Tag: Guest Storyteller

July’s Guest Storyteller, Allie Potts

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I’m delighted to welcome as my guest storyteller this month, fellow blogger and author Allie Potts.

When not finding ways to squeeze in 72 hours into a 24 day or chasing after children determined to turn her hair gray before its time, Allie enjoys stories of all kinds. Her favorites are usually accompanied with a glass of wine or cup of coffee in hand.

Allie is a self-professed science geek and book nerd. Today, she’s going to share a companion story to her novel, The Fair & Foul (Project Gene Assist Book One), which, as the title suggests, is science fiction of the cyberpunk/genetic engineering variety.

The following scene takes place a few weeks after Dr. Juliane Faris and three others have taken part in an experimental procedure granting unprecedented knowledge and cellular control over their bodies, but this same procedure could also very well cost them everything.

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SYSTEM TIMEOUT

Error code 598: The stream is not a tiny stream. Chad snorted, Duh, as he bypassed the message and accessed screens of data. Music selected purely at random blasted through a pair of wireless bone conduction headphones. So in the zone, he hadn’t noticed Dr. Juliane Faris enter the lab until she was standing in front of him. She was always stunning, but when angry she could kill with her looks as easily as her temper. Chad cringed as he buried the thought deep down. His girlfriend, Nadia had a way of picking up what he was thinking and he definitely didn’t want to risk her picking up that particular observation. Although it wasn’t as if she had anything to worry about. Juliane may be his boss, but Nadia was his everything.

Juliane raised one manicured eyebrow. Chad waited. She tapped her ear with one finger. He cocked his head in confusion. As the meaning behind her gesture bloomed across his awareness, he pulled the headphones down. He felt his cheeks blaze, sure the color of his face now matched the color of his hair. “Sorry Dr. Faris.”

She sighed and shook her head. “I still don’t understand why you have so little faith in what we are doing here. If you’d only get the upgrade like the rest of us, you wouldn’t need all these extra . . .” she pointed at the headphones now draped around the base of his neck “. . . antiques.”

“What if something went wrong?”

“During the procedure?” Juliane paused, likely thinking about her own procedure. She, her research partner, Dr. Alan Dronigh, and the company’s acting CEO, Mr. Louis Evans, had all decided to act as guinea pigs one night. Chad fought to keep his hand from shaking. Even the thought of such a spur of the moment activity made him sick to his stomach. “I keep telling you, Betty and I recalculated the dosages. You’ve been pre-screened. The risk is negligible.”

“What about after?”

“After?” Juliane repeated. “It’s been weeks since our upgrade and I’ve never felt better.” Her lips tightened as her brow knit in thought. She’s thinking about Mr. Evans again. Chad’s muscles clenched as he glanced at her face, praying that his expression betrayed none of the pity he felt for his boss. Juliane suffered pity like a cat suffered being drenched in water. An accidental splash too much, and you risked getting your eyes clawed out.

“You aren’t reading the gossip pages again? I thought I’d made my opinion of that garbage perfectly clear.” At first Chad was relieved at the change of subject, but then he looked over to where her gaze fell. He’d left his reader out and he could only guess what headlines would be featured on the front page. He searched her expression for any indication she’d seen more than the magazine’s logo and found nothing but her usual steel determination.

He ran to the desk and scooped up his reader only to stuff it into his backpack with his notebooks and personal belongings. The corner of one of her lips turned up. “Well, if you are in a running mood, would you mind running to get a cup of coffee for me?”

Chad grinned as he bobbed his head and raced out of the room thankful to avoid more questions that were better off without answers.

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Fair & Foul (Project Gene Assist Book One) is available to buy at Amazon

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You can find the links to previous guest storyteller posts at 

May’s Guest Storyteller, Catherine Ryan Howard

I’m absolutely delighted to welcome novelist and blogger Catherine Ryan Howard as this month’s guest storyteller. Throughout May she’s on a blog tour to coincide with publication of her crime thriller Distress Signals, a tantalising extract of which she’s going to share with us today. My intuition tells me that this super-talented author has a long and successful career ahead of her.

ABOUT CATHERINE

Catherine Ryan Howard by City Headshots Dublin
Catherine Ryan Howard by City Headshots Dublin

Catherine Ryan Howard was born in Cork, Ireland, in 1982. Prior to writing full-time, Catherine worked as a campsite courier in France and a front desk agent in Walt Disney World, Florida, and most recently was a social media marketer for a major publisher. She is currently studying for a BA in English at Trinity College Dublin.

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After his girlfriend mysteriously disappears from a cruise ship in the Mediterranean, Adam Dunne’s every waking thought is dominated by one question: ‘Where is she?’ To get the answer he must fight an industry with dark secrets to hide and outwit a serial killer who’s discovered the perfect hunting ground.

 Extract

I jump before I decide that I’m going to.

Air whistles past my ears as I plummet towards the sea, dark but for the panes of moonlight breaking into shards on its surface. At first I’m moving in slow-motion and the surface seems miles away. Then it’s rushing up to meet me faster than my mind can follow.

A blurry memory elbows its way to the forefront of my thoughts. Something about how hitting a body of water from this height is just like hitting concrete. I try to straighten my legs and grip the back of my thighs, but it’s a moment too late. I hit the water at an angle and every nerve ending on the right side of my body is suddenly ablaze with white-hot pain.

I close my eyes.

When I open them again, I’m underwater.

It’s nowhere near as dark as I expected it to be. Beyond my feet, yes, there is a blackness down deep, but here, just beneath the surface, it’s brighter than it was above.

It’s clear too. I can see no dirt or fish. I twist and turn, but I can see no one else either.

Looking up through the water, the hull of the Celebrate looms to my right, the lights of its open decks twinkling. I have a vague idea where in the rows of identical balconies my cabin is, and I wonder if it’s possible for two people to leave the same spot on such an enormous ship, fall eight storeys and land in completely different places.

It must be because I seem to be alone.

I drift down, towards the darkness. Pressure builds in my chest.

I need to get to the surface so I can take a breath. So I can call out and listen for the sounds of legs and arms splashing, or for someone else calling out to me.

I move to stretch both arms out—

A hot poker burns deep inside my shoulder. The pain makes me gasp, pulling water into my throat.

Now all I want to do is to take a breath. I must take one. I can’t wait any longer.

But the surface is at least ten or twelve feet above me, I think.

I start to kick furiously. My lungs scream.

I’m not a strong swimmer; I go nowhere fast. My efforts just keep me at this depth, neither sinking nor ascending.

The surface gets no closer.

The urge to open my mouth and breathe in is only a flicker away from overwhelming. I start to panic, flailing my left arm and legs.

I lift my face to the light as if oxygen can reach me through the water the same way the moon’s rays can, and that’s when I see a shadow on the surface.

A familiar shape: a lifebuoy.

Someone must have thrown it in.

I wonder what that someone saw.

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ABOUT DISTRESS SIGNALS:

Standalone crime/thriller

Published May 5 by Corvus/Atlantic in Ireland and the UK, June 2 in Australia and New Zealand. Details of North American publication later in 2016 coming soon.

Did she leave, or was she taken?

The day Adam Dunne’s girlfriend, Sarah, fails to return from a Barcelona business trip, his perfect life begins to fall apart. Days later, the arrival of her passport and a note that reads ‘I’m sorry – S’ sets off real alarm bells. He vows to do whatever it takes to find her.

Adam is puzzled when he connects Sarah to a cruise ship called the Celebrate – and to a woman, Estelle, who disappeared from the same ship in eerily similar circumstances almost exactly a year before. To get the answers, Adam must confront some difficult truths about his relationship with Sarah. He must do things of which he never thought himself capable. And he must try to outwit a predator who seems to have found the perfect hunting ground…

Advance praise:

“Pacey, suspenseful and intriguing … [A] top class, page turning read. Catherine Ryan Howard is an astonishing new voice in thriller writing.” — Liz Nugent, author of 2014 IBA Crime Novel of the Year Unravelling Oliver

“An exhilarating debut thriller from a hugely talented author. Distress Signals is fast-paced, twisty and an absolute joy to read.” — Mark Edwards, #1 bestselling author of The Magpies and Follow You Home

Read a preview of the first three chapters here:

https://catherineryanhoward.com/access-your-exclusive-preview/

Amazon.co.uk link:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Distress-Signals-Incredibly-Gripping-Psychological/dp/1782398384

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You can find the links to previous guest storyteller posts at 

April’s Guest Storyteller, Cee Tee Jackson

Cee Tee Jackson

Cee Tee (Colin) Jackson is an ex-bank manager turned professional dog walker from Houston, Scotland.

He’s a bit of a short arse, with a short attention span. No surprise then, that his first book, ‘Damp Dogs & Rabbit Wee’, at just one hundred and eleven pages, is also a little on the short side.

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Sarah says: I’m delighted to welcome Cee Tee as this month’s guest storyteller. Recently, I had the pleasure of reading the book mentioned above, which falls into the category of non-fiction that is at times stranger than fiction! Seriously, I really enjoyed this book, based on his true experiences as a pet professional, and awarded it five stars on Amazon and Goodreads.

Today, Cee Tee is going to regale us with a tale (tails) from his book.

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The Dangers (Extract from ‘Damp Dogs & Rabbit Wee.’)

I was with three dogs, all from the same household: Ozzie, a bouncy, athletic and energetic bearded collie cross; Gem, a lovely-natured little Staffordshire bull terrier; and Sam, a rather overweight, but ultra-sociable Cairn terrier whose short, stumpy legs struggle to keep his belly from trailing the ground.

In a country park, high in the hills that overlook Paisley and Glasgow, we were following our regular route. As normal, I checked each field for sheep and cattle before entering. Except, on this occasion the cattle were not apparent from the entrance and were actually ensconced in an obscured dip, around a bend.

The three dogs were off-lead and slightly ahead of me as they charged through the open ground. Well, Ozzie and Gem, at least – Sam was mooching his way around as usual, searching for scraps of discarded picnic food and leaving his scent-mark on just about every raised tuft of grass that he passed.

I knew something was wrong the instant all three stopped what they were doing and stood still. Gem threw me a look from over her shoulder which I loosely translated as:

“We’ve got a problem …”

Confronting us now, and quickly rising to their feet, were about twenty cows. Worse – they each had their young with them.

I returned Gem’s look, hoping she’d interpret it as:

“Keep calm, and walk slowly towards the woods.”

At least in there, I reckoned, the cattle would have no room to charge us, and if we were seen to be walking away from them, hopefully they’d realise we intended no harm to their calves.

The most vociferous of the herd was by now no more than four metres from me. She was snorting and stamping her front hooves on the ground. The others were becoming more animated and vocal as they circled us. I shot a look towards the wooded area, some fifty metres away.

The alarmed baying of the group in front of us had alerted a splinter-herd, who had been resting-up in the shade of the very same woods.

Gem slowly turned her head towards me, a quizzical look on her face. I think she was saying:

“What now, wise-guy?”

‘What now?’ indeed.

Well, Ozzie, being of nimble foot, had already made himself scarce and scarpered towards the bottom end of the field. Gem, ever so trusting, was still awaiting instruction.

Sam, completely unaware of any possible danger, decided he’d like to make friends with the cattle. This was not helping, at all.

A car stopped on the road that bisects the park, and the driver came to the fence around a hundred metres away. From his vantage point, down the slope from where we were cornered, he could see a gap forming in the herd. He shouted to me and pointed to where we should run.

And run we did – Gem close by my side.

It was, as I’d read in magazine articles, ‘every man and dog for themselves,’ as we, the faithful Gem and myself, raced through the break in formation. Sam, however was still dithering around with his new ‘pals.’

“Come on Sam” I hollered. “BISCUITS!”

That did the trick. His little legs were a blur as he tried to catch up, more afraid of missing out on a treat than the danger of being trampled and kicked to death by an irate cow or two.

We quickly reached the sanctuary of the road, where Ozzie was waiting:

“What kept you?” I could imagine him panting.

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Damp Dogs and Rabbit Wee is available to buy (Kindle and Paperback edition) from amazon.co.uk and amazon.com

Cee Tee’s links
Blog
Facebook
Twitter

 

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You can find the links to previous guest storyteller posts at 

 

March’s Guest Storyteller, Hugh Roberts

Hugh Roberts

Hugh Roberts is a writer and blogger, now living in Abergavenny, South Wales.

Although Hugh suffers from a mild form of dyslexia, he doesn’t allow it to stop him writing. He has a passion for reading and writing short stories, many of which come with an unexpected twist.

Hugh is hoping to publish his first collection of Short Stories towards the end of 2016.

Sarah says: I’m delighted to welcome Hugh Roberts as this month’s guest storyteller. But be warned, his “unexpected twists” often have a wickedly dark edge to them, as you’re about to discover –shades of Roald Dahl, even.

To read more of his tales, plus some  helpful snippets about the art of blogging, you can find him at Hugh’s Views and News.   

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 The Gingerbread House 

Here’s the photo I took of it. Do you like it?

Yes, it took a lot of time making that gingerbread house. Mum was not very pleased about all the mess in the kitchen, but when Johnny volunteered to help me clean everything up and I agreed to make her a cup of tea, she went back to her computer upstairs and said nothing else about it.

The gingerbread house was a huge hit at Mum’s birthday party. Everybody loved it and said how nice it looked as the centrepiece of the table. We even used our favourite sweets to decorate the house. Yes, we ate some of the sweets as we decorated the cake, but there was enough left to finish it off. Mum was well pleased with it and Dad said it was the best birthday cake he had ever seen. He was the one that took the photo.

At Mum’s birthday party, the following day, everyone was eager to have a slice of the gingerbread house, but Dad said we had to eat the sandwiches, cheese and pineapple on sticks, and sausage-rolls first before Mum could cut into it while we all sang happy birthday to her. Mum was quite emotional as she made the first cut and we all thought it was because she hated the fuss of birthdays and being the centre of attention.

Mum had been upset the day before, not only because of the mess we were making but because she said the picture of the gingerbread house we were baking from the recipe book looked like Grandma’s house. Grandma and Mum were very close and when Grandma went to heaven to become an angel, we were all very upset. Johnny and I were so pleased with the gingerbread house and that it reminded Mum of Grandma’s house. Johnny is nearly eight and I’m ten in three and three-quarters months’ time.

After the birthday party had finished we agreed to help Mum and Dad clear up. Dad asked Mum if she wanted to keep the cake board the gingerbread house had stood on, seeing as the whole lot had been eaten. While Dad cleaned the cake board, Mum sat down in her favourite chair and noticed that the lid of Grandma’s canister, that they call an urn, was not on correctly. She asked Dad about it and he said he hadn’t touched it.

It wasn’t until Johnny told Mum and Dad that he’d emptied what was in Grandma’s canister into the mixing bowl, because he wanted to put Grandma back into her house, that the screaming and crying started. Even Dad was upset. I had no idea what Johnny had done while I made Mum that cup of tea and took it up to her. I didn’t even notice a difference in the mixture when I came back and Johnny was making a wish as he stirred everything with the big wooden spoon.

However, it doesn’t matter to Johnny and me because we still believe Grandma is an angel.

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You can find the links to previous guest storyteller posts at 

February’s Guest Storyteller, Ana Spoke

AnaSpokeAna Spoke is a self-published author and an unbridled enthusiast. She currently calls Australia home, but you can always find her on anaspoke.com

FINAL COVER September 5

Sarah says: I’m delighted to welcome Ana as this month’s guest storyteller to share with us a snippet from her hilarious chic-lit novel, Shizzle, Inc.

Here are a few comments from my review of her book on Goodreads and Amazon, where I awarded it five stars.

This  humour novel is quite different from my normal reading material, but then that’s probably because it is quite different, full stop! …Initially, I decided to read it because the author connected with me via blogging and I admired her sense of direction re Indie publishing. …This début novel is the first in an intended series and I fully confess to looking forward to the next of Isa Maxwell’s escapades. …Shizzle, Inc kept me so fully engaged for a long train journey, that my fellow passengers failed to annoy me with their mobile phones and loud talking. Normally, I get very easily distracted and tense under such circumstances. Instead, I ended up smiling … a lot. 

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Fifteen minutes of fame is all Isa needs to win back her boyfriend and pay her debts. She might just get it. It might just kill her.
 
Extract from Shizzle, Inc

 

That should’ve been the end of this story, but God bestowed me with a third miracle that day. This one came in the form of a huge trash pile.

That particular stretch of the highway shoulder happened to be the city’s most popular illegal dumping spot. Over the years, it had become a landmark, with locals giving direction to their homes as “the first exit after The Tip”. The Tip was enormous. Its humble beginnings were in just one man’s refusal to pay for municipal services, but it grew quickly, as others used the excuse of “everyone’s doing it”.

At first, the city council kept trying to clean up the mess, but this only encouraged residents to dump again. Fines didn’t work either, as the officers trying to issue them were regularly assaulted, pelleted by rotten tomatoes, or even thrown into the trash pile. The city tried to organize a volunteer clean-up program, but nobody volunteered. The problem was exacerbated by the homeless, who took up residence in the valleys of The Tip and adamantly protected their territory.

On the day when I flew head-first into the sprawling landscape of mattresses and garbage bags, the city was trying out a new “zero tolerance” policy. The idea was that after a few weeks of living with a stinking fly- and rat-infested pile, the locals would come to their senses and start using dedicated bins. The exercise proved yet again how out of touch the government was with their constituents. The locals objected, staged protests, signed petitions and condemned the council officers as ‘dirty pigs’, but did not stop dumping. In the end, I owed those council pigs and stubborn citizens my life. Thanks to the extra layer of freshly deposited garbage, I did not break my neck and got away with just a concussion and severe blood poisoning.

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You can find the links to previous guest storyteller posts at