Blog Blitz: The Bitter End by Ann Evans and Robert D. Tysall Ellen’s Review

Hi everyone,

Today is Ellen’s stop on the blog blitz for The Bitter End and I’ll be sharing her review with you all!

About the authors:

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ANN EVANS

Ann Evans was born and bred in Coventry, West Midlands, and started writing just for fun after giving up her secretarial job to have her three children.

Having caught the writing ‘bug’ there was no stopping her, and as her children grew up, she continued to write for a variety of genres. She spent 13 years at her local newspaper as a Feature Writer as well as working freelance on magazine articles.

She also writes books for children, young adults, reluctant readers and some romance. (Ann Carroll) Her first adult crime novel, Kill or Die was published in 2017 by Bloodhound Books.

Having worked with writer/photographer Robert D. Tysall for many years through magazine work, Ann and Rob teamed up to write the supernatural thriller, The Bitter End – Ann’s first collaboration with another writer.  This will be published by Bloodhound Books in the summer of 2018.

https://www.facebook.com/Ann-Evans-Books-146957850210/

https://twitter.com/annevansauthor

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/9812907.Ann_Evans

Robert+D+Tysall+.jpg

ROBERT D. TYSALL

Robert Tysall was born and brought up in Rugby, Warwickshire, and played the sport the town is famous for in his youth, until he discovered a passion and talent for photography, music and writing poetry and song lyrics. His career so far has been a busy mix of being lead vocalist and percussionist in bands plus working as a professional freelance photographer.

He is currently in a 60s, 70s & Beatles duo, and lives in Warwickshire with his wife, Heather. He has two grown up children. Rob is multi published on the photographic side of things with countless magazine articles, generally working alongside writer Ann Evans.

For many years he has dabbled with ideas for stories and finally the time felt right with this book. It seemed a natural turn of events for both Rob and Ann to team up and write The Bitter End together.

With his debut novel completed, now there’s no stopping him, and two more book collaborations with Ann are currently in the pipeline.

https://www.facebook.com/robert.tysall

https://twitter.com/TYSALLSPHOTOS

About the book:

Ann Evans and Robert D Tysall - The Bitter End_cover_high res.jpg

Paul finally has his life back on track. After losing his wife, Helena in a horrific car crash, he has found love with Sally and moves into her country cottage.

As a former high-ranking Naval Officer, Paul now works as Head of Security at MI5.

Paul has no memories from before he was ten years old. An accident left him in a coma for 9 months.  But was it really an accident?

Soon Paul starts to have flashes of childhood memories, all involving his childhood friend, Owen.

Sally introduces him to her friend, Juliet, the owner of a craft shop. Paul is shocked when he is introduced to Juliet’s partner, his old friend Owen.

Flashes of memories continue to haunt Paul, particularly the memory of his first wife Helena burning in the car crash.

As dark things start to happen, and local people begin dying in horrific accidents, Paul must face his past and will end up fighting for his life.

Ellen’s Review:

I was that weird child that loved reading Greek myths/legends and horror stories, I’ve never been sensitive to gore and scary stuff so as soon as I read the Blurb for The Bitter End I knew it was my kind of book. This is definitely a supernatural horror story rather than a mystery thriller.

The Bitter End opens in Auschwitz where a young woman called Petronella survives the gas chambers and is summoned to see Hitler. Hitler is actually possessed by a daemon called Lamia (in ancient Greek mythology Lamia was often described as a bogeyman; a night-haunting daemon which preyed on children) who has been using his body to enact horrors on the world for her personal amusement. Lamia is all about destruction and revenge!!

After this transfer the story skips to the 1980’s where we become acquainted with Paul and Owen, two young boys who are best friends and get up to the kind of mischief you’d expect at their age. One of their favourite games is knock-a-door-run and one of their favourite victims for this is the local cat lady/rumoured witch who just happens to be Petronella/Lamia. On this occasion their game goes seriously wrong leading to nothing but pain and trauma that will haunt Paul for the rest of his life. As I mentioned before, Lamia lives for revenge!

I really enjoyed the horror/supernatural elements of this story and it definitely gave me the chills as I read under my duvet. I live in the countryside and was avoiding looking out of my window onto the nearby woods as I neared the end. I finished this book in one sitting I was so engrossed in the story. If you’re looking to give yourself the heebie-jeebies go buy The Bitter End!

Catch up with the tour:

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Blog Blitz Guest Post ~ The Bitter End by Ann Evans and Robert D. Tysall

Hi everyone,

Today I’m on the blog blitz for The Bitter End by Ann Evans and Robert D. Tysall and I’ll be sharing a guest post with you all a little further down!

About the authors:

download (1).jpg

ANN EVANS

Ann Evans was born and bred in Coventry, West Midlands, and started writing just for fun after giving up her secretarial job to have her three children.

Having caught the writing ‘bug’ there was no stopping her, and as her children grew up, she continued to write for a variety of genres. She spent 13 years at her local newspaper as a Feature Writer as well as working freelance on magazine articles.

She also writes books for children, young adults, reluctant readers and some romance. (Ann Carroll) Her first adult crime novel, Kill or Die was published in 2017 by Bloodhound Books.

Having worked with writer/photographer Robert D. Tysall for many years through magazine work, Ann and Rob teamed up to write the supernatural thriller, The Bitter End – Ann’s first collaboration with another writer.  This will be published by Bloodhound Books in the summer of 2018.

https://www.facebook.com/Ann-Evans-Books-146957850210/

https://twitter.com/annevansauthor

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/9812907.Ann_Evans

Robert+D+Tysall+.jpg

ROBERT D. TYSALL

Robert Tysall was born and brought up in Rugby, Warwickshire, and played the sport the town is famous for in his youth, until he discovered a passion and talent for photography, music and writing poetry and song lyrics. His career so far has been a busy mix of being lead vocalist and percussionist in bands plus working as a professional freelance photographer.

He is currently in a 60s, 70s & Beatles duo, and lives in Warwickshire with his wife, Heather. He has two grown up children. Rob is multi published on the photographic side of things with countless magazine articles, generally working alongside writer Ann Evans.

For many years he has dabbled with ideas for stories and finally the time felt right with this book. It seemed a natural turn of events for both Rob and Ann to team up and write The Bitter End together.

With his debut novel completed, now there’s no stopping him, and two more book collaborations with Ann are currently in the pipeline.

https://www.facebook.com/robert.tysall

https://twitter.com/TYSALLSPHOTOS

About the book:

Ann Evans and Robert D Tysall - The Bitter End_cover_high res.jpg

Paul finally has his life back on track. After losing his wife, Helena in a horrific car crash, he has found love with Sally and moves into her country cottage.

As a former high-ranking Naval Officer, Paul now works as Head of Security at MI5.

Paul has no memories from before he was ten years old. An accident left him in a coma for 9 months.  But was it really an accident?

Soon Paul starts to have flashes of childhood memories, all involving his childhood friend, Owen.

Sally introduces him to her friend, Juliet, the owner of a craft shop. Paul is shocked when he is introduced to Juliet’s partner, his old friend Owen.

Flashes of memories continue to haunt Paul, particularly the memory of his first wife Helena burning in the car crash.

As dark things start to happen, and local people begin dying in horrific accidents, Paul must face his past and will end up fighting for his life.

Guest Post from Robert D. Tysall:

The idea behind the story.

 

I’ve always felt that a lot of the witch stories were all along the same lines and I wondered if it could be approached from a different angle. What if the witch wasn’t just a human witch but a demon witch, in fact the first of her kind; and that she has been walking side by side with us through the annals of history, throughout the time that mankind has been here – and doing the biddings of Beelzebub.

She and others of her kind have spread all over the planet and Satan has been using them to cause all the mayhem and catastrophes in the world – all the hatred, wars and fighting. Unbeknown to us they have all been caused by this almost alien-like creature.

The working title for the book was Witch One but we felt it was too simplistic to tell the full tale. Also, it dawned on me that Lamia and those of her kind may not even consider herself to be, as we call them, a witch. As the conception of a witch is purely human.

I also wanted to create a situation where people of the military fighting forces who tend not to have any belief in such supernatural ideals, find that they have no other choice but to believe. They have to accept there is something else here that is not helping us, or on our side. Hence the creation of the protagonist Paul Christian, a former Naval Officer.

You often hear people in authorive professions such as the police say that they don’t believe in coincidence or conspiracy theories, but our characters are faced with undeniable evidence that can’t be dismissed.

Thinking of a new angle for any supernatural or horror type of situation is never easy, but I do think we’ve actually achieved it with the story of The Bitter End.

Follow the blog blitz:

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Blog Blitz Extract ~ The M Word by Eileen Wharton

Hi everyone,

Today I’m taking part in the blog blitz for The M Word by Eileen Wharton and I’ll be sharing an extract with you all further down!

About the author:

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Eileen Wharton is not the naughty great-grandaughter of Edith Wharton. She is currently employed by MI5 but has had various jobs including: wigmaker to Donald Trump, Megan Fox’s stunt double and Ann Summers ‘toy’ tester. She also tells lies for a living.

She currently has five ‘lively’ offspring ranging from thirty to ten years of age and has no plans to procreate further much to the relief of the local schools and police force.

Her first novel, ‘Shit Happens’ was published in 2011 to worldwide critical acclaim. She’s also won awards for exaggeration. It did top the Amazon humour chart so she’s officially a best-selling author.

Her first children’s picture book, ‘The Shmoogly Boo’ was published in the same year and another is in the pipeline entitled, ‘My Dad’s Better than Your Dad.’

Her first crime novel, ‘Blanket of Blood’ was launched as a paperback on Friday 28th November 2016. She is now working on the sequel ‘Blood’s Thicker.’

 She teaches English to teenagers and lives on a council estate in Bishop Auckland. She has never eaten kangaroo testicles, is allergic to cats and has a phobia of tinned tuna.

Author links

https://www.facebook.com/eileen.whartonwriter

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Eileen-Wharton/e/B00QQT2IKE/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1525777837&sr=8-1

http://eileenwhartonwrite.wixsite.com/eileenwharton

About the book:

Eileen Wharton - The M Word_cover_high res.jpg

Roberta Gallbreath is middle aged and menopausal. She dislikes her children, detests her ex-husband and despises her colleagues.

When her mother dies, Roberta is left with a pile of letters and a mystery surrounding her son. The letters reveal Roberta’s heritage is not what it seems and she is soon on a mission to become a better person.

Told with humour and emotion, The M Word is the tale of one woman’s journey to find out where she came from. As she looks to the past for answers, more questions are raised. Will Roberta discover who she really is?

The M Word by Eileen Wharton

Extract:

Chapter 1

 

@RobertaGallbreath

#Restingbitchface

#Flissflop

‘Mother is dying,’ a voice on the house phone says.

‘Who is this?’ I ask.

‘It’s Fliss, who do you think it is?’

‘Let me see. It’s three years since I spoke to you last, Felicity, so I wasn’t expecting to pick up the phone and hear your voice.’

‘Are you coming or not?’ my sister snaps.

‘Where?’

‘Home, of course. She’s dying, Roberta. Even you must care about that.’ What’s with the even you shit? Why do people say that? My sister is good at emotional blackmail. ‘She’s asking for you. God knows why.’

‘How long?’

‘Days rather than weeks. Doctor said to gather the family. Can you tell Carolyn and Shoni?’

‘And Drew,’ I say. Silence. ‘He didn’t do it, Felicity.’

‘Whatever.’

‘I know my own son.’ Silence. ‘He might be a lot of things, but he’s not a thief.’

‘I didn’t ring to argue with you. Just get here, will you.’

‘I’ll come tomorrow,’ I say. She hangs up.

My sister’s a bitch. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not all sweetness and light myself, but Felicity is a witch and a martyr, and there’s nothing more unattractive than the smell of burning martyr. She stayed with Mother when she could have left to live in Bermuda with a police officer from Pocklington she had met on eHarmony. She’s bitter and twisted, and let’s face it, who wouldn’t be, living with Mother all those years?

 

#nilbymouth

Mother’s on form. Even on her deathbed, she can make me feel like crap. She sits up in bed, her grey curls flattened by the pillows she’s now propped on, winceyette bed jacket draped around her spiky shoulders, “ALICE GALLBREATH: NIL BY MOUTH” at her head.

‘Don’t know why you bothered coming all the way up here,’ she says.

‘It’s only twenty minutes up the road.’

‘Why do I never see you, then? There’s nowt for you in t’ will.’

‘I don’t want anything, Mother,’ I say.

‘That’ll be a first. Stand up straight and put your legs together. You couldn’t stop a pig in a passage.’

‘Stop with the compliments, will you?’ I say.

‘What you doing here?’

‘I came to see you.’

‘Want to watch me die?’

‘No, Mother. I came to say my goodbyes.’

‘Goodbye, then.’

‘Jesus, can you not just…’

‘What? Just what?’ Mother asks.

‘Just be nice,’ I say.

‘That’s rich, coming from you.’

‘Look, I know I haven’t been the World’s Best Daughter,’ I say.

‘Pah. Understatement of the year. Get one of those thingies from the nurse, will you?’

‘Thingies? Which nurse?’

‘The one that’s plain as a pikestaff. I need to say a decade of the rosary every time I look at her… A thingummy jig whatsit doodah…’ She sets off coughing, and I think she’s going to choke to death there and then. She waves her hand madly in the direction of the cupboard next to the bed.

‘In here?’ I ask. She nods. ‘A tissue?’ She nods again. I hand her a tissue, and she spits into it. Fresh red blood mixed with black swirls like a marble. She folds the tissue, shoves it into my hand and gestures to the plastic bag taped to her locker. I try not to retch as I stuff it in. ‘You haven’t exactly been Mum of the Year, either.’

‘Go on, kick me while I’m down.’

‘I’m not here to kick you, Mother. Felicity said you were asking for me.’

‘Yes, I wanted you to know that I know who took the money and your father’s watch, and I want you to get it back.’

‘Listen, if you’re going to accuse Drew again, I–’

‘I’m not.’

‘That was a terrible time for us…’

‘I wasn’t going to accuse Drew,’ she says. ‘I know it wasn’t Drew. He wouldn’t nick off his granny. I want you to get it back. I still want Drew to have it.’

‘Who was it?’

‘I don’t want it to cause trouble. I just want you to get it back.’

‘From where, Mother? Where do I get it from?’

‘Fliss,’ she says faintly.

‘I don’t understand. What about Felicity?’

‘It wasn’t your dad’s watch. Well, it was. But not the man you thought was your dad.’

‘What do you mean? What are you talking about? You’re talking in riddles. Whose was it? Mother?’

‘The letters explain,’ she says, her breath shallow and laboured.

‘Letters? What letters?’

‘In there,’ she says, pointing to the bedside cabinet. ‘They explain.’

‘Explain what?’

‘Everything. They explain everything. Forgive me…’

Her breath grows ragged, and the machine beside her beeps. A nurse comes running. It’s all a bit of a blur after that. Doctors run in. They shock her, and her heart starts again, then stops. They shock her again, calling, ‘Alice, Alice, can you hear me, Alice?’

When I’ve seen paramedics performing CPR on the telly, it’s so clean and clinical. This is brutal. Messy, noisy, the sound of ribs cracking, a blue mouth foaming, eyes rolling.

It seems like hours before a man in a white coat shakes his head and says, ‘Time of death, eleven twenty-two am.’

I can’t say that what I feel is sadness, but there is shock. Definite shock. Seeing Mother silent and not deadly. I wouldn’t say she looks peaceful or that she looks like she’s sleeping. She looks dead. Bitter Alice. Deceased. What did she want to explain? What did she want me to forgive?

I open her bedside cabinet and take out a brown bag. Inside is a bundle wrapped in red cloth. Unwinding the material, I can see letters, a huge bundle of letters, held together by elastic bands. I stuff them into my bag, intending to read them when I get home.

I sit beside the bed in a state of shock until Felicity arrives and blames me for killing our mother. ‘I think, in fact, that it was lung cancer that killed her.’

‘She was alright last night,’ she says. ‘She was chatting about Freda Birchill’s granddaughter being done for shoplifting.’

‘She wasn’t alright, though, was she? You called me up here because she was dying. You said to me that she didn’t have long left.’

‘Yeah, but I didn’t think…that she would really die.’ Her face crumples then, and I feel almost sorry for her. I put my hand on her shoulder, and she shrugs it off. ‘Do you think it’s been fun looking after her for the past twenty years while you swanned off to the city? You, the big I am.’

‘It’s Newcastle, Felicity, not New York. If you wanted a life, you could have chosen one.’

‘Chosen? Chosen?’ Her voice rises, and she beats her chest. ‘I didn’t have choices. My path was paved when you left. I couldn’t leave as well, could I? She’d have been on her own.’

I ignored her self-pity party. ‘She mentioned the money and Granddad’s watch. She said she knew Drew didn’t take it.’

‘If you’ve come here to cause trouble, I swear I’ll …’

‘Do what? Fliss, you invited me to come.’

‘Just go back to where you came from.’

‘I came from here, actually.’

‘So why do you talk as though you have a mouth full of marbles?’

‘What is it you want from me, Felicity?’

‘Nothing. I want nothing. Precisely what you’ve given me over the years.’

‘I’m going back,’ I say. ‘Let me know the arrangements for the funeral.’

‘Oh, yes, leave it all to me as usual. You can tell Drew to stay away, for a start.’

‘I’ll tell him no such thing. And I’ll tell you another thing, Mother wants him to have his granddad’s watch. Well, she said it’s not Dad’s. So, what do you know about that?’

‘Nothing. I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘She wants me to find the watch and give it to Drew, and that’s what I’m going to do.’ Her face turns red, then green, then white. She storms off, sticking her nose in the air.



Make sure to check out the other blogs taking part in the blitz:

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Blog Blitz: Pressure by Betsy Reavley Ellen’s Review

Hi everyone,

Today, Ellen is taking part in the blog blitz for Pressure by Betsy Reavley and I’m sharing her review with you all!

About the author:

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Author of The Quiet Ones, The Optician’s Wife, Frailty, Carrion, Beneath the Watery Moon and the poetry collection The Worm in the Bottle. Betsy was born in Hammersmith, London.

As a child she moved around frequently with her family, spending time in London, Provence, Tuscany, Gloucestershire and Cambridgeshire.

She showed a flair for literature and writing from a young age and had a particular interest in poetry, of which she was a prolific consumer and producer.

In her early twenties she moved to Oxford, where she would eventually meet her husband. During her time in Oxford her interests turned from poetry to novels and she began to develop her own unique style of psychological thriller.

Betsy says “I believe people are at their most fascinating when they are faced by the dark side of life. This is what I like to write about.”

Betsy Reavley currently lives in London, with her husband, 2 children, dog, cat and chickens.

You can follow her on Twitter @BetsyReavley

About the book:

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When the submarine departed, none of the ten people on board knew it would turn into a nightmare.

Trapped on the sunken vessel on the bottom of the ocean and unable to escape, one of them is discovered dead. The tension escalates as the survivors realise there is a murderer among them, who is preparing to strike again and again…

With mounting desperation, people begin to turn on each other. While they struggle to identify who is responsible, each must contend with their own past, the claustrophobia and the secrets they are hiding.

But who is who? And which of them will be next to die?

Below the surface, the pressure is building and time is running out…

‘Betsy Reavley is back with a novel of such impact and power; nothing is clear, the tension so strong it holds you from the first page to the last. Pressure delivers on every level, leaving breathless readers in its wake.’ Bestselling author of Captor and 34 Days Anita Waller

 

 

Ellen’s Review:

A few of my worst fears are as follows; deep water, enclosed spaces, the sea…and being murdered. I really wouldn’t like to be murdered! So obviously a book about a group of people trapped in a malfunctioning submarine slowly being picked off by a psychotic maniac totally pushed all my buttons! As a total thrill seeker I will actively seek out a book that is going to freak me out and make me think “what would I do?”. Now there is no chance you’ll ever find me on a submarine but to be able to immerse myself into this story was a dark delight. I have a vivid imagination and Pressure played out like a horror movie in my mind – I was there shivering in the freezing darkness, smelling the rank odour of bodies beginning to decompose and praying for a solution.

The story is told from quite a few different POV’s including the cast of the movie to be filmed and crew of the submarine. There is also a narrator identified only as Child giving an account of historical abuse at the hands of their mother. This may seem like a lot to get your head around but each chapter is quite short and I found them easy to follow. It seems like each character has an underlying reason to be involved in the film but who is out for murder??

Pressure is the ultimate locked room mystery and I advise you put a few hours aside and read this in one seating just don’t forget to breathe!!

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Blog Blitz: Never Rest by Jon Richter

Hi all,

Today I’m taking part in the blog blitz for Never Rest by Jon Richter and I’ll be sharing a guest post from the author!

About the book:

Jon Richter - Never Rest_cover_high res

Chris Sigurdsson has left the police force to start his own detective agency in London. He and his assistant, Priya, have built a strong reputation, and their casebook for the coming months is full. But Sigurdsson’s mind drifts back to his time as a Detective Inspector, and to the surreal week he spent investigating a case on Salvation Island.

When the estranged wife of David Lithgow, a writer who had been working on the island, approaches him to help locate her missing spouse, he cannot resist the allure of that sinister, mist-shrouded place…

The case leads him back to Salvation Island and into a treacherous labyrinth of deceit.

Is there a link between the mysterious proprietor of a travelling freak show and the malevolent spectre of a vicious serial murderer who butchered six young women on the island?

Has the killer continued his murderous spree from beyond the grave, or is there a copycat on the loose?

To solve this case, Sigurdsson will need to enter the mind of a sadistic serial killer and unravel the island’s darkest secrets. And if he wants to survive, he must confront his deepest fears.

Click HERE to get your copy!

About the author:

Jon+Richter.jpg

Jon Richter lives in London and spends most of his time hiding in the guise of his sinister alter ego, an accountant called Dave.  When he isn’t counting beans, he is a self-confessed nerd who loves books, films and video games – basically any way to tell a good story.  Jon writes whenever he can and hopes to bring you more dark tales in the very near future.  If you want to chat to him about this, or about anything at all, you can find him on Twitter @RichterWrites; he’d also love it if you would check out his website at www.jon-richter.com.

Guest post:

A ‘normal’ writing day

 

Although I have been writing since I was about six, I still think of myself as a ‘new’ writer – certainly in the world of publishing.  My debut thriller was released last year and my new book, Never Rest, will be released at the end of March, and I’m still slowly figuring out how to navigate the labyrinths of social media, self-promotion, blog tours, book launch events… and I certainly don’t think I’ve got it anywhere near sussed out yet!

 

Another thing I am yet to figure out is exactly how a ‘normal’ writing day should work… writing sessions for me are often snatches of time squeezed in to an evening after work, a hasty half-hour on the commute, some garbled ideas types into the Notes app of my phone when I wake up after a particularly intriguing nightmare… but, whenever I can, I do like to try to set aside an entire day to focus on writing, and I thought it would be interesting to talk you through what usually happens on such days.  Having read similar posts by other writers I get the impression that there is a HUGE variety of different preferred approaches, which I find fascinating… and ultimately I suppose it’s about finding whatever works for you.  All that really counts is the number of words that have been spawned by the end of it!

 

Most writing days for me usually start with a feeling of dread, as though I’m about to sit an exam; because of my busy full-time job and other commitments it’s always a challenge to carve out such a chunk of time, and I find the weight of this precious day often hangs over me until I finally get going.  This starting point can often be delayed by several hours due to chronic procrastination – sometimes I go for a run first, ‘to wake myself up’, and other times I’ll decide that the house needs a thoroughly good tidy before I can concentrate properly.  Another favourite distraction comes in the shape of the two ragdoll cats we own, who will often decide on writing days that they will be extra-cute and distract me with lots of insistent meowing and cuddly behaviour… or they will be possessed by Satan and start hurtling around the house, trashing the place.  As you can see, there are many potential pitfalls!  But if I am successful in navigating all of these, the final step before I can get cracking is to make the obligatory cup of coffee (I invested in an espresso machine a few years ago and it was definitely money well spent), and choose some background music.

 

I am a huge music fan and am still resisting the urge to join the Spotify generation – I like to OWN the songs I enjoy, so I still buy albums the old-fashioned way (although I have accepted that some of them might need to be downloaded rather than physically purchased from shops, I still make a habit of then burning off physical CD copies of these to pointlessly store in my attic).  However, I’ve found lately that a lot of the stuff I own and love doesn’t make for ideal writing accompaniment (e.g. Mark E Smith ranting over a nasty, crunching guitar and keyboard din) so I often turn instead to ambient music, in other words something more relaxed and without lyrics, and ideally with a dark edge to help create the sort of ominous atmosphere I’m looking for in my writing.  Some of Aphex Twin’s output is ideal for this, as are the sinister soundscapes that Akira Yamaoka created for the Silent Hill videogame series.

 

Once this important choice has been made, I will finally get to work on that day’s project.  These days I am lucky enough to have a spare room with a little writing desk, and I do find this infinitely preferable to trying to write in bed or on the couch (or squeezed onto a train, although sometimes this is still a necessity!)  I write on my laptop, as I’ll constantly edit, chop and change as I write, such that the finished draft is usually of decent quality rather than needing major surgery; I’ve heard lots of people say, ‘forget editing, just get the first draft finished’, and I’m sure this is good advice, but I just can’t bring myself to work in that way.  This means that progress is gradual, a sort of slow, creeping word count increase rather than an unfiltered splurge – although I’ll usually end up with somewhere around three or four thousand words done by the end of the day.  I really do have absolutely no idea how anyone ever wrote anything before word processors were invented, and I’m full of admiration for the authors of decades gone by who had nothing to work with but their pen, paper, imagination, and maybe a handy thesaurus!

 

I will write for as long as I can before hunger overcomes me, and then I’ll head downstairs to figure out some sort of snack – this can often result in more procrastination if a trip to the shop becomes necessary.  The day will then proceed very much in that pattern: a burst of writing, maybe leading me off on a tangent to research something, then a break to eat or make more coffee, then another burst of writing, and so on until either it’s really late and I’m falling asleep at my desk, or I’m so happy with my output that I decide I can smugly call it a day (this rarely happens!)

 

If my partner isn’t busy she will sometimes pop in to check on me, and I suspect I look a bit of a bizarre sight, hunched over my laptop and typing feverishly while eerie music swirls in the background, my internet search history encompassing various horrifying murder cases, unsolved mysteries and other dark inspirations… but hopefully the finished novel is worth it in the end!

Check out the other blogs taking part:

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Blog Blitz: Blind Luck by Dave Stanton

Hi all,
Today I’m taking part in the blog blitz for Blind Luck by Dave Stanton, and I’ll be sharing an extract with you all further down. First though, the bookish info!
About the book:
Dave Stanton - Blind Luck_cover_high res
 

Jimmy Homestead’s glory days as a high school stud are a distant memory. His adulthood hads amounted to temporary jobs, petty crime and discount whiskey. But when he wins $43 million on the  lottery all that changes.


With money, everything is great for Jimmy, until people from his past start coming out of the woodwork seeking payback over transgressions Jimmy thought were long forgotten.


Caught in the middle are private detective Dan Reno and his friend Cody Gibbons – two men just trying to make a living.

Reno, fighting to save his home from foreclosure, thinks that’s his biggest problem. But his priorities change when Gibbons and Jimmy are kidnapped by a gang of cartel thugs. In a fight to save his friend’s life, Reno is drawn into a case that will result bodies scattered all over northern Nevada.

But Can Reno save his friend?

Blind Luck by Dave Stanton

About the author:

Dave+Stanton

Born in Detroit, Michigan, in 1960, Dave Stanton moved to Northern California in 1961. He attended San Jose State University and received a BA in journalism in 1983. Over the years, he worked as a bartender, newspaper advertising salesman, furniture mover, debt collector, and technology salesman. He has two children, Austin and Haley, and lives with his wife, Heidi, in San Jose, California.

Stanton is the author of six novels, all featuring private investigator Dan Reno and his ex-cop buddy, Cody Gibbons.

Links:

www.facebook.com/DanRenoNovels

Twitter: @DanRenoNovels

danrenonovels.com/

www.amazon.co.uk/Dave-Stanton/e/B00HLT6BB0/

www.amazon.com/Dave-Stanton/e/B00HLT6BB0/


BLIND LUCK

DAN RENO BOOK 2

Say you’re on a wandering drunk binge. The year you spent on the wagon seems a lifetime ago, a life that ended when you came back to the bottle like a soldier coming home after a long war. You don’t remember the day you decided to have a quick taste, just one, and then, it would be back to your predictable, sober life. But there’s no such thing as ‘just one,’ you always knew that, and you stayed drunk from that moment, as if it were the most natural process in the world.
Then, you run out of money, taking odd jobs to stay afloat, until one morning, you wake up in some unknown town out in the godforsaken Southern California desert. You crawl from your bed and step into the parking lot of the fleabag boardinghouse you call home. And for some reason, as you hike down the empty street to your day labor job, you suddenly take a hard left and walk straight out of town, out onto the ancient, sunbaked sand and rock of the earth’s floor. You walk through the sagebrush and thistle, heading east toward the horizon, as if the vastness of the land holds some sort of mystical answer to your life.
Before long, you fall to the ground and sleep in a patch of shade. Around noon, you wake up, parched, confused, your lips so dry they’ve split, your hair gritty and hanging in your face. Automatically, you trudge back toward the distant buildings that shimmer in the heat, sadly but stubbornly beckoning you back to a life you gave up on for no reason you can remember, and traded in for a bottle of whiskey.
But you’re broke again, and you got to eat, so it’s back to another day of bust-ass, miserable hangover work, with only the prospect of begging a front for chow and liquor to look forward to. That night, for the hell of it, you buy a two-dollar state lottery ticket, get drunk on a quart of beer and a half pint of cheap bourbon, and dream of an existence so farfetched that you almost cry when the gray light of dawn creeps through the ratty curtains in your room and wakes you from your drunken fantasy.
You walk down the deserted street with your head hanging from your shoulders like a bag of wet sand, and stop at the twenty-four-hour market to spend your last four bits on a cup of coffee. The clerk runs your Lotto stub through the machine, and you’re halfway out the glass door before his frantic screams jolt you out of your stupor. You stare at him with bloodshot eyes, a Styrofoam coffee cup shaking in your dirt-caked fingers, the steam rising to your trembling mouth. And you listen to him tell you that you’ve just become a rich man.


 

Make sure to check out the other blogs on the blitz:

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Blog Blitz~ Stateline by Dave Stanton

Hi everyone,

I’m taking part in the blog blitz for Stateline today and I get to share a guest post from Dave Stanton with you all!

About the author:

Dave+Stanton.jpg

Born in Detroit, Michigan, in 1960, Dave Stanton moved to Northern California in 1961. He attended San Jose State University and received a BA in journalism in 1983. Over the years, he worked as a bartender, newspaper advertising salesman, furniture mover, debt collector, and technology salesman. He has two children, Austin and Haley, and lives with his wife, Heidi, in San Jose, California.

Stanton is the author of six novels, all featuring private investigator Dan Reno and his ex-cop buddy, Cody Gibbons.

www.facebook.com/DanRenoNovels

Twitter: @DanRenoNovels

danrenonovels.com/

www.amazon.co.uk/Dave-Stanton/e/B00HLT6BB0/

www.amazon.com/Dave-Stanton/e/B00HLT6BB0/

About the book:

Stateline_preview.jpg

Cancel the wedding. The groom is dead.

When a tycoon’s son is murdered the night before his wedding, the grief-stricken father offers private detective Dan Reno a life-changing bounty to find the killer.

Reno, who is nearly broke, decides he’s finally found himself in the right place at the right time. But when a band of crooked cops get involved, Reno finds himself fighting for his life.

Who committed the murder, and why? Which cops can he trust, if any?

Haunted by his murdered father and a violent past, Reno wants no more blood on his hands. But a man’s got to make a living, and backing off is not in his DNA.

Traversing the snowy alpine winter in the Sierras and the lonely deserts of Nevada, Reno must revert to his old ways to survive. Because the bounty won’t do him much good if he’s dead.

 

COMMENTS FROM DAVE STANTON, ON WRITING STATELINE

It was 2001, and the dot.com bubble was bursting. My timing was bad – a few months previous I had left a steady job to work for a “promising” startup that offered more money. As a salesman, I quickly realized the product they hired me to sell was doomed. I drew this conclusion despite claims otherwise by some smart (and temporarily wealthy) people. Like many during that time, they had been sucked into an illusion.

 

I sat at my cubicle in Silicon Valley, California, regretful, certain I’d be unemployed soon. The customers I’d been assigned had all considered my proposals and firmly declined. I had nothing to do, and the boredom was killing me. Spontaneously, I started writing.

 

Three months later I was at a new gig, one that involved regular travel to Asia. I sat on a jet over the Pacific Ocean, hunched over my notebook, typing like a mad man. The paragraph I had written while employed at the now defunct company had become a novel, and the first draft was nearly finished.

 

Many of the characters and situations I write about come from a time when my companions were irreverent and reckless, and I participated willingly in endeavors that for a few had permanent consequences. These episodes occurred in places like Sacramento, Reno, Salt Lake City, and Ely, Nevada. Some of my old friends are respectable citizens today, others are in and out of jail, and some didn’t make it.

 

Stateline, like the other five novels in the Dan Reno series, is hard-boiled detective fiction. The action and characters are just as gritty as the Western U.S. locales where the story takes place. Readers who enjoy the novels of authors such as Lee Child, Robert Crais, and Elmore Leonard often write me to offer praise for Stateline.

Check out the other blogs on the blitz:

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