Tales from a New Amsterdam (Britain) - New Release

Is it sorcery and seduction, magic and mayhem or taking a chance for a little romance? Find out when you download my newest vignette, available now - download for free today on Amazon.

Tales from a New Amsterdam (Britain)

Respectable - Diane Major

Today, please join me in welcoming the super talented and creative Diane Major to exile. Diane has published numerous novels and has more upcoming projects. It is so exciting having her join me today, especially since Diane just released a new book today! (It's a children's book, so you will need to connect with her to learn more about the book and how to purchase it. Because, you all know how explicit my works are, so I'm not comfortable promoting children's books. I AM comfortable promoting Diane!)

 How are you Diane? Thank you for joining me today. This is so exciting! Could you please introduce yourself to our readers in fifty words or less.

I was brought up in a coal mining village in the North East of England. Over the years I worked in Community Development, Adult Learning and Youth Work.  Now, I am retired and enjoy, spending time with my family, writing, gardening, walking and fundraising for a local charity.

What books are you currently reading? Who are your favorite authors?

Over the past months, I have read a number of self published books.  The last book that I finished was something given to me as part of a beta reading group.  It was called The Clearing, by Thomas Rydder, which will be published on the 1 March 2013.  What an adventure!
My favorite authors include: Alyson Noel, Charlaine Harris, Dean Koontz, Stephanie Meyer, Jean Plaidy, plus so many more...

What inspires you to create?

Mm... An idea pops into my head and I immediately write an outline.  From that point everything just develops.  I have to say my outlines look absolutely nothing like the final stories.  As soon as I ‘put pen to paper’ the outline seems to take on its own identity and I let my imagination lead the way. (I smile)

Why did you become an author?

I decided to write, as through my chosen career, I became aware that people sometimes need an escape, particularly when they find themselves facing difficulties, or problems. I hope my writing can help people to take a step back from reality, even if it is only for the time it takes them to read one of my books.

What lead to the creation of the book we're discussing today? Is this book part of a series?

I had originally wanted to write a book based on some historical event.  I began to do research and everything that I was interested in had been written about and published many times. My books up to this point had been fantasy adventure, I therefore decided to broaden this genre to sci fi. That was when Enmitus, The Transformation became an idea.  I did an outline and then the story of Princess Corinna’s journey emerged. This books if the first book about Enmitus and I have completed the follow up, Enmitus – The Children.  If the books take off, I do have an idea for the third, as well as a title.

Can you share an excerpt with us?

From Chapter 7

Alee now silently slips through the gates, then disappears. I now turn to retrace my path when I see Omar and the woman heading to the out building with a lantern in their hand. Once they are far enough across the courtyard I make a dash for the rear door, on reaching it I turn to check whether I have been spotted. It seems Omar is too busy observing that woman who is in the process of opening the outbuilding door; they both appear to be totally oblivious to my presence. I slip through the rear door as I hear the woman howl, I do not look back, but dash to the safety of my room.

The following morning comes quickly and I go to the dining hall where there seems to be some commotion. Omar is dashing around demanding to know whether anyone has seen his servant, a boy named Alee, the one with the wavy hair. No one says they have seen the boy and then I feel a tap on my shoulder which surprises me, I turn.

“Princess Corinna,” the awful woman who is always with my future husband is standing looking into my face; her twisted lips make her look like she is sneering at me, “Have you seen a boy with mousey wavy hair on your travels?”

I instantly feel sick and think she must know that I have interfered.

I look back at her feigning confidence and reply, “I really have no idea who you are talking about.”

The woman looks me up and down before she walks away, as my heart pounds and a shiver ripples through my whole body in an instant. I am hoping Alee is now in a safe place as far away from the tower as possible. While I am out and about the following day it seems the issue around Alee’s disappearance has gone quiet and the servant is never mentioned again.

How can we purchase your book?

My books are available through Amazon and most major on-line book stores.  They are available in e-book, Kindle and paperback.

http://amzn.to/Vka4CR
http://amzn.to/RHoKLt

You can find my books at:
www.dianemajorauthor.co.uk

Do you have any other books planned?

Due to requests from readers I am publishing the sequel to Enmitus – The Transformation in the very near future. It is called Enmitus – The Children.

Cover preview:

Connect with Diane at these links:

Enmitus http://amzn.to/OZzxLu
Like Hell Itself http://amzn.to/U68L6a 
I Am Nine http://amzn.to/Oyn9X2
Children of Fury http://amzn.to/PetZjl
Website http://www.dianemajorauthor.co.uk/
Blog http://diane-newauthor.blogspot.com/ 
Facebook http://on.fb.me/MDuKm1
Twitter @dianemajor1

The Carter Family Project - Expats Post

The Carter Family Project - Expats Post

Fall In Love With Me

For a unknown indie author, I have many friends and colleagues to thank for a tremendous 2012. My debut novella, Fables of the Reconstruction, has been recognized by so many. Reviewers have called the book "A whole new genre." "Original"  "Hypnotic" "An allegory" and said "Move over vampires, zombies are the next big thing."

In December, Fables of the Reconstruction, moved into the Top 50 internationally on the Horror/Occult charts on Amazon.com. Sales remain steady and yes, I have so many of you to thank. Following are a few of the awards/nominations my little monsters garnered:

Goodreads Rankings & Awards:  
#1   Best Unknown but must be Known
#1   Not Your Normal Zombie Book
#1   Help Me Pick My Next Read
#1   Good Books and Good Book Covers
#1   Best Indie Books of 2012

Goodreads Nominee: 
Indie Books - Paranormal Fiction (Top 5)
Kindle Book Reviews Best Indie Books of 2012 (Top 10)
Best Female Writers of Zombie Fiction (Top 10)
Best Books of 2012 (Top 50)
Books That Should Be Made Into Movies

Not only did Fables of the Reconstruction exceed all expectations, my first short story The Legend, the first in a series of experimental vignettes called Tales from a New Amsterdam traveled to #15 internationally on Amazon.

Expats Post (ExpatsPost.com) Dean Walker and MZ, also gave me free rein over a music blog beginning in December 2012. The blog has allowed me to work with up and coming musical talent such as Dax Lion, Kismet Ryding and Celly Black. I have also been fortunate enough to connect with Athens GA legends, the powerhouse supergroup Supercluster featuring the legendary alternative rock icon Vanessa Briscoe Hay,  the English Chanteuse Barb Jungr and Nashville's Americana rocker Donna Frost and blog on their very well respected careers.Look for exciting future blogs on more amazing musical artists in the next few months.

My personal blog, Exile on Peachtree Street, has been a revelation to me. Not only do I release a few personal insights but I have hosted such exciting new authors as Miranda Stork, Livia Ellis, Elodie Parkes, Laura DeLuca, Jonathan Dunne, Steve Christie, Nic Taylor, ER Pierce, Kenneth Weene and GL Giles. Sommer Marsden and Lucy Felthouse, two powerhouses in the world of erotica have joined me in exile. There again, many talented authors and poets are scheduled to join me in upcoming blogs throughout 2013, so watch this space.

This year is shaping itself to bring more literary exposure. Looks for another release in Tales from a New Amsterdam soon. On March 1, no less than Oxford American Literary (oxfordamerican.org) will host the cover reveal for book 2 in the Fables series: Reconstruction of the Fables. Then, on March 21, 2013, look for the highly anticipated anthology from Moon Rose Publishing, A Celtic Tapestry, which will include my short story, Magic in Memphis.

So, I leave you today with many thanks to you all and many positive vibes for 2013. And, instead of a Stones song, I leave you an Iggy Pop song. Fall in Love with Me. Why not? Everyone else has.

Celly Black – Look Out World, Here She Comes - Expats Post

Celly Black – Look Out World, Here She Comes - Expats Post

Kismet Ryding Rocks - Expats Post

Kismet Ryding Rocks - Expats Post

Christmas Puzzle by Kenneth Weene

Hello everyone. Today the author Kenneth Weene has joined me in exile. Kenneth, the man who gave us the quote, "The journey of a thousand miles starts with a single frustration".  Yes, Kenneth has written a very special story for us today called Christmas Puzzle. Thank you for joining me today Kenneth! Everyone enjoy and have a very Merry Christmas!

The cold, wet night was made more miserable by the reflection of Christmas lights in the puddles. The blare of carols echoed flatly off buildings. The racket of harried cab drivers filled the streets.

Matt Desmond was interviewing witnesses. Their stories were the same, not so much the same as would raise a flag, not as if they had been practiced. It was like putting a jigsaw puzzle together. Pieces fit; and when they did, the picture got clearer.

Matt Desmond liked puzzles. Twenty-three years on the force, the last fifteen and a half working homicide, and that was what he liked about his job—the puzzles.

He had loved doing puzzles with Sally. They would spread the pieces in the middle of the living room floor while Jaquie groused about the mess and his teaching their only kid to be as big a slob as he.

“Daddy, when I grow up, I’m going to marry you,” Sally would peep.

Matt would laugh and say, “I love you, too, Sally-Sweet.”

He had shared her tea parties and gone to her school assemblies and games. Not a lot of fathers did, especially not fathers who were also cops; but Matt and Sally were different.

And they talked—about everything. He never told her she was too young, too little. When she asked, he shared cases: Maybe he shouldn’t have, but Sally never seemed upset. They were just puzzles, and she loved puzzles.

Then without warning, those days were gone. Sally was gone. That was a puzzle Matt had never solved. Neither had the entire New York City police department.

“Maybe somebody’s got her in Mexico or Haiti or one of them other countries?” Morrison’s comment had not been helpful. What the hell could the light of his life be doing in some other country, some other world? Matt had thought of drugs and whorehouses and wept.

The girl whose body was splayed on the road—bones broken and her body contorted—appeared to be about the same age as Sally, as she had been—fourteen-fifteen?

Matt hated days like this, days that reminded him.

Dumb kids.

“Just exactly what happened?” he asked the next one, a young guy who was scarcely bundled against the cold.

“Dunno. Didn’t see.”

“Your friend dies and you ‘dunno?’” Matt tried to mimic the boy’s tone. He took note of the piercings; for Matt they were just another offense.

Nose, both ears—not even the same size holes, chin, left eyebrow, and that big thing in his tongue. What the hell is the matter with them?

“That’s right, Chief. I dunno. See I was in the can taking a dump. I mean you wouldn’t want me going out here.”

 Matt grimaced. “Over there,” he commanded pointing in the direction of the kids he had already questioned.

The next was a girl, maybe a bit older than the dead girl maybe not. Thin, dull-eyed, long hair needing a wash. Something insubstantial about her.

“Who the hell’s Ralph?” she responded to his first question.

Matt pointed to the piercing-pocked youngster he had just questioned.

“Oh, Slim Jim, he was in the john. Missed it all.”

“What was he doing in the john?” Even as he asked, Matt regretted the question.

The girl didn’t crack a smile. “Taking a crap.”

“You call him Slim Jim?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Cause he eats them, Slim Jims. You don’t want to be around him when he farts.” Her tone stayed flat, her face unchanged.

“So, tell me about the accident.”

“What accident?”

“Your friend, she’s dead.”

“Not my friend.”

“But you were here.”

“Duh. Yeah, we were all here.”

“What happened?”

“We was car surfing, she wanted to try, she slipped. End of story. End of her.”

“What’s her name?” So far nobody had known.

“Don’t know. Never seen her before. That’s how it happens.”

“How what happens?”

It was gnawing at Matt: the absence of caring, of involvement. Not a tear, not a smile, not even a grimace. He glanced over at “Slim Jim.” The boy was staring at him. They all were. They weren’t talking, not the way kids should, not the way Matt expected.

“How we join up. People drift in. People drift out. Some stay. Them that stay got names; the rest don’t.”

“Everybody has a name.” One name kept repeating itself in Matt’s head, “Sally, Sally.” He would never give up loving her, wanting to find her. That was what had ended their marriage. Jaquie had had enough. Matt figured any sane woman would have. No, it wasn’t that I missed her so much. I did. I do. But I can’t put it together. I got to figure—

“Sure,” the girl responded, “we all got the names our Moms and Dads gave us, but those aren’t our names, not once we’re here.”

“And you don’t know her name?”

“Nah. Not here long enough.”

“What about you?” Matt asked. “You got a name?”

“Sure. They call me Homer.”

“Homer? Why’s that?”

“’Cause I tell the stories.”

“What stories?”

“’Bout the first ones.”

“The first ones?”

“Yeah, the first ones.”

Uncomfortable, Matt did something he often did, something of which he was usually unaware. He pulled out his wallet and flipped it open to the photograph, the one he always carried. The one that gave him a moment of—not peace, but respite. Yeah, it gave him relief.

Sally and him at Coney Island. That had been the summer before. They had ridden the Cyclone and eaten hotdogs, and laughed. He had felt good, young, alive. Father-daughter time. Then she had told him about Harris, her first love, her first lover. Matt had taken it well, only threatened to kill the bastard twice, cut off his balls—well that was a few times.

But they had laughed. At the end, they had laughed and asked one of the Japanese tourists to take their picture. That had been outside the House of Horrors. “Monsters, Zombies, Vampires,” the loudspeaker had proclaimed in tinny loudness. And Sally held the orange-rag dog he had won throwing rings at soda bottles.

“I hope your mother won’t be too jealous,” he had said; and they had laughed some more.

Coney Island: that had been her choice. Not Great Adventure or a water park. Sally loved New York. Matt figured that came from him, certainly not from Jaquie. His ex had remarried and moved to Atlanta. What the hell was in Atlanta?

Then Sally was gone, disappeared. Matt had found Harris, just a kid who had a new girlfriend. No leads. Nothing.

“Where’d you get that?” Homer demanded, breaking into Matt’s reverie. Her voice was louder, but it contained no hint of emotion.

“You know her?”

“Sure. That’s Her.”

Matt stood dumb.

The girl reached out for his wallet. Matt handed it over. 

“That’s Her,” she repeated.

“Who?”

“Mrs. Drac. You know, Her?”

“That’s my daughter. Do you know—”?

He had no time to finish. The girl had wrapped her arms around him. With strength that belied her slight frame, she pulled him to her and sank her teeth into his neck.

Then Matt understood. He thought of weeping, but his feelings had died. At least his Sally hadn’t forgotten. She had sent for him. It would be a good Christmas. That much he finally understood.