Category: Blog Tours

#ASuitableLie BLOG TOUR: MICHAEL J MALONE ASKS SHOULD READING PLEASURES COME WITH A SIDE ORDER OF GUILT?

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Today the lovely Michael J Malone is stopping by the CTG blog as part of his A SUITABLE LIE Blog Tour to talk about pleasures, guilty pleasures to be precise.

Over to Michael …

Heard the phrase “Guilty pleasures” recently? Used it yourself? The meaning of the phrase is fairly easy to compute, yeah? Something you enjoy buy feel “guilty” for doing so.

But I have a problem with that. Any guilt is apparently to do with being caught participating in an activity which is thought to be deeply un-cool by your peers.

The more I hear this phrase, the more it annoys me. One the one hand I can understand that at our deepest level we are social creatures and anything that puts us at a remove from our social group is largely to be avoided. On the other hand, we are individuals and if whatever I am doing doesn’t harm anyone else why should I care what other people think?

And who gets to decide what is cool or un-cool? Is there some arbitrary notion that hypnotises en masse? Or is it all influenced by a media that browbeats us every minute of every waking day with their choices?

The media is run my people just like us. Why do they get to decide what we should and shouldn’t watch/ read/ think/ buy? Someone gives them a job on a newspaper, magazine or TV programme and we should suddenly listen to them like they are the Great Collective Guru of Taste?

I caught and stopped myself using the GP phrase just recently when I was talking about books. I almost said Wilbur Smith was a (hangs head in shame) guilty pleasure. For the briefest of moments – I was talking to someone I wanted to impress –I worried that enjoying Smith’s books might make me look less of whatever mask I was trying to inhabit.

As I said, I caught myself and noted that I was a fan.

Are you a literary snob? Do you only read the classics? Are your shelves filled only with the likes of Atwood, Conrad, Austen and the latest Man Booker/ Pulitzer prizewinner? Do you rush to hide the latest Stephen King or James Patterson when you hear a knock at the door?

Why is popular fiction derided as somehow being unworthy?

Every year when our political leaders go on holiday it seems like they are rushing to tell the newspapers what their holiday reading will be, and it’s all very earnest. Just a couple of years back David Cameron tried to excuse his “poor judgement” in one such article by writing off his holiday reading as “trashy novels”. Which made me almost want to dig up Guy Fawkes’ grave. How dare he write off someone’s hard work as trash?!

My feeling is that there is only good writing and bad writing. If the book grips or entertains me why should I worry if the taste police look down on me?

I say, down with that all of that sort of thing. Let’s erase the phrase from our lexicon. If you find yourself kow-towing to this needless waste of energy, stand tall and announce your preference with pride and offer a biblical pox on the decision-makers of “good” taste.

Sounds like good advice!

A SUITABLE LIE is out now. Here’s the blurb: “Some secrets should never be kept … Andy Boyd thinks he is the luckiest man alive. Widowed with a young child, after his wife dies in childbirth, he is certain that he will never again experience true love. Then he meets Anna. Feisty, fun and beautiful, she’s his perfect match … and she loves his son like he is her own. When Andy ends up in hospital on his wedding night, he receives his first clue that Anna is not all that she seems. Desperate for that happy-ever-after, he ignores it. A dangerous mistake that could cost him everything. A brave, deeply moving, page-turning psychological thriller, A Suitable Lie marks a stunning departure for one of Scotland’s finest crime writers, exploring the lengths people will go to hid their deepest secrets, even if it kills them …”

You can buy A SUITABLE LIE from Amazon here

And to find out more about Michael, check out his website here and follow him on Twitter @michaelJmalone1

Also, be sure to visit all the other fantastic stops along the A SUITABLE LIE Blog Tour …

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Blog Tour: THE DEVIL’S WORK by Mark Edwards – An Extract

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Today I’m delighted to be hosting a stop on THE DEVIL’S WORK Blog Tour.

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THE DEVIL’S WORK is the latest thriller from the fabulous Mark Edwards. Here’s the blurb: “The Devil’s Work follows Sophie Greenwood, a young mother who unwittingly accepts a job at the office from hell! Re-entering the workforce after having her first child, Sophie thinks she’s found her dream job in the marketing department of an iconic children’s publisher. But very quickly Sophie comes to find that someone is out to get her and that the dream job may turn out to be a nightmare. A mouse nailed to her front door… A stranger following her home in the shadows… Unexplainable whispers in the office late at night… As her life begins to fall apart at work and at home, Sophie must confront dark secrets from the past and race to uncover the truth about her new job… before it kills her. What is her ambitious young assistant really up to? And what exactly happened to Sophie’s predecessor?”

And now … THE DEVIL’S WORK by Mark Edwards – an extract:

As soon as the cold air hit her face she realised how drunk she was. Disorientated, Sophie took a wrong turn and ended up walking in a circle before she found the bus stop. As the bus rumbled through Brixton she became sure she was going to throw up so she disembarked. Home was thirty minutes away but the walk should sober her up a little, make the world stop spinning.

As she neared Brockwell Park she became aware of footsteps behind her. She turned but couldn’t see anyone there. Jesus, now she was hearing things. Since Josh – who was still in hospital, recovering slowly – had been attacked she’d felt more wary walking by herself. That must be what was happening now. She was jumpy because of what had happened to Josh. There wasn’t really anyone following her.

She crossed the street so she was close to the shops, where she felt safer. The jolt of adrenaline had sobered her up a little and she no longer felt like she might vomit. Soon, she was turning in to the street where she lived. She paused to rummage through her bag for her keys – and heard footsteps behind her.

Somebody was following her.

She started walking again, quickly, casting a look back over her shoulder. It was a man, featureless in baggy clothes, a hood obscuring his face. At least, she assumed it was a man – it was hard to tell.

The man started to walk faster too.

She found her phone and decided not to call Guy, in case it made the man run at her, so she punched out a short text instead, her fingers shaking, praying Guy would see it immediately.

On our road. Man following me. Come out!

She further increased her pace, scrabbling in her bag for her keys, unable to find them. The man behind her increased his pace too.

She panicked, running towards her flat, abandoning the attempt to find her keys. She would hammer on the door. But what if Guy had already gone to bed? He was probably sulking because she’d stayed out so late. He’d be in bed, Daisy beside him, with his earplugs in. He’d already told her she’d need to sleep on the sofa. Oh, God, the man was jogging behind her, so close, just twenty feet away now. He was going to grab her, pull her into the alleyway, rape her . . .

She reached the door and raised her fist to bang on it.

It opened.

She threw herself inside, a sob breaking in her throat as Guy stepped past her. The man, whose features were still cloaked by darkness, stopped moving.

‘I’ve called the police,’ Guy yelled, going out onto the front step. ‘They’re on their way.’

The man stood still and silent for a moment, then turned and jogged away, back up the road. The darkness swallowed him.

‘Have you really called the police?’ she asked, after Guy closed the door.

‘No. Do you want me to?’

She shook her head. ‘What’s the point? He’ll be long gone by the time they get here.’

 

The next morning, Guy went outside to put the bins out. He came back in almost immediately, looking like he was going to throw up.

‘Those bins smell rancid, don’t they?’ Sophie said.

‘No, it’s not that.’ He rummaged beneath the sink and found the Marigolds and a carrier bag.

‘What are you doing?’

She went to follow him as he headed back outside but he said, ‘Wait there.’

She hesitated, then decided she had to see what it was. She heard a cry of disgust come from Guy, who was by the front door. She reached the doorway and clapped her hand to her mouth.

A large white mouse had been superglued to the front door, its nose pointing to the ground, tail stiff with rigor mortis. Its eyes were closed, front teeth protruding, a look of pain frozen on its face.

 

To find out more about Mark Edwards and his books hop over to his website at http://www.markedwardsauthor.com and follow him on Twitter @mredwards

THE DEVIL’S WORK is out today! Buy it from Amazon here

And be sure to check out all the other great stops on THE DEVIL’S WORK Blog Tour:

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CTG Reviews: OUT OF BOUNDS by Val McDermid

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I’m delighted to be hosting a stop on the OUT OF BOUNDS blog tour today and reviewing the fantastic new book by Val McDermid.

What the blurb says: “A teenage joyrider crashes a stolen car and ends up in a coma, a routine DNA test reveals a connection to an unsolved murder from twenty-two years before. Finding the answer to the cold case should be straightforward. But it’s as twisted as the DNA helix itself. Meanwhile, Karen Pirie finds herself irresistibly drawn to another mystery that she has no business investigating, a mystery that has its roots in a terrorist bombing two decades ago. And again, she finds that nothing is as it seems.”

Still grieving over the death of her partner, DCI Karen Pirie, head of Police Scotland’s Historic Cases Unit, finds throwing herself into work is the only way to cope. By day she hunts down leads and looks for evidence to find justice for those victims whose murderers have gone unfound, and by night she walks the streets of Edinburgh hoping to exhaust herself physically so that she will finally sleep. She’s a compelling lead character – damaged yet determined to get justice for those who can’t get it for themselves, and principled yet willing to flex the rules in order to do the right thing or find the truth. Brave and dynamic, she’s exactly the kind of person you want in your corner, and also the kind of person you could have a laugh with in the pub or over a meal.

In OUT OF BOUNDS she’s working two cold cases. Both involve complicated, fractured family situations. Both have gone unsolved for many years. To succeed in finding the truth, they require a tenacious and creative approach, and that’s what Karen has in spades.

Her sidekick, DC Jason Murray aka “The Mint”, isn’t overly bright but he makes up for that with his easy going nature and willingness to do whatever Karen says. And it’s good she’s got an ally, because her boss, Assistant Chief Constable Simon Lees aka “The Macaroon”, isn’t a fan of Karen and is always looking for a reason to give her a bollocking or, if he can, get rid of her. Karen isn’t fazed though. She follows the evidence, using her honed investigation skills and her ability to get people to trust and confide in her, in order to find leads that others have missed.

OUT OF BOUNDS has all the twisty-turny suspense that you’d expect from a writer at the top of her game. And it has all the procedural complexity – criminal and family law – combined with the forensic details that give a real authenticity to the story. But it also delivers more than this. It engages the reader in some of the big social questions of our time, not in a preachy way, but in a way that makes you stop and consider how life is changing (or not) and how we are all part of that – either through our action or in-action. It’s a compelling, page turner of a read, and one that stays with you long after the final page has been turned.

OUT OF BOUNDS is out now. You can buy it here from Waterstones or from Amazon here

To find out more about Val McDermid and her books visit her website here and follow her on Twitter @valmcdermid

And be sure to check out all the stops on the OUT OF BOUNDS blog tour …

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CTG’s Sneaky Peep: Meet DI Gus McGuire from #UnquietSouls by Liz Mistry

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Today I’m delighted to be hosting a stop on the Unquiet Souls blog tour.

For the stop today I’ve got a fabulous extract from the book that introduces the hero – DI Gus McGuire …

 

Friday, 10am, Shipley, Bradford, 2015

Detective Inspector Angus McGuire, can of Irn Bru in one hand, looked around the waiting room. He hated it, from its cloying vanilla-scented candles to the china clutter on the mantelpiece and the seaside paintings on the chimney breast. The only thing remotely bearable was the oversized aquarium that stood dead centre, providing 360 degree footage of tank life. He didn’t particularly like fish, but, in this tank, he’d found one he could relate to. He’d named him Nemo out of sheer bloody mindedness because his Nemo was neither a clown fish, nor orange and white. His Nemo was, by aquarium standards, a monster lurking in solitude near the bottom of the tank. Its lazy eye blinked only once every century or so. Cold and dead, it reminded him of Becky’s eye. The one without the knife protruding from it. The one that blinked reproachfully at him in his nightmares. Nemo was Gus.

He tapped the glass and Nemo moved, the frondy things springing from the back of its head floated in the water. They reminded him of his own short dreads which he kept at the regulatory ‘above-the-collar’ length to avoid hassle from DCI Hussain. Gus’ finger trailed across the tank. He’d happily spend the whole hour painting abstract patterns for Nemo to follow. However, such reckless indulgence with a friend who was, nonetheless a ‘bottom feeder’, was not to be.

The door opened and Dr Sabrina Mahmood beckoned him into her lair. Gus, flicked his empty can into the bin and stood. Walking past her, quads clenching painfully, he forced himself not to limp. Ever conscious of her role in his future and resentful of it, he’d trained himself to exhibit no weakness. For Gus, these bi-weekly sessions were the equivalent of a siege. She was the negotiator, trying to worm her way under his defences and he would not comply. Not when so much depended on her assessment of his mental stability.

Despite his pain, he strode towards his usual chair, opposite her desk. In here, vanilla was replaced by occasional wafts of Chanel No 5. No amount of careful lighting and magnolia paint could disguise the age of the building but, Gus had to admit, she’d tried really hard. Little touches, like the fluffy turquoise rug thrown over a threadbare blue carpet, and the coffee table with fresh flowers in the corner were an obvious attempt to humanise the process. Dr Mahmood took her place behind the desk and waited for him to sit. Gus stretched his legs, feeling the pull of scar tissue in his upper thigh. Immediately, he found the damp spot on the wall, above her right shoulder. With a practised half smile, he focussed on the spot and waited for the usual ducking and diving to begin. These sessions were like a strategic ballroom dance and Gus wasn’t a great dancer. All he wanted was to immerse himself in his sole salvation – work. Dr Mahmood, he felt, was hell bent on making him dance to her tune. A dance Gus was determined not to share.

 

A massive thank you to Liz Mistry for making the CTG blog a stop on her tour and letting me post this exclusive extract.

Unquiet Souls is out on July 30th. Here’s the blurb: “When the body of a prostitute is discovered DI Gus McGuire is handed the case. But what first appears to be a simple murder soon turns into an international manhunt for the members of a twisted child trafficking ring. McGuire who is suffering with problems of his own, he must pick his way through the web of deceit and uncover the truth in time before the body count rises. Can McGuire identify The Matchmaker before it’s too late? And can he trust those he is working with?”

From 30th July you can buy Unquiet Souls from Amazon here

To find out more about Liz Mistry hop over to her blog at https://lizmistrycrimewriter.wordpress.com/ and follow her on Twitter @LizCrimeWarp

And be sure to check out all the stops on the Unquiet Souls Blog Tour …

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CTG in conversation with Alex Caan: author of CUT TO THE BONE

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Today I’m super excited to be hosting a stop on the CUT TO THE BONE Blog Tour. The lovely Alex Caan has joined me on the CTG blog to chat about all things writing, reading and to tell me what it’s really like being a debut author.

Welcome, Alex!

I always read about writers knowing from a young age they wanted write. What do you think? And when did you decide to do it professionally?

For me I think it was about 8 I remember starting to write stories and wanting to be a writer. I think I saw Roald Dahl in his shed on Blue Peter (I know the glamour of my youth!) sharpening his pencils and writing his stories, and that made me realise it could actually be a career. Like so many though I didn’t have the confidence to pursue it, until I hit thirty and decided if I wanted to pursue my dreams it was now or never. So I joined writing groups, did short courses and eventually an MA. But from trying to make this my profession to the publication of ‘Cut to the Bone’ I think it’s taken me a decade of hard graft.

CTG pauses a moment, adds up years: thirty plus a decade … then says [in shock] there is no way you’re fourty!!!!

But, seriously, I’ve talked to quite a lot of authors who’ve said it’s taken them about ten years of ‘apprenticeship’ before getting published. So, you did an MA (like me). How did you find it?

Ha, thank you I think! Mine was a general MA and I spent most of it trying to write the next great Booker winner style novel. Only towards the end, when I had to submit a novel for my dissertation did I have the confidence to write something I really wanted to. I think I learnt a lot about how to cope with criticism, and constructive criticism. And I knew nothing about the business of publishing, how to approach agents and how the process works. The MA helped greatly with that.

Yes, that’s a really great point – I found it gave me a much better understanding of the world of publishing too. And the ‘writing what you want’ thing you mention is key, I think, it’s easier to find your own voice that way perhaps.

America. Why?

My reality especially as a teenager was dire. I think it’s why I connected with the character of Ruby so much, that sense of alienation and being an outsider, which I think both Kate Riley and Zain Harris also share. And when you’re growing up in a deprived inner-city area, and having a tough time, the American Dream is just so big and brash and seductive. The TV, films and especially the novels. Everything just seemed so exciting, even the grittiest thrillers had a touch of glamour. Plus the country was always so different depending where you were, so New York was different from LA, and both different from Texas and Boston. However, I’ve never been and I thought my novel would read as a poor pastiche if I tried to fake it. Instead-I transported Kate Riley from her New England/Washington past to London. That will give me I hope the vehicle to tell stories about America as her past comes back more strongly in future novels. And once I’ve been!

Oh yes, you absolutely must go! I can’t wait to discover more about Kate Riley’s past. And I get what you mean about the gritty but glamorous US-set films and TV shows. I’ve spent a lot of time in the States, and have family out there, so I’m more confident writing about the locations and such, although I do spend a lot of time checking my facts are correct – and getting my Step Mom to say things ‘in Amercian’ for me to ensure I’m getting the phrasing right!

What’s the weirdest research you did?

I ended up wandering around the South Downs late at night while on a work trip to Winchester once. And I think I spent about four days watching YouTube vlogs non-stop. I was by the end of it an honorary teenager, and my world-view was all over the place. But none of this is as exciting as your stint as a bounty hunter!!

An ‘honorary teenager’ – brilliant! But from what you’ve said, you wanted to experience some of what your characters do in order to write about it, and I guess that’s the same with me and the bounty hunting!

Who would you use your taser on?

So far everyone’s been lovely…so far…but I might borrow it if I start meeting writers who act like erm not very nice people (am determined not to swear).

Ha ha! Yes, you’re very welcome to borrow it, so long as you promise to give it back! In return, what advice can you give me as someone approaching publication as a debut?

So advice for you as a debut. I think you’re already leagues ahead of so many writers, the most difficult part for me was breaking into the crime world. Everyone seems to know everyone, and I was terrified. Thank you for your advice by the way, it really helped. So I think you’ve done all of that, and people have so much respect for you already, and I really feel like your novel has a buzz around it. It will really hit the ground running. What I would say, and what I’m failing to do fully, is enjoy it. The nerves make it difficult, the idea that people you have no control over will review it, how much it sells, Tv deals etc etc. Try and ignore all that if you can. And practice your ‘I didn’t win the oscar face’ if you get a questionable review. I have to remember how subjective reading is, and not to take it personally. If someone’s bought the novel and spent the time to read it, they are entitled to feel any way they want to about it.

*blushes* *goes off to practice I didn’t win the oscar face* *returns* – thank you, that’s great advice. I do hope you get to enjoy the experience. Your debut, CUT TO THE BONE, is a fantastic novel.

Speaking of which, can you summarise your novel for readers in a paragraph?

Cut to the Bone is about Ruby Day, a vlogger with millions of fans who goes missing. An elite new unit of the Met are called in under questionable circumstances to investigate, led by Kate Riley, Zain Harris and the rest if her team. What starts of as a misisng person’s case soon escalates into a creepy hunt for a kidnapper, as videos are anonymously uploaded of Ruby pleading for her life. And the kinapper has issued a threat that she won’t be the only one.

It’s a great read, folks. Be sure to watch out for my review next week.

And finally, I don’t believe I swear more than you. Are you sure you counted all bad words? Anyway, my next novel I am determined to swear less. What’s your resolution?

Ha! I think you swear more on the page and less in real life perhaps. I’m the other way around – I edit my sweariness on the page, but in real life I am a pottymouth. Perhaps my resolution should be to even the two out a little more!

And, sadly, that’s all we have time for.

A huge thank you to the wonderfully talented Alex Caan. To keep up with all his news, follow him on Twitter @alexcaanwriter

A bigger thank you to you though for letting me part of the iconic CTG blog, and I can’t wait to read Deep Down Dead (not that this is a MASSIVE hint to get me a proof copy or anything…)

CUT TO THE BONE is out now. You can buy it from Amazon here

And be sure to check out the rest of the fabulous CUT TO THE BONE Blog Tour stops …

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The #WhereRosesNeverDie Blog Tour: Gunnar Staalesen guest post – The Game is Afoot

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Today I’m handing over the reins of the CTG blog to Gunnar Staalesen for the latest stop on his WHERE ROSES NEVER DIE Blog Tour. Gunnar Staalesen is the author of over 20 titles, which have been published in 24 countries and sold over five million copies. His guest post is on “The Game is Afoot” …

There is a certain European Championship going on at the moment, as most European citizens will know. As I write, we don’t know who will win. Will it be England? Spain? Italy or France? What if Iceland won! Or Wales! The only thing I know for sure is that it will not be Norway. Our team did not even qualify!

From time to time, I visit schools in Norway to meet some pupils and talk about my books, and there is inevitably lots of time for questions. One question I am often asked by the boys is: What is Varg Veum’s favourite English football team?

There is a tradition in Norway, not only to support our own local team, but also of the English teams. This tradition stems from the late 1960s, when they started to show games from the Premier League on Norwegian TV (NRK was the only channel at that time), and all of the men (and some women) who had a TV at that time watched the football with their friends or their children. Those who did not have a TV went to their neighbors to watch it there. Premier League football was essential viewing! The very first game to be shown was Wolverhampton versus Sunderland, on 29 November 1969. Wolverhampton won 1–0. At that time the games were free to watch, but now we have to pay for the pleasure!

We did not have a TV and nor did most of our neighbours, so I was in my twenties when I watched my first English football game on TV. This was the period when George Best was playing, and as I always have loved the more artistic players, I liked to watch him, even if I never became a real Manchester United supporter. When I was a teenager, we heard a lot about Tottenham, so I made the decision to support them. I also have a son who is an ardent supporter of Liverpool, so I dare not say anything against them…

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My team – in Norway – will always be Brann from Bergen; Brann is the Norwegian word for Fire! The most famous player from Brann was a local ‘George Best’, Roald Jensen. ‘Mr Jensen’ played for Hearts in Edinburgh in the 1960s and early 1970s, and was one of the best players ever to come from Norway.

So what is Varg Veum’s favourite English team? I thought a lot about it, and I found the answer. When he is asked that question, he always answers: ‘Nottingham Forest, because of Robin Hood.’

Have an excellent European Championship – and may the best team win!

Big thanks to Gunnar for dropping by the CTG blog today.

WHERE ROSES NEVER DIE is out in paperback this month.

Here’s the blurb: “September 1977. Mette Misaer, a three-year-old girl, disappears without trace from the sandpit outside her home. Her tiny, close, middle-class community in the tranquil suburb of Nordas is devastated, but their enquiries and the police produce nothing. Curtains twitch, suspicions are raised, but Mette is never found. Almost 25 years later, as the expiry date for the statute of limitations draws near, Mette’s mother approaches PI Varg Veum, in a last, desperate attempt to find out what happened to her daughter. As Veum starts to dig, he uncovers an intricate web of secrets, lies and shocking events that have been methodically concealed. When another brutal incident takes place, a pattern begins to emerge …”

You can buy WHERE ROSES NEVER DIE from Waterstones or Amazon

And be sure to check out all the other great stops on the Where Roses Never Die Blog Tour …

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The #Exposure Blog Tour: CTG Reviews EXPOSURE by Ava Marsh

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What the blurb says: “In a world without boundaries it’s hard to know where to stop … Kitty Sweet isn’t like anyone you’ve ever met before. She’s an infamous porn star, imprisoned for double murder. As damaged as she is charismatic, as dangerous as she is charming. But once no different from you or I. Kitty’s past is full of heartbreak and desperation, of adulation and glamour. Of ruin. She’s descended to an underworld most people can only imagine, and lived to tell the tale … This is her story.”

Porn star Kitty Sweet is in prison for double murder, but she’s never told the secret of what really happened. When a long lost friend visits, bringing some upsetting news, Kitty’s offered some sessions with a therapist. She figures why not, she’ll turn up and play along.

When the therapist suggests Kitty writes the story of how she came to be in prison, she’s initially wary. Still, she starts at the beginning – at how she came to work in the porn industry – and finds the process cathartic. As Kitty writes, exposing the glamorous and seedy sides of the industry, and the fears and the disappearances that haunted her and her fellow co-stars, it becomes increasingly clear that Kitty became entangled in a darker side of porn than she had realised existed – one she couldn’t turn a blind eye to. One that ultimately cost her everything she held dear.

Kitty Sweet is one of those characters you can’t help but want to spend time with. She’s funny, impulsive, self-doubting and generous. Her world might be one you’ve never been part of, but her worries and flaws are identifiable with, and that makes her seem very real.

EXPOSURE is a true page turner. It’s unique and hard to squeeze into a single sub-genre – it’s a thriller for sure; a tale of deceit, and exploitation, and murder. It’s also a tale of friendship, of love and of heartbreak with a real emotional core. And the twist at the end, well, let’s just say it’s not many books that can make me cry – and this one did.

Buy it. Read it. I hope that you love it as much as me.

 

EXPOSURE is out now. Buy it here from Waterstones or from Amazon here

You can follow Ava Marsh on Twitter @MsAvaMarsh

And be sure to check out all these great stops along the EXPOSURE Blog Tour …

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The #EpiphanyJones Blog Tour: Michael Grothaus talks about The Importance of Dissatisfaction In Writing Well

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Today I’m delighted to be hosting a stop on The Epiphany Jones Blog Tour, and am handing over the hot seat here at CTG HQ to  Michael Grothaus to talk about why dissatisfaction is important in writing well.

Michael is a novelist and journalist who spent years researching sex trafficking, research which is put to use in his debut novel EPIPHANY JONES. Born in Saint Louis, Missouri, he has a degree in filmmaking, and as a journalist writes about creativity, tech, subcultures, sex and pornography, and the effects of mass media on our psyches.

Over to Michael …

The Importance of Dissatisfaction In Writing Well

In my novel EPIPHANY JONES there are two main characters. There’s Epiphany, for whom the book is named after, and then there’s Jerry Dresden. As you’ll soon discover when you start to read the book, Jerry isn’t in a good place when the story begins. He suffers from a horrible psychological affliction where he sees people who don’t really exist and he can interact with them—having conversations, even being able to “feel” them when he “touches” them—as easily as you or I can interact with each other.

But perhaps what’s worse is Jerry is also an addict, but instead of the usual addictions novelists write about—booze, drugs—Jerry has a porn addiction. But as with most addictions, Jerry’s addiction to porn comes from trying to dull the pain of past tragedy. Because of his psychological afflictions and addiction Jerry can be a pretty cynical, dissatisfied, angry guy.

When people finish reading the book, I’m not really surprised to hear them say “I started off not wanting to hang out with Jerry, but by the end of the book I loved him.” What does surprise me is more than a handful of people have added “You seem like such a nice, happy guy, Michael; I had no idea you had that much anger in you.” And some even then add “So, were you addicted to porn?”

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Now for the record: no, I’ve never had a porn addiction. But, hey, you write a first person story about a guy who has a porn addiction and some readers are just going to think it’s autobiographical. I get that. I do.

But what those same readers are right about is the anger. That dissatisfaction Jerry feels? That comes from me—at least part of it. And that dissatisfaction, I believe, is essential to being a good writer. Why? Because I’ve never met anyone who was completely satisfied, content, and happy who could write well.

I know people who want to “be writers” (whatever that means) who are wealthy, or privileged and never wanted for anything, or have never had a health problem, or never experienced significant loss—and none of them can write well. I know people who don’t care about politics, or the environment, or poverty, of the suffering that goes on around the world—and none of them can write well.

These people are not bad or stupid or foolish—indeed, they are all very fortunate (or lucky). Yet because of this rare good fortune they lack dissatisfaction, which is the single most important resource that writers have—if they use it wisely. Dissatisfaction spurs anger and anger can be used productively. Productively, it’s what gets you in front of your keyboard to write a story holding a mirror up to society so it can see itself as it really is. It’s what spurs you to write characters that challenge readers’ assumptions about why people are the way they are. It’s what allows you to create worlds as which you wish ours would be (or warn against what ours may become).

We would not have the masterpiece 1984 if George Orwell was not dissatisfied with the imperialism of his own government and the totalitarianism of other governments. We would not have THE GLASS BEAD GAME had Hermann Hesse not been dissatisfied with the lack of individualism among intellectual elites. And we would not have THE GREAT GATSBY had Scott Fitzgerald not been dissatisfied with the failure of the American dream.

As for me, I’m dissatisfied with things in life: our obsession with celebrities when there are real issues to pay attention to; the prevalence of sex trafficking that goes mostly unnoticed; the hypocrisy of those who condemn people with addictions but have their own vices securely locked away from prying eyes.

And yes, I’m happy too. But I’m also happy to be dissatisfied where dissatisfaction is justified. Dissatisfaction is a powerful tool for creativity and you can’t write well without it.

 

Big thanks to Michael for chatting to us on the CTG blog today.

Michael’s debut novel EPIPHANY JONES is out this month. Here’s what the blurb says: “A man with a consuming addiction. A woman who talks to God. And the secret connection that could destroy them both … Jerry has a traumatic past that leaves him subject to psychotic hallucinations and depressive episodes. When he stands accused of stealing a priceless Van Gogh painting, he goes underground, where he develops an unwilling relationship with a woman who believes that the voices she hears are from God. Involuntarily entangled in the illicit world of sex-trafficking amongst the Hollywood elite, and on a mission to find redemption for a haunting series of events from the past, Jerry is thrust into a genuinely shocking and outrageously funny quest to uncover the truth and atone for historical sins. 

A complex, page-turning psychological thriller, riddled with twists and turns, Epiphany Jones is also a superb dark comedy with a powerful emotional core. You’ll laugh when you know you shouldn’t, be moved when you least expect it and, most importantly, never look at Hollywood, celebrity or sex in the same way again.”

To find out more about Michael Grothaus visit his website here and follow him on Twitter @michaelgrothaus

You can buy EPIPHANY JONES by clicking the link here to go to Waterstones or click here to go to Amazon

And be sure to check out all the other great stops on the blog tour:

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#MyGirl Blog Tour: a sneak peep at Chapter One of MY GIRL by Jack Jordan

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Today I’m joined on the CTG blog by Jack Jordan, bestselling author of Anything for Her and My Girl. To celebrate the worldwide release of his second thriller My Girl on 4th July, he’s letting CTG blog readers into a sneak peep and sharing the first chapter with us here at Crime Thriller Girl. 

To get you in the mood, here’s the blurb:

“Paige Dawson: the mother of a murdered child and wife to a dead man. 

She has nothing left to live for… until she finds her husband’s handgun hidden in their house.

Why did Ryan need a gun? What did he know about their daughter’s death?

Desperate for the truth, Paige begins to unearth her husband’s secrets.

But she has no idea who she is up against, or that her life isn’t hers to gamble – she belongs to me.

From the bestselling author of Anything for Her, Jack Jordan’s My Girl is the new chilling thriller that you won’t want to miss.”

 

And now, the first chapter …

1

For the first few seconds after she woke, Paige Dawson lived in a world where her husband Ryan was snoring lightly beside her, and her daughter Chloe was sleeping peacefully in the next room. When reality slowly trickled in, she instantly wanted to return to sleep – to forget they were dead – to stop the tears from rolling down her cheeks.

As her eyes adjusted to the room, she coughed violently. Stale smoke sat in the air. Worn clothes lay crumpled on the living room floor, smelling of damp and old sweat. Cigarette ash had been trodden into the carpet. A photo frame faced the ceiling. Ryan smiled from behind the cracked glass; a time when he was happy – before he slashed his wrists.

Get up. You need to get up.

She reached down to the carpet and patted around the mess in the dark until she found the tray of tablets. It shook in her hands as she popped each pill through the foil: one, two, three. She placed them on her dry tongue, picked up the half-empty wine bottle from the floor and took a swig. The wine was warm, but it did the job. The diazepam would kick in soon.

As she sat up, pain exploded in her temples. She lit a cigarette, cringed with the first toke, and stared at the daylight creeping from behind the closed curtains. The real world was taunting her: you can’t hide away from me forever.

The smell of sick filled the house. How long it had been in the house with her: a night? A week? She wondered if there would be blood in it again.

What would Chloe think if she saw me like this?         
Chloe would have been twenty-four years old by now. Her severed arm had been found in the river, her fourteen-year-old fingertips breaking through the surface. They never found the rest of her body, nor did they find the person who killed her. The forensics team had tested her blood: she had been alive when her murderer began chopping her up.

The diazepam wasn’t working fast enough. She could still feel the painful void in her chest; she could still see her husband’s blood swirling around in the bathwater. If she closed her eyes, Ryan’s lifeless eyes flashed in front of hers.

She snatched the packet of codeine from the side table and swallowed two tablets with more wine.

When she lifted the cigarette to her lips, she found it wasn’t there. She peered over the edge of the sofa and saw the cigarette burning a black hole into the carpet.

Maybe the diazepam is working.

She picked up the cigarette, spat on the blackened carpet, and gave it a rub with her finger, as though she had kissed a child’s plastered graze. There. All better.

She spotted Ryan watching her from the mess on the ground, his lips frozen in an eternal smile.

However hard she tried, she couldn’t remember the last time she kissed those lips. She couldn’t remember when the kisses stopped, or when the distance started.

She shook the thought from her head and stumbled into the kitchen.

The bin was bulging with weeks of waste. Empty wine bottles lined the wall by the back door. Loud, languid flies buzzed around in hopeless circles. An uneaten meal sat in a pan on the stove, discoloured and congealed. She couldn’t even remember cooking it, let alone forgetting to eat it.

The last time she had looked into Ryan’s eyes while he was alive, he had been pinning her to the floor with his body as he forced a slice of bread into her mouth. His frustrated tears fell onto her face as he begged her to eat. He only stopped when the bread lodged in her throat. He had freed the blockage with fingers bent like a fishhook and then, as she gasped for air, he had sobbed from where he lay on the carpet, with bits of bread and saliva coating his fingers.

She wasn’t starving herself – she just forgot to eat.

The sound of the key turning in the lock made her jolt. Her mother-in-law gasped. Shame turned in Paige’s gut.

Greta stood in the doorway with her eyes on the mess.

‘Paige, this is…’

‘I was about to clean up,’ she replied as she returned to the living room.

Greta placed her bags by the door. She looked reluctant to close it, to say goodbye to the fresh air, but when she did, it slammed.

‘How could you let it get this bad?’

Greta threw open the curtains. Paige squinted as daylight burst into the room.

‘Are those burns on the carpet?’

As Greta rifled through the mess, Paige wondered how the woman before her held herself together. Her hair had been set at the salon, her make-up was perfect, her clothes were ironed and fresh. No one would have known that her only son had committed suicide just two months before.

‘I expected better from you, Paige.’

Paige glanced at herself in the mirror above the fireplace and saw greasy auburn hair, streaks of mascara hardened on her cheeks, the stained nightgown stuck to her body with sweat. She looked older than her forty-two years.

‘I don’t know why, but I had a feeling you might have changed the locks.’

‘I wouldn’t do that.’

Greta spotted the photo of Ryan, hidden beneath the cracks in the glass. She sighed and took it in her hands. For a moment her frown disappeared, and she looked almost beautiful. She stood the photo frame on the coffee table and looked back to Paige. The frown immediately returned.

‘Not up to cleaning yet?’ Greta asked, as she picked up her bags and carried them into the kitchen.

‘I’ve got other things on my mind,’ Paige replied, following her into the kitchen.

‘Shall I? I’ve done your food shopping, so I might as well do your cleaning.’

Paige held her resentment back. ‘I was just heading out.’

‘Presumably after you’ve showered.’

She looked Paige up and down again.

‘Obviously.’

‘I will clean while you’re out, then.’

‘If that would please you, Greta.’

‘It would. Ryan would want me to look out for you.’

‘Thanks.’

Greta looked around the mess for other aspects to criticise. Paige waited patiently, longing to be alone.

‘Are you sleeping on the sofa?’

‘For now.’

‘Imagine if one of your neighbours should walk past and see you.’

Greta went into the living room to stare at the mess again, lost at where to start. Paige followed behind her.

‘I don’t care what people think of me.’

‘Clearly. I can’t remember the last time I saw you clean and dressed.’

 ‘That’s the thing with being a widow, you focus on the death of your partner, rather than what people think of you.’

‘Well, if I were you—’

‘But you aren’t, Greta.’

They stared at each other, like two cats about to fight. They stood in silence for a while, their eyes locked.

‘You said you were off out?’

‘Doctor’s appointment.’

‘Who is it you see?’

‘Dr Abdullah.’

‘Ah yes, the Muslim fellow. I prefer Dr Phillips. She’s Christian.’

‘Dr Abdullah is a Christian, too, I believe.’

‘Really? Still, I prefer Sally. She has a kind air about her, and presents herself well.’ Greta looked her up and down as she spoke.

‘Well, I’ll leave you to it.’

‘Yes. I’d better start cleaning, before this place becomes infested with rats.’ Greta picked up an ashtray from the coffee table. ‘Must you really smoke in the house? Ryan would have never allowed it.’

‘Well Ryan’s dead now, isn’t he? So I’ll smoke in my house if I want to.’

Greta flinched, but held her tongue.

‘Thanks for the food,’ Paige said, and made for the stairs.

The moment she got upstairs, she turned on the shower and retrieved the bottle of wine she had hidden under her bed. She certainly wasn’t going to step out into the real world without help.

Paige returned to the bathroom and locked the door behind her. She peeled off the nightgown that stuck to her like a second skin, sat on the toilet and drank wine straight from the bottle as steam filled the room. She stared at the bath and saw Ryan’s lifeless body lying in the red water, his vacant eyes locked on hers. Paige clenched her eyes shut and shook her head.

He’s not real. He’s gone.

When she opened her eyes again, the bath was empty. Ryan was gone.

She checked her urine: blood again. She flushed the blood from the toilet, and the thought from her mind. She couldn’t think about that right now.

As she breathed in the thick, hot mist, and drank warm wine from the bottle, she began to cry silent tears: she could never escape the fact that she was the mother of a murdered child and wife to a dead man.

Jack Jordan

Jack Jordan

A big thank you to Jack Jordan for sharing the first chapter of his latest thriller – MY GIRL – here on the CTG blog.

You can pre-order your copy of My Girl for Kindle, here. Paperback available worldwide, 4th July 2016.

You can grab your copy of Jack’s first thriller, Anything for Her, here.

 To find out more about Jack Jordan and his books head on over to www.jackjordanofficial.co.uk and follow him on Twitter @_JackJordan_

 

#BehindDeadEyes Blog Tour: Exclusive Sneak Peep at Chapter 1 of Howard Linskey’s new book

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Behind Dead Eyes

Today I’m delighted to be able to bring you an exclusive sneak peep at the first chapter of Howard Linskey’s latest crime novel – BEHIND DEAD EYES.

Here’s what the blurb says: “A corpse is found: its identity extinguished in the most shocking manner imaginable. Detective Ian Bradshaw can’t catch the killer if no one can ID the victim. Out there, somewhere, a missing young woman may hold the answer. Journalist Helen Norton is about to uncover a massive criminal conspiracy. She just needs the final piece of the puzzle. Soon, she will learn the price of the truth.

True-crime writer Tom Carney receives letters from a convicted murderer who insists he is innocent. His argument is persuasive – but psychopaths are often said to be charming …”

So, to the extract …

 

Letter Number Three

Perhaps you think I’m a monster. Is that it?
Maybe that’s why you‘ve not been in touch. Have you read terrible things about me Tom? Heard stories that disturbed you? None of them are true.

I’ve done bad things of course, who hasn’t? None of us are saints. Let’s not bother to pretend we are. I know the one thing you truly understand is human frailty Tom. I’ve had to account for my actions and I’ve paid a very heavy penalty for my misdeeds but I can assure you I never killed anyone.

Did you believe the poison that drips from the pens of those so- called reporters? They’re not interested in the truth, none of them. They spend their lives wading through other people’s trash looking for dirt, turning over rocks to see what crawls out. And they have the nerve to call me names.

The Ladykiller.

What chance did they give me?

Please see me. I’d visit you but clearly they won’t allow that. If we were to meet face to face, I’m certain I could convince you I am not the man they say I am. If you can look me in the eye and actually believe I am capable of such savagery, then I promise I won’t blame you for leaving me here to rot, so what exactly have you got to lose?

I think you are a truth-seeker Tom but you don’t seem to be at all interested in my truth. That’s disappointing.

You are my last and only chance Tom Carney. Please DO NOT continue to ignore me.

Yours, in hope and expectation.

Richard Bell

1995

Chapter One

Tom Carney was having a very bad day. Maybe it was the new kitchen cupboard doors and the way they refused to hang straight or the boiler going on the blink again or perhaps it was the letter from a convicted murderer.

No, it was definitely the boiler. Bloody thing.

He hadn’t owned the house long but it seemed virtually every part of the offending boiler had failed and been replaced at great cost, only for another of its components to buckle under the strain soon afterwards and cease to function. He should have got a new boiler when he bought the creaking, old pile but funds were short then and virtually non-existent today, so he’d opted for the false economy of replacing it bit by bit instead of wholesale. How he regretted that now, as he stood tapping the pipes with a wrench in an attempt to knock the ancient thing back into life; a tactic that had, amazingly, actually worked once before but, unsurprisingly, failed to bear fruit this time. Tom exhaled, swore and surveyed the stone-cold water tank ruefully. It came to something when a personal letter from a man who had beaten someone to death with a hammer was the least of his concerns.

He went back downstairs and tried to phone the plumber again but the guy didn’t pick up. If events ran their usual course, Tom would have to leave several messages before the plumber eventually got back to him. He might then grudgingly offer to ‘fit him in’ towards the end of his working week. The plumber would do this while making it sound as if he was granting Tom an immense favour. If Tom was really lucky the bloke might even turn up on the actual day but he knew this was far from guaranteed.

Tom recorded a message then picked up the envelope from the hall table. The words ‘FAO TOM CARNEY’ were scrawled on it in large block capitals with a marker pen, above an address hand written in biro. It was disconcerting to realise one of the relatively few people who knew where Tom lived these days was a murderer.

For the attention of Tom Carney? Why not some other reporter? One who was actually still reporting perhaps and not so disillusioned he’d turned his back on the whole bloody profession, to plough what was left of his money into renovating a crumbling money pit? This was the third letter he’d received from Richard Bell. Tom had read then studiously ignored the previous two, hoping one of the north-east’s most notorious killers would eventually tire of contacting him but, just like his victim, Tom had clearly underestimated the killer’s resolve.

Bell was a determined man but was he a psychopath? He read the letter again, surveying the handwriting for evidence of derangement but there was none. This wasn’t some rambling, half-crazed diatribe, scrawled in crayon and inspired by demonic voices. It was angry and there was an undeniable level of frustration at Tom’s failure to engage with him but that was all. Having singled Tom out, Bell presumably felt the hurt of rejection. The handwriting was neat enough and it flowed evenly across the page. Tom couldn’t help wondering if this really was the same hand that brought a hammer crashing down repeatedly onto a defenceless woman’s skull until she lay dead in the front seat of her own car? A jury thought so and the judge had told Bell he was a monster. Tom remembered that much about a case that dominated the front pages for days a couple of years back. Was Richard Bell insane or was he really an innocent man; the latest in a long line of miscarriages of justice in a British legal system discredited by one scandal after another.

Tom took the letter into his living room, if he could still accurately call it that with the carpet ripped up and tools scattered everywhere. He sat in the room’s solitary arm chair and read it once more. Richard Bell’s message was consistent and clear. He wasn’t mad and he wasn’t bad. He hadn’t killed his lover. Someone else had done that and he was still out there.

BEHIND DEAD EYES is out now. You can buy it here from  Amazon here

Find out more about Howard Linskey at www.howardlinskey.com and follow him on Twitter @HowardLinksey

And be sure to check out all the other great stops along the tour …

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