.” Anna breathed rapidly, almost choking on her words. “There is something eerie in these woods. I don’t know what it is, but there is something bizarre and strange here. These guys are involved with it. They are conducting some kind of business with … something alien … something evil.” She swallowed
hard, then continued. “I saw …” She grabbed his arm. “What?” Derek looked around. The menacing dark gray misty clouds gathered among the trees, dipping their wetness to the ground. He sensed the clouds were watching, like living entities. Derek shivered, a sharp shiver of fear ran up his spine. “Are those …” She answered quickly. “Yes. Those are them. There are many of them. The two men said if they offered me as a sacrifice to those… things, they would leave them alone.
Derek stared at her. “What? They were offering you as a sacrifice to these … these cloud creatures?” “Yes,” she whispered. “Why?” “They have equipment the creatures want. I think the creatures want the men too. That’s why they tied me to a tree and put the equipment at my feet, the creatures would take me with their
equipment, instead of them. That was their plan, anyway.” Derek felt his chest constrict. “We need to get out of here.” He looked around. The sky was darkening still, an icy cold wind blew. The howling and whispers intensified. Derek could hear the men’s voices drifted towards them during the lulls of the wind. “That’s them,” Anna whispered.
Derek led her off the trail, hiding behind a tree and waiting.
Two large men walked past, about ten feet from where Derek and Anna were hiding. They waited for the men to pass, Then softly crept back onto the main path, hurried onwards. A moment later, Derek heard a man’s voice shouting. “Hey, where is she?” “I don’t know,” came a reply. “How could she have gotten away?”
“Someone must have helped her. She couldn’t have freed herself. I tied it good and tight.” “C’mon. She can’t be far. Let’s find her.” A howling pierced the air. Derek shivered. The large, ominous gray clouds floated in between the trees, moving onto their route. Derek was certain they was seeking them. Anna whimpered in fear. “Hey.” One of the men shouted, sounding closer. “She went this way.
Wait, there she is! She’s down here. Hey, girl, you’re not getting away. We’re gonna…” His words were cut off by a rush of wind as the dark clouds rushed along the pathway toward him. The man cried out. “No. Don’t. We have what you asked for.” Derek grabbed Anna and they scurried behind another tree for cover; peering into the darked forest, straining to see what was happening. The other man shouted. “What the…” The cloud whispers and howling grew louder. Eerie wails echoed through the unergrowth. Anna sucked in a breath, grabbing Derek’s arm. The dark clouds moved rapidly along the trail towards the men. One of the bellowed. “No, no, we had a girl for you. You don’t want us.” His words turned into a scream.
The other man called out. “No! We’ll get the girl back! And we have your equipment! Stop.” Back onto the trail Dereck and Anna ran along the path toward the parking lot. She caught his arm as she stumbled. Derek steadied her. They raced down the path together. constantly peering down the trail to see if the clouds were heading for them. A huge, smoky-black cloud hovered over the trees behind them as the bodies of the two men, limp and lifeless, drifted up towards its ethereal form.
“That’s them.” Anna added, “That could have been me…” Her voice drifting away. Derek squeezed her hand. “I don’t like any of this, and I don’t trust those creatures. We need to leave now, right now. My car’s over here.” He pointed to a silver Ford Expedition. She nodded and they rushed to the SUV. Turning to looked back. They watched, astounded, as the two men drifted higher, their bodies limp and lifeless, as they disappeared into the dark cloud above the trees. Feeling safe inside the vehicle, they watched as the few remaining
dark clouds passed among the trees. Derek looked to the sky. “Whatever that is, it wanted those two men. But there are more creatures still here.” Anna nodded, her face pale. “There was a third man, too. A man with a strange accent who helped those two, he grabbed me and threw me into their car.” “Who are they?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. I was walking home from the corner market and they … one of them, grabbed me and threw me into the car.” She pointed to a dented beige Chevy Blazer. “Then they drove me here, all the talking about giving a machine to some creatures and… and… sacrificing me. They said the entity would leave them alone if they gave me to the things. I didn’t understand what they meant.” “It sounds like the entity wanted their machine and the men.”
“Yes. And thought the entity would take me instead of them.” Derek drove out of the parking lot. “And if you were still tied to the tree and the entity took the men, you would have been left there to die anyway.” Anna shuddered. “You’re right.” “Can I drive you back home? Will you be okay?” She shook her head. “No. I can’t go home yet. I don’t want to be alone
right now. I’m sorry. Can we just go somewhere where there are people? I need to calm down.”
“How about a coffee shop? Can I get you something to eat?”
Anna gave a weak smile. “I’m not sure I could eat right now, but that would be nice. Thank you.” Derek pulled onto the main road, turning on the radio they heard an urgent message being broadcast. “… repeat, do not go into Briar Oaks Woods. Two dangerous men are on the loose. They broke into a science lab and stole top-secret
equipment. The police are investigating. they must get this important equipment back to the security of the laboratory. The men were last seen going into the woods earlier today. They should be considered armed and dangerous. There has been suspicious activity reported in this area, and we ask everyone to avoid those woods. If you see anything suspicious, do not engage. Please contact the
police. Repeat: keep your distance, do not engage, and contact the police. We now return you to your regular programming …” Derek turned off the radio. He glanced at Anna. “I bet those are the men.” She nodded. “I think so. The men mentioned some kind of equipment. None of it made sense to me.” “We need to tell the police what you know.” She stared out the side window and then looking at Derek. “I think you’re right. But first, please, I really need to just sit for a bit and calm down. I’m really freaked out right now. Then we can go to the police. Is that okay?” “Sure, we can do that.” Dereck headed towards town.
A
vibration rattled the car and a loud humming
filled the air. Derek pointed at the sky. “Look.” A mass of dark gray clouds hovered, and churned
around the large smoky-black cloud. A few of these dark clouds returned to the ground, silently slipping
back
into
the
woods,
as
though
searching. Derek stared. “Did you see that?” “They’re not done,” she whispered. “I wonder if they got that science equipment.” “Maybe that’s what they’re looking for. It was in the back of their SUV. I remember them talking about going back to get it for the creatures when they were tying me to the tree. They were going to place the equipment at my feet to draw the creatures to me. Or maybe they’re looking for the third man, but he wasn’t in the woods.”
Sirens
pierced the
air and flashing
lights
approached on the road. Derek pulled to the side and stopped. They counted as five police vehicles sped by, rushing towards Briar Oaks Woods. “We need to tell the police what you know as soon as possible. Especially while they are there and can investigate.” Anna let out a long breath. “You’re right. This is important. Let’s go back. Then we can go sit somewhere so I can unwind.” Derek turned the SUV around and headed back to the woods in the direction the police were headed. “That’s smart. Let’s first go talk to the police. Then I’ll take you anywhere you want and you can get a good meal.”
Anna reached over and squeezed his arm. “Thank you for helping me. Both then and now.”
“My pleasure.” Derek sped up and hurried after the cops. Pulling into the parking lot at Briar Oaks Woods, the police quickly approached his vehicle. One of the officers waved at him to stop. “This area is closed. You can’t stay here.” “I know,” Derek answered. “But she was here…” “Sorry, sir, you need to leave now. We are doing an official investigation here, and we …” A loud howling and strange whispers cut him off. He glanced at the source of the noise. A large dark cloud hovered over the officers, particularly focusing on one of them. “Hey, what do you want with me?” one officer shouted while staring at the cloud. His voice twanged with a strange inflection. “N.! I was not part of that. You don’t want me. Get away from me.”
The officer glared at the cloud hovering over him, as the other officers backed up, some drawing their weapons. “I know him,” Anna whispered with intensity. “That’s the third man. The man who grabbed me and threw me into the vehicle. I recognize that voice. It’s him.” Derek glanced at her. “Which cop?” “The one talking to the creature. I know that voice… I’m sure of it. He’s a bad guy.” Without hesitation, Anna opened the car door and jumped out, staring at the cop. Derek joined her. The cop with the accent turned to Anna and his eyes opened wide. “You,” he shouted “How … how … you should be …” The cloud above the cop darkened menacingly and came lower, almost touching him. The cop looked up and yelled frantically at the cloud. “No. You don’t understand. I was not involved. You’re making a mistake. It’s the other two…” His body suddenly went limp as it was lifted into
the cloud. The other officers took cover behind their squad cars. Some had their hands on their weapons, a few, weapons
drawn, but no one wanted to fire and risk injuring their fellow officer. As the cop disappeared inside the gray cloud, the cloud churned, a low moaning sound reverberated in the area. Swiftly the cloud climbed over the trees, taking the cop with it. The howling intensified for a moment, the died away. A flurry of smaller dark clouds swirled around the parking lot, and then they too, lifted into the air. Derek watched the smaller clouds merged into the large smoky-black cloud. It emitted a loud whine, solidified, and floated higher, hovering, as though watching and waiting. Anna approached the cops. One of the cops turned to them. “Hey, you two need to leave. Now. This is a crime scene.”
Anna spoke up. “I know what happened here. I was kidnapped and brought here by the two men. This is their vehicle.” She pointed to the Chevy Blazer. “I can help you.” The police officer walked up to her, asked her what she knew, taking notes. Derek watched Anna talking animatedly to three police
He jumped, his heart thudded, as a loud boom sounded above them. looking up he watched as the smoky cloud fractured into pieces, more fifty smaller dark clouds, which spread across the sky in deliberate manner, almost regimented, driven, as if they knew what they were doing. Derek shivered, realizing this was not over. In fact, it might be just the beginning.
END
Copyright © 2021 Lynn Miclea. All Rights Reserved.
officers.
LYNN MICLEA
is a writer, author, editor, and dog lover.
Lynn has written numerous short stories and has published 25 books with more on the way. She writes science fiction, thrillers, suspense, paranormal, mystery, romance, memoirs, self-help guided imagery, and children’s stories (fun animal stories about kindness, believing in yourself, and helping others.).
Originally from New York, Lynn currently lives in southern California with her loving and supportive husband. Website
www.lynnmiclea.com Blog
www.lynnpuff.wordpress.com
NEW CONTACT BOOK 1
A
crew makes first contact with a tranquil, nonviolent, advanced race of
beings. One crew member’s volatility and aggression goes too far, endangering his life and the safety of the crew and the entire mission. The captain desperately tries to save his life and get everyone off the planet safe and alive.
TRANSMUTATION BOOK 2
Something
inhuman
is
rapidly spreading across
Earth.
Erica
is
transmitting an alien contamination to others, and it is too late to stop it. What is happening to humanity? Erica must hide the truth and survive attacks on her life as she grapples with fears and unknowns. And most important, if humans survive, what will they become?
N E W C O N TA C T https://amzn.to/3iKGcjk
T R A N S M U TAT I O N https://amzn.to/3oOofnJ
by
Karina Kantas
If
only she had stuck to singing in bars.
If only the idea of wanting to become an author had never entered her mind. If only she’d never met Alex. That one meeting had caused an avalanche of fate to clash with a dangerous destiny that forced Liz Finely to become the most wanted woman in the
world. Stalked by three deadly mafia bosses, Liz must learn to survive.
Passed from one brutal
hand to another, tortured, and abused, it’s her blood, her name, which lands her in trouble each time. Now it’s up to Liz to find the strength to accept and become who she’s meant to be, and finally, break the chains that bind her.
https://books2read.com/u/3kegRR
Liz was dreading meeting the “family” as he called them, and certainly had no appetite. Her nerves were messed up and it wasn’t until Maria came into the room to help her dress, that she realised she had stayed in bed staring at the wall for hours. She had no idea it was so late. Her stomach churned. “May I give you some advice?” Maria said softly in Italian. Liz nodded. “Don’t speak unless they ask a question. Don’t look them in the eye. Keep your head down, eat quietly and be respectful. They don’t know you. They won’t trust you and you need to earn their respect, but they will expect respect from you right away.” “Grazie. Capisco.”
(Thank you. I understand)
Maria picked out a red knee-length skater dress. It was modest and covered her arms. Liz still has fading bruises on her face and her fingers were still sore and swollen. She had difficulty holding a hairbrush and her hands didn’t have the strength to get the tangles out of her hair, so Maria combed her hair and put it half up and half down, then curled the tips. Mascara and a little lip gloss finished off her look. Wearing flat silver shoes, she followed Maria downstairs and then stopped outside the office door.
“The Boss wants to speak with you before dinner.” Maria touched Liz’s arm. “Good luck.” “Grazie,” Liz answered, and took a deep breath before knocking on the door. “Entra,” Marco called out. Liz walked inside the office, with her head down and stood beside his desk. “Please sit,” he said. “You may look up. Before we go to dinner there is one small matter we need to address. I’m sure you know what the Omertà is?” Liz swallowed before answering. “It’s a code of silence.” Marco nodded. “That is correct. Do you know what will happen if you break the Omertà?” “I and anyone I have talked to about your business will be killed.”
Marco slid a piece of paper over to her and gave her his fountain pen. “Good, then sign and we can go to dinner.” Her hands shook as she took the pen, knowing if she signed, she was giving her oath and life to the Italian mafia. Then again, if she refused to sign, Marco would probably pull out his gun and shoot her where she stood. Taking a deep breath, she signed on the dotted line above Marco’s signature.
f r om Ric k Ste pp -Bolling Rick
St epp - B ol l i n g
retired
professor
writing
from
An t on i o
College,
in
is
R am on a ,
with
his
and
their
of
Mt
San
resides
Ca l i forn i a ,
wife,
Francie,
co l l e ct i on
rescued including
a
of
animals, seven
dogs,
t h re e h orse s, a p i g, a ca t , t h re e t urt l e s, on e de se rt t ort o i se , a n d a m o th e r - i n - l a w.
Ka,
half raptor, half man, must undertake three tests to
become a member of the elite Icarian Squadron; flyers who dedicate themselves to the destruction of Summia, and to an alliance with Imperiana. For Ka to succeed, he must overcome his own fears, but in the
process he discovers how Imperiana manipulated the trials, and Ka's own emotional needs. Captain Harriman, under Imperial command, is ordered to ensure fledgling flyers bow to Imperiana's control. Will Ka survive the trials, and become an Icarian, as his father was in the first war between Imperiana and Summia, or will his failure lead to disgrace, and exile from the Rookery?
https://amzn.to/3vFeolA
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This is my wish for you “Comfort on difficult days, Smiles when sadness intrudes, Rainbows to follow the clouds, Laughter to kiss your lips, Sunsets to warm your heart, Hugs when spirits sag, Beauty for your eyes to see, Friendships to brighten your being, Faith so you can believe, Confidence for when you doubt, Courage to know yourself, Patience to accept the truth, Love to
complete your life.” Ralph Waldo Emerson