Excerpt: This is the story the painter told the boy. . . . Harald Finn would sometimes scrutinize his own big hands with his one good eye as if pondering how he could strangle himself with them. If he bent his fingers and stared at the yellow nails, it seemed as if it was only the sheer intensity of his gaze that kept the hands off him. The very instant he looked away, the independent little beasts with five fingers would seize the opportunity to attack his throat. Yet he cou

Chapter 2 Elena was glad to slip into her comfy nightgown and climb into bed. Her thoughts shifted from anger to excitement at the thought of Tony phoning her. Mob or no mob, I don’t care; he’s hot! Oh, the way he strutted in with those black Ray-Bans and a black leather jacket. And the way he acted as though he owned the place. It seemed as though people froze when he entered the club. Visions of his jet-black hair slicked back behind his ears filled her thoughts. With that,

Chapter One Jamie Thomson swaggered along one of the tree-lined streets in the wealthy Edinburgh suburb of Morningside. To him, the capital of Scotland was just a big village. Everybody knew everybody else, and tonight, everybody would know Jamie Thomson. He felt it as he moved quietly along the dark street. Excitement. Pop was away, but, although he had just turned twenty, Jamie would show folk it was business as usual. Pop would be so proud. Jamie’s uniform was clean: black

My name is Raven and I’m a writer. An Author… And even better A published author. With a few category best sellers under my belt. Oh my, that makes me feel so proud. I’ll never be a million seller, never make a million in royalties, but I did it. I set out to write a story people might want to read. Get it published and read it myself. In a book. It took a long while for me to bite the bullet and have a go, but eventually after more years of chickening out than I like to conf

Following the recent release of my fourth book - a collection of my short stories and flash fiction - 'A Little More Of Me...' it has prompted me to share a little more about myself and what makes me 'tick' or 'not tick' as the case may be.... DISLIKES: Politics and Politicians The Pharmaceutical Industry Queues Being late Obnoxious people Being cold Wind (as in the weather, NOT flatulence) People who are cruel to animals and children Bullies Pain of any description Wasps, mo

Chapter One - Grady Copper Ridge sprawls across the valley like it got comfortable and never bothered getting up. The van crests the last hill on Route 12 and there it is ’the whole town spread below us, tucked between mountains that look like they showed up first and the town built itself around them as an afterthought. Trees everywhere. A river cutting through the south end, catching the afternoon sun. Neighborhoods climbing the slopes in no particular hurry. A main drag wi

Chapter 1 Joseph Sledmire’s senses were overwhelmed by darkness and nausea, his mind submerged in an abyss of black. A sickening taste soured his mouth. Something cut into his wrists and ankles, as a monster headache pounded the walls of his skull. Memories oozed into his groggy mind. He remembered leaving his office. Stepping into the dimly-lit street. Locking the door. Peering down at his phone to check messages. Becoming aware of hurried footsteps approaching from behind.

CHARACTER BACK STORIES Different authors have a different approach to this most important detail, the character’s back story. Many simply ignore it, especially in short stories. Others do so much character backstory, the story itself suffers. I like to think I am somewhere in between, closer to the right amount of backstory. So let us take a look and see if I am right. First up is Rapier. Cindy’s backstory is pretty much the whole book; the story follows her from age five unt

The convoy stops at the base of the mountain, and I count the wolves flanking it. More than a dozen. They sent a small army of armed shifters to collect one human woman. Either I should be flattered, or I should be terrified. The noise of the convoy dies, and the silence that follows is absolute. No birdsong. No wind through the pines. Even the forest knows better than to make noise in this territory. Through the tinted window, I watch the wolves fall into formation with mili

EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER ONE Dylan opened the front door of his shared apartment to find a strange woman sitting on the couch, her back to him. Her long black hair, with random strands of gray mixed in, cascaded over her back, and even sitting down, he could tell she was uncommonly tall. “Um, hi,” he said, uncertain, as he closed the door behind him. “Are you a friend of Roger’s? I think he’s at . . .” The woman stood and turned around, and all Dylan’s words drained out of his mi