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Spooky Mrs Green Offer

My friend, author Catherine Green, is having a birthday. And to celebrate, she is giving away free copies of her new novel, Return of the Vampire Hunter. So if you like contemporary horror set in the UK, grab your copy now. And don’t forget to leave a review. This offer ends January 31st.

Return of the Vampire Hunter is pure urban fantasy with a hint of seduction thrown in for good measure. Set in Manchester, Northern England, it is a contemporary story with all the darkness of classic Gothic monsters.

Book Description

Return of the Vampire Hunter Cover

Just your average Cheshire housewife – who used to hunt vampires!

Hannah Oakley used to be a vampire hunter. She retired from active service when she fell in love with the female vampire she was hunting, but old wounds refuse to heal. She and the vampire fought almost to the death, and now it seems that the vampire has tracked her down. Hannah must return to work, grudgingly accepting help from a new hunting partner, and she is determined that this time she will finish the job. But can she ignore the old lust for her vampire lover? Is the mother able to be a vampire hunter one more time? And will her marriage survive the ordeal?

Return of the Vampire Hunter is available to download FREE throughout January, and will be available as a paperback book in 2018.

Excerpt

We were on the motorway and I was in the passenger seat. I had been passing food to the children in the back seat, and as I twisted back round to face forward, I glanced at James. My heart skipped a beat and then pounded heavily as the world spun around me.

“What is that on your neck?” I asked sharply.

James glanced at me and then checked his mirrors as he moved into the middle lane.

“What?” he asked absently.

“That,” I said, “On your neck.”

I reached across and gently touched the mark on his skin. It looked like two small, neat puncture wounds. A vampire bite. Shit.

James touched the bruise, winced, and then shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he said, “I must have cut myself shaving.”

“That is not a shaving wound,” I said.

He glanced at me again and frowned.

“Why are you so upset about it?” he asked curiously, “It’s nothing.”

I stared at the tiny wound as my whole world flipped upside down. Was it Elaine? Had she finally found me? Or was it another stray vampire? One thing was certain; I had to return to work. This one had to be destroyed before it came for my whole family. Gathering my senses, I shook my head and smiled.

“Oh, forget it,” I said lightly, “It looked more serious at first, that’s all. But, if it doesn’t hurt then it doesn’t matter. Can you see the sea yet, girls?”

 

About the Author
Catherine GreenAuthor of British paranormal romance series The Redcliffe Novels, Catherine Green was raised on books from a young age, and has happy memories of Saturday mornings spent in her small local library, devouring the contents of the shelves. Catherine has always been fascinated by the supernatural world, and it feels natural for her to write about vampires, werewolves, witches and other mystical creatures in her contemporary stories.

If you sign up to Catherine’s books newsletter, she will send you a free copy of her Redcliffe short story, It’s Complicated, to introduce you to her fictional supernatural seaside town in Cornwall, England.

You can find Catherine in the following places:
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/SpookyMrsGreen
Author blog: http://www.catherinegreenauthor.blogspot.co.uk/
Twitter page: https://twitter.com/SpookyMrsGreen
Personal Blog: http://spookymrsgreen.com/

Book Review—The Death Of Me

[The Death Of Me Cover]I really liked this novel, but I have to be honest. DC Philip Harris drove me crazy. And maybe that’s the point. Take a guy who, let’s face it, is not the shiniest penny in the jar and throw every kind of roadblock in his path as he attempts to salvage what’s left of his career, and what do you have? Pure Grade A frustration, my friend. I mean, there were times when I wanted to scream at the guy to just grow a set. Then again, I was deeply impressed by his analytical skills and dogged determination, if not his wussy approach to those who taunt him—and there are plenty.

At this point, you’re probably wondering why I am recommending this book. Simple. Because it’s so bloody well written. The fact that another author can make this author seethe with anger each time the stakes are raised is something I admire. Also, the writing is taut and the characters well developed. My only criticism is that Phil’s Catholic backstory could use some work. But hey, that’s me.

If you like dark characters, conspiracy, and political intrigue—not to mention a couple of nasty abductions—then you should read The Death Of Me. You won’t be disappointed.

You can find this review at Amazon US.

Book Description
He watched. He studied. He planned.

Every detail meticulously organised. Every detail perfect. The basement was ready, now all he needed was the girl.

Grace Dalton was just fourteen years old when she was snatched from Greenwich Park on her way back from school. A beautiful, shy, but socially awkward girl, she would do anything to stay out of trouble and away from her bullies. Pressed for time and her tormentors blocking her usual route home, she makes a split second decision with catastrophic consequences.

After facing public humiliation from a previous investigation, Detective Constable Philip Harris once again finds himself under savage media scrutiny when he’s assigned to Grace’s case. Determined to find her and solve the case to gain back his credibility, his frustrations mount when he repeatedly finds himself hampered at every turn. With no other suspects and the case rapidly becoming cold, the finger of blame points to Tom, Grace’s father. Struggling to keep his personal resentment towards Tom away from the case and the press, DC Harris embarks on his own investigations to find who the real kidnapper is against the instructions from his superior officers. But when his digging leads him to a mysterious concealed road protected by impenetrable iron gates he soon realises his investigations have not only endangered himself, but also his family.

Pitched alone against a highly organised crime syndicate and not knowing which side his colleagues are on, he’s faced with some tough decisions. Either drop Grace’s case, declaring it cold and allowing Tom to take the fall, or embark on a highly dangerous quest for her safe return. Time’s running out, which will he choose?

Where to Buy
Amazon US
Amazon UK
Amazon CA

More Reviews
Did you enjoy this review? Check out my other Amazon reviews here.

‘The Conjuring 2’—Hell on Parade

[The Conjuring 2 Poster]
Photo courtesy of IMDb

The Conjuring 2’ (2016)
Directed by James Wan
Screenplay by Cary Hayes, Chad Hayes, James Wan, David Johnson
Horror
Stars Vera Farmiga, Patrick Wilson, Madison Wolfe
Warner Bros.
Rated R
Log Line: Lorraine and Ed Warren travel to north London to help a single mother raising four children alone in a house plagued by malicious spirits.

For years, I’ve been telling people that the scariest horror movie I’ve ever seen is ‘The Exorcist.’ Well, all that changed after watching ‘The Conjuring 2.’ All I can say is, Wow! James Wan, who I’ve been following since his 2004 feature ‘Saw,’ has shown amazing growth as a purveyor of the demonic. And his understanding of the intrinsic nature of evil from a Catholic perspective rivals that of William Peter Blatty, who I have greatly admired since reading his novel The Exorcist, upon which the movie was based.

Demons Are Real
Now, I enjoyed ‘The Conjuring’ which, like the sequel, is based on a paranormal case by real-life investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren. After seeing that movie, I began researching the Warrens and learned about the case in England, where the story of ‘The Conjuring 2’ takes place. The fact that these are actual cases and involve demonic possession both intrigues and horrifies me. As a Catholic, I believe in Hell. And I believe that demons like the one featured in ‘The Conjuring 2’ have walked the earth long before man. Perhaps this is why, for me, the film is so frightening.

Flipping around the dial the other day, I happened across the ‘A Nightmare on Elm Street’ reboot from 2010. Though well made, it wasn’t scary. I know Freddie Kreuger is a fantasy character and, despite the sharpness of his homemade claws, he’s just another homicidal killer. And I feel that way about most horror movies involving monsters. ‘The Babadook’ is a great example. Yes, he’s paper-thin and creepy. But that’s about it. I was more moved by the exasperated, sleep-deprived Amelia and her lonely, desperate attempts at creating a normal life for her troubled son, Samuel. Conversely, when the demon in ‘The Conjuring 2’ takes on the form of The Crooked Man, I ended up halfway out of my seat—which is a tribute to the genius of James Wan.

Becoming a Believer
Like most folks, I believe horror movies do well because people like to be scared. It’s a rush similar to riding a roller coaster. And when it’s over, you’re relieved. But every once in a while a film comes along that disturbs the viewer to the core, its aftereffect lingering for days. ‘The Conjuring 2’ is just such a movie. And an estimated $40M in box office receipts at the time of this writing—this kind of story sells.

Now, I’m not saying that a film like this will turn an atheist into a believer. But it might make those who are on the fence about God, angels and demons think twice before picking up the planchette from that Ouija board collecting dust in the corner with those other games. My advice—just say no.

Hinting at an Age Long Gone

By Ian Hutson

[Ian Hutson]I was incarcerated in a dozen very different schools as a child, and one of them was run by hippies. We attended the classes we felt like attending, generally did whatever we pleased and were encouraged to loosen our orange and purple Paisley pattern bandanas and expand our own minds. Ye gods, it was awful. Forget spelling they said, forget grammar and punctuation, just get those precious ideas and stories down in green crayon on recycled hand-laid ninety-percent hemp paper.

It didn’t seem to matter that thereafter no-one could decipher a word of it. I once dipped the school Tarantula into an inkwell and then set him free in the stationery cupboard. By the time the caretaker had recaptured him Mr. Creepy-Crawley had garnered two gold merit stars and a favourable mention in the school’s creative-writing hall of fame.

Language is a code and codes, like recipes for soufflé, have structure and format for a reason. The reason that they have structure and format is so that someone who has never met you or been in the same elementary spliff-rolling class on the rubber mats in the library building can understand what it is that you were trying to say.

The word “bring” is not the same as the word “take,” “couple” is not a rational number and quite frankly, without a properly formed phrase or adverb you might as well just Eat Fresh from a tin or Drive Safe in Ralph Nader’s Chevrolet Corvair.

It pains me to say it, and I do love my sitar and my quilted evening “smoking” kaftan, but the hippies were entirely wrong in these matters.

A commercial editor recently told me that his first action on any manuscript is to remove any and all italics from the text. When I asked what he used instead to change the inflection of the little voice in the readers’ heads, his eyes remained lifeless and his lips remained silent. He simply didn’t understand the question.

Had I not remembered an urgent need to go home and shampoo my parakeet I might have pressed him on other items of apparently non-essential punctuation and grammar. Question marks perhaps. or capital letters indicating the beginning of a sentence. Perhaps this “professional” editor also held prejudices against full stops and commas and paragraphs in particular parakeets’ bottoms require careful use of a proprietary medicated conditioner so one should always wear rubber gloves to avoid undue avian familiarity.

Statistical analysis might indicate that the spaces used between words constitute a veryinefficientuseofpreciousasciicodeandinternetbandwith, but I’d rather we retained that luxury.

What, I hear you ask wearily, has prompted this tirade? Nothing in particular. I’ve always been a boring old stickler for correct as possible language, make it as can we. I border on the 0CD (ouch, did someone just substitute a zero for a letter “O” there cozzit duzzunt mattah?). As rants go it’s very probably linked to just how comfortable I feel in my current work-in-progress, an anthology by the name of The Cat Wore Electric Goggles.

See? Even we duddy-fuddies sometimes slavishly follow new-fangled modern trends by putting capital letters where they really shouldn’t be.

This anthology, due out in springtime 2014, is a collection of science-fiction stories with a dated, nineteen-fifties flavour to them. All references to “nuclear” become “atomic” and “space ships” become “rockets,” and the construction itself includes sentences much, much longer than a tweet. The paragraphs run to more than a couple of lines and the plots hail from an age predating Hollywooden’s unhealthy preoccupation with prepo$terou$ LPG-fuelled explo$ion$, a blazing gun in every hand and an unspecified terrorist threat to the unquestioned establishment status quo around every box office corner. The individual titles in the anthology range from “The Maharaja of Mars” to “The Curse of The Mandarin,” and that should give you some inkling as to the contents. My goodness me, do I ever feel at home in this anthology, and I wasn’t even a twinkle in my Father’s Far-Eastern Cold-War diary during the first nine years of the nineteen-fifties, let alone born. Incidentally, it was a difficult birth because I refused to leave my typewriter behind or go easy on the carriage-returns during labour.

Is there a point to this blathering, I hear you cry as you reach for your computing mouse. Well the first point is to ask you to insert your own question mark into the previous sentence, should you think it needs one. There are plenty of spare question marks lying around, some folk sprinkle them everywhere? The main thrust, however, is as I said earlier—that the hippies were wrong. All of the characters in my anthology would have known so at a glance. The chaps and memsahibas adventuring within these stories may have possessed the imagination of a tapeworm, but they could tell you so on paper without forcing you into the clutches of Google Translate, Google Best Guess or Google Beats Me, and they had measurable attention spans.

Language isn’t the enemy and imagination is in no way constrained by it. There is, as yet, no charge for or tax upon the use of words or punctuation so why not go wild? Stroll around the museum of English (be that original English, US English or Global English), pick a few priceless words from the dusty displays and throw them into your work.

Be a rotter, be a bounder, be a cad. Be brave, be bold, be uggered.

Sharpen your chisels once in a while.

Be a writer, not a sound-biter.

Oh dear—those all read like sound-bites. What I mean to say is; you’re not in a maths class, you don’t always have to pare your language down to the lowest common denominator. Love the tools of your trade, relish diversity and carve the occasional Hollywooden script editor-annoying flourish. Language is a living, evolving beast—but there’s really no need to kill it stone dead and bury the remains before you move on to the next generational fad.

End of rant.

Chin-chin.

P.S. While I do the best that I can, I offer no guarantees or apologies in re my own grammar and punctuation and, accordingly, I hereby offer my throat to the wolves.

[The Cat Wore Electric Goggles Cover]

About the Author
Ian Hutson was born in England and has lived in peculiar places as diverse as Hong Kong and The Outer Hebrides in Scotland. He stands in awe of folk who write heavy, complicated plots since all of his writing is intended, mostly, for giggles. His favorite hats are the “smoking” cap, the tweed cap and the pith helmet, but he only wears one at a time.

Ian was thrown out of the British Civil Service, thrown out of several multinational corporations, and now works as an Edwardian photographer by day and a scribbler by night. His latest anthology, The Cat Wore Electric Goggles, is due to be published in the spring.

You can find Ian at dieselelectricelephant.wordpress.com, on Facebook and on Twitter.