Santa’s Treasure Hunt Blog Hop

Welcome to Santa’s Treasure Hunt blog Hop.

All you have to do, is follow Santa’s sleigh as he travels around the world.

Write down the Christmas word, given on each blog. Then click the link to get to the next stop. Please comment on the Christmas stories and poems the writers have featured especially for you.

When you’ve finished the hop, email your list of the Christmas words you have collected to kazzmoss@gmail.com.

Everyone with the correct list will go into a draw to win all the eBooks in Santa’s sack; not only are there many books, but there’s also a huge range of fiction genres for you to enjoy.

This blog is hosted by karenjmossman.com. If you get lost on your way. Just pop over to my blog where I have all Santa’s stops linked up in order.

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A short story, by Paul White

Purely for your enjoyment this Christmastime 2022

_{©PaulWhite2022}

YOU CAN’T TRUST ANYBODY

Gary was a very happy man as he waited on the Northern line underground platform for the next tube to take him home to Finchley. He could not help but grin inanely from ear to ear as he considered the rich pickings he secured over the last few hours.

Work today had gone extremely well, it was one of those rare days when everything fell neatly into place when everything went perfectly.

Maybe it was because there were a lot of new tourists in town, this being the start of the Christmas season, or maybe it was the newly laid snow, the decorations, baubles, presents, lights, and lanterns that were encouraging the masses to venture into the city? Either way, the jostling, bustling throngs of unsuspecting transient punters made it the perfect working environment for Gary.

Gary’s first dip was a gift. He was leaning on a corner of a wall, scanning the crowds for an easy mark, when a young woman stopped next to him. She was juggling with a suitcase on wheels, some carrier bags, a handbag, and a Starbucks coffee.

She was oblivious to his presence as she stood her case upright, propped the carrier bags against the case, placed her handbag on top, and rested it against the pull-along handle. Balancing her coffee on a waste bin, the woman prized the lid from the paper cup, added three tubes of sugar, and stirred her skinny latte with the small wooden stick.

By the time she sweetened her coffee and raised the cup to her lips, Gary picked up her purse, and a brown envelope from her handbag, and collected two carrier bags before disappearing into the massed throng of pedestrians.

His second theft of the day was also simple. An old couple were arguing over some irrelevant minor point, while a young boy, Gary assumed a grandchild, was running in circles around them, screaming at the top of his voice.

As he approached the arguing pair, he used the child’s misbehaviour to fain a trip, falling against the old man. After telling the old folks they should keep their child under control in the future, Gary vanished into the crowd with a thick leather wallet, full of cash, lifted from the elderly man’s jacket pocket.

Gary loved the older people, the ones who still favoured carrying large bundles of cash rather than credit cards. He could spot a ‘cash cow’ at a hundred paces.

This was the way his day went. Easy mark after mark, purse after purse, wallet after wallet. It was a bumper day. Gary’s duffel bag was now so heavy with his ill-gotten gains, he decided it was enough work for one day.

Which was why he was grinning widely as he waited on the platform at London Bridge underground station. Two minutes later his train arrived, accompanied by the usual drafts of sooty-scented air, electronic wheezing, and metallic clattering. What was not so usual was the number of passengers, or indeed the lack of them. Possibly, he thought to himself, it was because he was travelling back home far earlier than usual, missing the rush hour madness.

Gary looked around the carriage, there was a blue pin-stripe suited man, reading the Telegraph newspaper, a woman, with a tiny dog, wedged into a plaid handbag, and a girl listening to her iPad.

It was the girl who he focused on.

He wanted an iPad, and this one had a pair of Dr. Dre headphones attached. He considered how he would acquire these items. Quickly deciding he would sit opposite the girl, and then, as the train was ready to leave a station, he would grab them, jumping through the sliding doors right at the last moment. He smiled, envisaging himself standing on the platform, waving to the distraught girl as the train pulled away.

Luck was with him once more as the other passengers, the blue-suited man, and the handbag dog woman, alighted at the next station leaving Gary and the girl alone in the carriage.

As planned, he sat opposite the girl, who momentarily glanced at him, before continuing to stare blankly through the window into the darkness beyond.

The train lurched to a sudden stop.

He was flung forward landing on his knees, his nose cracking painfully against the girl’s right kneecap. Blood erupted from his nostrils. With both hands cupping his nose, he sat back on his seat, moaning with the pain. The girl pulled a wad of tissues from her handbag, as she stood over him, concernedly, telling him to put his head between his legs; she said it was the best way to stem the flow.

“I’ll be ok,” Gary mumbled through the bundle of tissues.

The girl found some wet wipes, cleaning the blood splatter from her leg. She placed a hand on the back of his neck, guided his head down. “Keep your head down for five minutes,” she told him, “It will help stop your nose bleeding” adding, “I know, I’m a nurse”.

Gary did as she instructed, keeping his head between his knees, and the tissues pressed to his nostrils.

The train stopped at a station, he could hear passengers boarding, wondering if this was the station he would have taken the chance of stealing the iPad from the girl. It probably would have been, he was never one to miss an opportunity, unless, like this dammed nosebleed, it was something out of his control.

Soon the train was underway again.  He was certain by now his bleeding would have subsided. Gingerly he raised his head, lifting the tissues away, ready to ram them back if his blood was still flowing.

It was not. The bleed had stopped, even if the aching pain remained. Gary looked about, wanting to thank the girl for her help. But she had gone, clearly, she got off the train at the last stop.

It was a pity; he would have liked that iPad, but hey-ho not to worry, excluding his nose it had been a profitable day as the contents of his duffle bag confirmed… his duffle bag… where was his bag?

Gary abruptly stood, staring open-mouthed at where he was sitting. He looked on the floor, under the seat. His bag was gone.

With some disbelief he realised someone had stolen his bag, his day’s takings… the girl… the bitch. She had made him put his head between his legs and then stolen his bag.

It was incredulous.

You just can’t trust anybody these days.

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I hope you found the hidden word in this story. Remember, everyone with the correct list will go into a draw to win all the eBooks in Santa’s sack. What fantastic PRESENTS they would make!

Now pop over to Chantal Bellehumeur’s blog and search for the next hidden word. Simply follow this blog hop link, https://author-chantal-bellehumeur.webnode.page/promotions/

Have a very merry Christmas, and may 2023 prove to be a most enjoyable year.

I hope you will find a few moments to browse my website, and even select a book or two, after all, you should treat yourself too at this time of year, you know you deserve it.

http://bit.ly/paulswebsite

Perfect for Kids & Parents

I am not one for regularly promoting subscription services, even those about books, or with an educational bent.

However, this service, Amazon Kids+ is something I feel would benefit many children while giving parents the security and peace of mind about their children using devices.

Designed for children aged between 3 and 12 years, and parents of all ages!

Amazon Parent Dashboard

Discover the books, videos, educational apps, and games kids enjoy in Amazon Kids through Parent Dashboard. Also gain access to child activity and manage settings that include adding content from your personal library, setting daily time limits, modifying web browser behaviour, pausing the device, and more.

Time Limits

Limiting your child’s screen time can be challenging without the proper tools. Amazon Kids lets parents set daily limits, or restrict certain categories – like apps and video – while leaving unlimited time for reading.

Age Filters

Amazon Kids Age Filters ensure that your child sees age-appropriate content within Amazon Kids+. Parents can also adjust Age Filter settings to tailor the experience for each child.

Learn First

With Learn First, parents can block access to games and cartoons until after educational goals are met. For devices with the Bedtime feature enabled, parents can control when Amazon Kids shuts down for the day.

Individual Profiles

Parents can create up to four individual child profiles and give each child selected access to videos, books, Audible content, and apps from their personal library. It’s like giving each kid their very own personalised tablet.

No Surprises

While in Amazon Kids+, kids don’t have access to social media and can’t make in-app purchases without parental approvals.

Endless Fun for Kids.
Peace of Mind for Parents.

Amazon Kids+ is an all-in-one subscription that gives kids access to thousands of kid-friendly books, movies, TV shows, educational apps, and games on compatible Fire, Android, iOS, and Kindle devices.

Parents also receive access to easy-to-use parental controls that allow them to find the right balance between education and entertainment. Parents can personalise screen time limits, set educational goals, filter age-appropriate content, and also manage web browsing and content usage based on their preferences.

Starting at £3.99/month after the one-month free trial, Amazon Kids+ gives kids unlimited access to a world of content to explore and parents the confidence that all content is age-appropriate.

Click this link to see and read more, https://amzn.to/3bRQ76J

A free short story, just for you.

For those who don’t know…

I am Paul White, a multi-genre author of fiction, non-fiction, and semi-fiction.

Many of my short stories are available under the ‘Electric Eclectic’ brand, some are eBooks, others paperback collections, while a growing number are those wonderful Pocketbook Paperbacks that are increasingly popular because of their size, as they really do fit into your pocket. Perfect for reading while commuting or away on vacation.

You can find my books on Amazon and many other bookstores. All are shown on my website

Now, on with the story.

This one is titled ‘Free Spirit’, enjoy.

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FREE SPIRIT

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When I walked into the apartment, I knew this project was going to be fraught with difficulties.

Firstly, the place has been unoccupied for some time; a musty dampness prevailed its entirety. I sensed this staleness was not simply neglect but an ethereal odour of others’ lives, of previous tenants.

Secondly, there were many pieces of furniture still in situ; old, dusty brocade curtains hanging at the windows, personal effects, a small trinket box sitting on the dark wooden sideboard, a silver-backed hand mirror laid on the dresser, and a time-worn leather-bound book on a side table, near the musty, torn chintz-covered armchair, all emitting a staleness of abandonment.

Before I could start the repairs and redecoration, I would have to clear all this old junk from the building. That would involve putting in some extra hours, late nights I had not planned. I was sure the extra effort would be worth it in the end because it is not often one can find such a large home for such a low rent in a neighbourhood of this stature.

On Friday, after work, I hurried to the apartment, eager to begin the clear-out and clean-up.

Once achieved, I could start on the repairs. Tearing off the old wallpaper, ripping up the musty carpets, filling the holes where pictures once hung, all that sort of stuff.

Then I would be in the position to begin to decorate what was to be my new home, my first home.

Fresh paint, light colours on the walls, modern, sleek, designer-style furniture, new light fittings, and mirrors. I like mirrors, they lighten even the dullest corners. I wanted the place to be what I can only describe as understated urban chich.

I was excited.

Tonight, I would be alone. My friends, the ones who offered to help, were all out on the town, or so they said. I don’t blame them for not being here today, after all, it was a Friday night.

Tomorrow, I had promises, commitments from them. I would have a small troop of workers grafting away all day in return for cold beer and snacks, oh, and pizza at the end of the day.

But tonight, it was just me.

My first task was to wrestle the largest items of furniture into a group by the lounge door, so my team of workers could easily carry them out to the skip, which was due by eight o’clock in the morning.

I was surprised by the weight of the old furniture. I’m uncertain if it was Mahogany or Oak, but it took all my effort to ‘waltz’ it across the room. No wonder the previous occupiers had left it where it stood.

By the time I had shifted all the pieces, I was sweating from the effort.

Opening the window did not cool me down. The air was too heavy and humid, and too weak to do more than slightly move those heavy curtains.

It was now midnight, but before I finished for the day, I wanted all the drapes removed, the litter from the floors swept and binned. I wanted this room ready for paper stripping, and carpet removal.

By the end of the weekend, I would be happy if this room and the hallway were ready for my creative attention. If I could get at least one of the two bedrooms stripped too, well, that would be a bonus.

Right now, my stomach was grumbling. I needed to eat. Anyway, it was time to take a break. A stroll to the all-night cafe on the corner, where I could grab a coke, a sandwich, a pork pie, or toasted sandwich. It would do me the world of good to eat something.

Once in the café, I decided I would be wasting time if I stayed to eat, so I carried my refreshments back to the apartment.

Wearily lowering myself into the tatty chintz armchair, I froze. Looking around the room in disbelief. The coke slipped from my grasp, spilling over the threadbare carpet.

The furniture, and I mean all the furniture I spent the last few hours moving into a group close to the doorway, was now back in its original position.

It was as if I had not moved a single item.

The window was closed, the curtains still, the lingering scent of neglect somehow stronger than before.

There was something more.

I could hear a faint melody floating into the room. Trumpets, brass. Smooth music. Perhaps a nineteen-forties swing band?

I shook my head, trying to gather my thoughts. This was not possible.

I moved the furniture. Placed it by the door.

I was trying to convince myself I had not, purely for my sanity.

The music was playing softly.

Surely it was coming from another apartment. Yet it sounded far closer, emanating from somewhere in this apartment.

Maybe I was overtired. Whatever; I needed to get a grip on myself.

I followed the sound, walking slowly along the hallway until I was outside the room where the music was coming from.

Someone was playing a joke on me. My friends have seen me leave, deciding it would be funny to mess with my head.

Angrily I snatched open the door, ready to yell at whoever was doing this, whoever found it funny to try and scare me.

The volume from the gramophone blasted out a crackling version of Chattanooga Choo Choo as I stepped into the room.

I halted, standing stock still.

I could not comprehend what I was seeing. This room was perfect. A nineteen-forties parlour. No damp, no faded wallpaper, no rotting furniture.

It was bright, new, perfect.

“Come in, David,” she said, “sit yourself down. I have been waiting for you.”

To my right, I saw a handsome-looking woman. She was wearing a flowing evening gown, long white gloves, and a pearl necklace.

In front of me, a well-ordered room, brightly lit and warm. Behind me, a cold dank hallway, the discoloured wallpaper peeling from the walls.

This was surreal.

“Don’t be shy,” she said, “come, sit, enjoy some champagne.”

She was holding out a wide-rimmed coupe glass at arm’s length. Hesitantly, feeling I had little option, I took the glass from her hand.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“Oh, you young people, you are always in such a hurry,” she replied, smiling, and lifting her glass towards mine.

We touched glasses. Automatically I said, “Cheers.”

She smiled at me again, replying with a “Chin, chin.” She sipped her champagne without wetting her dark red lips.

I sat, bolt upright, in a small chair, and as nervous as hell. She lay back, relaxing on a chaise lounge opposite my chair.

If I were dreaming, this was far too real.

The woman spoke. “So, you want to move into my home, to come and live with me. Do you, David?” Her eyes were firmly focused on mine.

“There must be some confusion,” I said, “I have just bought this apartment, it’s mine.”

“Oh no, David,” she answered, shaking her head, “It will never be yours, it belongs to me, and forever will.”

 “I don’t understand,” I replied.

 She nodded understandingly, reaching out, placing a gloved hand on my knee, patting me like a reassuring aunt.

“My husband built this building back in the early 1930s. I have lived here ever since the day it was completed. I shall never leave. Now, I like you, David. You are a fine young man, so I am willing to let you stay if you wish to share my home with me?”  She left the sentence hanging.

I sat motionlessly, my mouth ajar. I did not know what to say.

“Well, David” she prompted, “what have you to say?”

“This place, it’s a mess, all old and rotting. I need to clean it up, do repairs, redecorate, get new furniture… except this room, your room, its lovely, I mean it’s really nice.” I knew I was gabbling, the words tumbling from my mouth faster than I could think.

“Oh, David.” She said, “don’t worry about that for now, just tell me if you will be happy sharing my home.”

“But when people come, my friends, family. How do I explain this room, or you?” I asked.

She smiled like an understanding aunt looking at a child. Patting my knee again she said, “No one will know, David. No one except you.”

“But this room, when people look around, they’ll…”

She interrupted me. “More Champagne. You look pale, you’re shaking. A good drink will settle your nerves.” She continued, “Think, David. This apartment, how many rooms are there? Don’t answer, but this room is not one of them, is it?”

I was mentally counting, walking through the apartment. She was right, this room was not one of them. This room did not exist.

My mind was in a whirl. “I, I, I don’t know. The furniture, I moved it. I put it by the door, now it is all back where it was. Then I heard the music and… and, I followed the sound. It led me to this room.”

Her laughter filled the room, “Oh my dear boy,” she said, “I have thrown you into a right tizzy, haven’t I?”

I gulped the last of my champagne.

“I have something stronger if you prefer?” she said, “a whisky, perhaps. I know what you men are like.”

I was nodding. It was an almost unconscious action as my mind was whirring. Random pieces of thoughts flew through my mind.

“Do not fear. You may decorate the apartment as you wish. I will not stop you, David. That is, if you want to live here? Now, before you worry too much, I don’t leave this room, well, only when the need arises, and I am sure I‘ll have no reason to venture out while you’re here.”

“I would like to live here but, who are you?”

“Oh, my. I have been remiss, haven’t I? How rude of me for not introducing myself. My name is Evelyn, Evelyn Keyes-Johnson.” She held her hand towards me. “So, David, are we friends. Shall you be sharing my home?”

I took her hand and shook it, although slight, Evelyn had a firm grip.

“I would like to stay, and I would be happy sharing with you,” I said, although I had not totally convinced myself. “I do have a question though.”

“Ask away, young man.”

“Are you a ghost?”

Her laughter filled the room with lightness. She smiled a wide, bright grin.

“As I died many years ago some people may call me that,” she said, “but I prefer to consider myself a free spirit.”

END.

Free Spirit©PaulWhite2022

Projection of Thoughts through Space and Time… or Show, don’t Tell.

It’s been a while since I found time to write an informative post for ‘Ramblings’. The reason is, I have concentrated on writing, publishing, and marketing my books, as all good authors should.

The stimulus for me to write this blog post is, recently I have seen many people asking about ‘Show don’t Tell’. Questions such as “How do I do it?”, “What does it mean?”, and ‘why!”

In my regular rambling way… (hence the title of this blog), and without using any more technical terms than necessary, I shall endeavour to share not only what ‘show don’t tell’ means but why it is the golden criterion for all creative writers.

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SO, HERE WE GO…

Firstly, and without any reservation, to write well an author must understand narration.

Creative writing, which includes fiction, principally relies on narrative. The purpose of narration (sometimes referred to as the story’s voice) is to tell a story or ‘narrate’ an event, or series of events.

Inevitably, a major quantity of narration involves description. Description creates, invents, or visually presents a person, place, event, or action, allowing the reader to visualise what the writer is attempting to portray.

Descriptive narrative aims to make vivid a place, an object, or a character. It acts as an imaginative stimulus, allowing the reader to relate to the writer’s notions.

The writer should not simply aim to convey facts about the subject but give the reader a direct impression, thus allowing the reader, the recipient of those words, to create a mental picture that is in union with the writers’ thoughts.

Simply put, through the correct usage of narrative, a writer can project their thoughts into the reader’s mind. Virtually, a form of compliant subliminal connection. One which can transcend both space and time.

To achieve this, writers utilise a practice generally referred to as ‘Show, don’t Tell’.

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SHOW, DON’T TELL.

This term is often attributed to the Russian playwright Anton Chekhov, who is reputed to have said, “Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.”

What Chekhov factually said, in a letter to his brother, was,

“In descriptions of Nature one must seize on small details, grouping them so that when the reader closes his eyes, he gets a picture. For instance, you’ll have a moonlit night if you write that on the mill dam a piece of glass from a broken bottle glittered like a bright little star and that the black shadow of a dog or a wolf rolled past like a ball.”

You may notice Chekhov does not go into a mass of detail in this explanation. Descriptive writing does not mean the author should attempt to portray the subject in every excruciating detail.

Ernest Hemingway, a notable proponent of the “Show, don’t Tell” style, sustained his ‘Iceberg Theory’, also known as the ‘Theory of Omission’, which he developed while employed as a newspaper reporter.

The term itself originates from Hemmingway’s 1932 bullfighting treatise, Death in the Afternoon.

Hemmingway writes.

“If a writer of prose knows enough of what he is writing about he may omit things that he knows, and the reader, if the writer is writing truly enough, will have a feeling of those things as strongly as though the writer had stated them. The dignity of movement of an iceberg is due to only one-eighth of it being above water.”

Creative literature, in general, hinges on the artful use of a wide range of devices (such as inference, metaphor, understatement, the unreliable narrator, and ambiguity) that rewards the careful reader’s appreciation of subtext and extrapolation of what the author chooses to leave unsaid, untold, and/or unshown.

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George Singleton explained this concisely with this notable quotation.

“You do not have to explain every single drop of water contained in a rain barrel. You have to explain one drop – H2O. The reader will get it.”

These examples suggest the writers understood the need to respect their readers, who should be trusted to develop a feeling for the meaning behind the action, without having the point painfully laid out for them.

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Examples follow.

Telling:

He knew something was wrong because he could see the fear in her eyes and that she was trembling.

Showing:

She trembled, looking up at him with fear in her eyes.

In this example, ‘Showing’ uses fewer words but packs twice the punch, because you are seeing her actions demonstrating her fear, instead of being told what one character noticed.

It is rarely the function of a character to notice something, that is the reader’s role. By showing the action, the reader (and the characters) figure it out simultaneously, creating a wonderful ‘aha’ moment using a gripping narrative.

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Telling:

Roger was never very bright when it came to figuring things out, he could never seem to do even simple things right.

Showing:

Roger worked on the crossword puzzle for two hours, scribbling out more incorrect answers than correct ones. The result of all his hard work? Ink stains on his hands.

This example demonstrates the character’s qualities by showing he cannot complete a crossword puzzle and does not realise a pencil would be more practical than a pen.

Showing how your characters behave, readers will interpret their traits automatically. You should not need to endlessly describe every characteristic they have.

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Telling:

There was broken glass on the floor and a pool of blood behind the bar.

Showing:

His boots ground the glass shards on the floor with each step. He let out a gasp as his eyes focused on the puddle of blood behind the bar.

Showing allows the reader to experience the scene through the character’s experience, and places it in context, as does the character’s emotional reaction.

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Telling:

The pancake tasted bitter; he couldn’t stand it.

Showing:

He spat out the pancake. The congealed mess landed on his plate. “Darlene, why have you put so much baking powder in these pancakes again?”

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You can use dialogue to show ideas, emotions, and actions, which is far preferable to telling the reader. Tasting, for example, is an experiential verb, never tell readers about the experience a character has. Let your reader find out by being part of the action.

When your characters have experiences, you should be showing your reader those experiences through strong scenes and action, not by talking to them from a third-person perspective. This disengages the reader from the story.

If an author understands and utilises ‘Show don’t Tell’ effectively, they will project the essence of their narrative onto the reader in such a way the reader will become fully immersed.

Once the author has ‘captured’ the reader, and they become ‘lost in the book’, then the book becomes ‘unputdownable’, simply because the reader, by their own will and desire, creates a compulsion to find out ‘what happens next’ to the characters within the tale, with whom the reader will now be totally, and emotionally engaged.

This is what makes a good story, a great story.

It is why people read, to escape, to be immersively absorbed and entertained.

It is what sells books.

Remember, someone could be reading your book, anywhere in the world, and at any time in the future, even one hundred years from now, an exchange of extraordinary connection through space and time.

This is one reason I love being an author.

Keep happy, Paul 😊

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Paul White is a prolific author with more than twenty-eight published books, including an Amazon no.1, and an international bestselling author.

He is the Principal of Electric Eclectic books, a founder member of the Authors Professionals Cooperative, and a member of #Awethors, an independent authors’ international alliance.

A good introduction to Paul’s works is, ‘Within the Invisible Pentacle’, a collection of short, and not so short, stories.

Available via Amazon. UK, https://amzn.to/3HRUGrC All other areas, mybook.to/wtipentacle

Your website is now irrelevant

NOTE: This is, unapologetically, long post. You will know why once you read it!

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The thing is, I am so busy with various projects I rarely find the time to write anything of substance for these ramblings, and I don’t want to fill these pages with the type of uninteresting drivel I see on so many people’s blogs.

I assume they do so simply to fill their pages with ‘content’, regardless of quality. Something I am not prepared to do.

This post, which I have titled ‘Your website is now irrelevant’, came from a discussion I watched on the BBC last night, or rather during the early hours of this morning. (11^th of January 2022)

The subject of the conversation was regarding the first anniversary of the Capitol Riots in the USA when ‘a violent mob’ stormed the Capitol building as Congress was certifying Joe Biden’s victory in the 2020 election. (The ‘riots’ happened on January 6^th 2021)

Now, the TV program was about the media action/reaction to this event more than the actual event itself.

During this discussion, an editor from Vibe Media, (I did not catch her name), said something which I found interesting enough for me to be motivated to write this post, as it is something I believe we, as indie authors, who self-market our books, try and maintain a strong social media presence, and promote our ‘brand’, should take seriously.

We all know the world, particularly in respect of the internet and communications, is exponentially changing, and this continuous transformation is difficult to keep abreast of.

One of the basic premises of marketing most indie authors have adopted is having an author or brand website.

We use this as our home for all things bookish and publishing. We use it as the solid base from where we promote and market our works. To entertain and inform our readers, to attract ‘new’ readers to our books.

We spend hours creating, editing, altering, and polishing our websites to make them attractive enough to seduce people to buy our books. (Not to mention the costs involved in maintaining a good site.)

These sites are often treated as our ‘babies’. The hub of our author presence on the net, the web, and on social media.

However…

I love a ‘however’, so I’ll say it again.

However…

According to Vibe Media, your website, my website, most, if not all websites, are now archaic forms of internet interaction.

Soon websites, as we know them, will become superfluous.

They are becoming outmoded with every day that passes and will soon be redundant.

This got me thinking… and researching.

Now I agree.

This ground shift is happening, and it’s happening right now.

It’s all to do with effective connection to the masses.

You see a website, any website, yours, mine, theirs, is a static medium.

To get traffic you must attract people to visit your site. This means promoting the site, advertising, posting, and such.

Secondly, you need them to interact, buy, click links, comment, subscribe and, most importantly, and return frequently.

I don’t know your websites numbers, such as visitors, bounces, returners, or how long visitors spend browsing, or even buying stuff.

I guess it’s not as many as you wish, and not often enough, even if you have spent a fortune on learning about funnelling or paying a tech guru to assist you.

Author websites are good for storing a ton of information about you and your products/books, but not good for ongoing engagement in the marketplace.

I mean, when was the last time you found people working their way through your site’s archives and reading the information and posts? (I won’t wait for an answer.)

Taking into consideration you need to write and curate a ton of fresh content, constantly and continually. It’s a lot of hard work, especially when you should be promoting your books and writing the next.

Bearing this in mind, I agree with Vibe.

Websites are no longer the go-to places people look for engaging content. Especially the younger ones, those born since the year 2000.

This age group prefers online media, TikTok, Instagram, Snapchat, YouTube, Twitter, Tumblr, Live.me, and Facebook.

Of course, there’s more site our younger generations adopt; WhatsApp, Omegal, MeetMe, Yubo, Monkey, Whisper, and so on. These tend to be ‘Chat’ sites, many only known by the Gen X’s and Millennials.

Some of these are ‘self-destructing’, they erase all, (text and images) after a certain time making communication private… and possibly dangerous… I’ll just leave that one here.

So, what is the point of this post from our, the indie author position, and our rapidly becoming redundant websites.

It is for us to accept change is inevitable and to change our ways along with the inexorable shift. (Yep, it all happens so quickly ‘Nowadays’!)

I am taking a leaf out of Vibes marketing strategy. My author website will remain, but only as a repository for information, such as my library and author info.

I will not be promoting it as much as previously. I certainly won’t be spending hours creating and curating content, which after posting about new content, the initial flow of visitors dries up, meaning you need to do the same all over again.

Instead, I shall concentrate on creating posts I can post directly onto the social platforms where there are either substantial numbers of people hungrily devouring its content, or directly onto sites, pages, and platforms where I know my target market is engaging.

The time and effort in doing this will only equal, if not be less than the time needed to housekeep my website, or websites… some I’ll soon be closing, as time is more important to create quality media which will be seen, rather than simply tending to what was once my baby.

Although I doubt William Faulkner could have envisaged the internet, let alone social media, I do think his quote, “You must kill off your Darlings” expresses this concept perfectly, even if we need to interpret it in a new light.

Let me know your thoughts.

Keep Happy, Paul

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While I still have a website! Please visit and browse through my books, artworks & Photography. I am certain you’ll find something you’ll enjoy reading or seeing.

http://bit.ly/paulswebsite

On the Highway of Irreverent Rumination & Delusion

For far too long I have been working, albeit intermittently, on a title called, ‘On the Highway of Irreverent Rumination & Delusion’

This book-to-be, (I shall complete and publish it… one day), is full of recollections, personal views, my ‘sideways look’ on life, friendships, and society.

The contents of this book are loosely stitched together, taking place during a fictitious road trip. The following chapter is one which starts as I enter Scotland.

Enjoy.

Outdoors

I have just crossed the border.

The sign said, “Welcome to Scotland.”

In all truth, the change is unnoticeable at first; but as the miles disappear and the number of people dwindle, the changes begin to reveal themselves.

Scotland is significantly different to England, not only on a political level and in a geographical sense, but of spiritual connotation.

Scotland retains many of its ancient origins, its Celtic traditions. It is far more natural, raw, and autochthonous.

Like many wild places, the character of the environment harks to our latent memory. It stirs within us feelings and dreams which lay dormant, subdued, smothered, covered, and repressed by our modern world of steel, glass, concrete, and unnatural plastics.

Fleeting half-thoughts, mists of the long-forgotten, stir within the recesses of our brains, our subconscious, and subliminal minds. Sights, smells, senses peak as we feel, and see much the same as our ancestors did a millennium before.

This is genetic memory stimulated. This is where tales of déjà vu are born, this is where life is re-lived, echoes replaying like an old record crackling to life.

It is this very ancientness of wilderness, of wide-open space, of freedom and memory, I was now passing through, which took my wandering mind to my childhood, my outside childhood.

You see, when I was a child, I spent most of my time ‘outside’.

Maybe, I am just of ‘that’ generation? possibly the last generation whose young lives were honed and shaped by the playing fields and parks, the waste grounds and streams, the woodlands, the scrapheaps, the dumps, and all the inaccessible, and off-limit areas, in which we played and adventured.

Areas now considered far too dangerous by the health and safety ‘police’; they who insist on secure fencing, notices, warning signs, and patrols to protect, not the children, but the pockets of the wealthy landowners, or the coffers of the local councils, and multi-conglomerates from litigation.

The second ‘concern’ is of abduction, and paedophiles.

No longer are parents comfortable in allowing their young to venture unrestricted into the great playgrounds of ‘outdoors’ unsupervised.

Which is not only a great shame, but an indicative reflection of our so-called civilised society.

I believe this loss of freedom, the forced imposition of restriction is detrimental to the well-being and development of our current, and future crop of children.

The actual risk of attack, according to recent statistics, is no higher than when I was a young boy. The years of the two-thousands are no more dangerous than those of the sixties.

The difference is the media, who are no longer satisfied by reporting events, they now have a penchant for sensationalising everything, to speculate and hypothesise.

They find extraordinary pundits to postulate and theorise.

It is this current trend of media frenzy, the over-dramatisation, the addition above facts, of overstatement and embellishment, which lends itself to the social hysteria, and collective knee-jerk reaction of fear.

It is they who created the ‘me too’ society.

A society where everyone is no one, unless they are a ‘me too’. Unless they stand and claim their fifteen minutes of fame… well, of media hype, or internet trending moments.

Now, to be ‘normal’, to be well balanced, happy, fit, healthy, and not claim you are a ‘me too’, is considered ‘weird’ or ‘strange’, or both.

If that is you, perhaps you need help?

Serious help?

Now, I have no wish to see any harm come to anybody, child, or adult, but consideration for facts and freedoms should take precedence over fear and speculation.

Children playing will, at times, harm themselves. It is an inevitable fact. It is risk; a part of growing, of learning, of development, and should not be eliminated from a child’s life experience.

As I have said, I was an ‘outside’ child and youth. I climbed trees, waded in icy cold streams looking for sticklebacks and newts.

I was one who found the high heaps of scrap metal, waiting to be turned into pig-iron, a fascinating source of props for make-believe play.

Derelict buildings were castles or forts, woodlands, great forests, where battles were fought with sticks and shields, (often found on those scrapheaps).

The hedgerows, or parcels of wasteland housed our secret dens.

We lived in a world unseen and unknown by ‘the others’, those strange creatures who are known as adults.

Our world was only accessible to the few, the chosen young of few years life.

I have many images and memories of my childhood pass through my mind this morning, and never, not in a single instance was it raining.

Snow yes, ice yes, wind, puddles, sun… yes.

But never rained.

It never rained when I was a young boy.

Never, not once, at least not when I was playing.

I can recall looking out from my bedroom window on a rainy evening, watching cars passing by, windscreen wipers flicking and rain spraying from the wheels in their wake, hanging in the air, a faint mist swirling in the light wind.

I recall my father, who was balding, saying the rain made his head itch, as we walked to the local shop from my grandmother’s house.

I have a memory of sitting in the warmth of a bus with my mother. I was drawing doodles with my fingers in the condensation on the windowpane as the rain lashed down, and the thunder crashed above.

But it never rained when I played outside.

I know this is simply my memory being selective, choosing to falsify my recall, to enhance my fond recollections, but I kind of like that.

I prefer remembering my childhood being this way, however inaccurate; after all, these are my memories, mine alone.

I might tell you about them, explain what I experienced, but I cannot share them with you, not unless you can enter my mind and see what I saw, feel what I felt, smell what I smelt.

Going ‘out to play’ with my friends was not always a straightforward affair.

First, I would call at their homes. Either they were in, but often they, like me, were ‘out’.

There were days when I would walk miles searching for my friends.

Back then, we had to travel to find one another.

We had no phones, no means of instant communication, so we made vague arrangements to meet at a location, or a choice of two… maybe three.

These are the places where we looked first.

Sometimes we would find one another immediately, on other occasions we would have to hunt around.

If my friends were not where they said they may be, I then searched our usual haunts, the places we would gather, where we generally hung out.

This too, was all part of being from the ‘outside’ generation.

I have I plethora of wonderful, and fond memories of ‘playing out’ during those halcyon days of my childhood.

Which brings me to this though:

What memories will the young children of today hold?

Will this new generation have anything substantial to recall of their childhoods as they age?

I know many who seem to live their lives absorbed in a netherworld, a semi-cyborg existence of Playboxgaming, and i-texting, of cyber friends, and avatar existence; rarely seeing the natural light of the sun.

How many shall never smell the primaeval scent of ancient heather carried on the breeze, or hear the screech of a wild eagle echo from the mountains?

How many will never truly venture ‘outdoors’?

I wonder, and I fear.

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Paul White is a multi-genre author of fiction, semi-fiction, and non-fictional works.

His books range from Children’s stories to tales of Crime and Violence, from true accounts of those who live in the worlds War Zones, to recording the humorous social history of Royal Naval Life.

Stories of Heartache and Lost Love stand alongside episodes of Psychological Terror, and the plain absurd.

The common denominator which runs through many of Paul’s works, is the most important matter of all, the Human Condition; that of Life, of Love, Happiness, Laughter, Anger, Anguish, Fear, Hope, Uncertainty, Pain, and Loss.

​​​Paul is an ardent independent traveller and globetrotter, a nature lover, and supporter of ecological and wildlife preservation.

He says he has a “warped sense of humour, is a lover good food, good wine, and great company.”

You can visit his website here, http://bit.ly/paulswebsite

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A writing prompt for you

Regular readers of these Ramblings will know this post is a little ‘off-beat‘ to those I generally write. However, read on, I am certain you’ll find this entertaining if not a little… well, read on to find out…

_{^{I have the sunglasses.}}

_{^{Racing at the Yas Marina Circuit in Abu Dhabi}}

Although I am a multi-genre author, I do not tend to write science fiction and have never attempted a dystopian novel.

However, this does not stop my thoughts from wandering into such realms, such as it did a short while ago.

I was contemplating the forthcoming lifting of travel restrictions and therefore, by default, thinking about the pandemic, when this idea entered my mind.

Now, I have heard several conspiracy theories which claim Covid 19 is fake. Many of these theories then speculate about mass public control, or Illuminati culling the human species and so forth.

I am sure you have read many such posts on social, especially at the start of the Pandemic.

As part of my thought process, which was an uncontrollable stirring of the muses, I recalled the 2007 film ‘Invasion’ and the ‘Pod People’.

For those who are not familiar with the film, this is the explanation on Wiki:  

“In ‘The Invasion’, the aliens are a virus. After the person falls asleep, the virus re-writes human DNA.

Then, these Genetically Modified (post-humans?) vomit a gelatinous substance to continue the invasion.

As their invasion snowballs, the pod people transform humans by injecting them with the substance under the guise of ‘influenza vaccines’”.

 So, you may be asking… if you are still reading this… what my mind was doing with all this information.

Well, simple, it was drafting a rough outline for a novel that goes something like this. (Conspiracy theorists get your pens ready!)

What if this Covid 19 pandemic is fake?

What if it is planned unilateral action taken by world leaders?

What if they are doing it to appease an extra-terrestrial lifeform who have returned to ‘Harvest’ their human crop?

What if our governments are attempting to assuage the aliens by offering a limited number of humans, hence the major number of ‘deaths’ in the first wave?

Then, a lesser number in the second and third waves of the pandemic and the lockdowns, as our leaders negotiate with the extraterrestrials?

What if they are hiding the truth to protect us, to protect society?

It is said the human race may have come from stardust… maybe our ancestors were simply seeds?

Many peoples ask what is the point of life, of being… maybe we are just being bred as food, on a farm we call the universe?

Maybe we developed beyond that which was expected, maybe we have a chance of survival if we give up some of our numbers every 1000 years or so… maybe, one day we could fight back, even escape?

Maybe… You write the story… I’ll read it.

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In the meantime, could I temp you to read one of my books? Check them out if you will by visiting my website.

Interior Book Layout & Design Principles

I have recently been helping several new-ish authors, along with some quiet well-established writers, with the design and layout of their book’s interiors.

It appears many authors, even those with some experience, do not understand the established and recognised principles of interior book design.

The standard layout of books is no accident. It has evolved from the first medieval printing presses to the current day online publishing, and POD.

The issue here is, if these basic conventions are not followed, at least to the greater degree, your book will look and feel amateurish to readers.

Thus, leading to slow take-up of your title, and possibly, maybe probably, eliciting poor or bad reviews.

In short, an inadequately formatted book, even one which has undergone meticulous copy, line, and development editing, will fall short of the standards expected and required by today’s avid readers.

This post, unusually for me on this blog, directly addresses the basic principles and concepts of interior formatting of paperback & hardcover books and, to some degree, that of their lesser cousin, the eBook.

I have not called this post ‘Interior Formatting,’ as that covers a much wider and far more complex set of procedures, and is covered elsewhere in greater detail, as in my books ‘The Frugal Author’ and ‘Lots of Author Stuff you Need to Know’.

At the end of this post, you will find links to these two books which address many, if not most aspects, of independent and small press authorship.

Both books are ready to download now and, I am certain, you will find the answers to many of the questions you have, but have never asked.

NOW, WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, HERE IS THE PROMISED POST….

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BOOK DESIGN AND SECTION LAYOUT

Note: a page is one side of a leaf.

When you ‘turn a page’ you are actually turning the leaf of a book, which is two pages. Each side of the leaf is a single page.

In this post, ‘Blank’ indicates a page typically left blank by traditional mainstream publishers.

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FRONT MATTER

The front matter of a book consists of its very first pages: the title page, copyright page, table of contents, etc. There may also be a preface by the author or a foreword by someone familiar with their work.

First Page: Blank/Flyleaf

Leave this blank.

2^nd Page: Frontispiece/Blank

Page 2 is the back of page 1 and remains blank unless you include an illustration.

Such an illustration is called Frontispiece.

This decorative illustration or photo appears on the page next to the title page.

Traditionally, a Frontispiece will be placed on a left-hand page.

Title page

Usually opposite the Frontispiece.

It shows the full title of the book, along with the author’s name as they appear on the cover.

Copyright page/Colophon

The Colophon or copyright page includes technical information about copyrights, edition dates, typefaces, ISBN, as well as your publisher and printer.

Usually positioned on the reverse of the title page.

Blank Page

Accolades

Quotes from esteemed reviewers and publications in praise of the book.

This praise, or some of them/it, often appears on the back cover too.

Dedication page

A page where the author names the person, or people, to whom they dedicate their book, and why.

This typically comes after the copyright page.

Blank Page

Table of Contents

A list of chapter headings and the page numbers where they begin.

The table of contents, often abbreviated to ToC, should list all major sections that follow, both within the body and in the back matter.

Blank or Epigraph

A quote or excerpt which indicates the book’s subject matter.

An Epigraph can be taken from another book, a poem, song, quotation or almost any source.

It generally immediately precedes the first chapter.

Preface:

Reason for writing, word of thanks.

An introduction written by the author, a preface relates how the book came into being or provides context for the current edition.

Blank

Foreword

An introduction is written by a person other than the author.

Often written by a friend, or scholar of the author’s work. Otherwise by a recognised authority of the books subject’s matter.

It is an honour to be asked to write a Foreword.

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BODY

The body of a book is pretty self-explanatory: the main text that goes between the front matter and back matter. For readers and writers alike, this is where the magic happens — but it’s not just the content that’s crucial, but also how you arrange it.

Prologue (for fiction)

The section before the main story begins.

A prologue aims to set the stage and intrigue the reader.

Many prologues contain notes of intriguing events which only become contextualized as the reader gets deeper into the story.

Introduction (for nonfiction)

A few pages that usher the reader into the subject matter.

The introduction clarifies the book’s setting and/or events linking to the content, along with other information relating to the main narrative.

Note: The difference between a preface and an introduction is a preface is personal to the author, discussing why they authored the book, and what their process was.

An introduction relates directly to the subject matter, it establishes the position of the book in relation to its content.

Chapters

All books have chapters, or sections, into which the narrative or content is divided.

Epilogue (for fiction)

An Epilogue is a scene that wraps up the story in a satisfying manner.

Often an epilogue takes place sometime in the future from the last chapter.

If the book is part of a series, the epilogue may raise new questions or hint at what is to come. A technique known as a ‘Hook’.

Blank

Conclusion (for nonfiction)

This section sums up the core ideas, values, and concepts of the text.

Explicitly labelled conclusions are becoming less frequent in nonfiction books, which now commonly offer final thoughts in the last chapter, but academic dissertations are still formatted this way.

Afterword

This allows giving final notes on the books content not otherwise addressed.

It is a useful tool for edited, revised, and new editions.

The Afterword can be written by the author or another person.

Postscript

A brief final comment after the narrative comes to an end, usually just a sentence or two.

For example, “Mr Archibald Carruthers died at his Cotswold cottage three months after this book’s publication. Happily, he saw his story come to fruition.

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BACK MATTER

Also known as the ‘end matter’ is the material found at the back of a book.

Authors utilise the back matter to offer readers further context or information.

The back matter is also an excellent marketing tool, listing the authors ‘other publications’ and giving links to websites.

Acknowledgements

A section to acknowledge and thank all those who contributed to the book’s creation.

The acknowledgements generally appear directly after the last chapter.

About the author

Is where the author gives a summary of their previous work, education, and personal life.

For example,  “John Doe lives in Hampshire with his wife, two wayward daughters and two, even more wayward, Great Danes”.

Copyright permissions

If the author has sought permission to reproduce song lyrics, artwork, or extended excerpts from other books, they should be attributed here.

Such items may also appear in the front matter.

Discussion questions

A section rarely used nowadays, but worth considering for inclusion.

Thought-provoking questions and prompts about the book, intended for use in an academic context or book clubs.

Appendix or addendum (nonfiction)

Additional details, or updated information relevant to the book, especially if it’s a newer edition.

Chronology or timeline (nonfiction)

List of events in sequential order, which may be helpful for the reader, especially if the narrative is presented out of order. A chronology is sometimes part of the appendix.

Endnotes

Supplementary notes relating to specific passages of the text, and denoted within the body by superscripts.

Most often used in nonfiction, but occasionally found in experimental/comedic fiction.

Glossary

Definitions of words or other elements which appear in the text.

In works of fiction, the glossary may contain entries about individual characters or settings.

A glossary should appear in alphabetical order.

For example, in a science fiction book, the Glossary could list the names and details of individual planets in the story.

Index

Generally used in non-fiction.

A list of special terms or phrases used in the book, along with the pages on which they appear, so the reader can find them easily.

An index should appear in alphabetical order.

Bibliography/reference list

A formal list of citations, a comprehensive breakdown of sources cited in the work.

Blank

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Here are those two books I mentioned earlier, books no author should be without.

The Frugal Author

Amazon Kindle UK: http://amzn.to/2EYcJjZ

Amazon Worldwide: http://authl.it/B07B27SPBL

Non-Amazon bookstores: https://books2read.com/u/3JynnB

Lots of Author Stuff You Need to Know

Amazon UK: https://amzn.to/301nGYY

Non-Amazon bookstores: https://books2read.com/u/bP5O9

Amazon worldwide: http://authl.it/B07K5Z3F9K

FLOYD, an excerpt.

It is rare for me to post about my works in progress (WiP) on this blog, but today I make an exception.

Following is an excerpt from a novel I am working on titled ‘FLOYD’, which is a fast paced ‘slasher’ style story, about the deranged psychopath, Floyd, who is on a mission of revenge against all those involved with his committal to an institute for the insane, after he murdered his wife.

WARNING: The following contains scenes of extreme graphic violence and more than a sprinkle of bad language & swearing, so readers discretion is advised beyond this point.

… Floyd did not expect the Bitch to run at him. Neither did he think she would seize the carving knife from the counter. He was wrong on both counts.

She crossed the floor fast. He managed to dodge the blade as it whistled past his face. Instinctively he grabbed her arm, twisting it so she would drop the knife. But the Bitch continued to struggle, the long steel blade sliced the top of his thigh. It was damned painful.

Floyd kicked her knife-wielding arm away with his foot, keeping hold of her other arm. Then she was spinning towards him again. He took hold of both her forearms as they wrestled. Bending her wrist, forcing the knife away from his face caused the tip to sink into the top of the Bitch’s left breast. Floyd heard her flesh pop like a sausage.

The Bitch seemed oblivious. She pulled the blade free and stabbed it towards Floyd. This time he was ready, he knocked the knife from her grasp and took hold of her hair, jerking her off her feet.

The other Molly, Floyd’s new Molly appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Go on Floyd,” she shouted, “give the Bitch what she deserves. Go on Floyd, give her hell.” His Molly was bouncing up and down with excitement. Her presence bolstered his reserve, Floyd’s blood came back to the boil. Without thinking he dragged Bitch across the floor by her tangled blond hair.

“Stop, stop, you bastard,” she screamed. He ignored her, pulling her roughly up the staircase. She half bounced, half backwards scrambled, her legs flailing as she tried to keep her body moving to stop her entire scalp from ripping off her head.

Floyd lost his grip as they reached the landing, he stumbled to his knees, a great clump of tangled peroxide hair entwined between his fingers. In an instant the Bitch was on him, her small fists ineffectually battering against his back. He pushed her off easily. Standing, he grabbed her by her left arm, pulling her to her feet.

For a second they stood, panting and staring into each other’s eyes before the Bitch spat into his face. Flecks of spit, snot and blood-splattered Floyd. He hit the Bitch with a sweeping backhand. Her head bounced off the wall and she collapsed, an unconscious heap on the floor. Blood began pouring from her nose and the puncture wound on her breast.

The new Molly cheered. “That’s the way Floyd, you teach that fucking Bitch a lesson.”

Floyd hoisted the Bitch from the floor, carrying her limp body into the bedroom and tossing her onto the bed, noticing for the first time the red weal’s adorning her buttocks. So that is what the Bitch was into now, was it? So, she found she likes a bit of pain with her pleasure. Well, she could certainly look forward to some pain now.

Floyd took his leather belts from the dresser and strapped the Bitch’s hands together, tying them above her head to the bedstead. He used her stockings to fasten her legs to the bedposts at the base. The Bitch was now restrained. Spread-eagled and at his mercy, something he would have her begging for soon enough. She could not fight him now. She would have to answer his questions… or suffer the consequences.

“Let me look at your leg, you poor thing,” said his Molly, crouching on the floor in front of Floyd. “It’s quite deep. I think it will need stitches. A clean-up and some tape will help for now. Come on.” Molly led him into the bathroom.

“Oh, oh, look at this,” Floyd said pointing to the floor. “That fucking bitch has bled all over my fucking cream carpet. I’ll never get the blood out. For fuck’s sake, it will cost a fortune to replace.”

Molly bathed his wound, temporarily taping it together with some plasters from the medicine cabinet. He changed his dishevelled, blood-soaked clothing. “Grab me a cold beer, Molly,” he said, as he made his way back to the bedroom. “I am certain the Bitch will make this thirsty work.”

Floyd splashed the Bitch’s face with some of the cold beer. She blinked and coughed as she regained consciousness. “Now, now Molly, my dear,” he said looking down at her, feigning a smile.

He spoke softly, much like talking to a child. “Now I have your complete attention, your undivided attention, you will answer my questions, no lies, no evasion. Do you understand me?”

The Bitch struggled against her restraints. “Untie me, let me go,” she demanded.

“Oh, but I thought you liked that type of thing, a bit of bondage, a good thrashing?” He kept his smile in place as he spoke.

“What?” she asked.

“The red marks, the welts on your fat arse. There is only one way they got there,” he said.

“You’re not man enough for me to let you do that. You don’t excite me or stimulate me enough, not one little iota. You never did. Now untie me, you bastard.” The Bitch’s voice was screechingly loud.

“After you answer my questions.” Floyd perched himself on the edge of the bed and gently stroked the Bitch’s head, brushing the hair away from her eyes. “That must feel better. I know how you hate it when your hair covers your face.”

“Let me go, Floyd. This is not funny anymore.” The Bitch spoke a little quieter but through gritted teeth.

“Oh Molly, you must listen to me,” he said, bending close and grinning.

“Fuck you.”

His voice changed to a spiteful hiss, “For once in your fucking life listen to me, hear me, answer me, you bitch.”

“Fuck you.” Molly was shouting again.

Floyd punched her full in the face. He found the crunching sound her nose made is it snapped deeply satisfying.

The new Molly stood behind Floyd, her arms wrapped around his waist, she rested her head on his shoulder as she spoke. “You know the truth. You know she’s been cheating. Why not finisher her off now, so we can be together.”

Floyd looked at the Bitch laying on the bed. Her face was turned away. She was crying. Her body shaking with each sob. The fuck, she looked so pig ugly with her mouth screwed up like that. Besides, there was blood and snot everywhere.

Glancing over his shoulder, the pretty face of his new Molly was smiling at him. There was no contest, no contest whatsoever.

“Your right. Let’s get rid of this bitch,” he said.

Molly stepped backwards and held up the kitchen knife, the one Bitch Molly picked up in the kitchen, the one she used to cut Floyd’s leg.

“This should do it,” she said.

He took the knife and held it in front of the Bitch’s face. “So, you like something long and hard inside you, eh? You like some pain, do you?”

This was it.

This was it. This was his dream.

This was the moment he recalled from all his nightmares.

The Bitch lying on the bed, looking up in fear, in terror. During his dreams it seemed wrong, it frightened him. But now it all made sense. It was a premonition. A warning about this evil Bitch’s intentions.

“Go on Floyd, do her.” Molly was bouncing with excitement again.

“Oh, I shall. I am going to slit her throat from ear to ear.”

The Bitch was staring at him. “Who the fuck are you talking to? You sick bastard.”

He smiled, “Say hello to Molly, Molly.” Floyd reached out and pulled the new Molly to his side. “Look, isn’t she beautiful? She looks like you used to before you changed, before you cheated, before you became an old haggard Bitch. My new Molly is taking your place now.”

“You’ve lost the plot, Floyd. You’re sick. Sick in the head.” The Bitch spat out a mouthful of blood. “You’re hallucinating, seeing things.”

“She looks like you did once, do you know why? Eh, do you?”

“There’s no one there Floyd, you’ve turned fucking psycho.”

“She looks like you because she is you. My new Molly’s from a parallel dimension, a multiverse.”

“Fuck you, fuck you. You sick cunt. Now let me go.” Molly began to scream. Loud, high pitched screams and shouts for help.

“Shut her the fuck up, Floyd,” new Molly said. She had stopped bouncing up and down and was covering her ears with her hands. “It hurts my head.”

Floyd straddled the Bitch, one knee each side of her chest. His left hand forced her chin up, exposing her throat. He held the knife inches from her eyes, “Say goodbye, Molly. Say goodbye.”

The Bitch shrieked an ear-piercing, spine-tingling scream which vibrated every bone in his body. The knife sliced through the Bitch’s flesh like a butcher cutting pork. Her screams turned into a bloody bubbling gurgle. Floyd noticed the realisation and saw the disbelief in the Bitch’s eyes as the last moments of her life soaked into the crisp white linen bedsheets.

“Oh, my love, you did it, you did it,” said the new Molly, slinging her arms about Floyd’s neck, smothering him kisses. “You are such a darling.”

“Time for another beer I think,” said Floyd…

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FLOYD continues to be a Work in Progress, I’ll post more here when I’m nearer to completing this story.

In the meantime, why not read another of my books, perhaps an Electric Eclectic novelette like ‘A New Summer Garden‘, a classic Crime Thriller.

‘The Orb‘, a fast paced Urban Fantasy Thriller.

Or maybe ‘Mechanical Mike‘, a retro, pulp-fiction comic book yarn?

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The above are available as eBooks/Kindle, with A New Summer Garden and Mechanical Mike also as Pocketbook Paperbacks.

You can find all the above books, with details, along with my other books, on my website, http://bit.ly/paulsEEbooks 

Feel free to browse around, ask questions and follow me on Facebook,  https://www.facebook.com/paulwhitewriter

The best time to release your new book

Yesterday I completed another book, making it ready for publication.

Over the previous three days, I have titivated with the internal layout, put the final finickity touches to my tome, trying to ensure I have no orphaned sentences, that the images, I have several throughout the book, are set as I wish and then, once again a run-through for any grammatical, punctuation or other errors such messing about can create.

For the two days before, I worked on finalising the cover.

The book Is now filed away awaiting the right window for publication. (I’m thinking sometime around May.)

The reason, I believe this will be the BEST time for me to release this book.

But is there a best time for you to release a book?

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Let’s look at how this publishing game pans out over the year, and what else might influence when you make your book available.

Publishing your book as soon as it is ready is termed ‘soft publication.’

Your ‘media date’ or ‘hard publication date’ or ‘release date’ can be whenever you think the stars are going to align with your media coverage and the success of your pre-release marketing.

It should be when you think you can sell the most books.

Traditionally, in the UK, new books are published on a Thursday, especially a Thursday between the 7^th and 14^th of the month.

The weeks leading up to autumn are often some of the busiest times for new releases, as publishers jockey to fill bookstore shelves ahead of the upcoming winter holidays.

If you read are a regular reader of my blog on writing, ‘Ramblings from a Writers Mind’ or have any of my books on authorship, you will know I often say, “Copy what the big boys do.”

The reason I say that is, the major publishers rarely do anything by chance. They spend a fortune on strategic planning and market research to ensure they get the right books, in the right places, at the right time to maximise their sales and hence their revenue.

Regarding the release of your next book, you could follow my advice and do the same as the major publishers.

But wait a moment. Let’s think about a few things first.

Some would say, do not release your book anytime between a Tuesday and a Thursday, because doing so will put your book in direct competition with the major publishing houses’ releases.

Suggestions of when is best include weekends, a Saturday will (generally) give you five whole days before the big houses release another title.

Some industry data points to Sundays and Mondays to attract the most journalistic attention.

It may be worth choosing a date early or late in the month, (before the 7^th, or after the 14^th), just after or just before the ‘Monthly Payday’.

Of course, there are other considerations, particularly for books of certain genres.

Romance books do well in early February, and a couple of weeks before the summer holiday period.

Horror works well from mid-November, and through October.

Introspective works sell best during the Summer, books like ‘Go Set a Watchman‘ for instance, as do many Adventure stories.

Books described as ‘light & airy‘ do well in the Springtime.

Unsurprisingly, winter tales, snowy themes and settings, do well during the winter months.

But there’s more to consider than the seasons.

The premise of your book can be all-important at certain times too.

Check out which television series are scheduled over the next six months to a year, find which have comparable stories, settings, locations, or characters to your book.

If your book is a period tale and a new costume drama is to be released on Television in August, then that program could help boost your sales.

If the new Sci-Fi blockbuster is due out in March… go for it. Major publishers have been known to change the name of a book to align with a mainstream film title.

For example, say a film, a Sci-Fi blockbuster sequel is named ‘Beyond the Far Crescent’, the publisher may alter a book’s title from, ‘From the Planets Shadow’ to ‘The Light of the Crescent’.

Never be afraid to re-title your book to align it with the marketplace, demographics, or current trends.

Consider too Special Calendar Days.

Easter time always sees a boost in Christian related books. Martin Luther King Day, for Black origin works. International Women’s Day, for strong female characters, feminism, and women’s rights. Remembrance Day, for War Stories, or Memoirs, for instance.

In this case, my advice would be, as I so often say, “do what the big boys do. Learn from them. Use their knowledge to compete with them.” It’s a bit like literary judo, using their size and bulk against them.

I admit there are no hard and fast rules, but I do suggest seriously planning when you release your next book.

Look ahead, research, find out what influences will affect your book, and create your strategy accordingly.

To help you decide when to release, or hold an ‘official’ launch day, here’s a rough guide cobbled together from industry data.

January

Self-help; diet; inspirational; business.

If your book fits into this category, you’ll find the media are particularly interested at this time. Mianly because it’s what many consumers are thinking about. Consider New Year’s resolutions, business forecasting/planning.

February

Self-help associated with relationships; debut authors; business; fiction.

If you are a debut, or relatively new indie author, this month is (generally) not so full of new titles, and there may be more promotion, and media opportunities, as a result.

March

Debut authors; mysteries; fiction

April

Women’s fiction

May

Beach reads; women’s fiction; biographies; books on mountain climbing (Good month for indies)

June

More beach reads; women’s fiction; biographies, or nonfiction that appeal to male readers on vacation, or for Father’s Day.

July

Quieter month, better for debut authors; more of what you saw in June.

A suitable time for indies, as there are fewer ‘new releases to compete with.

August

Debut authors; education-related titles; narrative nonfiction by lesser-known writers… read indie authors. (Get in, before next month.)

September

Public affairs and politics; serial authors in fiction and nonfiction; cooking; highly publicised titles by debut authors with mainstream publishers.

This is the main month, traditionally the annual main release month for major publishers. It is an incredibly competitive month and not indie-friendly.

October

More politics; cooking; big nonfiction titles by well-known personalities and writers; higher-end photography books; art books.

Not an indie-friendly month, unless you are releasing an art or photography title, possibly a nice, glossy, hardcover ‘Coffee Table’ tome.

November

Photography; art; gift books; ‘big name’ authors; diaries and journals, and anything you can think of that will sell in the current budget year.

Go for a well-planned strategic, high publicity release in early November through to the last few days of October.)

December

A good month for lesser-known authors. A variety of books are published, including latecomers for Christmas, or titles for people who want to get a jump on the usual January offerings.

Good for indies looking to establish base sales going into the following year.

UPDATE:

Regarding ‘Jack’s Dtis2’, the book I mentioned at the start of this post; I gave it a ‘soft release’ in March, (with a pre-order by invitation only) followed by an ongoing, promotional program targeted directly at my market segment. The book is still selling in good numbers a year later, and shows no signs of slowing down.

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