Saturday, 11 May 2019

Me and the Foreign Girl | Suspense

Me and the Foreign Girl
by James McCarthy

An explosion rocked the trawler from stem to stern, and threw Pat O’Malley forward on to the spokes of the steering wheel. His chest took the brunt of it. He couldn’t be sure but he thought he heard a scream before he landed on the floor with a thump. He couldn’t breathe properly because of the pain in his chest. As this eased he looked around for Tarja; she was sitting on the wheelhouse floor behind him sobbing. Propelled off the bench she must have hit the floor hard.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked, while checking his ribs for fractures. They were sore to touch but none had broken.
‘I’m OK. Did we hit something?’ She was now sitting up and rubbing her right shoulder.

Saturday, 9 March 2019

A Reluctant Recruit - True life, post war-time adventures

"My adventures as a ‘Reluctant Recruit‘are the subject of this volume. I decided, at the time that I would, one day, tell the story. One day was fifty years later but here it is at last..." Says Derek Rosser.

Derek shares true life, post war-time adventures as a ‘Reluctant Recruit’ during his National Service with the Royal Air Force.

"Whilst over half a century has elapsed since I was released from National Service with the Royal Air Force, my memory of the events described in this volume is crystal clear. To a young married man it was a waste of valuable time but...in many ways it was an enjoyable waste of time. If you are entertained by my adventures, I shall consider that the time spent in recording these events has NOT been wasted" 

Find out more...

  "...full of adventure and intrigue." ...publishedbestsellers.com

Thursday, 20 December 2018

My Parakeet was an Anarchist | Fiction: Short Stories

MELANCHOLY, THE HAPPY SPANIEL
Growing up as I did in the hinterlands of Nebraska was a profound and moving experience. The relentless winds of the Great Plains howled maudlin concerts across the prairie, with seething fields of golden grain set waving and heaving back and forth by torrid currents of the same. This was the land of my forefathers, and those who had come before had cultivated an untamed and wild soil in the latter days of Manifest Destiny. We who came after could only hope to follow their hearty example. It was a fantastic and exotic place to grow up.
As kids do, we would dash across those same fields of sod and furrow until our hearts fairly leapt from our chests in protest and exhaustion. The expanse of flat and endless black earth made the world seem infinite, and our dreams were rooted as fast as the mulch we turned. The triumphs of our collective youth were realized in these vistas, and along for the ride of a lifetime was Melancholy, our happy spaniel.

Thursday, 22 November 2018

To Know the Road: Chapter Six - The Road North

To Know the Road | Historical Fiction / Romance
by Annie Coyle Martin

Victoria’s thoughts raced. What would happen? Would she be called down one day and told a husband had been found for her? Would she ever get out of this bedroom, where the walls leaned in over her? From her window she could see three houses opposite and the short lane down to the sea. The house faced east and on one side she could see a lime tree in the neighbour’s garden, on the other side, the street. The late summer had wound wearily away and finally it was September. Every day she checked the calendar, heard the bells of the Catholic Church ring at eight, at midday, and at six; on Sundays she heard the Protestant bell. She listened always for the sounds of the house, but saw no one but Kathleen who brought her meals. She read and reread the same books from her shelf, Jane Austen, Stevenson, Dickens. She was appalled at how accustomed she had become to her prison. Sunny afternoons she watched for a black cat with a white spot on its breast to step delicately round the corner of the house opposite and settle in the sun. She looked at the larch tree in the garden on the other side of the street and saw the edges of its leaves had become dried and crinkled. When the sun moved round to the back of the house and dusk shadowed her room, another day was ending. When rain washed down the window, obscuring the view, she was unbearably sad. At night, she awoke drowned in sweat and with a strange metal taste in her mouth, as if she sucked a copper coin; and she thought they were trying to poison her.


Thursday, 25 October 2018

A Genuine Fake - Chapter One

A Genuine Fake | Fiction: Thriller / Suspense
by Fred Maddox

Tracy was oblivious to the dozen or so people gathered around the frozen earth of the graveside. Or of Father James’ words as he conducted the burial service, his voice nothing more than a faraway drone. She stared vacantly at the solitary old oak tree, just beyond the moss covered dry stone wall which marked the ancient churchyard’s boundary. Its thick, gnarled trunk, scarred from the scores of lovers carving their undying love for each other into its weather beaten bark, giving testament to its decades of claiming that lone position as its own. Its bare misshapen branches creaked and groaned as the chilling north east wind whistled through them. What tales this mighty oak could tell, of the many christenings and weddings and funerals it had witnessed, and indeed, it would be more than likely this magnificent tree had witnessed all three services for the same person.