Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ

It was another terrible week in terms of writing and editing accomplished and my own personal stress levels. Work just went from one ridiculous level of urgency to another. I never realised that there were so many ways to trump something already deemed to be "top priority".

I managed to edit a whole 3 pages during the course of the week which I know, it is abysmal (and I actually have a whole blog post pending discussing what I am being forced to call Power Writing or Power Editing.) but it really was the best I could do this week. I set my alarm every morning even earlier, only for my kids to get up before me each time, and I enjoy those extra minutes with them too much to turn my back on them and sit behind the computer. I only see them a few hours a day as it is.

I found myself very grumpy this week, my moods changing from incredible optimistic to irritable borderingÌýon the point of aggression. This culminated in a very bad morning for me (which was odd as I felt more awake than normal when I got out of bed) thankfully by lunch time I had calmed and enjoyed my day and now I feel great. I think the busy time at work is just taking its toll, coupled with the fact that I have not actually progressed in terms of my career in the eight years since I left school. (But that's enough of my self-loathing for one day.)

On a very happy note I got my hands on a Kindle this week and immediately loaded it up with several books that I have just been dying to read. I just now need to find the time to actually sit down and read them. .. and I will god dammit, I will read them all.

Tonight the clocks jump an hour forward so I may find myself having to head to bed a little earlier than normal for a Saturday night but I am determined to get a good chunk of editing done. I want to finish off the introduction chapter for the final character in the group at the very least, and of course not forgetting ( see above paragraph) READ for a while.

No new sales for this week, although I have had a few new downloads. In an effort to bring in some more sales and I have decided to lower the price to just $0.99 so I am very interested to see if this change in price has any effect.

The following post is a sample chapter from my current Work in Progress. Through Hell and High Water is the first story inÌýwhat I believe will be a trilogy of full length novels. This one is currently 110,000 words heading into the second round of editing. Despite what happens in this chapter, Sammy is in fact one of the main characters in the series.Ìý

"I can't believe you, I really can't." Mandy Jenkins snapped, her temper flaring after an evening of drinks with her friends, most of them fellow students.

"I'm sorry babe, I really am, but you know I don't like it when people start talking about that sort of stuff, it annoys me." Sammy Westford answered, never taking his eyes from the road. Mandy had woken him and begged Sammy pick her up from the bar she was in because she had drunk way too much to drive, and didn't want to have to take a taxi back to her place because her roommate would get angry with her for coming home so late. Mandy had been unlucky enough to make friends with a devout Christian called Emma Wilkinson during her freshman year at university and had never been able to shake her off since, although Mandy herself had been raised to be a rather devout Catholic, her parents to their credit understood her decision, or simply recognised her stubborn streak and allowed her to go her own way, find her own path.

Although, that being said Emma was a good friend probably the best one Mandy had ever had; even if her strong religious views and firm standpoint on sex before marriage had made for some rather interesting conversations when Sammy and Mandy had first started dating.

"I don't want to talk about it Sammy, you fucking embarrassed me in there tonight, I mean Jesus Christ, would it kill you to try and behave around my friends just once." She gesticulated wildly with her hands; Sammy didn't have to take his eyes from road to know that she was mad with him. She was drunk and therefore she was mad at him, although he would admit that on this occasion her anger, although slightly excessive was probably justified.

"I don't want to argue Mand, you're a bit drunk and those guys were taking the piss just because I don't have a college education or fancy car to drive you around in. I work hard to make my way, and you above all people should know that I actually enjoy what I do. I'm proud of who I have turned myself into so don't get angry with me, or take their side, not tonight." Sammy wasn't angry with her, she went out and got drunk very rarely, but whenever she did it was always the same routine, she would call him up, he would go get her and then they would argue about how he was rude to her friends. It was a cycle that stemmed from the main difference between them; their backgrounds.

Sammy was a 22-year-oldÌýconstruction worker, someone who came from a family of borderline degenerates, someone who was never given much of a chance in life, his two brothers were petty criminals, and his sister lived on benefits, in a house provided for her and her four children, while she chased child support payments from the four different fathers. His parents divorced before he was even born. Sammy was the baby of the family, the youngest by quite some way, and it was his conception in fact, which had placed the final lid in the coffin of their relationship, with his father questioning his mother's fidelity. The question was never answered; his father always preferred to pose such important questions with his fists or other handy appliances rather that with his tongue. Plus the very foundation of his questioning was rather unnecessary as he himself was only the father of Sammy's sister, who was conceived while his mother was engaged to another man (who for the sake of the record was not the father of either of Sammy's brothers). Sammy escaped home as soon as he graduated high School. Although he had the brains for it, he knew with a strange levelheadednessÌýat an early age that he wouldn't benefit from going to college. He liked the idea of working with his hands, and so he packed his bags at the first opportunity and moved to a different city, away from his family in Denver, and began a series of cross-countryÌýadventures before finally landing in Baltimore, where he had been ever since, living just outside of the main city in the suburb of Edmonson. He had moved around a lot, living in rented accommodations, moving from city to city working construction for whatever company was hiring, before he was finally offered regular work with Whiting-Turner Construction whom had now been his employers for 2 and a half years. It was during this time that he first met Mandy Jenkins.

Mandy couldn't have been more dissimilar to Sammy if she tried, her family were rich, her father a doctor, head of cardio thoracic surgery at Johns Hopkins while her mother was a stay at home mum, dedicated to her children, never moaning, always willing to spend her time aiding them in whatever they needed, from conversations or advice through to simple transport, something Sammy's mum could never be bothered with. She was too self-obsessed to even notice Sammy had moved out of the house until three weeks later. The first phone call to check on his whereabouts came three weeks after he had left home, just as he was packing up his bags to move yet again.

Mandy had one brother who was training to be lawyer and while only in first in his year at Stanford he was already being headhunted by some of the largest law firms on both coasts, and even a few from abroad. Mandy herself had chosen to follow her father into the medical profession, choosing dentistry. It was in a bar near the University of Maryland where she was just beginning her second year that the Sammy and Mandy first met.

Their meeting was nothing special, although over the years as their relationship developed so did the embellishments they made to their tale. It went from a case of being squashed together at the bar trying desperately to order drinks, only for Sammy to turn around and sacrifice his turn so that Mandy could order only for them to find themselves trapped against the bar and unable to get back to their respective groups (which was as close to the truth as the tale ever got) to something far more interesting, versions of which included Sammy climbing onto the bar and walking across it, jumping to the floor only to sweep Mandy into his arms and walk out of the bar with her, it didn't matter what version they used (and the tale had actually become something of game between them, who could create the best meeting) the one constant was the mutual instant attraction.

Despite having next to nothing in common, different background and wildly varied interests; Sammy was a fan of action movies, particularly those from the 80's and early 90's while Mandy was more interested in the old Hollywood pictures, and of course a good romantic movie. Sammy read sports magazines and the occasional comic book, while Mandy was currently working her way through the classic English authors such as Thomas Hardy and the entire Bronte family. Yet despite all of this, there was something between them that clicked beside their mutual indifference to any one style of music. They had been together almost a year now, and slowly they had learned about each other, Sammy was slow to open up and still hadn't told Mandy everything about his past, or his family, but she knew that and was happy to wait. Mandy's parents had reserved their judgement of him, listening at first only to the background tales of his youth; however after having met him a few times they both admitted he was a nice guy.

They argued of course, but normally only over silly things, as is the case in any relationship. Their current interaction wasn't so much of an argument as more of a drunken conversation after an incident between Sammy and Nathan Woodrow a student friend of Mandy's who was obviously in love with her and determined to try and score points against Sammy every time they met.

"Why not tonight Sammy, what's the problem with having this conversation tonight? Do you think you can take me home and get some action from the drunken girl?" She slurred her words, slashing the air with her hands.

"Listen Mand, I am sorry, that guy is a cock, and the very thought of him makes me want to slap him in the face with a brick, I'm sorry but it's true, he baits me every time and I always fall for it, because he's an ass, and he wants you, to take you from me. I don't want to fight about this, so let's just go home, and we can talk in the morning when your head has cleared a bit." He reasoned, staying calm as best he could. Sammy forced himself to keep his focus on the road, not even allowing himself the chance to throw her so much as a sly glance.

"That's just like you Sammy, never talk it out, just let Mandy cool down and she'll give it up anyway. You never want to fight, you never argue back; well this time I'm not letting it go." She snapped, and there was a tone of pure frustration in her voice that made him believe her.

"Come on Mandy, I don't like fighting, you know what I saw my parents go through, not to mention the string of step fathers I've had. I've seen what arguments turn into." He said, trying to steer the conversation in a new direction.

Ìý"Well you can't hide from everything Sammy. You were happy enough to fight with Nate back there." She threw back the catalyst that had caused the fight in the first place; just in case he had forgotten.

"Drop it Mand, Jesus, just pipe down and let me get you home alright." Sammy was beginning to lose his patience. His grip tightened on the steering wheel, and although he knew he would never hit a woman no matter what the circumstances, he could still feel a rage building deep down inside him. He forced it down, arguing was the last thing he wanted to do, and he would avoid it at all costs.

"Why, are you gonna ignore me, sleep on the sofa, wait until morning and hope it's all blown over?" She continued to push, somehow intent on making a big deal over a snide comments that Sammy made when he arrived,Ìý â€� despite the fact that Nate had been throwing his own snide remarks around about Sammy pretty much the entire eveningâ€� and a refusal to sit down and have a drink.

"No, I was going to ask you to marry me you silly mare. I busted my balls getting everything set up the way I wanted before you came home." Sammy blurted it out; unable to keep his mouth shut any longer. He had been planning the best moment for several weeks; the ring purchased a few months before, just in case the opportune moment arrived early. He had spent the bonus he had been given by his boss on a bottle of expensive champagne and a punnet of strawberries, coupled with scented candles, and a plan for a hot bath scattered with rose petals. Only for Mandy to call and say she was going out for drinks instead.

"What?" Mandy's mouth stopped after that one word, her mind suddenly sobered as if the previous sentence had blown all of the windows out of the car letting the cool night air and steadily increasing rain sweep the alcohol away.

"That's right, I had this whole romantic evening planned, and everything was perfect until Nathan got in the way." Sammy began but stopped himself; he was finally beginning to turn the corner in this particular disagreement and didn't really want to go throwing any more fuel onto the fire.

"You were going to propose?" Mandy asked in a moment of clarity so stark and sudden that it slapped the remaining haze of her drunkenness and all thoughts of arguments out of her mind.

"Yeah" Sammy answered her, not really sure if an answer was needed.

"Were" Mandy repeated.

"Am" Sammy finally understood the previous sentence. He reached into the pocket of his overcoat and pulled out a small velvet box. "I had much bigger and better plans for this you know." He said offering the box across to his (hopefully) soon to be fiancée.

"This is one hell of a way to win an argument Sam" Mandy answered, laughing gently as she did. The smile that was stretched across her face, even in the darkness of the car was answer enough.

"Well, think of all the fights we can have in the future" Sammy joked; he took his eyes off the road and looked at her just for a second. He felt a sudden need to see the sparkle in her eyes, even if they were slightly reddened from a night of drinking. She still made his heart skip a beat, the delicate outline of her features, the way she poked her tongue out between her teeth when she smiled � really smiled that was � and the creases around her eyes when she laughed, her smooth skin, and full lips that gleamed in the halogen amber haze that was cast down by the street lamps.

Mandy giggled at him, and turned her head as if suddenly embarrassed, then sensing the weight of his gaze she turned and looked at Sammy; her face was youthful, and Sammy never stopped wondering how he had actually managed to keep someone who looked as amazing as Mandy and had the brains to match.. She opened her mouth to speak, to answer his question at last; despite the certainty of its affirmation, a yes was still the necessary prerequisite for the occasion. However, what came out was more of a blood-curdling scream better placed in a scary movie.

"Sammy" was the only discernible word that came out, her face was frozen in a look that was strangely placed between the height of orgasm and sheer horror, colour drained from her face, as if the blood had packed up and left before whatever unspeakable event was about to unfold could occur.

Sammy turned to look and wasted half of his remaining time with Mandy wondering what the hell he was seeing. Part of him thought it was a meteorite, or for slightly longer odds a UFO. The night sky was filled with bright orange sparks that were flying across the horizon, tumbling roughly, and without grace. It was only when impact was imminent that he realised what it was. A Mercedes, he wasn't sure of the model, not that it mattered when the car was a fireball heading in your direction.

"Jesus Christ. Mandy hold on." He yelled, grabbing the steering wheel and trying to find the brakes with feet that suddenly felt as though they were glued to the floor. Slowly his leaden left foot rose and tried to find the brake that his right foot refused to touch, but it was too late. The noise was tremendous, as the car, obviously having lost control at a crazy speed toppled head over tail towards them, somersaulting like an obese gymnast, thudding noisily each time.

Instinctively Sammy reached out trying to grab a hold of Mandy's hand, all he could hear was the thundering of his own heart, his no longer functioned on a clear or understandable level, and even Mandy's screams were nothing more than a distant murmur, as though she were trapped in another room, or at the end of a long corridor.

The automotive torpedo impacted Sammy's car on the edge of the hood, causing minimal damage, it was the sudden change in momentum that caused the car to flip over

Ìý"Shit" Sammy cried out as he felt the car begin to tip forward.

Despite the speed with which it all occurred, everything felt as though it were moving in slow motion. The change in the weight of the car, the crunching sound of the hood, engine and undercarriage being crushed, the strange, stomach churning sensation as the car left the ground, flipping over like a disc in a game of Tiddlywinks. Beside him, Sammy heard Mandy scream, her seatbelt forgotten by her intoxicated mind. She fell forward as the car and she fell into the windshield; her head hitting hard enough to crack the glass. As the car continued its first of many cartwheels Sammy saw a bloodied smear mark the glass as his girlfriend's head bounced free, her body falling against the roof as her head then made contact with the dashboard. Mandy's body followed a similar trajectory as the car, her legs crashing through the glass of the windscreen as the roof crumpled against the road surface. Sammy heard something snap; a burning pain thundered through his body, he didn't have any time to look, not that he could see anything anymore, for every image had blended together, his world a wash of darkness and fire.

The car flipped once more, the roof flattening even further even the seatbelt Sammy was wearing didn't stop his head repeatedly with the driver's side window causing his neck to whiplash with an audible popping sound. He tasted blood in his mouth and couldn't breathe; his chest was crushed, both lungs punctured. He also had a compound fracture in each leg, the femur protruding at about mid-thigh level. Finally, the car came to a stop landing upside down in the middle of the road, the engine somehow still revving angrily, the rear wheels spinning, steadily slowing while the aroma of spilled fuel began to fill the car.

"Mandy" Sammy coughed, blood spurting from his lips. Looking over to the passenger sea;, pain surging through his body, Sammy tried to find the woman he loved. He groped blindly as his wheezing breaths began to shallow. He was shivering and sweating simultaneously, and the pain he felt was beginning to dull as his body slowly shut down. He had lost control of his bodily functions, not long after the car began its second rotation.

The seat next to him was empty; Mandy had actually fallen out of the tumbling projectile in stages as it had flipped its way along the road Her head had been the first to come away, cut through as the car descended from its second flip; she had already fallen halfway out of the window when the road came crashing down again, snapping her neck and sending the head rolling down the road like a gruesome bowling ball. By the time the car came to a stop several fingers and her left arm were scattered loosely along the road like the lost items one spies when travelling any highway; a shoe, a book, things you often wonder how is it possible to lose while within a car. By sheer chance, the rear view mirror was still in place, and although cracked and missing several large chunks, Sammy could easily make out what was left of Mandy's body further down the road, a fit of spasms racing through her partially dismembered torso as the rain pelted down washing the blood from the road deck as if the world were trying to hide it.

His head grew dizzy, the gargling sounds of his breathing lessened, and with it the depth of each inhalation became shallower. Yet Sammy refused to give up. "Mandy" He struggled to make the sound, surprise at how strong it came out.

He received no answer, the still night air broken only by the steady ticking sound his engine produced. That was all Sammy heard, that and the gentle patter of the rain that was beginning to fall. Fat heavy drops at first, but the summer storm moved in quickly, the rumbles of thunder drowning out the emergency service sirens, while lightning cast a gloomy intermittent glow on the horizon, highlighting the blood and oil covered road, glinting in the open eyes of the head that lay directly between the two lanes, neatly boxed inside the diving lines. The blond hair that crowned it fanned out all around like a wedding train.

Sammy was long dead by the time anybody arrived at the scene, his face frozen in a twisted image, as if the last thing he saw was some ghastly creation making its way towards him.

It is the first day of Spring, and for once mother nature has not disappointed us. The weather in West Holland today was beautiful, clear blue sky, the sun high in the sky and a light spring breeze keeping the air temperatures fresh. I drove to work with a the sun rising over frost covered fields, and for just a few moments the troubles that have been bogging me down were washed away.

Yet in spite of this, I ended up having a bit pity day. My head was pounding by the time I got to the office and with my to-do list expanding exponentially before I even finished checking my emails. Once again I ended up taking no lunch break and leaving the office late because a meeting overran which meant that by the time I got home it was too late to go outside and enjoy the rest of the afternoon with my kids.

Besides work, which is a constant source of stress and unhappy times, not just for me but for the entire group of people I work with, there is always the simple fact that there just aren't enough hours in the day.

Let's have a look at my totals for the year.

Writing : I have edited a whole 37 pages so far this year

Reading: I have read 260 pages this year, and 200 of those came in one night while on a business trip to Ireland

Book Sales: I have sold 3 books so far in the three or so weeks my book as been available.

Those total are miserable in all senses of the word, and while I am happy that three people have bought my book, I had certainly expected a slightly higher number. Especially as I am donating 50% to help Japan recover from the tsunami and earthquake that has devastated the country.

Yet I have no doubt that my lack of sales is a direct result of my lack of free time in which I can promote my book. I am active on Twitter but even that is rather limited when it comes to promotions, and I am missingÌýout entirely on Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ, Facebook and other social media networks, and I refuse to split my time over them all. I would rather dedicate what time I to promoting my work as best as I can on one site than spreading myself thin on several fronts.

The thing the frustrates me most today is that I cannot see it improving in the coming months, and rather see myself having to stop writing completely until the second half of the year. Even now I can barely find 30 minutes a day to writeÌý/ edit my work and myÌý'evil' day job is only going to get worse. I have taken three lunch breaks since the first week of February and can see myself having to start working extra hours justÌýto keep up, and this is not because of laziness on my part or that of myÌýcolleagues, but rather a managementÌýsystem which doesn't sayÌýNo, and is only interested in growingÌýthe company whilstÌýrunning it on minimal staffÌýrunning desperately low on motivation.Ìý

I am not against work,Ìýthe contraryÌý is true, I am a big believer in work andÌýhave had a jobÌýever since I was 14 workingÌýalmost every day after school, butÌýI just get frustrated atÌýbeing stuck in a job that has no satisfaction.ÌýYetÌýIÌýalso know that I am lucky to have a job, especially in this climate. I have 3 children and theÌýchance that I willÌýbe able to support myÌýfamily as a writer is beyond slim, I realise that, but today just one of those days, another one of thoseÌýdays, which is sadlyÌýjust part of a long string of those days.

My normalÌýprocess is to sit and sulk on something a few days, or vent my frustrations with a particularly gory story or action filled pieceÌýof fiction, butÌýby having no time to do that I find myself getting more and moreÌýtense and bad-tempered, and that justÌýisn't who I am.Ìý Of course money is always a problem, and despite having a good job we are constantly maxing out our overdraft and can't really afford to do much at all in terms of fixing up the flat (which is something that really bothers both me and my wife to equal degrees).

I am sure that come morning Iw ill feel better, and as for now, I am out of the office and so it is at the very back of my mind. I am sure to sit down and try to get some more editing doneÌýtonight,Ìýeven if it is just a page or two andÌýuntil then I feelÌýbetter for my sorrowÌýfilled rant and realise that what I consider to be problems are nothing compared to what many people are going through in the world. I have a roof over my head, a steady jobÌýand a wonderful family, anythingÌýmore than that is just a blessing.

Thank you allÌýfor sticking with my through this bitch session and I promise that my next post will be something bloody and sufficiently creepy to have you all sleeping with the lights on. Possibly an extract from myÌýcurrent WIP.

The following is just one of the 20 short stories that can be found in my collection . (50% of all Sales are still being donated to Help Japan in their time of need.)

The blade reflected the light and cast its beam on the back of the stall door. Rebecca Worthing stared at it, her knees pulled up to her chest, feet resting on the seat of the toilet upon which she was perched. The way, nobody would see her should they look under the door.

"They will come looking for you." She told herself, sniffling, fighting back the tears.

"I know." She whispered to herself as she turned the blade of the scalpel -one that she had stolen from the science lab � in her left hand.

Her right sleeve was rolled up to the elbow, her bare arm exposed to the world, revealing the hidden pathways that life had forced her to carve into her flesh; learning curves and experiences that she would remember forever.

The tears came now as she heard a group of girls enter the school bathroom, laughing and giggling.

"They're laughing about you, you now that" The voice in her mind spoke up again.

Rebecca felt the tears sting her eyes, felt them roll down her face, her skin so cold, and tears so warm. Her hands were shaking. She bit her lip to keep herself quiet, but it would stop. The voice in her head began to laugh. It laughed in keeping with the girls' giggles.

"I just cannot believe how stupid you are� (It laughed at her.) I mean, look at yourself, you're too fat to wear anything less than a sweatshirt and tracksuit trousers"�. (It goaded her) before it fell away into a fit of hysterics that soon morphed itself into a maniacal cackle.

"Stop it." Rebecca pleaded, speaking through clenched teeth.

It didn't stop, but rather continued to laugh at her. Echoing her plea back to her. "Stop it…stop it…stopit…stopitstopitstopit"

She sliced her arm from the elbow towards her wrist, the skin peeling apart like an over ripened banana, and then there was the pause before the blood came. It was that moment that Rebecca enjoyed the most in a way. It was the part that hurt, but it was the instant that the silence came, the beginning of the rush. She smiled to herself and watched the two-inch long red line appear. She closed her eyes and laid her head back against the tiled wall of the bathroom stall. When she opened them again she had cut herself another two times, her entire forearm was red. It was a bright vivid colour, especially against her pale, almost white skin, and yet the puddle that was growing on the floor looked almost black.

"Did that really help?" The voice asked, returning already. Only this time it wasn't mocking, but questioning. "Why stop here, make it better and cut something else. If you cut them, well� then they will be gone. You can be happy again." Its words hung in her ears, echoed around her mind as if they had been shouted from within a cave.

Unlike a normal echo, which faded away with each rebound it made, this one grew louder.

"No" She said.

"Um…hello, is someone there?" A girl asked. The group was still there. Their laughter had stopped but Rebecca could hear them.

"They've found you. Go on teach them a lesson. Cut them all."ÌýIt whispered to her. Her entire body erupted with gooseflesh.

"No, I won't." She said to herself, louder this time. Her voice filled with conviction. Yet she rose none the less.

"Hello, are you ok in there?" The girl asked again. It was an older voice, a senior no doubt.

"See, it's not them." She spoke aloud this time, not trying to hide herself any longer. She reached for the lock and began to open the door.

"It doesn't matter who they are. Just cut them all." The voice cackled once again. It was like a witches laugh as they stand over their smoking cauldron.

Rebecca came out of the stall smiling, her eyes wide, and her mouth wide open, lips curling up in the corners, her right arm bled profusely, and in her left she waved the blade.

"Cut you all" She screamed and lunged clumsily at the group of four seniors, who to their own credit reacted rather than just stared. They ran screaming from the bathroom causing everybody in the hallway to stop, turn and stare.

When the headmaster walked into the girls' bathroom, he didn't know what to expect and was prepared for the worst. What he actually found was Rebecca curled up under the row of three sinks, her knees pulled up to her chest, her face white with shock and blood loss. She was sucking her blood-covered thumb and rocking slowly. She stared into space, not blinking, not responding to his words or those of the paramedics who loaded her into the ambulance. When she got to hospital it took three male nurses to open her hand and remove the scalpel from her iron like grip.

Ìý

Well the weekend has finally arrived, and what an interesting week it has been.

No matter what time I woke up in the morning in an attempt to get some editing done on my current Work in Progress, at least one of my kids would also wake up. As the week progressed this grew more and more extreme with me setting my alarm on Friday almost an hour earlier than I would normally get up, and having it set to vibrate rather than a specific ring tone, and yet all three of them were awake before I got out of the bedroom.

Don't get me wrong I love spending time with my kids, but sometimes I just want a bit of time to get my writing done.

My day job (Cringe) was also one crazy ride, I took one lunch break all week (Friday) and spent about half of my time sitting beside my boss at his desk going over a task I have been given which I am neither trained for and have no qualifications even remotely related to it; namely accounting. This is sadly a trend that seems set to stay certainly until September time by which time they are already planning on having new things for us to do. I can't really grumble, it pays the bills, and although we can't actually save any money each month we have a roof over our head and food on the table and after the events that happened in Japan we really can't grumble about anything.

On the Japan front, I am still campaigning strongly, trying to raise as much money as I can for Japan. If you have not seen my Tweets or initial post on the matter, I am donating 50% of all my (SALES not royalties) to the Japanese Relief Funds, probably with either the of , To make matters ever better, my friend and fellow amazing writer will donate $1 for every book sold should the buyer place a note on her blog advising her of their purchase.

So far I haven'tÌýsold as many copies as I would have liked, there has been a lot of interest but very few actual sales. From a writer's perspective I don't mind, I have sold 3 copies of my book and that is more than enough for me to consider myself a success, but I would like to see the numbers increase for the simple fact that it will mean I can donate more money to such a worthy cause.

My current Work in Progress is in the second round of editing, and due to rather severe time constraints as briefly mentioned above, the going has been slow. 5 pages yesterday was my high for the week and I don't think that number will grow much over the coming weeks. Sadly this means I am already way behind schedule for a June release (not to mention funding problems for the cover art.) and am now thinking that October sometime is more accurate. I write / edit something everyday and that makes me happy so as long as I do something everyday then a release date doesn't mean much? Does it?

For an Indie author (any author really, I mean just because you have an agent and a book deal in place, it doesn't mean you can'tÌýwork hard under your own steam and spread you name through the online social communities.) having a solid base in the social media worlds is as valuable as the actual writing of your book.

I was active on twitter long before i actually decided to self publish, but once I actually became a published author, I knew it was time to change my approach to twitter. A new profile, a better picture and a large (I don't think that word ever covers it) clean-up of my following and followers list.

While I am not some friend baronÌýof Twitter, I am happy with the way my 'network' has expanded since I made the change and like to think that I am making good use of the site. I have a group of feller Twitterer's that I am close to as is the case in any social environment, and I do my best to spread the names and posts of others and not just my own. I am certainly no expert, but I feel now that the basic knowledge is there and so I am read to expand my network. I am casting anchor and heading out to find a brave new world, namely Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ.

I was torn between Å·±¦ÓéÀÖÌýand Facebook when it came to choosing me next social destination (and of course I will not be deserting Twitter, I will remain just as active as ever.) and was leaning heavily towards Facebook as I have an account there already and am familiarÌýwith the way it works even if I have never utilized it. Yet there was something appealing to me about Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ.com, I think it was the devoted aspect of the site. It is about reading, and I can use this new 'network' to expand my circle of social media friends before I create a new Facebook account that will be as devoted to my writing as Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ is.

I have just had my author account on Å·±¦ÓéÀÖÌýconfirmed and am looking forward to exploring it further today. I know I can link this site to my profile there, so if you are reading this post through a Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ, Hello, thank you for reading. Should you be reading this via another source, the message stays that same. I am humbled even further by every visitor to my site, and appreciate each of you for taking the time to read what I have to say.

I am still running my donation drive for the Japanese Relief Effort, either through or the , my collection of short stories only costs $1.99 and can be purchased through any one of the retailers listed or via

I am a believer in dreaming, both simple, innocent daydreams wherever you are (so long as it's not driving of course) but also of dreaming in terms of our goals in life.

If I come up with a plan for something, then I think of it on a big scale� ultimately� and I am glad I do. We are always too eager to place limitations on ourselves because we feel that to overestimate out potential or our idea is foolish, that we are being stupid by thinking on such grand scales.

There have been countless articles, books and even movies made all trying to make the same point I wish to raise here. The only limitation we really face in life is that which we impose on ourselves, a psychological cap on our achievements, and generally if you place a limitation on something, the end result still doesn't reach it because you always want to hold something back, leave some room of manoeuver.

Remove the ceiling and you have all the room you could ever need.

I think big, with all my plans and encourage you all to do the same, even if they are plans you are making just for fun on a rainy afternoon. Give it a try, you will feel great, free even.

As you all know, I am running an offer on my collection whereby I am donating 50% of all sales directly to the Japan relief effort, and this got me thinking (big) once again.

My goal in life is, as no doubt is the goal of all Indie writers, that big six figure advance, but recently I have been taking that thought beyond an advance, beyond the boundary of personal gain. I love writing, but money is notÌýa big thing to me. Sure I don't have enough of it with my current job to give my family the lifeÌýI want them to have, but I do not want to be someone with more money in the bank than they could spend. If I can have a nice house afford a vacation fo two each year then that's enough for me.

This is why my new plan has extended far beyond the limitations I would have imposed on myself had I not allowed myself the freedom of thinking large. I want to sell 1 million books (yes 1 million) and donate 50% of all of sales from both books and all other income surrounding them to charity. (I would spread this over several charities, maybe a different one per book) and that just a start, I can feel the mental space above my ideas, and would love to expand them even further, but first things first�. 1 million books.

The below is a story that I wrote at the start of the year and entered into a contest being run by the fabulous .

Ìý

Ìý

"You were the one who found the body?" Charles McAllister asked, holding his notebook before him, jotting down in his own form of shorthand everything the girl had to say.

"Yes, I had left my bag here after work and I� um…just came to pick it up on my way to the movies." Dana Turner spoke slowly but calmly.

For a young girl who had just found her boss savagely beaten to death she seemed remarkably calm, her words almost rehearsed, but then again, shock can affect people in different ways Charles thought to himself. He decided not to note her manner down.

"Ok, well here is a number for the police victims support line. If you need to talk to anybody, about anything, just give them a call. It's a free number." He said handing her a page torn out of his notebook.

"Thank you. Can I go now?" She asked turning as she did so. There was, unsurprisingly a small crowd gathered already at the front of the store, including he had been informed a group of Dana's colleagues who had been waiting for her at the movies and come en-mass when they heard the news.

"Yes, I think we are done here. If we have any further questions we will be in touch. Thank you." She walked away and Charles, a normally happily married man with two kids not much younger than Dana couldn't help but stare, almost forlornly as she walked away. He felt suddenly tired and slightly light headed.

With a strangely heavy heart Charles turned his attention back to the crime scene itself. The body was in the Foot Locker storeroom. The shop itself was located in the centre of the local shopping mall. The forensics lab were busy collecting as much as they could, but it was hard work, as far as anybody could tell the store manager had been beaten to death, although it looked more like he had been run over by a truck. The floor was almost completely covered in blood and both his skull and ribcage had been crushed almost flat.

"How's it going? Have you found anything?" Charles asked Alexandra Talbot the current lead forensic pathologist in the absence of their regular chief who was taking his first vacation in ten years.

Alexandra stood up from her position crouched over the flattened torso of the victim and shook her head. "Nothing concrete, a few small hairs, definitely animal in origin and that's it. We'll analyze them back at the lab and let you know but other than that we've got nothing. No fingerprints, no sign of forced entry and no obvious murder weapon. There are a few strange marks on the body, but we'll need to have him moved and cleaned up before I can tell you anything else."

"Thanks Alex." Charles offered.

There was a strange atmosphere to the room, a strong scent unlike that of any other murder scene Charles had been involved with. The air almost seemed thick, slightly unreal. Too much coffee and too many cigarettes Charles told himself.

By the time the body was moved and the Foot Locker had been both locked and taped up the mall was deserted. The crowd had begun to disperse not long after the uniformed police had set up the tape and cordoned off the area. The closing of the mall had also helped although even then some people had remained.

Charles was back at the station; his wife long since in bed and his children long passed the age where he needed to set them curfews. In his left hand he held both a cigarette and a coffee and he alternated between the two without even breaking his focus on the pieces of paper in front of him.

He had pulled up the records on the Dana Turner, just a hunch he had told himself. She had only been working there a week.

Nothing strange about that Charles old boy

He then looked up the records of the other employees and realized that out of the seven members of staff, six had only been there a week; in fact, they had all started on the same day.

The station was empty, even the janitor had gone home by the time Charles stood up from his desk to take a leak, and get another cup of coffee. There was no point going home now, he lived a good hour away and was expecting the autopsy results first thing the next morning anyway.

His footsteps echoed in the linoleum lined halls, but that wasn't it, there was something else. A steady clacking sound that tried hard to fall in time with his steps, but the stride wasn't long enough. Charles turned around, the hallway was empty, and the majority of the lights on his floor were turned off, in fact only the light in his section of the office burned and the hallway lights where he now stood. He started walking again, and again the clacking sound of horse's hooves followed him again like a pre-emptive echo.Ìý A warm breeze came washed down the hallways, stiff enough to rustle the various posters and advertisements on the cork boarding that lined the corridors of the building.

"Charles" His name seemed to be carried on the breeze. He turned around and saw nothing, for the light in his office and those in the hallway (which had been dim but enough to give some visibility before) had been extinguished.

The sound of hooves, he recognized it instantly now started again, only faster this time. Running� away and a happy giggling laugh followed close behind, swiftly followed by the sound of the double doors at the end of the hallway closing.

"This is a police station. Stop." Charles called out as he instinctively gave chase drawing his weapon as he did.

The darkness was momentarily disorientating and Charles ran into the double doors before he had expected to. Luckily they swung outwards, in the direction he was moving and he crashed into the communal hallway. The lights here were also out, the ground covered in broken glass where the fluorescent bulbs had been smashed.

He felt something move behind him. He spun around,

� nothing

Another round of girly giggles bounded around the building. More than one voice this time.

"Show yourselves." Charles called out, releasing the safety on his raised weapon as he gave the command.

The giggles became louder, and the hooves started up again. Behind him, approaching fast, they thundered towards him, the sound intensified until it was like a rolling thunder making its way towards him.

Suddenly Charles was thrown to the floor, shoulder barged in fact and the group of intruders stampeded away, crashing through the doors at the entrance of the station, sending a shower of glass and wood splinters into the street. Their frolicsome laughter remained in Charles's head long after their shod steps had faded into the night.

When Charles got back to his desk, he turned on the main overhead lights and cried out in surprise when he saw the message that had been left for him.

BILL RAMIS GOT WHAT HE DESERVED the words were written in block letters across the large evidence board at the end of the room. Beneath it were a series of horseshoe impressions. It wasn't until he got closer that Charles realized that the message had been written in blood.

He knew he should call the captain, if not about the message, certainly about the damage to the station, but it all revolved or so it seemed, around the Foot Locker murder, and that was his case and as far as he was concerned it was his job to solve it.

Until then nobody had known the name of the dead man, no formal identification had been possible due to the extent of the injuries he had suffered. The circumstances may have been unusual but at least there was now a lead to follow.

Charles ran a quick search through the police system and was surprised when he got a near instant result. Bill Ramis was had been questioned and suspected in a number of sexual harassment and rape allegations none of which had been proven, and all of which had been dropped before trial could begin. He had been the manger of the Foot Locker since it had opened nearly eight years ago, and all of the complaints had been made by employees of the company, and all of them had withdrawn their complaints and resigned from their jobs.

The more Charles read into it the clearer the picture became. Ramis seemed to make it a policy to only hire young women. Thinking back to the young girl, Dana, who had found the body, and all of the colleagues who had been waiting for her outside, Charles realized that they had all looked the same. They were young, attractive; all brunettes with shapely figures, even Charles remembered how he had felt attracted to the girl as she was giving her statement. There was no way that any of the girls could have inflicted the damage on a large heavy set man like Bill Ramis, but it was the best lead that he had and it was about a solid motive as he had seen in recent months. Ramis had simply tried his luck one too many times. Of course it could have been any one of the ex-employees, or a boyfriend thereof, but at least the list of suspects was now being defined.

"Help me." A broken desperate voice cried out in little more than a whisper.

Already on edge, Charles leapt to his feet and spun around, drawing his weapon as he moved. He was surprised to see he was shaking.

"Please" The girl spoke, but her words were drowned by the blood that was filling her lungs and so they came out more like a gargle. She staggered forwards a few steps into the light, her face a beaten pulp, one eyeball had exploded the other half of her face was swollen, the socket shattered, her hair clung to the scalp which flapped like a poorly fitted toupee against her skill. Her clothes were ripped and bloodied, and before she could say anything else she staggered two final paces and collapsed to the floor.

Charles ran to her, his weapon holstered once more. "Miss, hello Miss, stay awake for me. Who did this to you? Don't worry. I'm going to get you some help." He was already dialing 911 on his cell but knew it wouldn't be enough.

"The ne�.new…gir�." The young lady started to speak but her breath gave out before she could finish her chest heaved on final time rising only on one side for the other Charles then saw had been crushed in a similar fashion to the late Bill Ramis's

Charles stared at her, trying to understand what she was trying to say. It was then that he saw the black and white (and largely red) shirt she wore, and slowly it began to fit together. He rose to his feet and ran from the station.

The streets were empty so there was no need for the siren as Charles raced across the town to the Mall. He wasn't surprised to see the entrance way doors had been smashed open and the two security guards on duty lying dead just inside, both of them trampled in similar bloody fashion to the other two victims.

Charles made straight for the Foot Locker where he found the tape had been pulled down and the security door had suffered a similar fate. With his weapon raised and the safety off he entered the shop. It was dark; he groped on the wall for the light switch.

The six young women were standing in the far corner, huddled together, and when the lights came on their heads all snapped up in union. Eyes wide with fear.

Charles froze, for a second all he saw was their beauty; these poor girls, they were helpless; there was no way that they could have been responsible.

"Are you ok?" He asked "What happened here?" He continued, his brain suddenly intoxicated by their beauty, their scent, his mind sang a happy chorus and he felt giddy, like a schoolboy in love.

One of the girls, Dana he thought, although now he saw just how alike they all looked. "I don't know. You saved us." Her voice was strangely high pitched.

They all moved out of the corner, encircling Charles, staring at him with large brown eyes, smiling at him. They walked in a circle, it was dizzying to watch and soon he found himself feeling ever so slightly sea sick; nauseated after a few moment more. "Please, stand still." He asked as a retch began to bubble in his stomach. He leant forward, hands on his knees. It was then that he saw it, the clue the tied everything together� their legs.

"What�" He began just as the first black and white striped leg shot out and kicked him in the centre of his spine.

With a crisp cracking sound the bone splintered and Charles McAlister fell to the floor. The beautiful women continued to walk around him, their bodies perfect, their legs all the same, thick and muscular, hoofed and covered in an unmistakable black and white striped pattern.

"He got what he deserved. Justice was dealt and all those who stand in the way must be dealt with." The Zebra-woman he knew as ÌýDana spoke. Her voice now high pitched and braylike

"Who are you?" Charles stuttered

"We are called upon by the scorned women, those who were done so wrong. That man needed punishment for his crimes." Dana continued to speak.

"Why the girl?" He coughed and spat a mouthful of blood onto the shop floor.

The girls stopped walking and stared at him. "She accepted him, she let him touch her, father her child and take her whenever he wanted. We offered her the chance to take vengeance but she refused."

"She was scared" Charles somehow found the energy to shout. This shocked the girls and seemed to spook them the way a loud noise can cause a horse to bolt.

"She stood in our way, as do you, you would have saved him, you would have locked his killer away, and you will stop us if you could. We have been around for centuries and we will continue until the world is an equal place." Dana spoke

In the distance the sound of police sirens grew louder, all six of them heard it. Their eyes widened, nostrils flared, and still they were beautiful, or so Charles thought.

By the time the police arrived the girls were long gone, disappeared into the night with no trace left behind besides a few bloody hoof prints beside the crushed body of Detective Charles McAlister.

The recent travesty in Japan should serve as a wakeup call for us all, it shows us just how powerful out world is and personally it has put several things into perspective for me. The time we have with each other is precious and goes by so fast. There is no more important time in our lives than that which we spend with our families, our loved ones, and our friends.

As I mentioned in my previous post, I do not want to be working in an office my whole life. I realise that with three children I will most likely always need a job in order to survive, but I certainly don't want to spend what time I have working away for someone else. I have a vision of a small shop (also as mentioned in my previous post) let's call it Paradise Lost.

A small bookstore that caters more towards the Indie writersÌýof the world, rather than the mainstream names. Not only is it a store, but a place for everybody. I imagine it with a coffee shop attached with a range of coffee's and pastries to choose from, a quaint and relaxing atmosphere. Ipads, Kindles, Nooks and the like all available to rent during your stay, a full selection of newspapers, magazines and novels to choose from, and for those of us with children a professionally supervised play room for kids, with tv's arts and crafts, toys, the whole nine yards. I want to create not just a space for the business people, or the childless, but somewhere that parents can go to, whether to meet up with friends, or just to relax and enjoy a coffee in peace, knowing that their kids are safe, and being looked after at the same time.

I speak from personal experience that it is impossible to go out of the day with the family and enjoy a relaxing cup of coffee and a chat. (My kids are young, 4, 2 and 7 months) and maybe this is a driving force behind my imagination conjuring up this extra room, but I think many parent will agree with me the concept is an attractive one.

I can see myself working there, with my kids helping out (once old enough of course) me passing on my love of books and writing to them for my two eldest children both seem very creative characters.

I also have a dream of hosting monthly Q and A sessionsÌýwith a writer, again keeping the Indie perspective. AÌýmonthlyÌýwine evening where a writer comes in and talks about his book and answers questions. It's dark outside, there is an open fireplace for in the winter, and well, it's still just a dream at present so who knows what else may come or what may indeed go.

The thing is I see how fragile life is, and how quickly it can all be taken away from us. I refuse to waste another minute of my time, and vow to do whatever I can to ensure my time, my family's time, our time together is more than just a few hours a day in between shifts in a cubicle answering to that fabled 'MAN'

Don't forget that 50% of all my book sales are being donated to the relief effort for Japan, so please get your copy today and help those inÌýneed.

I write because I want to write, this is obvious for all of us, otherwise we wouldn't do it, but I am a realistic person. I realise that there is a great possibility that I will always need a full-time job in order to survive and support my family. This isn't to say that I don't have full confidence in my writing abilities; I do. It is just that I would rather have a back up plan that I know I could live with than be forced to stay in a dead-end zero satisfaction job for the rest of my working life.

There are in fact many careers that I love the idea of, the main one was and I guess to a degree still is, is the Police force. I did it as a when I lived in England and applied to join the regular force but was not successful for various reasons that ranged from illogical to down right stupid, another career path that I love the idea of is forensics in particular forensic anthropology. (Just like the title character in the TV show BONES.) This has been a passion and dream of mine long before every tv show had some sort of forensic theme to it. In fact I think it was the first real career that I actively thought about pursuing.

While at the age of 26 there is still time for me to go away and in theory do both of these things, the fact that I have three kids and bills to pay holds me back, as I simply cannot afford to go away and study full-time, or part-time for that matter, for the costs are the same (in the Netherlands I also find my options rather limited in both areas and distance learning is an even greater expense than the traditional route.)

When all else is said and done, I am more than happy with my life, I have published a book, sold some copies of it (and currently 50% of all sales of is being donated to the Japanese Relief effort (most likely via ) ) but when it comes to what I would really like to do with the rest of my life, other than write great, entertaining books and help as many good causes with the proceeds as I possible can there is really only one thing that comes to mind.

I would love to own my own book store. This may seem like a strange endeavour, especially in a time when the future of physical books is in question. However my plan would be for it to not just be a book store but a front for Indie authors across the world to showcase their talent. I would have a section devoted to real books, a section for electronic books, to both purchase, browse and even loan and read in store while enjoying a coffee and a snack at the little cafe / coffee bar annex.

It may be a strange little idea, or maybe many of you will see the picture in your minds and feel the strange warmth that I do when I imagine what it would be like. In any case, that is my goal, my back-up that could happily be my first choice should the need arise. Now all I need to do is figure out how to turn these imaginations into reality.

Thank you for reading this, and for following my adventures, I hope you have a wonderful afternoon, and please help me spread the word and help me raise as much money as we can to help Japan.