Author Archives: ceelers

The calm before the storm…Make the most of it with a good (and bargain) book ;-)

Yes, that’s right New Years is almost upon us…again!

Every year it takes me unawares.

So what will you be doing?

Spending it with friends and family?

Going out and making the most of your various vices before vowing never to return to them for the New Year?

(Yep, I fall for that every year too)

Whatever you’re doing I wish you a fine and happy one, and if you’re looking for something to occupy yourself on the run up to the celebrations- may I humbly suggest a good read?

Perfect Intentions is available for 99C/99p this week, it’s already proving popular and there’s only another 3 days to go before it returns to its original price, so get in quick and finish the year with a good book.

Happy Holidays!!!

My First Interview

My first interview with the wonderful Mr Patrick Scattergood 🙂

Read it here

Celebration time I think, grab a copy of Perfect Intentions for Kindle for 99c/99p from December 26th- keep yourself entertained through that quiet week before New Years!

 

 

Heartbreak. Healthy or not?

You may have noticed I’ve been offline for the last few months, this is due to dealing with many stressful and trying issues in my personal life. I have recently felt the sting of being let down by the one person who I should’ve been able to trust more than anyone. And why am I telling you this? Because, I imagine, you, like I have got similar if not identical stories you could tell. The last few months have proven to be a real eye opener for me, I’ve come to realise the people who I can rely on and the people I can’t. Speaking to a friend recently who has gone through a similar experience she spoke of her belief in Khama, and what goes around comes around. I had to disagree with her on this, I’ve seen too many good people get hurt for too long to know that Khama is nothing more than a pretty idea thought up by a well meaning soul trying to urge people to move on with their lives. As I said to her, I use my words to exact my “revenge”, probably why I’ve not got round to writing that comedy yet- although a dark comedy is in the offing…
Recently Taylor Swift has come out and said she owes her success to her many heartbreaks and rejections- hard to believe I know, a twenty year old multimillionaire has ever felt either of those two emotions. But the evidence of both of them are there in her lyrics. And to any man reading this I don’t want you to think for a second that this is an “all men are bastards” propaganda speech- far from it, I’m perfectly well aware that there are many women out there who can cause just as much hurt. As I’ve said before now, arseholes are not gender specific.
So what you’re asking is the point of this?
Well, in the absence of any universal force that could settle up the balances my advice to anyone who’s recently been hurt is this;
Give yourself permission to cry, allow yourself some self-pity, then grab yourself by the lapels, give yourself a metaphorical slap round the face and snap out of it.
Best way to get even, if revenge is a driving force, is to be happy, if you can make a success of something you care about too then even better, whether parenting, completing that book you’ve been meaning to for the last three years or even just sorting out the spare room and literally throwing away baggage you’ve been carrying- very cathartic.
Worse thing to do is hold on to it, as goodness generally gets paid forward so does bitterness and resentment, whether consciously or not. I found my release in my writing and I’m happy to report the only ones who ever get my pain paid forward are the fictitious characters in my story.
And with that in mind and given my last few months it’s about time I started writing again- the piper is yet to be paid.

On an entirely separate note, I’ve just found out that one of my major sources of stress over the last few months is having car trouble….

Kharma?
…is that you…?

What’s your preferred adrenaline rush?

It probably won’t come as any great surprise to those of you who’ve read Perfect Intentions that I’m a huge fan of horror/thriller/slasher movies. Texas chainsaw massacre, the Saw series, Final Destination to name a few, are all stalwarts of my viewing habits. My other weakness is comedy (couldn’t get much further removed) and more on that later. However, going back to the horror genre for a moment, I remember being asked by a friend (who balks at the idea of sitting down to watch Bambi- thanks to the level of violence in the opening scene) why it was I enjoyed being “scared” watching a movie. I had to think for a moment and then it occurred; the reason I enjoy horror movies is the same reason people enjoy getting onto roller coasters (something you wouldn’t catch me doing in a fit as it happens) it’s the feeling of being terrified. On a roller coaster it’s the lack of control of the situation that makes your heartbeat faster and your breathing increase. With a movie it’s the empathy towards the protagonist that causes the same physical responses (unless the main protagonist is particularly irritating in which case you may find yourself egging on the antagonist)

My point being when I started writing that’s what I wanted to achieve, I want to take you, the reader on a roller coaster ride. I want you to feel the highs and lows of the characters and ultimately I want you to exit the experience wanting back on.

So dear friend, that’s my hand extended- now will you come with me on this ride…?

Perfect Intentions Prologue

Currently busy working on the sequel, but for those who haven’t yet read Perfect Intentions, here’s a taster… 

 

 

 

He blinks, snorting up the combination of blood and mucus running from his nose he; attempts to cry out, no noise. He tries to inhale again, but it becomes apparent the gesture is a futile one. He starts to retrieve his feelings, pain courses through his body as his befuddled mind struggles to grasp the reality of his situation. Remaining calm, he tries once more to inhale; he can smell something, something underneath the smell of blood and his own fear, something vaguely familiar. Once again he tries again to inhale, the gag still foiling any other attempts to breathe. He can the feel panic rising in his chest, so he decides to try a different tack. Using all his remaining breath, he blows out, and a stab of pain shoots through his face and up into the back of his eyes. Now finally free to breathe, he tries to sit, no luck. His arms and legs are bound. He knows this by the dull aching cramps emanating from them he struggles into a kneeling position. Then a wave of nausea hits him as he pinpoints the smell—petrol. He blinks rapidly, trying to bring his surroundings into focus. A dark open space occupies the area around him.

I must be in some sort of warehouse

Far in the distance, a small flickering light emerges, and he strains his eyes trying to use the tiny pinprick of light as a base.

Christ, I’m not alone, there’s a shadow…

Or my imagination

As the light draws closer, he realises his first guess was accurate. The shape starts to move closer, then suddenly a flash of bright light. Momentarily he’s stunned, as the sudden brightness assaults his retinas. He closes his eyes to give them time to adjust; he opens them once again as the heat starts to bear down on him. Looking around, he contemplates his changing situation.

I’m trapped.

Inside a ring of fire, bound and terrified, he can swear he sees a malicious face just through the flames; it seems to be laughing. From behind the mask a voice spoke.

“Next to you is a knife and a box of explosives with a timer, the timer is set to go off in three minutes, if you make it to the door on your right you live, if not…”

The sentence hadn’t needed completion. Moving quickly, eyes trained on the timer, he scrambles for the knife. Struggling to control the violent shaking of his hands, holding the knife between his two thumb joints, he focuses all his attention on working the serrated blade up and down against the tight rope. Sweat builds on his forehead and rolls down into his eyes, blurring his vision as he screws up his eyes in consternation. This temporary blip in concentration combined with his profusely sweating hands causes him to lose grip, and he drops the blade. The sound ripples through his awareness over the sound of the flames and his eyes flicker uncontrollably over to the timer.

Two minutes ten seconds.

Grabbing unceremoniously once more for the blade, he resumes his work. The first few threads of the rope start to shred, and spurred on by small victory he quickens his pace, sawing faster and faster. He is rewarded to see a few more of the rope threads shred; he glances once again at the timer.

One minute thirty seconds.

Faster and faster sawing, sweat stinging his eyes and hindering his progress, until finally the last of the rope threads cuts through and his hands are once more his own. Glancing at the timer, he realises he has only a minute to vacate the building. He looks down at his feet and sees that they’re cuffed. His eyes move quickly around his cell of flames, and it occurs to him that his captor hasn’t been so benevolent as to leave the key.

Forty seconds.

Standing up, he barely registers the cramping pains shooting up and down his legs. Summoning the last of his strength, he glances once more at the timer.

Thirty-five seconds.

He jumps toward the edge of the ring of flames. As he reaches it, he closes his eyes, and, taking a deep breath, he throws himself towards the wall of flames and freedom on the other side. His desperate bid is accompanied by a loud whooshing sound in his ears.

His mind casts back to when he’d woken there and how he’d barely registered the fact he was wet. At the time he had been preoccupied with trying to take a breath. The realisation had come too late; he had been doused with petrol before he’d woken.

For a few moments he feels nothing. Then he can smell it: the stench of fat catching in a pan, the smell of human skin burning—his skin. As the flames continue to ravage his exterior, he falls face first onto the ground. His eyes are set, staring in the direction of the circle of fire. Behind his eyes, his mind races frantically in its last conscious moments.

His three minutes are up, and there was no big bang, no explosion of whiteness—just the gentle flames of his earlier incarceration starting to ebb away, and lying there in the waning light, he takes his last breath.

 

Perfect Intentions is available through the Amazon Kindle store.

For the UK click here.

For the US click here.