Diary of a Serial Killer


This is not an excerpt from ‘Your Last Breath’. It’s more a snapshot of the thoughts and feelings our serial killer, Ray Lang, had in his earlier life. What influenced his later decision to kill? Was it the negative reactions of his family perhaps, or did he already have the inclination to harm others? Maybe both of these played some part in the person he became. Judge for yourself when you read his journal. First entry here today!

via Ray’s Journal, 1st Entry

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Do Murder Thrillers Encourage Some People to Kill

The horrifying news about Jemma Lilley, originally from Lincolnshire, UK, killing autistic boy, Aaron Pajich, at her home in Perth because she wanted to feel euphoric, appalls me.
I’m beginning to worry what effect books like my dark thriller ‘Your Last Breath’ have on people like her, and what we authors can do to discourage them from acting out their fantasies. We can make the perpetrator suffer in our stories, but sometimes we have to let them get away. Are other crime/thriller/murder writers concerned about this?
Posted in Authors, Bloggers, Books, Crime, Uncategorized | Tagged , , | 4 Comments

Different Doesn’t Mean Inferior


It’s natural to see things from our own viewpoint. Sometimes, it’s from a physical perspective. For instance, a tall person cleaning may see a gathering of dust on an upper shelf while a short person, unable to see that high up, would perhaps only notice the dust between a microwave and a counter top. It’s the same with our views from a social perspective. We see differences in the looks, behaviour, and beliefs of the people all around us.



This is beneficial, it helps us surround ourselves with people similar to us, particularly those who share our core values, hobbies, life experiences, and so on. However, when we notice others are different from us, this does not give us the right to judge them as inferior, less valuable, or someone we must ostracise purely on the basis of those differences.

We have no right to judge others at all unless, and here lies the crux of the matter, they, personally, have committed a crime against us or society, or their behaviour impacts on us directly.

Too many of us think it is our right to judge those that don’t conform to our standards, whatever they are. We should all remember how we live is not always our choice, and make allowances for others. After all, wouldn’t we  want those same ‘different’ individuals to make allowances for our beliefs, looks, and sometimes odd behaviour?

Posted in Life, Natural World, Nature, Relationships, Social Networking, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments



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A Question of Perception




What Do You Think About Caravans?

It has always fascinated me how people from different nations and cultures view caravans, or rather mobile homes as they are more commonly known here now.

This difference seems more noticeable between England and the United Sates. We in England, often hear references from over the pond about white trailer trash. We British, believe Americans use this derogatory term to describe poor, lower class, white people living in mobile homes, or trailers as they are known in the states.

We in Britain,  have a very different view of dwellings on wheels. Generally, we have a fond relationship with them which stems from as early as the 1800s when they were first used by Romanies, travelling salesmen, as well as circus and fairground workers. Of course, they were horse-drawn then, but once we had the  motor engine, the caravan  moved along with the times and increasingly became popular for leisure  as well as work. More recently, in the 1940s, the static caravan appeared on the scene. The modern ones are, indeed, a home from home with dishwashers, full bathroom  and laundry facilities, multi-room piped music, double glazing, and even under-floor heating.






Several differences exist between the UK and the US in mobile home usage. For instance:


In the UK, holiday makers are most likely to rent mobile homes, and will pay several hundred pounds to hire one for a week or two. The caravan park location will be the seaside or in a rural spot some distance from where the people hiring it live. They will have their own dwelling elsewhere and use it for a change of scenery.

In the US, people hire them to live in. They are more likely to be near a town or industry. People hiring them usually cannot afford to have property elsewhere.


In the UK, caravan parks require mobile home owners to own or live in property elsewhere. They must have a separate address unless their static caravan is on a residential park. They are proud of their mobile home and the lifestyle it gives them. Indeed, they are sometimes envied by their friends and neighbours.

In the US, people who own them usually do so because they are cheaper than buying other property. They are unlikely to have other property either rented or owned. They would not be as proud to own it as the British counterpart.

Yet not all US trailer parks fit the trailer trash pattern.  Mobile homes and trailer parks are perceived differently depending on each state. Tom Geoghegan expertly demonstrates the variety in attitudes between states.


What do you think about mobile homes? Do you like them or loathe them? Don’t forget to name your state or county when you comment.

Posted in Author, British seaside, Different perceptions, England, Holidays, Mobile homes, Rural Countryside, Trailer parks, United States | Leave a comment

Lancashire Humour -Wet, Wet, Wet

We walked out of the chippy unable to speak, we had tears in our eyes. It was not the price or an Atlantic Cod shortage causing this emotional moment, we had just said goodbye to Mr Chow, proprietor of Chow’s Chippy, Blackburn Road, Bolton, Lancashire. The Boss has enjoyed Chips ‘n’ a Chat for thirty […]

via Wet Wet Wet – Eleven Nights in Lancashire — inpursuitofadream.com

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Wish I was an expert!

Apart from being a master at nothing, the worst thing about being an all-rounder is there is so much you want to do and not enough time to do it in. Wish there were more hours in the day! I love writing, art, needle crafts, and doing my family history. What do you like doing?











Yellow Flowers – Cross Stitch

Posted in #Needle Crafts, Art, Humour, Uncategorized, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Winter Cave Poems: Diary of a Caving and Creative Writing Project

Source: Winter Cave Poems: Diary of a Caving and Creative Writing Project

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Best Way Yet to Make Sure Your Posts Are Reblogged


Co-operative Reblogging

How many of us have spent precious time perfecting a post for our website only to have it seen once, and then sink neglected in the blog graveyard? Few people may have actually seen the post, and this is especially true of our early posts when we have few followers. Some great content is wasting away in the bowels of various websites. What a waste! Yet how can we use it?

We could keep regurgitating our own posts and, indeed, I have done that on occasions, although I do worry it may offend my longest followers to see it again instead of something new. Wouldn’t it be a better idea if we used other people’s content and let those other bloggers use ours? I know we all do that anyway, but the posts I’m referring to are not being shown. They’ve been out once or twice, but with few followers to see them they’ve been overlooked. When others reblog, the posts are seen by different people.

When we’re looking for something to reblog, we often spend ages trawling through the reader to find suitable posts. Yet if we all put our most interesting blog’s URLs in one place it would be so much easier to find the content we’re looking for. Adding your blogs here could give you another benefit. Reblogging each other’s posts will probably encourage new visitors to your website which, in turn, may help you get noticed by the search bots.

This will only work if they are quality posts, that is, not promotional or sales posts. The aim here is not to sell, but to win more followers and readers. I would not recommend you totally replace your own posts with reblogs from others. They should really be used to supplement your posts. New posts we  create can also be added to the list, as and when we publish them. In this way there will be an ever-increasing pool of URLs to choose from.

Quality posts could be flash fiction, short stories, poetry (at least two verses), informative articles, true life experiences, in fact, everything apart from a direct sales advert. Author interviews allowed (in the ratio of one in four submitted URLs) providing they only  contain one book link and one thumbnail sized book cover image. This should guarantee the emphasis will be on the author, not the book. We should make sure the posts we offer are well-edited, not out-dated, relevant to the present (unless it’s about the past), and non-offensive. No references to anything racist or explicitly sexual  accepted.


  1. Please add your post links in the comments, no more than two links in one comment. WordPress thinks comments with three or more links are spam and will reject them.  There is no limit for the amount of comments you want to add, so if you’re adding eight URLs, you can do it in four comments.
  2. When using links from the comments, please read them to make sure they are suitable for your followers. That responsibility is yours.
  3. For those who might want to use the links without giving us some their own, please feel free to do this. Those of us who have submitted our links are more than pleased to have the posts reblogged. Do remember, however, the list of new ones will eventually die out if too many do this without offering some links back in return.

Only you can make this a successful content resource. Please use it! If this generates a good response, I will make it more permanent.

I’ll add my URLs to the first comments. Please reblog at least one of mine from the comments and also this post, then feel free to add your own URLs. I will then reblog at least one of yours.





Posted in Authors, Family Life, Flash Fiction, Poetry, Promotion, Short Stories, Social Networking, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

Middle-Age Musings

The years described as ‘middle age’ are arbitrary, but commonly believed to occur later now than one hundred years ago. The middle years occupy about one-third of our life cycle, and can last between twenty and thirty years. For the purposes of this article, I’ll suggest ‘middle age’ is the period when you feel past your prime until you reach old age.

Realising you are approaching middle age can be either exciting or daunting. Exciting because your children, if you have any, are preparing to leave or have already left home. You may be looking forward to the freedom that brings, alternatively, you may be dreading it, worrying how you are going to fill all the time you’ll have. This is certainly true if you and your partner are not getting on.

You may never have had children, and now those opportunities are gone
you could feel depressed, wondering what options are left for you now. Illness will certainly affect how you see your middle years too. Take heart; life is still what you make it.

You can choose to sit back and practice for your retirement years, or you can grab the new opportunities open to you. From my point of view, life is for living. Now is the time to try all those things you thought you would never have time for. Research your family history, write poetry or a book, take up a sport, read more, or learn a new craft. The list is endless. So many things you can do even if you have impaired mobility. I went back to college when I was forty and I loved it.

Join a club and make new friends. You may not have had time for friends before, so grasp this opportunity now. If you are lucky, these middle years– where you can finally do all the things you’ve ever thought of doing– will last a long time.

Some people, however, will go straight from looking after their children to looking after their parents. For those middle-aged carers with children still at home, it can feel like a lifelong cycle. Having two competing parties demanding your attention is often crippling. Many middle-aged people caring for their parents are also looking after grandchildren while their parents work. They too  have the problem of split loyalties, like those still caring for their children.

For those caring for elderly parents, as the years go by, they will find their parents regress into babies. You care for your own babies as they progress into toddlers, children, teenagers, and adults, and then start all over again with your parents’ in reverse order. In the beginning they are just adults who need help with certain things. As the years move forward, so the list of everyday things they need help with grows. You watch helplessly as your parents get frustrated at the things they cannot do. Soon they are like children looking to you for their every need, and eventually, if they live long enough, they regress to babies. Dementia sufferers are often waiting around for their mum or dad to come, and will talk as if they are still living with them. Even worse is when you have to cope with parents who have lost control over their own bodily functions.

Be cheerful though, caring for elderly parents isn’t as miserable as it seems. Do you remember how much laughter your little ones gave you? How hilarious some of the things they did were? Well, I’m pleased to tell you, you’ll also have those wonderful rib-tickling laughter moments, peppered in between the despairing ones, when you care for your elderly parents.

I can recall many incidents with my mum and dad that had us giggling. One morning my dad telephoned us, and my husband picked up the phone. My dad thought he was phoning Liverpool County Council to tell them he needed the toilet seat replacing. No matter how many times my husband told him he was speaking to his son-in-law, dad kept strongly insisting the council replace the toilet seat in his rented flat. He was using his trump card of being ninety, and he was growing impatient and angry. Frustrated, because he could not make my dad understand who he was speaking to, my husband pretended he was from the council, and told dad someone would be there right away to fix it. So we bought a new toilet seat, took it to my parent’s flat, and fixed it for him. Dad could not understand how we knew he had broken it again. This was the fourth one he had broken in a year and probably did not want us to know he had done it again. The funny thing was, he had left Liverpool more than thirty years earlier, and so had not been under Liverpool County Council for many years.

on another occasion, he telephoned us to ask for his grandson’s telephone number. We tried to give it to him over the phone, but it was a disaster. Each number took about eight attempts on his part to get it right, and when we got to the sixth number, he just could not get it at all. My husband put the phone on speaker and we were both in hysterics with him. Dad was laughing too, and I would not be surprised if he was doing it deliberately to get us over to his place again, because that is what we ended up doing even though we had only just come back from there.One time he rang us, and when my husband answered, dad wanted to know what we had called him for. We tried to explain it was him who telephoned us, but he would not have it and insisted we had called him. There were so many funny incidents as they aged, it is impossible to recall all of them. So if you are currently facing that situation, cheer up, it’s not all bad. If you are not dealing with that particular situation, then you are lucky.

There’s another tension packed scenario I have not mentioned yet. That is when married children come back to live with you, often bringing their partner and children with them. This is potentially a stressful time for all. Take comfort from the fact it won’t last forever. The younger ones will find the situation as harrowing as you. They will strive to get their own space again.

So those of you who so far have none of these complications, make the most of these middle years while you can. You just never know when your situation will change.

Posted in Caring for Elderly Parents, Children, Couples, Family Life, Humour, Life, Marriage, Middle Age, Parents, Relationships, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments

Don’t Let Memories Die

As an avid family historian, I’m a great believer in memoirs and autobiographies. If your aged family members are capable, encourage them to give you a written piece on  their life experiences. If that would be too difficult, encourage them to talk about their lives — the times they laughed until their sides ached, or when sadness overtook them, in fact, to tell you about everything, including what they remember about great uncle Fred.

I know, it’s not always easy in our busy lives to find time to sit and talk but, just remember, those frail relatives will probably not be around when you finally do have the time to spend with them. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve heard those researching their family trees say they wished they’d asked the questions. Please don’t be one of them. We often only develop an interest in our roots as we age. Don’t leave too late.


Memoirs Kindle Cover

Available as an eBook or paperback direct from Amazon

I’m so pleased I encouraged my mother, then in her eighties, to write about her life. Elizabeth Alker, the only child of humble, working class parents,  was born in Pemberton, Wigan. She seems to have had it all, born to loving parents, and then later, fortunate enough to have a happy marriage, caring children, and a long and healthy life. Her journey, however, has not been straightforward. Fate has a way of disrupting the smoothest of paths, and that’s how it was for her.

As an only child, a series of illnesses and deaths marred her teenage years leaving her an orphan, bereft of close family. She married quite young, only eighteen. Soon after, when her mother died, and she was still reeling from the shock of losing the last of her immediate family, her husband did his utmost to ease her loneliness and shock. That is, until fate threw her world into chaos again.  As the second world war loomed, her young husband, already in the territorial army and among the first sent away, unhappily had to leave her alone with her firstborn.

Follow her on her journey through an extraordinary life, sometimes tragic, sometimes hilarious. An ordinary young woman, living her life in the same area and time frame as George Orwell’s study of the working class, Elizabeth would  have witnessed the same scenes he depicted. Orwell concentrated on the negative side of the 1930s Great Depression, while Elizabeth’s recollections show the sheer grit and determination of the community at that time. It is eighty years since Orwell published his work in 1937, a fitting time to publish the memories of Elizabeth Smith.

Posted in #Love, Army, Books, Couples, Economy, England, English History, Family History, Family Life, Humour, Lancashire, Marriage, Parents, Second World War, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Author’s Dilemma

Author’s Dilemma


In Appreciation of My Blogging Friends

Oh! What am I doing? I swore I never would
Broadcast my whole life in sight of every hood.
“You’ll be taking a risk,” So everybody said.
“They’ll know about you,” They’re filling me with dread.
“But I have to do this,” I answered in alarm.
“To promote my book I’ll need lots of charm.”
‘Tissue of Lies’, suspense thriller I created.
If I don’t act now it will be outdated.
Creating my blog page I made it so unique.
Not entirely true, just a bit of my cheek.
In truth, I didn’t know what topic I should write,
But I gave it my best, crossed fingers really tight.
What I didn’t expect was the sterling support
My fellow bloggers gave me with each effort.
They make blogging a joy and much more; a pleasure;
Likes, comments, reblogs I know I will treasure.

Carole Parkes (Copyright 2014)

Tissue of Lies cover 2


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Christmas is Even More Complicated When You Have a Secret.

Christmas is even more complicated when you have a secret.


Only £1.99 from Amazon – Buy Here

Read the first few chapters free – See Inside

Free with Kindle Unlimited – Here


Posted in e-Books, Psychological Thriller, Suspense, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Has it really been a year?

My co-author, Doug Lafuze.

Doug's Scribbles and Ramblings

I was scrolling through old Facebook messenger conversations yesterday and I came across some I had with a few of our advanced readers at this time last year! I can’t believe it’s already been a year since Carole and I were looking for advanced readers for Your Last Breath. The time has flown by!

So much has happened in this past year, and a few things haven’t happened. We have sold a bunch of books, we have had several glowing reviews left for YLB, (even our 2 star review had positive things to say about the story), we have made many new friends and contacts, and I have learned it’s more work to sell a book than it is to write one! For those many readers awaiting a sequel, Carole and I have discussed one, but not until we have finished a few of the projects we are currently working…

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Genuine Black Friday Sale

Get Both Gripping Thrillers for only $1.98


Genuine Black Friday Sale

Two suspenseful thrillers for less than the normal  price of one.

Both 5 star reads

$0.99 each instead of the usual price of $2.99

Be quick! Grab yours now. USA only. Lucky USA!

‘Tissue of Lies’ only 99 cents,  ‘Your Last Breath’ only 99 cents.

Get both for only $1.98




Posted in Bargain Books, e-Books, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Something to Whet Your appetite for Halloween!

Halloween is a mere few days away.  Here’s an excerpt from ‘Your Last Breath’ to put you in a scary mood.

Note – American serial-killer, Raymond Lang , has fled to England to avoid capture. The mix of British English and American English words and phrases in the following excerpt illustrate this.

Featured Image -- 2299


The muted tone of the hall telephone ringing behind her closed, home-office door interrupts Annabelle and reminds her she’ll have to buy another set of telephones soon. The one in the hall is the only one in her present set still working. Rising from her desk and moving to the hall, Annabelle picks up the phone.


There’s no response, just silence. Annabelle lets out a deep sigh of frustration. She wishes these irritating sales people would leave her alone. They’re always interrupting her when she’s busy with something.

She knows it’s one of them again because there’s always a prolonged silence before their automated message starts. Does she want double glazing? Will she answer a survey? These are only two of the many unwelcome sales calls she receives on a daily basis. These days they don’t get a chance to play their recorded sales pitch. She just hangs up as soon as she recognizes the silent period. She does that now, replacing the handset with her prolonged sigh.

Since the telephone has already disturbed her, Annabelle makes her way to the kitchen for a mid-morning drink and then spends the next couple of hours doing a few chores. She decides to prepare a casserole and pop it in the oven to slow cook. Now she can work a bit later and still enjoy a good meal when she’s finished. Living on her own, she can please herself about the hour she eats.


I let her ‘hello’ sink into my brain but I don’t respond. She sounds as beautiful as her profile picture. She doesn’t stay on the line long before she hangs up. The excitement of a new quarry stimulates my thoughts and the words for my book tease me, they just won’t flow forth on their own. I need this, I need Annabelle!

I don’t know anything about her apart from what I’ve read on the internet, and it bothers me a little, but the need to finish this book drives me from my chair. Grabbing my car keys I hurry to the car and unlock the trunk. Moving things aside, I pull a red, steel toolbox towards me, open the lid, and rummage around inside until I find what I’m looking for, a knife—no, THE knife. The same one which gutted Amy and made Laura bleed. I run my finger along its blade, admiring its sharp edge and deadly point. If fate will allow, in a few hours it will be stained with Annabelle’s blood.

I toss the knife onto the passenger seat and climb in behind the wheel. It only takes me about twenty minutes to find Annabelle’s house at the end of a quiet, narrow lane. Some way in I see a leaving delivery truck and he pulls into a passing place to let me through. A little way on I see a second place to pull off not far from her house, so I park there and walk the rest of the way. Apart from seeing the delivery guy, it looks an isolated, quiet area to live.

The single vehicle lane, devoid of any other buildings along its length, opens up at the top to reveal just two isolated dwellings. Annabelle’s cottage, similar to the other, is a cute little place with a modest and well-manicured yard containing a few small flower beds out front. Approaching carefully, I sneak to the back and find the back area is much larger than the front. Although it’s officially still winter and only a few daffodils are in bloom, its tidiness shows many hours of loving care and dedication from someone.

I peek in one of the side windows of the cottage and see her. Annabelle! She’s leaving a bedroom carrying a basket of laundry. I continue around the house and find her again, now in the laundry room filling the washer with the contents of the basket.

Annabelle is dressed in a pair of blue denim jeans and a pink cardigan over a snug fitting white top. She’s in her early forties but looks like she’s taken care of herself. She’s very appealing to the eye. She’s even more attractive in person than in her pictures. As she finishes her task and turns to admire her garden through the window I was watching her from, I have to quickly duck out of sight.

Annabelle and I continue this game of cat and mouse for a few hours as she goes about her chores, never suspecting I’m only a few feet away from her some of the time. I watch her put together some kind of dish, a casserole of some sort, then put it in the oven to cook. I watch her wash dishes, sort through her mail, and sweep a few floors. She dries and folds her laundry before taking it to the bedroom.

When she finally settles back at her computer, I decide it’s time to take action. She seems mild and meek, so I should be able to control her if things don’t go as planned. I still need to pull this off quickly and smoothly.

I see a shovel leaning against a wheelbarrow that’s been left beside a freshly dug flower bed. A plan comes to mind, so I grab the shovel and approach the back door. Through the glass panes in the door I can plainly see into the empty kitchen. I place my knife in my waist band and dial her number once more.


Annabelle had just settled back at the computer when the ringing of the phone disturbs her a second time. The sooner she buys another set of telephones the better, and then she won’t have to keep traipsing out of her study to answer it.

“Hello?” She hears that annoying automated silence again and curses the wretched sales people.

Again Lang remains silent. While she’s still in the hall, he grabs the shovel and swings it hard at the door, shattering the glass which cascades noisily onto the kitchen floor. Without delay he tosses the shovel into the grass. Then immediately drawing his knife with one hand while reaching through the door with his other hand, he unlocks the door. Turning quickly he flattens his back against the outside wall. Hidden from Annabelle in this manner he waits, listening intently…

Annabelle hears the loud, shattering crash from the kitchen and freezes.

Hell! That sounds like a window breaking….

Her unease turns to curiosity. Inquisitively, she takes a few strides swiftly down the hall before fear takes hold of her again and she stops. Standing just inside her kitchen, she hesitates uncertainly….

Lang hears her footsteps lightly tapping down the hall and entering the kitchen, but it’s silent after that. He grips his knife tighter and tries to control his breathing and heart rate. He wants her to come near the door—or better yet, open the door herself before he strikes. He doesn’t hear anything more for what seems like several minutes.

Why is she so quiet? Did she flee to the front door? She couldn’t have, I would have heard her leave the room like I heard her enter it. No, she’s just being cautious. Be patient, she will open the door….

Quietening her breath, Annabelle nervously enters further into her kitchen and sees the smashed back-door window pane.

Oh no!

Thousands of glittering pieces like sparkles in sand lay randomly scattered on the floor where they’ve landed. She panics, terrified. Her heart jumps in her chest almost reaching her throat. Glued to the spot, she’s acutely aware of her awakened nerve endings primed for flight.

Is anyone there?

Holding her breath, she listens…. There’s no sound now, just the faint ticking of the wall clock. Fearfully, she looks around…. The back door, thankfully, is still closed. Looking through the broken pane to the garden beyond, she can’t see anyone. Everything outside looks quiet—seems normal, yet, someone or something has broken the glass. Carefully, trying to avoid stepping on the shimmering fragments but failing, she slowly inches closer to the door….

Is it still locked?

The faint sound of glass being ground into the hard floor disrupts Lang’s thoughts.

She is there after all.

His adrenaline starts pumping faster. His pounding heart makes it difficult to hear what’s happening inside the house. He knows she’s close now; he can smell her perfume wafting through the broken window.

Come on, open the door!

He can feel his impatience building. He can’t wait! He grips his knife tightly and reaches for the doorknob.

She’s right there, I can feel her!

Frantically checking behind her while drawing ever nearer to the back door, Annabelle feels rather than sees, the smashed door crash violently inward with the propelling force of the intruder.

As he bursts into her house in one super-quick motion, he sees she’s only a few feet from him now. Sheer terror fills her face as he swiftly crosses the final few feet. She opens her mouth to scream, but his knife penetrates her flesh as he buries it deep in her stomach.

She inhales loudly as the pain takes her breath away. Her blue eyes dart around the room before settling on his face. Through the tortured, pained expression on her face he thinks he senses a hint of recognition in her eyes.

Does she recognize me from my blog picture? Who the hell cares?

Emboldened by the agony on her face he shoves her backwards across the kitchen until she comes up against the counter. He withdraws his knife then plunges it back into her body. He feels the tip hitting something hard.

She’s small—her spine possibly, or it could be the counter top behind her.

Her warm blood flows slowly over his gloved hand as he draws near her to breathe her in. The smell of her perfume, her blood, and the sweet smell of her terror excites him.

He withdraws the knife once again before driving it deep into her petite frame. Her gasp is silent this time. She starts to sink as her life ebbs, so he drives his knee between her legs to hold her up and feels her blood soaking into his jeans. Gripping her hair he lifts her head and looks her in the eyes for several moments. The life is leaving them so he twists the blade to get a response. They shoot skyward then back to him—sadness and pain look back at him—and he delights in it.

Slowly, he removes the blade from her body and holds it up between them so both of them can savor it. Her dark red blood trickles down the blade, running over the hilt and onto his gloved hand. Her breathing is slow and shallow as he places the bloody knife to her throat.

Annabelle’s strength is gone, her struggles futile. She watches him as he cruelly holds the dripping, bloody knife up for her inspection, sees him devouring her terror before he menacingly moves it to her throat. Her last fading vision is of his manic eyes oddly searching hers and his look of sheer ecstasy as she feels her life drifting away….


She’s barely conscious. Finally, I press the blade into her soft, pink flesh. I smile to her as I plunge it deep drawing it across her throat and opening her neck. What little of her precious lifeblood she has left spills to the floor. She lets out a gurgling gasp as her eyes flutter shut, and her head goes limp in my hand. I kiss her lips. Breathing in and relishing her final breath, I withdraw my knee allowing her to sag lifelessly into the pool of her own blood on the tile floor beneath her.

Leaning over her body, I place my hands on the counter in front of me and inhale the delicious aroma of her blood and the stench of death I’m becoming so used to now. With my cravings now satisfied, I push back from the counter and feel something sticking to my hand. It’s an open address book and one of the entries, on the page I’m staring at, intrigues me.

Under the name Alex Renshaw, dear brother-in-law, his business card is pasted down. That’s when I realize she has a private detective in her family. Alarmed at this revelation, I take one last look at the gruesome scene I’m leaving behind, then head for my car.

In less than thirty minutes, I’m in front of my laptop typing furiously away at my story. Annabelle’s dried blood flakes from my fingers as they speedily fly over the keyboard tapping out the keys.

It must have got there when I took my blood covered gloves and outer garments off outside her house.

I feel a bead of sweat trickle from my hairline. As it mixes with the dried blood on my face, I wipe it away with the back of my hand smearing blood across my forehead and the back of my hand.

I know I’m a mess, but I need to make full use of this clarity I’m feeling right now. There’s no time for a shower, no time to remove the evidence of what I’ve done. Only writing matters to me now.


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Finally, in England


I’m delighted, over the moon, excited beyond belief, and chuffed to bits as we say in good old Blighty.  My second book has received its first review on the Amazon United Kingdom site.

(sigh of relief)

I thought it would never happen because since it’s release in 9 months ago, ‘YOUR LAST BREATH’ has earned 10 reviews on the Amazon US site, 8 of them 5 STAR, but zilch on the UK Amazon site, even though I’m an English author.

That is until yesterday, when I saw a tweet on Twitter praising it. When I looked on Amazon, this lovely review was there.

YES! (punching the air). Anything is possible!

  Format: Kindle Edition    Verified Purchase

Absolutely fantastic book!!!
A gripping game of cat and mouse, so much suspense!
I couldn’t get enough of this book… I hope there is a sequel.
Great lead characters and a maniac who will get what he wants, regardless of the mess he leaves behind.
One of the best books I’ve read for a while!!
Loved it!!!
Thank you so much, reviewer! You’ve made my day.
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Do you remember this phrase as the first words when Frosty the Snowman first came to life from wearing the magician’s hat? Frosty was in awe and wonder at the world around him. Well, that was exact…


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“Your Last Breath” by Carole Parkes and Doug Lafuze

Between the Beats

Lafuze Carole Parkes

I was attracted to this book because the blurb said it’s about an author who takes extreme steps to write the perfect suspenseful thriller. Battling writer’s block he finds the only way he can overcome those blank moments in front of his computer is by actually committing murder. This fascinating premise is played out in England and the authors describe their settings well enough for any reader to relate.

Author Raymond Lang is a madman on the loose, from London to Liverpool. Each killing he performs seems even gorier than the one before, building in intensity as the story moves forward. The mind of the killer is revealed throughout, neatly interspersed with the ongoing investigations.

In addition to the depravity of the killer the authors explore the illegal activities of a corrupt government official who uses extremely questionable methods to cover up his own nasty activities.

Basically the story…

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What Will You Have When It Is Over? ‹ Reader — WordPress.com

This is so true. Take notice, folks!


Source: What Will You Have When It Is Over? ‹ Reader — WordPress.com


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