Muskets Are Here

Hi everyone.

I am very pleased to say my next book “The Lord of the Faran Hills” will be available on Amazon Kindle in the next few days (possibly hours).

When Aulay Fitzgellis allowed himself to be talked into rebellion against his brother the king, it never cross his mind he might not win.

Now the only thing keeping his head on his shoulders is the leader of the mercenaries who defeated him.

Lord Darach of the Faran Hills is willing to save Aulay, but he also has a few other things on his mind, there’s the possibilities of a new weapon called a “musket” and there’s also the problem of stopping the bagpipers from assaulting his ears with their so called music.”

I’ve had a lot of fun writing this, loads of research on muskets and how an army works on the march. I also got to play a wargame while I worked out how a siege. I must thank my lovely husband for the loan of his model castle – yes, -I know I moaned like hell when you monopolised the dining room table while you were building it, but I didn’t know then how useful it was going to be.

If you give the book a try, let me know what you think, I love to hear from readers.

 

Author Torture 1: Justin Lee Anderson

I thought it would be fun to interview a few fellow authors.

Actually, I thought it would be more fun to torment a few fellow authors, so welcome to the torture parlour ( its a bit like a torture chamber, but with cushions, chintz and shag pile carpets).

My first victim is Justin Lee Anderson author of the highly original and very amusing “Carpet Diem”.

HERE WE GO

You are marooned on a desert island and find a magic lamp. You get the traditional three wishes, but keep in mind I’m not letting you off the island, so don’t start pleading or trying to escape. You can only have one practical item, other people will not be allowed and will be taken away and dumped on an island far, far away and the wish forfeited. Smut is permitted if it makes me laugh.

Hmmm. What constitutes “practical”? Can I have a fully-fitted smarthouse? Because, at that point, I’m probably good. Oh, wait, I’m going to want internet. And a laptop. Will Sainsbury’s deliver?

Your library is on fire and you’re only going to be able to save three books, name them. And as your own are save on the memory stick in your dressing gown pocket, the books in question will have to be someone else’s work J

Credit will not be given for naming my books, but there may be cake.

Yikes! I think my beautiful, old leather-bound copy of Wuthering Heights has to come. After that, it’s two signed books, I think, since I can replace the rest. So Joe Abercrombie’s The Blade Itself and the first run version of Jasper Fforde’s First Among Sequels, which was accidentally printed without footnotes (which are essential to the plot!).

You are going to be hanged in the morning, what would your last meal be if money was no object? Please don’t ask for something which will take three years to grow or six days to cook, because at 6am the trap door will open under you.

A fillet steak, with whisky-cream sauce, garlic and rosemary roast potatoes and asparagus tips. For dessert, home-made apple crumble with Luca’s ice cream. And if I’m off in the morning anyway, a bottle of Lagavulin – why die sober?

(You and I could share a last meal, Justin, although I’d swap the asparagus for mushrooms and there should be cheese after the pud.)

Pets. While I agree that a cat or a dog or a guinea pig is probably best in the modern home, what, if anything, would you house if you had the chance. Points will be given for anything extinct, but not for anything mythical, because that would be cheating.

Annoyingly, I love animals, but am horribly allergic to them. So I’d actually just love to be able to house a cat or a dog! But in the absence of an allergy cure, maybe a dolphin? They’re pretty smart, I’m sure they’d make great conversationalists. Plus, no hair on the sofa. Bonus.

Driving. We all do it, we all bitch about the traffic and by and large most of us drive what we can afford, not what we would like. What would you like to drive, points will be deducted for excessive petrol head indulgence, I expect more imagination from an author, but will be added for greener alternatives.

This obviously excludes a desire for a red Ferrari, because if you don’t want one of those, you need help.

I have always wanted a Jag. I imagine I will always want a Jag! A nice, racing green one. They’re such elegant machines. I’d also quite like a Tesla. Great looking car, but saving the world at the same time. Either one would make me very happy. Is there an electric Jag, yet?

Now from some “either” “or” questions, mainly because I like picking the eithers and the ors, but also because I like to see which of the lesser of two weevils you pick. (Small Jack Aubrey joke there, indulge me, I have these moments.)

Gouda or Gorgonzola?

Gorgonzola – especially on pizza, with spinach and walnuts.

Star Wars or Star Trek? (Careful here, much could depend on your pick)

Both, please. If I *have* to pick one, then Wars. But I resent having to pick.

Lychee or kumquat?

Flumhoo or blipblop?

 

(Ah, poor little kumquat, I fear you are not loved)

Winnie the Pooh or Paddington?

Probably Winnie the Pooh, for his philosophical insights. Plus, I hate marmalade.

Whelk or Oyster?

Never had whelk. Don’t mind oysters. Prefer mussels, if that’s all right? In garlic, white wine and cream. With fries.

Now I’m hungry.

Vampires or Zombies?

Both! Stop making me pick between things I love!

Laver bread or Hovis?

I don’t eat bread. It doesn’t agree with me. The fights go on for days.

Light sabre or phaser?

Light sabre. I’m all about the elegant.

Moving on…yes, I know the laver bread one was evil, but I did say I was into torture…book titles. Speaking for myself, book titles are the hardest part of writing, it took me six months to come up with the title of my first book, “Jabin”.

What is your favourite book title? Pick one of your own and one by someone else. Mine is

“Amazing Maisie and the Cold Porridge Brigade.”

And no, I didn’t just make that up.

Well, Carpet Diem being my only finished book so far, that’s an easy choice. Someone else’s? I like The Shadow of the Wind. Even before I read it, that title drew me in. It’s just so evocative – and I don’t even know what of!

Because you have been very good and not screamed all that much, you tell me what you are currently working on and when we can expect to see it in print.

I’m currently writing a sequel to Carpet Diem, working title: Discombobulated and Befuddled – but that will probably change – though I might keep it as an alternative title. It *should* be out by the end of the year – muse permitting. (My muse, not the band. They’re happy to let me write.)

Thank you for being a victim of my interrogation parlour. I hope you had a bit of fun.

You’re welcome. I did, thank you!

Carpet Diem is available here

“A Solemn Curfew and Other Dark Tales” is BACK.

After the self-inflected hiccup the above is back on Amazon.

A Solemn Curfew and Other Dark Tales.

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Purchase or read with Kindle Unlimited here:

Amazon.co.uk

Amazon.com

Story Time

I’ve been having a few problems with this self publishing business. While I don’t believe computers are worked by the magic fairies who live in the back of the hard drive and live on the biscuit crumbs they find stuck in the key board, I am inclined to push the wrong buttons, panic, push even wronger (yes, I know that isn’t a word, but I like it) buttons and then spend the rest of the day sobbing into said key board, possibly providing salty goodness to the fairies I don’t believe in.

It is all being sorted, but the anthology will be down until 23rd of this month, BUT I will get you “The Tattooed Tribes” on time (6th March) as promised, provided I don’t have another button moment.

As I am now forbidden to press anything without supervision, it should all go smoothly.

In the meantime, here’s a short story for your Wednesday. I call these short pieces “coffee time stories” because they should fill the time it takes to drink a coffee, no more.

This one is about a couple of my great aunts. Jean emigrated to Canada back in the 1920’s, but the family never lost touch and this is about one of the times she came home to England. The very last time.

 

The Last One Left

 

They were playing “do you remember” and I listened, rapt, as they recalled lives and names that were little more than twigs on the family tree of my knowledge.

Even the passing of many years could not keep the whisper of South London from Jean’s Canadian accent, an echo from their childhood which still rang clear and true in May’s voice.

Here at the end of the twentieth century I sat in the airport and listened to stories from its beginning; and to others from the nineteenth century told to them and now told to me, while overhead the great jets that had not even been thought of when they were born, thundered the news of their arrivals and departures.

They sat side by side, one arm around the other’s waist as they had in those sepia pictures I had of them as children. They were the last two of my great grandmother’s long brood to arrive and now they were the last remaining. As I watched them it seemed as if years fell away and, for a moment in time, two very old ladies faded away and were replaced by two little girls in identical white dresses.

The demands of the announcer brought the stories too an end and I helped Jean to the wheel chair.

“Damn thing,” she snarled.

“You’ll drop your scotch if you try and walk,” I warned.

Her eyes sparkled as she cuddled the bottle.

The moment had come at last and they took each other’s hands. Cheeks with skin transparent with age touched. They whispered something to each other; then kissed. The tears were mine.

May and I watched until the plane was no more than a point in the sky.

“We’ve made a promise to each other,” she said.

“Next time in Canada?” I suggested.

“No” she replied calmly. “To never see or speak or have news of each other ever again”

“Why!” I demanded, appalled.

A tear rolled down her wrinkled cheek.

“Because that way neither of us will ever know we were the last one left.”

© Bev Allen 2017

 

 

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I, Myself and Me

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If you have seen “A Solemn Curfew and Other Dark Tales” and my previous post here “The Tattooed Tribes”, you could be forgiven for thinking you’ve come to two different blogs.

And if you’ve read any of the short stories I have put on here, you might even think three different ones.

No, folks, they’re all me!

Hence the title above. I am the crazed bat who writes dark stories about men having sex with the garden pond, but I’m also the one who writes scifi/fantasy adventure stories, preferably with soldiers. As I have said elsewhere, I like soldiers, but that shouldn’t be taken to mean I stand on street corners in garrison towns.

I’m also the one who wants to write about the everyday life, which is why you got “My Son, My Son..”

Of course I’d love all of you to like all three of me, but I know that is impossible, but I hope some of you will like one of me, or even two, but I know that is pushing my luck.

You can find Solemn Curfew and Other Dark Tales here:

Amazon.com

Amazon.co.uk