Tag: Author

The Devil You Don’t

John Pennington’s life is in the doldrums.  Looking for new opportunities, prevaricating about getting married, the only joy on the horizon was an upcoming visit to his grandmother in Sorrento, Italy.

Suddenly he is left at the check in counter with a message on his phone telling him the marriage is off, and the relationship is over.

If only he hadn’t promised a friend he would do a favour for him in Rome.

At the first stop, Geneva, he has a chance encounter with Zoe, an intriguing woman who captures his imagination from the moment she boards the Savoire, and his life ventures into uncharted territory in more ways than one.

That ‘favour’ for his friend suddenly becomes a life changing event, and when Zoe, the woman who he knows is too good to be true, reappears, danger and death follows.

Shot at, lied to, seduced, and drawn into a world where nothing is what it seems, John is dragged into an adrenaline charged undertaking, where he may have been wiser to stay with the ‘devil you know’ rather than opt for the ‘devil you don’t’.

Purchase:

http://tinyurl.com/Amazon-TheDevilYouDont

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Echoes From The Past

What happens when your past finally catches up with you?

Christmas is just around the corner, a time to be with family.  For Will Mason, an orphan since he was fourteen, it is a time for reflection on what his life could have been, and what it could be.

Until a chance encounter brings back to life the reasons for his twenty years of self imposed exile from a life only normal people could have.  From that moment Will’s life slowly starts to unravel and it’s obvious to him it’s time to move on.

This time, however, there is more at stake.

Will has broken his number one rule, don’t get involved.

With his nemesis, Eddie Jamieson, suddenly within reach, and a blossoming relationship with an office colleague, Maria, about to change everything, Will has to make a choice.  Quietly leave, or finally make a stand.

But as Will soon discovers, when other people are involved there is going to be terrible consequences no matter what choice he makes.

Purchase:

http://tinyurl.com/Amazon-EchoesFromThePast

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Sunday In New York

“Sunday in New York” is ultimately a story about trust, and what happens when a marriage is stretched to its limits.

When Harry Steele attends a lunch with his manager, Barclay, to discuss a promotion that any junior executive would accept in a heartbeat, it is the fact his wife, Alison, who previously professed her reservations about Barclay, also agreed to attend, that casts a small element of doubt in his mind.

From that moment his life, in the company, in deciding what to do, his marriage, his very life, spirals out of control.

There is no one big factor that can prove Harry’s worst fears, that his marriage is over, just a number of small, interconnecting events, when piled on top of each other, points to a cataclysmic end to everything he had believed in.

Trust is lost firstly in his best friend and mentor, Andy, who only hints of impending disaster, Sasha, a woman whom he saved, and who appears to have motives of her own, and then in his wife, Alison, as he discovered piece by piece damning evidence she is about to leave him for another man.

Can we trust what we see with our eyes or trust what we hear?

Haven’t we all jumped to conclusions at least once in our lives?

Can Alison, a woman whose self-belief and confidence is about to be put to the ultimate test, find a way of proving their relationship is as strong as it has ever been?

As they say in the classics, read on!

Purchase:

http://tinyurl.com/Amazon-SundayInNewYork

Sunday In New York

One Last Look

A single event can have enormous consequences.

A single event driven by fate, after Ben told his wife Charlotte he would be late home one night, he left early, and by chance discovers his wife having dinner in their favourite restaurant with another man.

A single event where it could be said Ben was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Who was this man?  Why was she having dinner with him?

A simple truth to explain the single event was all Ben required.  Instead Charlotte told him a lie.

A single event that forces Ben to question everything he thought he knew about his wife, and the people who are around her.

After a near death experience and forced retirement into a world he is unfamiliar with, Ben finds himself once again drawn back into that life of lies, violence, and intrigue.

From London, to a small village in Tuscany, little by little Ben discovers who the woman he married is, and the real reason why fate had brought them together.

Purchase:

http://tinyurl.com/Amazon-OneLastLook

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A new story …

I write about spies, washed out, worn out or thrown out.

It’s time for me to go on with my next book.

The first sentence of a novel is always the hardest. Like I guess many others, I sit and ponder what I’m going to write, whether it will be relevant, whether it will pull the reader into my world, and cause them to read on.

And that’s the objective, to capture the reader’s imagination and want to see what’s going to happen next.

The problem is, we have to set the scene.

Or do we?

Do we need to cover the who, what, where, and when criteria in that first sentence? Can we just start with edge of the seat suspense, like,

The first bullet hit the concrete wall about six inches above my head with a resounding thwack that scared the living daylights out of me. The second, sent on its way within a fraction of a second of the first found its mark, the edge of my shoulder, slicing through the material, and creasing skin and flesh. There was blood and then panic.

Milliseconds later my brain registered the near miss and sent the instruction: get down you idiot.

I hit the ground just as another bullet slammed into the concrete where my head had just been.

It can use some more work, less commas, perhaps shorter, sharper sentences to convey the urgency and danger.

Perhaps we could paint a picture of the main character.

He tentatively has the name of Jackson Galworthy. He has always aspired to be a ‘secret agent’ or ‘spy’ and but through luck more than anything else, he was given his opportunity. The problem is he failed his first test and failure means washing out of the program.

What had ‘they’ said? When the shit hits the fan, you need to be calm, cool, and collected. He’d been anything but.

Maybe we’ll flesh the character out as we go along.

OK, I just had another thought for an opening,

Light snow was still falling, past the stage where each flake dissolved as it hit the ground, and now starting to gather in white patches.

It was cold, very cold, and even with the three layers I still shivered.

What surprised me was the silence, but, of course, it was a graveyard beside an ancient church, and everyone who had attended the funeral service had left.

It was a short service for the few that came, and a shorter burial. No one seemed keen to hang around, not with the evening darkness and the snow setting in.

I stood, not far from the filled grave looking at it, but not looking at it. Was I expecting it’s occupant to rise again? Was I expecting forgiveness? I certainly didn’t deserve it.

The truth is, I was responsible for this person’s death, making a mistake a more seasoned professional might not, and the reason why I was shown the door. I had been given very simple instructions; protect this man at all costs.

It was going to be a simple extraction, go in, get the target, and get out before anyone noticed.

A pity then I was the only one who got that memo.

Any thoughts?

Thoughts, maybe

I can see how it is that a writer’s life can be a lonely one.

I’m often sitting in front of the computer screen, or in a large lounge chair with my trusty tablet computer, writing the words, or staring into space!

Sometimes the words don’t make any sense, sometime the thoughts leading to those words don’t make any sense.  Sometimes the most sensible person in the room is the cat.

I’m sure his thoughts are not a vague, or scrambled, or wrestling with the ploys of several stories on the go, getting locations right, getting characters to think and do their thing with a fair degree of continuity.

The cats world is one of which chair to lie on, where is that elusive mouse be it real or otherwise, and is this fool going to feed me, and please, please, don’t let it be the lasagna.  I am not that cat!

Unlike other professions there is no 9 to 5, no overtime, no point where you can switch off and move into leisure time.  Not while you are writing that next masterpiece.  It’s a steady sometimes frustrating slog where you can’t just walk away, have a great time, and come back and pick up where you left off.

Stories have to be written from beginning to end, not a bit here and a bit there.

It’s a bit like running a marathon.  You are in a zone, the first few miles are the hardest, the middle is just getting the rhythm and breathing under control, and then you hope you get to the end, because it can seem that you’ve been going forever and the end is never in sight.

But, when you reach the end, oh, isn’t the feeling one of pure joy and relief.

And, yes, perhaps you’ve just created another masterpiece!

 

Thoughts, maybe

I’m finding it hard to get back into the groove.  I suspect I was not in one before, but I was writing, and the stories were coming together.

My biggest accomplishment for the latter part of 2016 was writing 50,000 words for a pseudo NANOWRIMO book.  I didn’t enter because I didn’t think I could put 50,000 words down in the allotted time.

As it happened the creative mind was organised and the ideas and words flowed.  I know it was just supposed to be raw writing, but I even had time to rewrite the start.  As we all know, by the time you get to the end, a lot of stuff at the start needs to be fixed, especially in light of plot changes and continuity.

Now, looking at the document on screen, I have the job of editing and re-writing.

Perhaps I should give that a few more months before I start.

Then there is the sequel I’m writing.

Here’s the thing.

It was done and dusted, reading as a final re-read before handing over to the editor.

Should not have done the final re-read!

I don’t know if anyone else has the same problem, but as soon as I had finished it, I had a feeling (oh no not one of those feelings, I can hear the editor saying) and something was not quite right.

I hate it when I am in one of those moods, and looking at it, I could see where there was a problem, and began the re-write.

Problem is, it affects later on, so there’s going to be cuts and additions.

So the question is what do I attack first?

The new novel, the old novel, or start another which had been buzzing around in my head?

Or just pour another drink and go back to watching the tennis?

Decisions, decisions ….

The story behind the story – Echoes from the Past

The novel ‘Echoes from the past’ started out as a short story I wrote about 30 years ago, titled ‘The birthday’.

My idea was to take a normal person out of their comfort zone and led on a short but very frightening journey to a place where a surprise birthday party had been arranged.

Thus the very large man with a scar and a red tie was created.

So was the friend with the limousine who worked as a pilot.

So were the two women, Wendy and Angelina, who were Flight Attendants that the pilot friend asked to join the conspiracy.

I was going to rework the short story, then about ten pages long, into something a little more.

And like all re-writes, especially those I have anything to do with, it turned into a novel.

There was motivation.  I had told some colleagues at the place where I worked at the time that I liked writing, and they wanted a sample.  I was going to give them the re-worked short story.  Instead I gave them ‘Echoes from the past’

Originally it was not set anywhere in particular.

But when considering a location, I had, at the time, recently been to New York in December, and and visited Brooklyn and Queens, as well as a lot of New York itself.  We were there for New Years, and it was an experience I’ll never forget.

One evening we were out late, and finished up in Brooklyn Heights, near the waterfront, and there was rain and snow, it was cold and wet, and their were apartment building, and I thought, this is the place where my main character will live.

It had a very spooky atmosphere, the sort where ghosts would not be unexpected.  I felt more than one shiver go up and down my spine in the few minutes I was there.

I had taken notes, as I always do, of everywhere we went so I had a ready supply of locations I could use, changing the names in some cases.

Fifth Avenue near the Rockefeller center is amazing at first light, and late at night with the Seasonal decorations and lights.

The original main character was a shy and man of few friends, hence not expecting the surprise party.  I enhanced that shyness into purposely lonely because of an issue from his past that leaves him always looking over his shoulder and ready to move on at the slightest hint of trouble.  No friends, no relationships, just a very low profile.

Then I thought, what if he breaks the cardinal rule, and begins a relationship?

But it is also as much an exploration of a damaged soul, as it is the search for a normal life, without having any idea what normal was, and how the understanding of one person can sometimes make all the difference in what we may think or feel.

And, of course, I wanted a happy ending.

Except for the bad guys.

 

I’ve been missing …

I’ve learned a lot in the last few days about how badly you can screw up your life and not realize what’s happening until it’s almost too late.

Firstly, I’m taking a relatively small dose of methetrexate for psoriatic arthritis.  Things were good, well, as good as the can be, suffering the side effects because you are supposed to believe it’s controlling the problem.

Note: Psoriatic arthritis cannot be cured, only have its effects ‘managed’.  I have been on it for 15 months and to a degree it’s working.

The problems begin when you have other problems, and then it becomes a juggling act with all the pills that one has to take.

So, secondly, let’s assume that the medication regime for the first ailment, psoriatic arthritis is:

methetrexate

folic acid

panadol osteo (for pain management)

steroids, but only short term

Leflunomide (also for arthritis)

There’s the first problem, steroids work really well for arthritis.  Unfortunately the long term effect of using them is horrendous.

This leaves the second problem, pain management.  Panadol Osteo just doesn’t cut it.

This leaves you with generally with frequent periods of pain and the ugly side effects of dizziness in sunshine, constant nausea, and toilet problems.

But, for the really stupid, and believe me, I fit perfectly into that category, you can take Celebrex, a stronger form of ipbrufen, or you can take ipbrufen

It helps with the pain, but as I discovered, almost too late, it leads to acute kidney failure. Oh yes, and a lot of other unwanted problems.

Which brings us to thirdly, the fact I finished in hospital for quite a different reason altogether.

Methetrexate actually lessens the effectiveness of your immune system.  This can lead to all sorts of other complications and in my particular case, chest pain and short breath.

Several doctors considered this to be one of the side effects of methetrexate and reduced immune system leading to a respiratory infection.

I labored under the impression this was the problem this time but after three weeks I thought it was time to see a doctor.

An ECG and general check didn’t dispute this initial diagnoses, and for it I was put on a particular type of antibiotic.

Ok, this has side effects like rashing in the sun and badly behaving with methetrexate.  Ok, let’s hope it works.

But just in case he order a particular blood test to see if there was any cardiac issues.  It came back abnormally high and I was told to drop everything a get to a hospital.

I did.

So I’m getting all these tests for the possibility I was going to have an imminent heart attack, I lying on a bed in the emergency department, almost having a heart attack from being given the news that because I had psoriatic arthritis exponentially increases the possibility of having one.

The echo-cardiogram said I was not having a cardiac event.   Investigation of the symptoms pointed towards angina, but with a few more unpronounceable words either side.

But that was, the doctor said, the least of my problems.  The next minute he says my blood test has come back advising I had acute kidney failure, my kidneys had stopped working.

That explained a lot.

So, here’s the thing.  Pill juggling is not something we lay people should contemplate.  There’s a reason why you are asked to consult your doctor before taking any different medicine, particularly if it isn’t a prescribed medicine.

I have learned by bitter experience.

Do not take ipbrufen or any of its friends if you are on methetrexate.  If you do it will destroy your kidneys.  I was lucky it was caught in time.

And also there was another medication I take for high blood pressure, has a component in it that doesn’t help your kidneys either.

It means of course that you need to have a regular review of your medication regime, and regular blood tests to make sure the pill combinations aren’t killing you.

As I said I’m lucky.

Except I now have a problem with angina and the remedies for this are far, far scarier than my psoriatic arthritis.

That is, until I finished up in hospital again several days later with a far more serious problem.

Pneumonia.

Thoughts, maybe

I’ve been thinking ….

… and that could be a good thing or a bad thing.

An idea had popped into my head, fired up from seeing the news on television.  I don’t normally look at the news if I can help it because usually its all bad, deaths, fires, drugs, and worst of all, politics.

This item was the equivalent of a two paragraph ‘mention’ buried on page six of the newspaper.

It was the umpteenth variation of a common story, wife having an affair, wife murdered, and, after seeing so many American and English cop shows, assumed the husband would be the number one suspect, no children involved mercifully, but there was something else going on, something I thought I could read between the lines.

No names were mentioned.

I’m not sure why it captured my imagination, but it did, and it swirled around in my head for about a week.

Then, out came a pad and pen and I started to write.

I put myself in the place of the husband and tried to imagine what it was like.

It is a work in progress.

A week or so later, another small paragraph appeared on page five, getting closer to the front page.

No names still because I assume the relative had not been tracked down.

But this alluded to something else as being the cause, and it was the manner of the death that warranted further investigation.

My imagination went into overdrive.

Rest assured I’ll be scouring the papers for the next ‘clue’.