Monday 17 September 2012

HAUNTED HOUSE Virtual Tour


I'm happy to be Hosting the Haunted House Virtual Tour today with the stupendously talented B. Lloyd and V.R. Christensen. Check out their spooky guest post below:
 
 
 
  
 
As part of the Haunted House Virtual Tour promoting our ghost novellas Blind and Ungentle Sleep, here is a quick peek into one of the famous houses in ‘mock’ gothic literature (we’re not saying which one it is – you can either guess from reading, or from working out the anagram at the end!)
 
~
 
‘I wonder what it will be like – I have heard so much about it,’ murmured Catherine, as she re-adjusted her fascinator for the umpteenth time.

‘My dear, try not to fidget so,’ her aunt sighed, ‘you quite put my turban out, I do declare.’

She fanned herself with her mighty ostrich-feathered fan and gazed out from their phaeton across the great wide expanse of forest land, that stretched out before them, and over which stormy clouds were already collecting. ‘Should we not have come dressed for more inclement weather?’ she said, as raindrops began to fall; she patiently unfurled and held up her parasol. A bolt of lightning struck a nearby tree, scorching and splitting it in two.

‘Why, aunt – is that not like the scene from Macbeth?’

‘Very possibly, child, but hurry or we shall be late and try not to see any ghosts in the shadows, my nerves won’t stand it ...’

‘Oh, but aunt – see that rock over there – does it not remind you of the promontory from the Mysteries of Udolpho ?  

‘It may well be, but there is no time for it now – if we reach our destination without severely wetting our fascinators, I shall be grateful indeed. . .’
 
Finally they drew up before a long, high roofed building, to all intents and purposes a palace made up of bits of ancient masonry both Medieval and Renascent, and most fitting, decided Catherine, for the seat of a reputed Gothic Hero.
 
A hunched, spindly-legged figure with nutcracker jaw stood on the steps to welcome them, and limped down to assist them from their phaeton.
 
‘Eh, welcome then – best get ye indoors ...’
 
‘Oh aunt,’ murmured Catherine, as the creature turn his back and pushed the great creaking door open, ‘are you sure it is safe? Might he not be some Caliban held prisoner here by a great magician, waiting to draw us in so he may slaughter us and feed upon our cadavers?’
 
‘My dear, it is the steward and he sustained a fall as a child which caused him so to limp – speak no louder and pray he has not hear you or you’ll hurt his feelings . .’
 
At this the steward turned and chuckled, much to both the ladies’ discomfort.
 
‘Nay, now don’t you fret – I ain’t bothered,’ he said.
 
To Catherine this offered an air most sinister – surely there was something untoward about the ready way he locked the door behind them?
 
‘Foolish girl, it is to stop it bangin’ in this gale,’ was her aunt’s admonishment when she shared her thoughts.
 
‘Ay, the wind be summat fearful this evenin’,’ said he, still cheerful.
 
‘And now – where are the others ? In the ball room already, I suppose?’ continued he aunt.
 
‘Well, …’ he scratched his head,’ they might be … or else they still be in ‘t living room keeping warm by ‘t fire ...’

‘But of course – I can hear them – let us proceed –’ replied the aunt, but Catherine held back.

‘What is it now, child?’

‘Oh aunt – does it not sound like so many ghouls and goblins, waiting to pounce on us and drain us of our blood’

‘Nonsense child! ‘tis merely the other guests chatting and making merry – a little loudly, admittedly ...’

The steward opened the door wide for them, and sweeping a great bow, did announce them thus:

‘Mrs Fortesque and her niece, Miss Morland.’

‘Ah, there you are, and fresh as roses the pair of you!’ was the hearty welcome extended them by their host; he led them to a party near the fireplace and helped them to most comfy chairs.

Catherine observed several of the guests holding glasses filled with liquid and was anxious lest it be blood and they, vampyrs in disguise after all ...

But if so, they were very lively ones, and chatted and joked and teased in a most aimiable manner; in particular by a Mr Jenkins, a distant cousin of the host’s. This young gentleman gave her no peace as to her fascinator, her costume, her reading habits until she was rescued by her aunt and moved towards the other end of the room. The rain continued to bucket down which musicians and guests combined were almost enough to drown out the din: it lashed against the windows; the occasional bolt of lightning lit up the shadows flirting between the candles – and illuminated the portrait over the fireplace. And nearby, a little apart from the present company, a lady in white and a little cap in a chair, looking up at the portrait, it seemed. Who was she?

‘Come, Miss Morland, have you tried the junket?’ A cheerful voice broke in on her thoughts and she was led to the table by the host, and thence to the dance. ‘My son will join us tomorrow - until then, I fear you must make do with me.’
 
It was not until much later on that she thought to ask who the lady by the fireplace was – but nobody knew, despite her description. There was some gentle teasing and a suggestion she had seen a ghost – which was immediately laughed at and pshawed by the company.
 
Catherine remained curious and quite certain as to what she had seen. What if, under all the laughter, there was a sinister secret, waiting to be let out? What if the lady had indeed been the ghost of an unhappy resident – perhaps even their host’s wife, deceased these many long years?
 
Once the party had dispersed, Catherine and her aunt were shown to their respective chambers and Catherine was left to her own devices – which resulted in her puzzling more and more on the question of the lady in white until, unable to sleep, she took candle and stole downstairs to examine the room once more. The rain by now had desisted, yet still the wind blew through casement and crevice and made a pleasingly gothic sound – added to which the room, now dark save for some glowing ember and her sole candle, acquired a truly gloomy and foreboding aspect.
 
Slowly, fearfully Catherine approached the fireplace – and saw … nothing save a white cape flung over a chair, with hat on top.
 
She remained much put out by the lack of phantoms generally and all of the window were far too new. When the next morning she met Mr Jenkins, he inquired immediately if she had slept well and how she was enjoying her visit. She described her experience and resulting disappointing find.
 
‘Indeed, an untidy household this, and totally bereft of anything so interesting as a ghost,’ he commented wryly, and grinned – with an almost wicked, toothy smile – this time, Catherine failed to notice quite how wolverine his grimace had suddenly become, how very much more pointy his teeth were …

***

This was one ‘visit’ to a gothic place from literature – if you hadn’t already guessed the place referred to, the place name or book from which it is derived is below – as an anagram; have fun ! And think about your favourite gothic place in literature: what would it be like to visit …
 
The anagram is: A Baby Green Thorn
 
Two new places on the gothic lit scene waiting for you to explore here:
Ungentle Sleep by B.Lloyd and Blind by V.R. Christensen

Links: 

 

Monday 10 September 2012

Awkward Moment

My five-year-old son has this awful Bratz doll that he loves to play with. She has long red hair, pert boobs and a great bottom. Oh, and somewhere along the line she lost all her clothes. As an added bonus, she has blue pen all over her face which makes her look like she has some kind of terrrible disease.
 
Yesterday, my son insisted on bringing her to the beach. He had a great time covering her with sand, using her as a kind of car to drive around, submerging her in the sea and swinging her around by her hair. Normally, I wouldn't bat an eyelid at these antics - he's five, he's playing, using his imagination etc etc. BUT... But we were sitting next to a Muslim family.
 
The women and girls were covered from head to toe and they swam in the sea fully clothed. I got rather annoyed with myself because I couldn't help wondering what they thought of my son playing with a naked doll. I shouldn't have cared what they thought, but I did. I mean, we're all naked under our clothes, the doll is just a piece of plastic and we live in a free country, so why should I care?
 
And then I wondered if I'd have felt any easier if it was my five-year-old daughter playing with the doll rather than my son.
 
Probably not.
 
Here she is in all her glory :-)
 

Monday 13 August 2012

Waterstones Book Signing


VERY EXCITED!

I have my first proper book signing on wednesday.
August 15th 10am-2pm

Waterstones, Bournemouth Arcade, Dorset, England

Eeeeeeeeeee!

If you're in the area, I'd love you to come in and say hi.

There will be cake...



...and I'll be signing copies of all my books.

Hope to see you there!



Friday 10 August 2012

Ungentle Sleep, a ghost tale by B. Lloyd

A few years ago I had the good fortune to stumble across Greenwood Tree a wonderfully spooky novel written by B. Lloyd which was posted on the Harper Collins site, Authonomy. Now, B has finally published one of her stories:


A crowded house party – with more guests on the way.
Despite instructions to the contrary, the older part of the house is opened up . . . and something is inadvertently let out, to wreak mild havoc and insanity on the Maydews
and their guests. That nasty incident involving Eleanor, followed by unpleasantness over Penny’s dress, and what is it Aubrey can hear, on the outer edge of his dreams?
Hysteria, missed cocktails, and something nasty in the attic.

Snrrip, snrrip. Snip, snap.

Even the rats run away

A ghost tale, almost not quite long enough to qualify as a novelette,
created in celebration of M.R.James’s 150th anniversary.
~ ~ ~



You can get your paws on a copy here:

About the author:
A Bustle attached to a keyboard, occasionally to be seen floating on a canal …

After studying Early Music followed by a brief career in concert performance, the Bustle exchanged vocal parts for less vocal arts i.e. a Diploma from the Accademia di Belle Arti di Venezia.

Her inky mess, both graphic and verbal, can be found in various regions of the Web and appendaged to good people’s works (for no visible reason that she can understand).

More here:
& here :
For those who enjoy Twittery drop by @AuthorsAnon as she enjoys a chat (Warning: Please expect occasional bouts of nonsense).

Friday 20 July 2012

Fractured Light Tour - Giveaway & Guest Post

Fractured Light
Author: Rachel McClellan
Genre: YA Paranormal/Fantasy


I’m dying, I thought. This was unexpected and not at all how I envisioned my death. I was supposed to die gardening in a flowerbed as a hundred-year-old woman, not as a seventeen-year-old trapped in a lake beneath inches of ice.

Llona Reese is used to living on the run. After a Vyken killed her parents, she knew they would eventually come for her too. She can’t take any chances. But when she starts to make friends for the first time in her life, she gets careless and lets her guard down. Big mistake. 

As an Aura, Llona can manipulate light and harness its energy. But if she wants to survive, Llona will have to defy the Auran Council and learn to use her power as a weapon against the Vyken whose sole desire is to take her light. Now she’s caught in something bigger than she can understand, with a power she can’t wield, and no one she can trust, except, just maybe, a mysterious stranger.



***THIS GIVEAWAY IS NOW CLOSED***
Congratulations to Abby Flores!

For your chance to win an ecopy of Fractured Light,
just leave a comment at the bottom of this post.
Good luck!




The Power of a Critique Group
Rachel McClellan

If you want to be a writer, then you must join a writers group. This is essential. You need a place where you can go to have your work reviewed. If you can't go to a local writers group, then join one online. Just Google "online writers group" and you'll find plenty. It doesn't matter how many books you've read on writing, there is nothing like reading your work out loud to strangers for review.

My first time terrified me. I'd just completed a novel and really thought it was something special, but I had yet to share it with anyone. I drove thirty miles away, arriving a few minutes early, and thought, "This isn't so bad." There were only three of us. The other two were an elderly couple who could've been my grandparents.
I settled into a floral sofa fully expecting positive feedback. But ten minutes later, eleven more people arrived, all carrying fancy writing satchels, lap tops, and one guy even set up a miniature desk including a fancy pen he removed from a wooden box. Each of them looked at me like I was fresh meat, and all I wanted to do was scurry beneath the old couch cushion among the crumbs of oatmeal raisin cookies and fruit cake.

But I couldn't hide, and my turn came. I shakily held up my paper and began to read. I was so nervous that I became a motor mouth and was asked to slow down several times. It's a good thing I was sitting down. When I finished the room became a coffin: silent and suffocating. It took a couple of minutes for anyone to speak as they were too busy marking up my story.

And then the critiques came.

"Your writing in the passive voice", "Too many echo's", "Your telling not showing". I had no idea what they were talking about, but I just nodded and smiled, while tears flowed backwards down my throat. This was my first "rejection". It stung but was very much needed. I researched all that I could and really started to study others books. In fact it's still hard for me to just read a book and not study the writing style or plot structure.

I learned all of this because I joined a writers group. I'd read plenty of books on writing, but somehow seeing those skills in action made all the difference. Feel the power of a critique group and grow.
~

***THIS GIVEAWAY IS NOW CLOSED***
Congratulations to Abby Flores!
Don't forget to leave a comment below if you'd like to win an ecopy of Rachel's novel.

Thursday 12 July 2012

Giveaway for Dystopian Coming of Age Novel - Project Hope by Sean Joyce

This relentless monsoon summer we're having is the perfect weather to get all cosy by the fire (in July!!) with a good escapist read. And I've just heard about a great dystopian book by debut novelist Sean Joyce which could fit the bill nicely.



Sean is a 31-year-old British writer currently living in Toronto. In addition to obsessing over his next novel, he's usually hopping around the planet teaching English. His new novel Project Hope sounds like it has all the makings of a fantastic read. . .

In the Zones, a troubled society walled off from the outside world, nineteen-year-old Dylan lives in the crossfire between rampaging gangs known as hoods, and tyrannical government guards.

Trapped in a brutal reality, he confronts the helplessness of his situation the only way he can—through his art. By day, he takes on the role of protector, caring for his little sister, Lil. By night, he lives a secret life, breaking the curfew and braving the dangerous Zones to paint the perimeter wall with his subversive images. But with the eye of the warden upon him, and the hoods tightening their grip on the Zones, inaction is no longer an option. He must do the one thing no one else has dared to—unite the downtrodden residents and reawaken their hope.
***THIS GIVEAWAY IS NOW CLOSED***
Congratulations to Malvina!

If you'd like to get your mitts on a copy of Project Hope, all you have to do is leave a comment at the end of this blog post and one lucky winner will receive an ebook, courtesy of the author!

But if you're the impatient type like me and want to buy a copy straight away,
here are the links:
Smashwords

Sean can be found in these places: