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Kindle Countdown – 99p for one week only…

Download Kimi’s Secret at the reduced price of 99p  …and grab the sequel Kimi’s Fear for a snip!

What they said after reading both books…Kimi_Cover_KINDLE

“Kimi is uber-BOSS – it was like riding on a ghost train with the lights on.” Jen 17

“This is new, exciting writing; filmic extravaganzas with plots to cry for.” Ange 33

“Have you sent this to Spielberg? You should send this to Spielberg.” Philip 57

“Those clowns gave me nightmares.” Charlotte 12


Kimi’s Secret:

Kimi’s Fear:



Kimi’s Secret:

Kimi’s Fear:



Kimi’s Secret:

Kimi’s Fear:



Kimi’s Secret:

Kimi’s Fear:



Kimi’s Secret:

Kimi’s Fear:



Kimi’s Secret:

Kimi’s Fear:



Kimi’s Secret:

Kimi’s Fear:



Kimi’s Secret:

Kimi’s Fear:

Close Encounters of the Nostalgic Kind

Andrew Lloyd Webber stoked me last night. (no kidding)

He’s a clever man, a genius, a bloke I admire very much. When he does his cheesy TV shows to search for Dorothy, Maria etc., I always watch and appreciate his talent. Currently he’s searching for Jesus, and I’ve been watching the show, however I only saw the trailer or the first time last night. And it stoked me – almost into flames, or even tears.

When I was a soft but thankfully not spotty sixteen year-old, I went to the cinema with my cousin, Mark to see the latest film they were raving about at school. Those weren’t the days when you had no shoes and it cost a jam jar to get in, this was later, the days when cinema seats had ashtrays on the back and people would bring a six-pack of McEwan’s Export to chug in the smoke haze and hopefully see a film.

Close Encounters of the Third Kind was the film. Stephen Spielberg excelled with faultless, enthralling storytelling. And that’s just it, even through the smoky fug it had me by the short and curlies and, I would learn, it would never let me go. Secret aliens with stick thin bodies and bulbous heads abducting humans. Spaceships and saucers, government secrets and – oh my god – the glorious Mothership herself with her explosive trombones!

I returned the next night and the next and again for five nights in a row until my pocket money ran out. The concept of aliens among us was huge, sparking within me a thirst for the paranormal, the supernatural, the things that can’t be explained.

I hooked up with Fortean Times, Unexplained magazine, devoured them and searched for more.

Then came the X-Files, the internet, Area 51, the Roswell autopsy video and its many spinoffs and conspiracy theories that would have me continually enthralled.

My search has always been, and still is, a sceptical, scientific one. Of course there must be aliens in our vast known universe; be they maggots or mammoths they must be out there but as for visiting Earth, I think not – at least not in my lifetime.

My love for the `greys` is a love instilled at an impressionable age and is now a part of me. To write them into Kimi’s Secret was always a mission and it was a delicious task bringing them to life as the greylians.

Getting back to last night, Lloyd Webber’s trailer stoked the fire:

What a genius production.


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Monster at work

Today I’m writing the first draft finale scenes for KIMI2

It’s monsterly inspired.

Can you see the monster?


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This morning me and the Olster watched a dogfight twixt a heron and a seagull.

This afternoon I finished the trillion edit, spit and polish to the first 12 chapters of Kimi2 and sent them to my lovely beta readers.

And right now I’m writing in the winner of the creature competition: Lloyd Richardson’s evil Signature and poor Kimi is having a hard time.

Only another 10 or 20,000 words to go.



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Are you local?

Strange days.

With a mountain of editing deadlines and a neglected Kimi wagging a finger at me, I decided, before getting my head down, to try somewhere new for walking the Olster, reminding myself, as always, to look out for the weird and wonderful.

Only one mile from home, I chose the village of Yaxley and soon realised that I could have been in Royston Vasey.

First up was the woman in pink. She was jogging, pounding the pavement quite heavily, and at first what I thought were two huge bowling balls in her hands, turned out to be her rather more than ample chest, which she clasped tightly as she ran. With a smile on my face, I could not help think that jogging was not meant for her.

Seconds later I drove past a postwoman just as she was turning from her laden trolley, letters in hand, and stepping onto someone’s driveway. The trolley began to roll – quickly – down the slight incline. In my rear-view mirror the postwoman did not reappear, but I did wonder if the trolley would catch up with the pink jogger. However, I could not slow or stop to find out because suddenly there was an ambulance with sirens blaring coming up behind so I had to put my foot down.

Wondering if there might be hidden cameras and this was all set up, I stopped at the local shop – the woman there had a turned up nose and wore glasses.

She did not ask if I was local but I did hear her talking to an old guy about that `lovely dwarf` and `what a lovely fellow` he is. `yes,` agreed the old guy, `but that Ricky Gervais grates on me`

I didn’t really like to ask, convinced the cosmic joker might be having a giraffe on my behalf, so waited until I got home and asked Google. Sure enough, Yaxley is home to actor Warwick Davis (Star Wars, Harry Potter, and recently: Life’s too Short)

Okay, my day has been made so far: pink joggers with built-in weights, runaway postal trolleys, and a famous dwarf actor for a neighbour. Then I found Ollie in the garden, foreleg raised, snout pointed, and knew that the second batch of starlings had decided it was time to leave the eaves.

So I took a few snaps.

What a great morning.

 Best get some work done.




FREE paranormal fantasy download

FREE for one last time until next time.

*13 five star reviews

“Like Harry Potter with wheels” one reviewer said (whatever that means)

“A hugely satisfying read” said quite a few.

“I was nearly sick” said a couple of old biddies.

“This is disgusting” said `disgusted from the Wirral`.

“Twilight eat your heart out” said another (which made me giggle)

“Fifty shades of snot” remarked one cool dude.

“Thank Lucifer there’s no vampire crap” said Larry from London.

Aliens are greylians in this weird little tale and Kimi must race against time and dodge their waggling tongues and abduction beams before claiming victory and saving all the universes.

Scary cloned clown boys, famoose (rodents with wings who eat rotten teeth), and the snot spitting taxidermist and master of calculus: Charlie Babbage all come to Kimi’s aid.

With a cast of half a million evil crows and some canny imploding giant toads, how can any reader resist such a noxious concoction?

A cracking tale for all ages that will leave you gagging and sleeping with the light on.

Grab it while you can. FREE!

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I like a good book

A real book.

A Christmas gift, this is the first time, six months later, that I’m taking a look inside. It’s been in a queue on my bedside table. Always a queue.

But before I can even think about the inside I need to devour the outside. This is the hardback version complete with snazzy blue jacket. I always wonder how they can print “BESTSELLER” on the cover when it is a new release. Of course it will become a bestseller, but how can they do that? This is a big book, one that could easily be deployed as a weapon. One whack from this beast and you would be down. Then would come the paper cuts.

Anyway, I read the front, the spine, the blurb on the back, run a finger over the carefully debossed birds, feel the depth and the curve of indentation, consider the quality of the debossing tool and the alignment of tool to print. It looks fine, it feels fine, it’s a good job.

Reading the blurb again I think it could be bettered. No matter. I open up the jacket. There’s the same old spiel about the author, same old photo that really should be new with every book. That’s disappointing. I slip the jacket away and examine the spine. The foldback indents aren’t too solid. Probably the back end of a large run. I lift it to my eye and examine the slight curve and the free-space within that will allow these pages to turn like an unseen rolodex. The construction is solid, I put my nose to it, smell for glue, smell the newness, wonder how long until it smells like leaves and dust and relish the thought of breaking its back and giving it a twist until it cracks and falls open in my hands.

I read the copyright notice, look for errors, find none, read the impressive list of bestsellers. Only one or two old ones that I have not yet read. The next page holds the usual dedication; the next a quote from someone I have not heard of. I look closely at the imprint, can see the ink running into the fibres. I stare and the fibres become palm fronds, old and dry and wispy, they surround a small pond like broken laurels; the ink itself becomes a spill of oil, seeping into the finer threads where the rats or the mites lay in waiting. I take my eyes back and touch the `O` I’ve been staring at and then let my fingers slide down the virgin page. I smell it. Smells good, clean, like dry rain.

Now to start reading the story. I hope it’s a good one.