Interview with Kitty Bullard - Great Minds Think Aloud

For some reason the publish button just wouldn't function on this one, originally supposed to be up on 23rd June. Me and tech, what can I say?


Kitty runs the Great Minds Think Aloud site, and it's an absolute treat - pop over and visit when you get the chance. Book give-aways, reviews, and just a great way to spend a couple of hours. She's currently fundraising for the Migraine Research Foundation - personally, if they find a cure, I will be a very happy little author - so if you're up for a giggle and a great cause, check it out.

You are currently working on your BA in Business Administration, which is pretty close to a full-time job by itself. What made you decide to get involved with publishing and indie authors?

I have always been an avid book reader and lover of great literature. I can remember being quite young and writing down stories of my own, sadly none of which I have now. Books have always been a huge part of my life and I am in the midst of writing a novel with a dear friend of mine. I suppose you could say that my love of everything literary was the reason behind it all, but there is more to it than just a love of books.

When I began Great Minds, I started to realize a whole new realm of authors I'd never known existed. These authors are independent and struggling to make it on their own. Others are unable to get the attention of larger publishing houses. After reading several amazing books, ones which I could hardly put down, I began to realize I needed to do more than just form another book club. I wanted to help. I wanted to promote and get their names out there.

A year later, here I am trying my hand at Independent Publishing. I only hope I can do as much for these wonderful authors as they have all done for me over the past year. I have never known a group of more gracious, interesting, and delightful people than the Independent Authors I've had the good fortune of meeting.

You are the visionary and creator of Great Minds Think Aloud Literary Community. Tell us a bit about your company. What is your vision and aims for GMTA?

As a lot of people know, Great Minds was created with the vision of being another book club, though based majorly on the internet alone. I never expected it to grow into what it has. However, after meeting so many people that loved books and literature as much as I do, I began to expand my vision. Soon, I began doing interviews with Independent and Big House Published Authors, give aways - both themed and author based, and posting book cover reveals, book releases, and everything else I could to help get them noticed.

Since then, I have decided to try my hand at publishing and hope to expand even more. I guess you could say my vision is to give the Independent Authors as much support and encouragement as I can. We also offer services such as manuscript editing, book cover art and creation, advertisement, book trailers, and much more at very reasonable prices for authors and publishers outside of Great Minds Publishing. We intend to have our hand in as much as we can when dealing with Independent Authors, and will always have their best interests at heart.

What are you most passionate about?

I think what I'm most passionate about is great literature and helping people. I have always been something of a philanthropist and truly enjoy being able to help others. The greatest feeling in the world is to see someone else succeed from what you have either taught them, helped them accomplish, or had a part in, even in the smallest way. 

I can honestly say, having worked with numerous authors over the past year, I get a little thrill every time I see something great come from something I have done for them. Whether it’s a rise in the sale of their books or another publishing company showing interest in publishing their books, it simply makes me happy.

Complete this statement. “If you can dream it . . .”?

It is possible! I have always been a believer in dreams. I tell everyone that if you visualize it, dream it, or if it even holds a spark in your mind, then your goal can be achieved if you set your mind to it. There is nothing a human being cannot do if they have the drive, the emotion, and the will. Yes, it takes hard work, perseverance, a sense of direction, and a lot of motivation, but it’s all well worth it in the end.

Do you have a five-year plan? I'm trying to get one together, although in the very fast changing world we're currently in it needs to be pretty flexible.

Wow, great question. I can't say I haven't thought about where I'd like to be in five years. I guess it all goes back to the question before this one. In five years, I'd love to see myself in a position where I don't have to worry about things, such as: if I can afford to pay my child's college tuition, if I can pay the next light bill, whether or not we'll have a roof over our head. I guess what I'm trying to say is, I just want to be comfortable. I want to be self-sufficient and able to take care of my family. I want to not have to worry and, most of all, I want to be doing exactly what I'm doing now! Of course, it would be nice to have a little more help and be able to pay for that help.

I can honestly say, I work hard, day in and day out, but in light of it all, I'd never change what I have done or what I plan to do and I intend to keep going for just as long as I can.

What advice can you give to authors who wish to market their works effectively?

First and foremost, don't be afraid to ask for help. If you feel passionate enough about getting your work out there, ask friends and family to read your manuscript. Take all constructive criticism to heart. Don't let it get you down if you get a few bad reviews or a few people that don't enjoy what you've written. What you have to remember is that not everyone has the same opinions. Your work will appeal to those that enjoy what you write. You will find your audience, but it's always a trial and error game.

Make sure, before you publish a book whether by yourself or even through a company, you are 100% satisfied with what you've written, the editing that's been done, the work your publisher has put into it, and the representation you are getting from them. Don't hang your hat in one spot too quickly, shop around and fine a place you know you and your work belong. If you decide to go it alone, it's still a great idea to find a good editor. You know your work. You know what you write, but a lot of times you won't see the errors, punctuation problems and other details. They will.

Marketing is hard, I've not only learned that through my endeavor with Great Minds, but also from the classes I take online. It's not an easy road and there are so many things an author needs to know before taking that big step. (By the way, thank you Doug Lucas for teaching me a heck of a lot along the way. I love you young man!)

Are you currently working on any of your own writing for publication?

Right now I am working on (when I have the time, of course) the first book in what is hoped to be a series called "Seminole". This is a partnered work with a friend of mine, Amber Rendon. She and I met one another in the strangest of ways and realized that we had quite an unmatched talent in partnered writing. We are working at a snails pace to someday have a book out there you will all enjoy. I can say this, it is paranormal/supernatural, whatever it's called these days but before you groan and moan about, "oh no not another one" I can say that this will be a bit different than what you're use to. Some old favorites may make an appearance as far as supernatural beings are concerned, but there will be quite a lot of new and exciting ones making a debut... stay tuned!

Where can we find you?

You can find us pretty much all over the web. Usually if you just Google, "Great Minds Think Aloud" you will pull something of ours up from somewhere. But for the benefit of those who would like a bit more detail, I'll list our links below:

Great Minds Main Site: http://www.greatmindsliterarycommunity.com

Great Minds Publishing: http://www.greatmindspublishing.moonfruit.com

Great Minds Review Hub: http://www.greatmindsthinkaloud.proboards.com

Great Minds Blogger: http://www.greatmindsthinkaloud.blogspot.com

Great Minds on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/greatmindsthinkaloudliterarycommunity

Great Minds on Facebook Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/gmtabookclub/

Great Minds Tumblr: http://greatmindsthinkaloud.tumblr.com/

Great Minds Wordpress: http://greatmindsthinkaloudbookclub.wordpress.com/

Great Minds Google +: https://plus.google.com/u/0/108188503262756167529/posts

Great Minds Weebly: http://www.greatmindsthinkaloud.weebly.com

Great Minds Posterous: http://www.greatmindsthinkaloud.posterous.com

Great Minds Xanga: http://greatmindsthinkaloud.xanga.com/

Great Minds LiveJournal: http://greatmindslit.livejournal.com/

Great Minds Spruz: http://greatmindsthinkaloudliterarycommunity.spruz.com/

Great Minds Library: http://www.librarything.com/profile/GreatMindsThinkAloud

Great Minds Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/5208422-kitty-bullard-great-minds-think-aloud

Great Minds Shelfari: http://www.shelfari.com/profilesettings/profile

Kitty Bullard - writer and creator of GMTA

Having a social life and writing

It's been an interesting couple of weekends because I appear to be developing a *gasp* social life again. As in going out and meeting up with people and just being a person, not me the author or me the employee.

I made the decision some time ago that if I wanted any sort of writing career I needed to write. Since I work full-time, that means weekends and evenings are pretty much writing, editing, or doing book covers. I can't complain because I love it, but at the same time I think it's very easy to fall into the trap of just not meeting up with people and friends and living your life. I have a couple of Skype buddies (hey Jason & Tabs) who keep me sane, but actually leaving the house and meeting people doesn't happen often. I'm single, I don't have kids, and my immediate family are all very far away from me; I have nothing forcing me to interact with others.

So why is it even a problem? Being a writer means you need to write, doesn't it? The problem with it is simply that writing means being able to observe people, and interact with them - because if you don't do that, you turn into the funny old lady with 17 cats who talks to herself a lot, and can't write about people because you don't know any.

I stopped socialising after I broke my leg - 2 operations and 6 months stuck at home and learning to walk again. And then I think I used it as an excuse: I can't go back to kick-boxing, I can't dance until 4 in the morning any more, not unless I want to lurch like a reject from a Walking Dead shoot for the next three days and I can't run (unless there is a spider involved, at which point the laws of physics are temporarily suspended and I put Usain Bolt to shame). I spent another 8 months on a walking stick while the physio insisted I'd never walk properly again, and although I hated that little piece of polished wood and plastic, if my brother hadn't forced me into long walks and taking it away from me I'd probably have been on it even longer. Because a crutch is still a crutch, even when it's a walking stick I'm not sure he realises how much I love him for doing that.

I limped for a long time after the stick got tossed. I'd walk into a pub or restaurant and people would stare at me. When I wore shorts or a skirt I'd get a few comments, usually from some perky little twenty-something   who'd tell me she'd never dare to wear that with the scars I have. My response was to wear more skirts and shorts. Because honey, you probably wouldn't dare to live the life I have either, and if my scars bother you, don't bloody look at them.

But it obviously had an impact because I withdrew even more. I started an on-line university course and began writing in earnest, and now I really had the perfect excuse. Between study, work and writing, I had no time to think of anything else, let alone do it.

So what changed? A few things.The recession hit, and the vultures politicians decided to stop the cap on university fees. I was getting funded by work, so although concerned, I wasn't panicking. Then this year I got made redundant, then I got redeployed - but there is no more funding for a university degree. I've deferred it until September, but barring some sort of financial miracle, I guess I'll be giving up that dream. More free time equals more writing.

 The biggest impact  I think  was flying to Australia to see my brother, who is one of the most social creatures I know, and realising that I was struggling to communicate with people. Some of them I've known for years. I had no idea of how to hold a simple, easy conversation any more, and it was disturbing. It's no use tweeting your little heart out and chatting on the internet if you cannot function in a social setting. It's unhealthy, for one thing. If your ambition is to be a writer, I think it's downright dangerous.

So now, when someone contacts me and wants to get together, I don't make an excuse. I say yes and go out, and hopefully I don't put my foot in my mouth too many times. I think I'm getting to the point where I can talk to people without sounding like some sort of strange little stammering robot again, and if I haven't quite made it yet,  people have been gracious enough to ignore it.

Last weekend I had the lovely  Mhairi Simpson over (check out her blog regarding my household ghosties &  *ahem* performance issues) and tomorrow I meet up with Jason McIntyre (hopefully without having an absolute fan-girl *squee* moment, because that would be slightly embarrassing) for a cup of coffee. The main thing I've realised is simply - I need to get out of the house occasionally, I need to meet up with real people, not just chat on-line, and if the writing slows down slightly, that's preferable to me riding the mental health wagon over a cliff.

                             **********************************

J H Sked is the author of WolfSong, Basement Blues, Die Laughing, and Quarter the Moon and a contributor to Sweet Dreams, all of which are on Amazon and enrolled in the Kindle lending programme.

Death in the morning

I think I saw someone die this morning.

The train I catch from my little suburb of London usually leaves just before 8 a.m. A ten or twelve minute ride, then I jump off and switch to the underground, and another change thirty minutes down the line, plus a fifteen minute walk gets me to the office just a few minutes before 9 a.m. Nothing too extreme, nothing out of the ordinary, just me crammed in to the moving sardine can with the other commuters, listening to a bit of rock or metal to kick-start the day.

This morning, though, things were different.

I climbed on the train, kindle in one hand, coffee in the other. Five minutes later I was watching as a young man convulsed on the floor, the station staff dialing the ambulance as he made helpless cawing noises. Through the crowd around him I could see a single one of his eyes roll frantically, while his lips turned blue and he slowly stopped breathing and his heels drummed against the floor of the carriage.


Twenty minutes later, when the train the transferred us to moved sedately out of the station, the paramedics were still working on him. His feet were very still. The quick glimpse I had of his hand was of utter relaxation; the scrabbling fingers from earlier limp and pale.


That scene has haunted me all day. I have no idea who he was, or what his name is, but I hope that he came out of it, that either after we left the station or in the ambulance they pulled him back, and that he is recovering somewhere with his family and friends, and that come Friday he'll be down at his local pub, laughing it off.

But he was so very, very still.

Thoughts on Father's Day

Father's Day is celebrated tomorrow, June 17th in the UK, SA, USA and Canada. For me, it's one of those bitter-sweet days, because I'll only get to speak to my dad over Skype. While it's way, way better than using the phone, or worse, not being able to speak to him at all, I'm always left wishing I could reach through the screen and hug him. I miss him terribly.

Dad and I have always been close. My mom likes to tell the story of what happened at the hospital when I was born.

Nurse : "I'm going to give her to the parent she'll take after."

Mom : (anticipating, stretches out arms)

Nurse hands me to dad.

Mom: "What?"

Nurse: "Trust me."

Mom: "Oh, dear." (Covers eyes) "Oh, god. Why?" Mom wanted a girlie-girl. Trust me, anyone taking after dad is NOT going to fall into that category. Sorry, ma. But it does explain the tree-climbing, animal-loving adrenaline-junkie side of me, and the utter refusal to be stuck in pink frilly dresses.

Dad: "She's beautiful!"

Me: *hiccup*

At this moment in the story, my mom usually stops, arches one eye-brow, and clears her throat. "That nurse was so right."

One of my earliest memories is of sitting on my bed clutching Peter the bear, (who was loved for years and terribly mourned when his stuffing fell out) while dad sat next to me, big hands guiding mine across the words on the page of a new book. Dad taught me how to read before I ever stepped foot in a classroom, determined that I wouldn't struggle the way he did.

I remember him drawing a cartoon dog for me, over and over. I thought it was pure magic, that a few quick strokes of a pen suddenly evolved into this happy, smiley dog with slobbery lips and a cocked ear. He never said he was too busy to do it, either, and every time he drew it I felt warm and loved and knew I had the best daddy on the planet.

Dad showed me how to kick a football, bath the dogs, change a light bulb and where the Southern Cross sits in the African night sky. He taught me that originality is better than following the beaten path, that laughter is better than tears, and he never stopped believing in me, even when I turned into the Teenager From Hell and gave that girl from The Exorcist a run for her money. He taught me ethics, and blunt honesty (sometimes a little too blunt, so diplomacy has been a late-learned skill of mine), and that there is beauty in mundane things we often overlook.

He still teaches me, by example, to live life : the day before his 70th birthday party, he hopped on the back of my brother's motorbike and went on an hour ride through Glasgow. He has never entered a swimming pool using the steps, preferring to jump, and he gets up most mornings between 5:30a.m. and 6. (On holiday in Australia he slept in until 7:30, and was horrified.) 

Dad getting kitted out for his bike ride. 

He can be infuriatingly stubborn, another trait I definitely got from him; it took three years or so before he admitted he needed a hearing aid. He took an unseemly delight in terrorising new boyfriends and first dates; he did the typical father-interrogation with such glee it was hard to stay mad at him for long, especially since he'd head straight to the kitchen afterwards and giggle to himself.

He has a strongly defined sense of personal honour and justice, and is known to colleagues (yep, he still works part-time - retirement nearly drove both my folks up the wall) for his work ethic. Overall, telling me I'm just like my dad is one of the biggest compliments you can give me.

So tomorrow, I get to realise - again - just how lucky I was to have this man as my dad. How utterly blessed I am in my family.

Happy Father's Day, daddy. I love you.

                                                                       ****

Quarter the Moon is free all weekend as a Father's Day promotion. Go here for the Amazon.com  store and here for the Amazon.uk store links.

Moments of Aargh

Murphy's law is alive and well and inhabiting my universe again. Let's just say things are a little ... tense ... on a personal level. Someone I cared about a great deal has lost most of my respect, I feel miserable about it, and I had a bloody pigeon dive-bomb me on the way home. (At some point I need to do an update on the Leicester Pigeon Wars, which have now moved to anywhere in the UK I seem to find myself. Watch this space.)

Times like these means my writing, and to a lesser extent my painting, become lifelines. I step into the page and fall into a different universe and I live there for as long as I can, and the arbitrary bull that I've been dealing with falls away.  Paper demons are easier to exorcise than personal ones, but strangely enough they also help with the personal ones. Just for a little bit, I can live in wonder - and that is why I write, and I will probably be writing until the day I am incapable of banging words out on a keyboard, or what ever the next step in tech is.

Entertaining moment of the week: watching some poor chap in business suit get chased around St.Enoch's Square in Glasgow by a flock of seagulls. The enjoyment came more from the fact that it wasn't me getting targeted by them, plus you haven't lived until you've heard a Glaswegian really swear while dancing around with his arms wrapped over his head. I've memorised some new and effective phrases; if I figure out a way to get one of the Celtic gods into the Blue Moon series, they'll be coming out to play.

So far the feedback on the new Blue Moon cover is 100% positive, so I reckon I'll stick with that style going forwards. Now I'm eyeing up the WolfSong cover again, which I think needs a re-work. I'll leave it alone until the follow-up is done though, and change the cover when I release the new one. I'm about 90% inclined towards a Celtic/symbolic design with a few extras - just need to work those out. (The other 10% is just confused, and needs sleep).

And on that note, let's call it a night. My MC has just caught someone going through her pack, and I'm wondering what she'll do about it; so looking forward to the next couple of writing hours tomorrow. I've learnt to expect the unexpected from her.

Sweet Dreams - (The Lyndsey Roughton Anthology) goes Live!

Sweet Dreams has gone live on Amazon, folks. It's been a fun, slightly frantic journey getting this up in a very short space of time, and I've had an amazing time doing it.

I hope that our contribution goes some way to raising money for Lyndsey to achieve her dream; and I hope that we've also raised some awareness about this vicious condition.

Lyndsey - thank you for showing me courage and determination I never knew existed, and giving me the chance to help, even in this small way.


Click here for the Amazon.com link, and here for the Amazon.co.uk link.

Sweet Dreams snippets - Day 3

Carry on reading for Day 3 of our sneak peek snippets from the Sweet Dreams anthology.

Snippet # 1 : Jason Mckinney

Jason is a really sweet, funny guy, who managed to write one of the most hair-raising (pun intended) werewolf stories I've ever read, Dog Soldiers. There's nothing good or fluffy about those lycans, I promise you that. Then he switched on the humour in Memoirs of the Walking Dead, in between some serious gore and few truly in-your-face gross-out scenes. He's also the author of the Sheriff Teddy series, which is a delight for younger readers and the young-at-heart.He turns on the humour and the charm again The Easter Werewolf.

The Easter Werewolf

Jason McKinney

The werewolf crept through the Black Forest, intent on killing the boar rooting for tubers beside the pine tree. He considered himself lucky to have one come so close to his home. Usually they stayed away out of fear.

The animal’s scent was different from any he’d hunted before in the Black Forest, but he was sure it was a wild boar. It would make a good Easter meal for him and his son.

The werewolf’s name was Johannes Schrader and he’d been such for three years. It had been his wife that had turned him, and if not for their silver mantle clock, she would have killed him.

Johannes moved closer to the animal. Even with the distance closed he couldn’t make it out clearly. Maybe it was the gloom or the surrounding vegetation that interfered with his sight. Having his vision and senses clouded during a hunt had never happened before. Maybe age was creeping up on him.

The animal stopped its movement and looked up. It turned in time to see him springing forward.

The prey didn’t put up much of a fight, which struck Johannes as strange. Usually boars were ferocious beasts when cornered, but this one yelped loudly and squealed before dying.

Slowly the blurring disappeared from around the creature. He yelped himself, and slowly sat next to it. He changed into his human form as he sat stunned, looking at the body.

The animal had been a rabbit. It was a shade of white Johannes had never seen and was adorned in a dark maroon vest. A pair of spectacles lay next to the rabbit’s head and a rolled piece of paper protruded from its vest.

“Oh dear Lord. What have I done?” He slowly pulled the paper from the rabbits vest. A pocket watch fell out of the vest as he pulled the paper from the pocket. Its gold chain dangled brilliantly in the dark.

He unrolled the scroll and read the list of names written on it in elegant writing. Fifth from the top of the list was his son’s name, Hartwin, and beside his name was the word “NEW FOLLOWER”. The names above and below were all known to him in one way or another. Only the four before Hartwin’s were checked off.

Johannes had killed the Easter Bunny.

 Snippet # 2 : B. Throwsnaill

The author of Hemlock and the Wizard Tower series, and an absolute sweetheart on both twitter and Goodreads, B. submitted what might be the best sci-fi story I've read in years. I loved his fantasy world; now I'm just hooked on everything he puts out.

The Gene Priest

B Throwsnaill

   He was just about to return to his desk when the sudden appearance of a green dot at the edges of his vision startled him.  It was an incoming video call, and his computer identified a colleague named Father Masterson as the caller. Father Herman accepted the communication, and soon the porcine features of the younger priest were visible.

    "Father Herman.  I need to ask you a favor.  There's a couple coming in now for a consultation about their embryo.  It's going to be an E97.  I'm way behind on my gene therapy pass for the latest wave.  I need you to take this consultation for me," said Masterson.

    Father Herman hated consultations and Father Masterson knew it.  But the latter always seemed to find reasons to pass off his consultations—and Father Herman was usually his first target as a replacement.

    "I'm also behind on my reviews.  I afraid I can't do it this time.  Can you get someone else?"

    "I've tried.  You're the only one who's available."

    "But I've just told you that I'm not available."

    "I simply can't do this one, Father Herman.  If you don't agree to do it I'll be forced to give a letter to the reception desk and have the bad news delivered like that.  Is that what you want to happen?"

    Father Herman knew that these consultations were often traumatic events for future parents—especially in cases with negative genetic outcomes like this one.  And he knew that Masterson was just cold enough to make that couple receive hard news via an impersonal letter received in a public area.

    It would be shameful!

    "You always do this to me Masterson!  I'll do it for the couple’s sake—but I'm just as busy as you are," said Father Herman angrily.

    "Bless you, Father Herman.  You're much better at these things than I am anyway," said Masterson, cutting the video feed abruptly.

    Not even a thank you!

    Father Herman turned back toward the window, and he began to feel anxious about the impending consultation.  He was normally self-conscious in social situations.  And he knew that this feeling would be magnified by the stress of the consultation.  He felt himself beginning to perspire.

    He soon received a message that the couple had arrived on time.  He instructed reception to keep them waiting in the lobby for ten minutes and then send them up.  He hoped that the couple would pass the time by perusing the information kiosk on the history of Father Matthias IV, founder of the Gene Priests, and Father Herman’s personal hero.  He liked his appointments to be properly grounded in Gene Priest history before they reached him.

    In order to pass a few moments, he played an audio clip of the great man's speech, which had been delivered just prior to the passage of the laws that had sanctioned the supremacy of the Gene Priests.

    "Mankind needs a framework for the extension of life through bio-engineering.  This legislation provides that framework.  Our very survival as a species hangs in the balance.  Every man and woman on this great Earth must have the courage to stand up today and demand that this amendment be passed.  And when you stand and raise your voices, you will do so as free-thinking, self-aware, sentient beings that are alive in the truth of the moment, and keenly aware of the pivotal context of that moment."

    Father Herman felt a feeling of calm take the edge off of his anxiety, although a small audio glitch in the recording threatened to disrupt his newfound clarity.

    I'll have to edit that out of the source recording and update the kiosk in the lobby.

    Soon he saw the couple that he was waiting for approaching through the window of an aerial corridor that bridged his building with an adjacent one.  They both wore well-tailored gray suits adorned with fashionably ornate red piping.  These were the kind of clothes that people wore to business meetings, weddings and other formal occasions.  He could tell from this distance that the woman’s eyes were red and puffy.  The man looked composed.

    He met them at the door, and showed them to two luxurious leather chairs that rested in front of his desk.

    As he walked around to his desk chair, he heard the woman sniffle softly.

    I hate this.

  He was just about to return to his desk when the sudden appearance of a green dot at the edges of his vision startled him.  It was an incoming video call, and his computer identified a colleague named Father Masterson as the caller. Father Herman accepted the communication, and soon the porcine features of the younger priest were visible.

    "Father Herman.  I need to ask you a favor.  There's a couple coming in now for a consultation about their embryo.  It's going to be an E97.  I'm way behind on my gene therapy pass for the latest wave.  I need you to take this consultation for me," said Masterson.

    Father Herman hated consultations and Father Masterson knew it.  But the latter always seemed to find reasons to pass off his consultations—and Father Herman was usually his first target as a replacement.

    "I'm also behind on my reviews.  I afraid I can't do it this time.  Can you get someone else?"

    "I've tried.  You're the only one who's available."

    "But I've just told you that I'm not available."

    "I simply can't do this one, Father Herman.  If you don't agree to do it I'll be forced to give a letter to the reception desk and have the bad news delivered like that.  Is that what you want to happen?"

    Father Herman knew that these consultations were often traumatic events for future parents—especially in cases with negative genetic outcomes like this one.  And he knew that Masterson was just cold enough to make that couple receive hard news via an impersonal letter received in a public area.

    It would be shameful!

    "You always do this to me Masterson!  I'll do it for the couple’s sake—but I'm just as busy as you are," said Father Herman angrily.

    "Bless you, Father Herman.  You're much better at these things than I am anyway," said Masterson, cutting the video feed abruptly.

    Not even a thank you!

    Father Herman turned back toward the window, and he began to feel anxious about the impending consultation.  He was normally self-conscious in social situations.  And he knew that this feeling would be magnified by the stress of the consultation.  He felt himself beginning to perspire.

    He soon received a message that the couple had arrived on time.  He instructed reception to keep them waiting in the lobby for ten minutes and then send them up.  He hoped that the couple would pass the time by perusing the information kiosk on the history of Father Matthias IV, founder of the Gene Priests, and Father Herman’s personal hero.  He liked his appointments to be properly grounded in Gene Priest history before they reached him.

    In order to pass a few moments, he played an audio clip of the great man's speech, which had been delivered just prior to the passage of the laws that had sanctioned the supremacy of the Gene Priests.

    "Mankind needs a framework for the extension of life through bio-engineering.  This legislation provides that framework.  Our very survival as a species hangs in the balance.  Every man and woman on this great Earth must have the courage to stand up today and demand that this amendment be passed.  And when you stand and raise your voices, you will do so as free-thinking, self-aware, sentient beings that are alive in the truth of the moment, and keenly aware of the pivotal context of that moment."

    Father Herman felt a feeling of calm take the edge off of his anxiety, although a small audio glitch in the recording threatened to disrupt his newfound clarity.

    I'll have to edit that out of the source recording and update the kiosk in the lobby.

    Soon he saw the couple that he was waiting for approaching through the window of an aerial corridor that bridged his building with an adjacent one.  They both wore well-tailored gray suits adorned with fashionably ornate red piping.  These were the kind of clothes that people wore to business meetings, weddings and other formal occasions.  He could tell from this distance that the woman’s eyes were red and puffy.  The man looked composed.

    He met them at the door, and showed them to two luxurious leather chairs that rested in front of his desk.

    As he walked around to his desk chair, he heard the woman sniffle softly.

    I hate this.

Father Herman stood at his office window and watched the graceful ascent of an orbital lift craft through the early evening sky. Its powerful jets of fiery exhaust propelled it high into the heavens, until it was only visible as a point of light—a receding ember blending into a panoply of stars that were just emerging into view in the absence of the retreating daylight.

    He was just about to return to his desk when the sudden appearance of a green dot at the edges of his vision startled him.  It was an incoming video call, and his computer identified a colleague named Father Masterson as the caller. Father Herman accepted the communication, and soon the porcine features of the younger priest were visible.

    "Father Herman.  I need to ask you a favor.  There's a couple coming in now for a consultation about their embryo.  It's going to be an E97.  I'm way behind on my gene therapy pass for the latest wave.  I need you to take this consultation for me," said Masterson.

    Father Herman hated consultations and Father Masterson knew it.  But the latter always seemed to find reasons to pass off his consultations—and Father Herman was usually his first target as a replacement.

    "I'm also behind on my reviews.  I afraid I can't do it this time.  Can you get someone else?"

    "I've tried.  You're the only one who's available."

    "But I've just told you that I'm not available."

    "I simply can't do this one, Father Herman.  If you don't agree to do it I'll be forced to give a letter to the reception desk and have the bad news delivered like that.  Is that what you want to happen?"

    Father Herman knew that these consultations were often traumatic events for future parents—especially in cases with negative genetic outcomes like this one.  And he knew that Masterson was just cold enough to make that couple receive hard news via an impersonal letter received in a public area.

    It would be shameful!

    "You always do this to me Masterson!  I'll do it for the couple’s sake—but I'm just as busy as you are," said Father Herman angrily.

    "Bless you, Father Herman.  You're much better at these things than I am anyway," said Masterson, cutting the video feed abruptly.

    Not even a thank you!

    Father Herman turned back toward the window, and he began to feel anxious about the impending consultation.  He was normally self-conscious in social situations.  And he knew that this feeling would be magnified by the stress of the consultation.  He felt himself beginning to perspire.

    He soon received a message that the couple had arrived on time.  He instructed reception to keep them waiting in the lobby for ten minutes and then send them up.  He hoped that the couple would pass the time by perusing the information kiosk on the history of Father Matthias IV, founder of the Gene Priests, and Father Herman’s personal hero.  He liked his appointments to be properly grounded in Gene Priest history before they reached him.

    In order to pass a few moments, he played an audio clip of the great man's speech, which had been delivered just prior to the passage of the laws that had sanctioned the supremacy of the Gene Priests.

    "Mankind needs a framework for the extension of life through bio-engineering.  This legislation provides that framework.  Our very survival as a species hangs in the balance.  Every man and woman on this great Earth must have the courage to stand up today and demand that this amendment be passed.  And when you stand and raise your voices, you will do so as free-thinking, self-aware, sentient beings that are alive in the truth of the moment, and keenly aware of the pivotal context of that moment."

    Father Herman felt a feeling of calm take the edge off of his anxiety, although a small audio glitch in the recording threatened to disrupt his newfound clarity.

    I'll have to edit that out of the source recording and update the kiosk in the lobby.

    Soon he saw the couple that he was waiting for approaching through the window of an aerial corridor that bridged his building with an adjacent one.  They both wore well-tailored gray suits adorned with fashionably ornate red piping.  These were the kind of clothes that people wore to business meetings, weddings and other formal occasions.  He could tell from this distance that the woman’s eyes were red and puffy.  The man looked composed.

    He met them at the door, and showed them to two luxurious leather chairs that rested in front of his desk.

    As he walked around to his desk chair, he heard the woman sniffle softly.

    I hate this.

I hope you've enjoyed the sneak peeks. We should go live with the e-book in the next couple of days, watch this space for details!

Quarter the Moon - New Stories and Art Work

Quarter the Moon went live on Amazon today - click here for the Amazon.com link, and here for the UK version.

I had a couple of new shorts that cover some of the back story of the characters; Room Mates establishes how  Astrid and Ruth met from Astrid's POV, and it's a bit darker than the normal Blue Moon stories. Then again, Astrid is definitely the darkest out of that bunch and she's utterly ruthless when it comes to taking action. I think the story demonstrates that quite nicely.
Yes, Astrid, There is a Santa was originally a Creepfest tale published on Jason McKinney's blog. It's written in Ruth's voice, and takes a fun look at what a centuries old vampire's reaction to Santa could be.

They've been bundled with Basement Blues and Die Laughing as a collection, so buyers get a nice little package when they click the link.

The cover is a lot lighter than my normal ones - the humour of the stories seems to be what readers like the most, so I decided to tap into that. If the reaction is good, I may stick to this style with the series going forwards. Shout Yay or Nay in the comments; if I get enough Yay's it's a definite. (This is the best part about self-publishing - you can tweak your cover art as and when it suits you.)

I had a lot of fun slipping into the different character voices for these shorts - they feel like old friends. I'm not sure I'd ever take them into one of the longer stories - Billy just rings all the bells for those - but I'm not ruling it out either. And there's always a chance of a spin-off into Astrid's (very) long history, which would have to come out in her voice. The odds are that those will be very dark indeed, and at the moment the dark fantasy is being channelled straight into the Crescent tales, so that won't happen for a while.

I also experimented with adding graphics in-between the stories. I rather like the effect; it lets the reader know that particular story is done and also adds a cool little visual. It also means I get to combine my writing and my art, and I'm loving that part of it. I didn't blow up my PC or Amazon achieving it either, which is a major plus point for me. *grin*

Just for kicks, here's a snippet from Room Mates for you.

Room Mates

One

“We’ve had trouble keeping tenants in the property,” the agent told me.

“Really?” I murmured to be polite, parting the dusty drapes covering the lounge window and looking out to the street below.

“Yes. Um.” She cleared her throat, delicately. “It’s been sitting vacant for a while, and the owner has dropped the rent by quite a bit.”

I nodded and let the opportunity to grill her a bit more pass; I knew exactly why the letting agent was having trouble keeping their tenants for more than a couple of weeks. She was standing in the corner in a blue nightgown, scowling at both of us.

House hunting is a chore. House hunting as a vampire, when your options are limited to the few letting agents desperate enough or sleazy enough to meet new clients after dark is both a chore and extremely annoying, although looking for new digs in winter helped.

Tip to anyone who finds themselves in my situation – only look for a place in winter. It gets dark early, and most agents assume you work during the day.

I’d learnt some years ago to pick female letting agents if possible. There’s a limit to how many times you can 


bury agents without running out of agencies. 


New

   *****************************

J H Sked is the author of WolfSong, Basement Blues and Die Laughing, all of which are on Amazon and enrolled in the Kindle lending programme.

Sweet Dreams Story Snippets - Day 2

Day 2 of the story snippets from Sweet Dreams!

Snippet #1 - Leanne Fitzpatrick

Leanne is a twitter buddy of mine, and she volunteered Laid to Rest for the anthology. This is the first time I've seen Leanne's writing, and it blew me away. I can't wait to see more from this series!

Laid to Rest – A Cherry Garcia story

By Leanne Fitzpatrick

Do you know what sort of jobs I get roped into? Shit ones, that what. It's jobs like this that ruin my reputation for a smooth and sophisticated P.I and they are the reason I keep getting landed with the little jobs. The jobs more well established Monster Hunters find too tedious to bother with.

Other Monster Hunters go after demons and reneged wolf-men. Me? I get a haunted nursery teacher.

I don't even know how I ended up with this job.

Oh, wait... yes I do. Sarah. Bloody, bloody Sarah.

She always does this to me. I'll be sitting there, happily waiting for the big client to come through the door and what happens- someone comes in at their wits end because their grandmother refuses to move on and then tells them they're fixing up the grave-site wrong.

I don't know about you, but harpies that stick around once their remains have gone mushy are not my idea of a fun time.

Sarah seems to find it hilarious, which it why I am standing here in the freezing cold, shivering and waiting for the sun to stop sleeping. I do not like night time work. I am an evening person, and by evening I mean that I like to be at a bar having a fun time with my chums and eyeing up possible one night stands. Sarah does not seem to care about this. Have I mentioned recently that I hate Sarah?

   I hate Sarah.

A particularly cold gust of wind threatened to undo all the good work shivering had done me and I moved closer to the church. It stood right in the centre of the village, and would have been picturesque- if there hadn't been a shit-tonne of scaffolding around it.

The graveyard was exposed on the Northern side and there was a thick hedgerow separating it from the rest of the world.

“I thought the unholy burned up when they stepped on Hallowed Ground,” I heard Sarah say behind me. I glanced at her.

“They do,” I grumbled. “I can see the embers in your hair.”

She laughed and shook her head, the thick braid, whipping about behind her.

“Is Priest here yet?”

I shook my head.

“He didn't want to be here for the actual digging part. I believe he'll be here as soon as she is once more exposed to the world. Right before we burn the bones.”

Sarah shrugged. She didn't get on well with Priest for the most part. Something about him put her edge. She wouldn't tell me why.

“You got the salt and shovels?” I asked.

She nodded and unhooked a backpack from her shoulder.

“Bought some lighter fluid too, just in case she was too mushy to light up.”

“Awesome,” I sighed, grabbing the shovels propped against the church wall.  “Let's get this party started, shall we?”

I led the way, trudging down the overgrown pathway to the approximate middle of the graveyard. Ms Emmeline Wickham was located three graves from the end, between an over large tomb and a weeping angel.

When we got to her plot, her stone was a small, weather-worn affair, pitted and rounded by years of rain and wind. Her name was barely legible.

I stood staring at it for a while. We'd cremated my dad- he'd not wanted any chance of coming back to haunt us and sometimes I regretted that decision. There was nowhere for me to go when I needed to talk to him, no place I could focus my grief, just an ambient air of not-rightness.

He'd been so afraid of fire... even with his work, he never lost that fear...

I shook myself, letting the funk slide away. I was here to do a job and the sooner it was done the faster I could crawl into bed and snooze the day away.

I drove the shovel into the ground.

Snippet #2 - Mia Darien

Mia Darien writes both romance and paranormal suspense and her impressive collection of titles can be found on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Smashwords and Lulu. She lent Descent, a gorgeous tale based on Greek mythology, to the Sweet Dreams anthology.

DESCENT

By Mia Darien

            Demeter.

            The goddess. Not she who is mother to the earth, but she who is earth mother. Her compassion gave the people the knowledge of growing and cultivating, how to survive off the earth’s bounty. Her anguish rent the world and shaded half the year in cold. She who held no fear to confront the god of death, to show her power to Mount Olympus itself, all to have her daughter Persephone back.

            She whose steps nourish the ground, so that people might live from it. A powerful ally, a powerful enemy.

            A powerful ancestor.

            This is what my mother, Cyrana, told me: that she was the issue of a brief coupling between Demeter and a mortal man. It was where, she said, our power came from. I never found reason to question the story, for power we did have. We had power that others did not, or if they did, they hid it very well and more than we cared to.

            The story that I shall tell took place in the twelve hundreds B.C. - twelve centuries before the birth of Christ.

            I lived near the Black Sea at that time, in a region known as Thrace. I was not born there, as far as I know, but my mother had never told me where I had been born. She was dead, my mother, by the time I lived in that place. I chose it because, at that time, I was devoted to Ares, the god of savage war and blood lust. The mountainous areas of Thrace, with its war-like people, were said to be most like him. It was also said that he had been born of that violent land.

            They did not call me witch then. In those days, I was simply Ioena.

That's all for today, folks. Swing by tomorrow for the final day of snippets before publishing.

Sweet Dreams Story Snippets

We're ramping up to publishing the anthology over the next couple of days. As a bit of a treat, keep reading for the first couple of snippets, and some info on the authors.

Snippet # 1 - Joseph Garraty


I stumbled over Joe Garraty's book Voice back in the very first days of my kindle ownership, and his writing simply blew me away. If you like genuine gritty, swaggering rock 'n roll horror, click that link as fast as you can. Since then I've read everything he's brought out - The Q-Bomb is a fun little sci-fi story, The Price is one of the creepiest, darkest urban fantasies I've ever read, and To Rule this Broken Earth takes that gritty, sensual feel of otherness into an epic post-apocalyptic fantasy that never takes the easy route. In that time, we've become friends via email, and Joe is probably one of the main reasons my own writing has improved. In the short tale Everyone Goes To Hell, he also shows a diabolical sense of humour.

Everyone Goes To Hell

Joseph Garraty

Everyone ends up in Hell, you know. Virtually everyone, anyway. Certainly everyone I ever met. I never heard of anyone who went the other way, but I suppose it’s possible, at least in some hypothetical sense.

I tried explaining this to Bill Sanderson right from the beginning, but it didn’t take.

I appeared in his goofy little summoning circle on a whim. Somebody had to do it. We were all getting annoyed by his constant entreaties, and I guess I didn’t have anything better to do that evening than to go try to shut him up. It was a stupid chore. Like going to the dentist, it wasn’t valuable work that needed doing, it was an irritating waste of time one had to endure in order to stave off a bigger irritation.

When I arrived, Bill was prostrate on the floor, chanting madly, nonsense syllables interspersed with phrases like “O Mighty Seraph” and “Hear your humble supplicant” and all that foolishness.

He was so absorbed in it that he didn’t even see me appear. I watched him for a few moments, but he still didn’t so much as glance up. Maybe he was expecting a bang and a flash, a puff of violet smoke, a thundering voice?

I stepped down off the dais, casually stepping over the circle and the inscriptions, and sat on the floor next to him.

“Bill,” I said, patting him affectionately on the back, “you can knock it off. I’m here.”

He scrambled to his feet, tottering as his creaky old knees tried to give out. I reached up a hand to steady him. He stared at me, eyes so wide that the irises seemed lost in rheumy yellow whites. 

Then he threw himself back to the floor.

“Holy One!” he shouted. “I beg thee, O Mighty Seraph—”

I cut him off. “Enough already! I heard you the first time.”

He sat up, blinking in the smoke from the candles. “You…you did?”

“Yeah, sure.” I could see the naked hope in his eyes.

No fool like an old fool, I guess.

“Come on, Bill, get up. Let’s go sit somewhere comfortable, and I’ll explain a few things.”

He nodded, and I helped him to his feet, more slowly this time. He shuffled to the door, casting nervous glances back at me every few feet. I followed him upstairs to the study without a word.

“Nice place,” I remarked as he showed me a chair. It was, too. Deep carpets, high ceilings, teak and mahogany and weirder, more expensive woods all over the place. Ugly light fixtures that cost a fortune. The proles would probably have called this a library, but to Bill it was just the study.

Bill sat in the chair opposite me, wincing as he lowered himself.

“You were supposed to stay in the circle,” he began, his chin thrust out defiantly.

“Oh, good. You got your composure back.”

Snippet # 2 - Naomi Clark

Naomi Clark is one of the writers I'd like to be when I grow up. Now a twitter buddy, I stumbled over her on Amazon, got hooked, then starting reading everything of hers I could get my grubby little paws onto. From the dark humour of the Ethan Banning series, to her dark urban werewolf tales like the Vargulf Trilogy and Silver Kiss, she proves from the first page that female writers can kick ass and take names with the best of them. Her latest release, Night and Chaos went live this week on Amazon, and it's one of the best urban fantasy books I've read, with an interesting take on the Deva mythology, and one of the strongest opening scenes ever. Just to prove she can pull off a slice of dark Gothic elegance as well, her contribution to Sweet Dreams is Here Be Monsters.

Here Be Monsters

Naomi Clark

I hate the sea. I hate the pound and rush of waves on sand, the stench of rotting seaweed and eye-watering brine. I hate the endless shrieks of the gulls. The dark waters chill me, fill my head with nebulous images of great serpents and twisted, alien life forms untouched by sunlight and air. I hate people who romanticise it, talk about pirates and mermaids, adventure and mystery. No. The ocean is not for men. I’ve always believed that. Maybe we came from the sea once, but we left for a reason. And if I had my way, I’d never go back.

            But I rarely get my way. Science and nature reporters for small-time cable TV channels tend not to, so when I was woken up at three am by my producer and told to get my arse down to the Northumberland coast for the ‘story of a life time,’ I didn’t argue. I swallowed my exhaustion and my dread and hatred of the ocean, and did as I was told.

Caraway Beach was cold, wet, and grim. I stood at the water’s edge in green wellies and a battered blue raincoat, watching the camera crew scuttle around trying to set up their cameras and avoid the drizzle and the wind whipping in off the grey-blue ocean. The sky overhead was black with storm clouds. Every now and then, thunder rumbled in the distance, making me shiver and jump. I stared up at those clouds, waiting for lightning. It was much better than staring down at the stone-strewn sand and the thing we were here to film.

“It has to be a whale,” Andrew remarked, joining me. He was the boom operator, new to the team, nice enough guy, but always just...loitering around me. It made me slightly uncomfortable for reasons I couldn’t quite put my finger on. “Every time someone gets excited about krakens, Loch Ness Monsters, or dinosaurs, it turns out to be a mangled whale carcass.”

There you have it folks - the first two snippets from two of the most talented authors I know. Pop back tomorrow for some more from Sweet Dreams, and thanks for reading.