Friday, 8 December 2017

Christmas Reading

Feast your eyes on these fantabulous festive stocking-fillers for those of you looking to fill your empty kindle. Choose from enchanting fantasy, sumptuous romance, tantalising mystery and many others - there really is something for everyone. Find out more by clicking on any piccy

Time Travel/Fantasy/SCI-FI
Romance: Teen, Sweet and Festive
Family, Mystery, Kids and Non-Fiction

Monday, 2 October 2017

Counting down to ...

... another month of being off grid. November is fast approaching, bringing with it the take-no-prisoners, 1667-words-every-day to qualify for the coveted NaNoWriMo award. I'm torn between two projects this year - more on that later.
But I'm keen to crack on with the second of the City Boy Juke Box musical novellas I wrote last Nano. My goal is to publish before Christmas. Tall order, I know. Unfortunately, between now and then, all my regular team are busy with another release in the Bryant Rockwell series.

So I'm looking for a particular sort of Beta - someone who doesn't mind the odd transcription error (so difficult to spot all the bugs speech-to-text introduces - it usually takes 4 or 5 extra pairs of eyes to get every single one - they are slippery little blighters). And in particular, someone who can spot a British idiom/spelling at twenty paces and suggest a US alternative.
If this is you, please drop me a comment below and we'll figure a way of getting together.
Here's an extract of the 1st scene to whet your appetite:

1 – A Modern Love Affair 

   Robin sat back on the luxurious recliner and raised his hand, a signal to the control room to resume the movie where he’d let left off.
   Hudson, the English butler, appeared with a bow. “More wine, sir?”
   A nod saw his glass of Bollinger replenished, and the guy pulled the trolley closer. “Would sir like the caviar, smoked salmon, or quails’ eggs?”
   “Any chance of a bit of each?” It was a game they played often, but only when she was not around.    “I took the liberty of preparing that.” Hudson placed the next course on the high-tech adjustable table along with the necessary silverware. He offered the condiments in a well-worn ritual, knowing full well Robin would refuse.
   The first time Robin did this, saying how he trusted the chef’s expertise, was the only time he got behind the fa├žade. The man’s stiff upper lip, a testament of his apprenticeship in a British stately home, cracked in a brief twitch which some people might have recognized as a smile.

   Back on his first day at this monster of a mansion, Robin had wandered downstairs after dinner to hear Hudson entertaining the staff with the incident. He followed with the assertion that Robin never added any further seasoning or sauce. Colorful language could not disguise the chef’s obvious approval, and the strength of feeling from the rest of the staff made Robin pause. He crept away, understanding for the first time, the huge divide between upstairs and downstairs.
   From that point on, Robin’s every culinary desire was catered for, no matter what time of day or night. Now he knew the man a little better, Robin took pleasure in teasing Hudson about his belt-and-braces approach of leaving the plate of sauces on the trolley, just in case.
   With a sigh, he wondered what the below-stairs staff really thought of him. Despite their professional training which meant none of them would actually meet his eye, he detected a certain body language which said many of them, especially the men, envied his position, living on “mother’s handouts” – even though his benefactress was not his mother.
   The clever spotlight on the table illuminated his solo meal just enough for Robin to appreciate the artistry of the presentation, without detracting from the darkness of the room. How proud his father would be if he could see him now. His mother not so much, her austere Scottish upbringing meant she had a real downer on TV dinners. But, heck. This was no ordinary couch potato thing. 

   Annamarina, Robin’s wife, boasted at every opportunity that this was the largest private movie viewing theatre in New York. After all, wasn’t she the highest grossing female movie star in the world? Who cared that Spielberg had charged way over the odds for this prime real estate in the center of Manhattan? Or rather, his realtor had. All his wife cared about was the number of column inches the sale had brought. Or so it seemed when she brought it up at every conceivable opportunity.
   Robin sipped the ridiculously-priced wine, disliking intensely the way the bubbles made his nose fizz, but she refused to allow what she called “budget booze” in the house. He frowned at an image of her saying the words, disdain wrinkling her nose and turning her wide eyes into ugly slits.
   Maybe, once the movie finished, he’d nip out on his latest toy, and grab a bottle from an all-night corner market. Complete with brown bag. That thought cheered him up immensely as he dug the delicate, two-tined fork into the gelatinous mass and relished the explosion of flavors on his tongue.

   How far had they come from their first movie date together? Shaking his head, he grinned at the image of the pair of them, holding hands on the back row, thinking that a change of clothes and a baseball cap would be enough to disguise her when the news of her husband’s law-breaking indiscretions hit the newsstands. They got turfed out, only to cause a near riot at a nearby diner. For a moment, he allowed himself to remember the excitement of their first few months together, when they connected over the smallest things like a book they both read, and a song they both loved.

   How different to today? Every breakfast they shared was seconds out, waiting for the bell to start the latest argument. A fine romance indeed, as her management company tried to sell him down the river at any opportunity, making it clear he was a nobody, hanging on the coat-tails of her success, no matter how he tried to carve out a independent career as a consultant.
   No matter how her PR guys tried to spin it, the writing was on the wall; the days of wine and roses were over. Every day was head-to-toe sulk and brood. He took another sip of fizz. As with the wine, she controlled what movies were played in her cinema. Of course, every single thing she’d ever acted in was there. Apart from that, she had little else except her entire collection of Broadway musicals from the ’50s. Along with a couple of action movies starring the former husband she’d taken for every penny when he made the mistake of being caught on camera with his boyfriend. In bed in a sleazy hotel room.

   Putting aside these unsavory memories, Robin focused back to her latest pre-release footage, knowing she would quiz him about it later. She claimed to value his opinion, calling him her “everyman barometer.” Her publicist reckoned Robin was perfectly placed to determine what the man-on-the-street wanted from a movie. Robin could have taken gross offence at this but, for whatever reason, his opinions were unerringly correct. As his reputation spread, he gained the respect of several influential producers who were willing to pay substantial sums of money for his comments and suggestions on their latest projects.
   When she found out, Annamarina insisted he paid a criminally high percentage of his earnings to charity. Her motive was obvious, she didn’t want him to gain autonomy and break away from her clutches. But with the help of an eternally grateful accountant, he’d become canny about managing his earnings and had managed to squirrel away a respectable rainy-day fund. Even now, the guy’s Jag was only on the road thanks to his expertise, it was a perfect example of back-scratching symbiosis.

   Several courses and glasses of champagne later, Robin found his eyes closing. Nothing to do with the fact it was yet another formulaic rom-com-adventure to add to all the adventure-rom-coms which had kept her star on the ascendant for so many years.
   Pushing aside the remains of the exquisite sugar confection he’d chosen for pudding, he stood. Instantly the screen froze, leaving her with an unfortunate expression, as though she’d been caught mid-sneeze. Even with this undignified face, she was beautiful. Stretching out stiff limbs, he took a long, slow meander to the bathroom and back, thinking about their first meeting.

   Driving past her car on a lonely stretch of interstate, he’d pulled up immediately, concerned about seeing no driver near the car. “Helpful Harry,” his mum called him, even as she warned of the dangers.
   A woman slept in the fully-reclined passenger seat, her face hidden by a scarf and dark glasses. The tale about visiting her mother didn’t quite ring true, but he was a sucker for a damsel in distress.
   He figured the dark glasses were to hide the fact she’d been crying. The air of mystery about her, added to an intense vulnerability, brought out his protective instincts.
   As her story unfolded, it became clear this was a woman not used to fending for herself in the wilds of middle-America. A woman not clued in to the most basic things about hiring a rental car, like checking the spare. Luckily, his Boy-Scout instincts provided a rope and he towed her to the nearest gas station where he changed the flat and filled the spare with air. He remembered how she’d insisted on buying him a meal at the nearby diner.
   “There’s no need for that.”
   “There absolutely is. I’d have been stranded forever.” The woman, who called herself Betsy, gripped his arm, then dropped it, standing back.
   His stomach growled, alerting him to how long since he last ate, so he followed her lead, hustling to open the door.
   She walked through to a window seat and sat, scanning the menu with a disgruntled huff. Standing, she asked him to order her a decaf coffee, with soya milk before slipping to the rest rooms.

   On her return, he was still trying to choose between the ultra-burger and a chilli-dog. She removed her dark glasses to glare at the waitress who stood close enough that her hip brushed his shoulder.
   He made his choice: The burger.
   As the waitress headed toward the counter, Betsy sat, tightening the scarf which covered her hair, asking him about his life.
   He gave her a potted history from the time he left Edinburgh, and she asked a lot of questions, revealing their mutual love of theatre.
   When the waitress brought her coffee, Betsy sniffed it suspiciously. “Are you sure this is soya milk?”
   “Sho is, honeychile.” The waitress winked at Robin.
   “You better not be lying, because I’m lactose intolerant.”
   The waitress lost her fake southern accent. “Are you casting aspersions on my integrity?”
   Betsy stared with a blank expression, and the woman’s lip curled. “I said, are you calling me a liar?”
   Robin stepped in with a calming word before the dispute attracted diner-wide attention. The waitress gave a bland smile as she stalked off, returning several minutes later with a burger for him and a frown for his companion.
   During the meal, Betsy entertained him with anecdotes of her life in New York and travels around the country. When he finished eating, she asked for the check, only to find she had no cash to pay and they refused plastic.
   Robin paid up, ignoring her protests. As they walked back to the cars, he offered to follow her back to the airport where she was due to return the car. After a moment’s hesitation, she agreed. When they reached the airport, she insisted on finding a cashpoint to pay him for his efforts, but as they entered the terminal building, someone recognized her, shouting her name. He watched in mild amusement as she fled through security, paparazzi piranhas snapping at her heels.

Wednesday, 20 September 2017

Bookhippo Featured Author

Book HippoHow cool is this???
I kinda missed out on the chance to brag when it happened earlier, but there was a heck of a lot going on back in August. But here's how special it is:
"Congratulations on being a featured author. We hand-pick our books, so this is something to be proud of."
Don't think I've ever been hand-picked before, so a massive (hippo-sized) Thank You to the awesome crew at Bookhippo.

And because of this, I've decided to extend the deal for a few more days - you can still get Wolf in Sheep's Clothing at a silly 99p/99cents. Check it out here for Kindle, here for other platforms.

Thursday, 14 September 2017

Stealing Sheep

For the next week, Wolf in Sheep's Clothing is a steal.

Only 99cents/99pence/99euros for this "twister of a read from beginning to end," currently sitting at #11 in the UK Military Thrillers Bestseller chart.

Get your Kindle copy here, or click here for other platforms.

Here's the blurb:

A fragile mum with HUGE secrets. An irreverent man-mountain with a gooey centre. An undercover mission. Sparks WILL fly.

Every man in Carrie’s life wants to control her. That’s just the way it is. So, when her ex-military father needs an undercover husband and wife team to root out a traitor, she endures the selection process. From self-defence training to sniffing sweaty tee-shirts, she holds her own against trained professionals, one of whom wants her gone.

The soldier picked to infiltrate her dad’s factory is everything she’s learned to hate in a man. Built like a Welsh mountain, Bryn is an unlikely partner whose detective skills expose her shameful secrets. Battling deeply-buried terrors, Carrie faces setbacks designed to stretch her tenuous grip on reality to its limit. His gentle kindness pierces her armour, and mutual interests restore her tattered self-esteem.

Tensions ramp as the factory manager is kidnapped and a security breach catapults the firm into an unsavoury global arena. Carrie ends up in the wrong place at the wrong time. With her track record, the chances of surviving unscathed are slim.

This suspenseful military thriller will appeal to readers who like character-driven stories with laughs, thrills, and unexpected romance.

Tuesday, 1 August 2017

Young Men Gone West ...

... for a city room. Young men gone West, for their gin and vermouth. If you've heard of City Boy, a crazy awesome band in the 80's, you may well, like me, have listened to that album with images of a sleazy part of town (for me, it could only be Vegas) and an extremely naughty teacher, Dear Jean.

Last November, I took 18 of their most awesome (and some of the naughtiest) songs and created a jukebox musical (think Rock of Ages Queen's We Will Rock You). This is the story behind that musical. But be warned: It’s not for the fainthearted – the inside of an 18-yr-old boy’s head and sweet, clean read do not good bedfellows make.

It's available for a few days at £0.99/$0.99 check it out here.

And if you want to find out a little more, click here.

Monday, 31 July 2017

Fox gets a sprucing

To celebrate a long-overdue re-work of Fox Among Wolves,
I've put it on sale for 99p/$0.99 for the next week.
And the photo shows you exactly how I've been celebrating.
Those of you who know me well, will understand the significance of the Gray.

A couple of reviewers have kindly pointed out a few typos, so I've gone through it with a fine-tooth comb and corrected them. You can't please all of the people all of the time, and because it's a story set in England, my characters speak with British accents and use British idioms. That's not changing, I'm afraid, but I've made it a little clearer, so people who are offended by that have the choice before they buy!
Based on some comments about the implausibility of a young woman in an isolated country house opening the door to a bunch of strangers on a soggy winter's night, I've added some insight to the state of Ginny's mind when she did this.

Here's a sneak preview:
“What a day.” Ginny sighed, easing herself under the peach-scented bubbles, letting the steamy heat take some of the tension out of her weary limbs. Day? What a week! Stress was much too small a word for the complete and utter physical exhaustion she felt right now. Her mental state was no better. Taking a mouthful of wine, she lay back, luxuriating in the mellow tang, closing her eyes for a moment as she tried hard to believe in the power of relaxation. How did it go? Something about emptying your mind of all the unsettling thoughts. Pretty much the whole of the last week, then.
The dratted voice from her meditation CD filled her head. “Now, breathe deeply and force your mind to think of your perfect peace place.” Bloody stupid woman and her alliterations.
Another sip of Chardonnay would help. No, what would really help was a big, brave hunk to sweep her off her feet and restore her faith in men. Someone strong enough to protect her from danger, but with a soft, squidgy centre: in touch with his feminine side and willing to take on his share of the household chores. Which, of course, would make him bat for the other side. Her dream shattered as she remembered the sequence in Bedazzled where Brendan Fraser’s character had tried to design the man he wanted to be, in order to win his girl.
Sipping the wine, she slipped back into the bubbles, letting the romance of Tchaikovsky’s Romeo and Juliet Fantasia relax her as she tried to build her ultimate mate. Good sense of humour was at the top of the list, along with honesty and courage. He should be kind, generous … oh bugger, the guy was veering off into Mary-Sue territory. How about witty, smart enough to hold a decent conversation on most topics, and completely comfortable in his own skin? Good start. Self-reliance had a lot going for it; mummy’s boys need not apply. But he needed more of an edge.
The music hit a crashy-bangy bit, which made eight-year-old her and her cousin, Carrie, hide behind the sofa, giggling in pretend terror.
That’s what he needed, a hint of danger. Her catalogue continued: mysterious, brooding, and occasionally wild. Considerate and adventurous in bed.
Dark themes in the music conspired to delve deep into her memory, and she was once more assaulted by the recent experience: hands pawing at her clothes, lips hissing revolting words and licking … STOP!!!
Plunging under the water, she immersed herself in the task of rinsing off the conditioner. It had been drying out for a while, making it hard to shift. Her hair was silky smooth as she gave it a final cool rinse, and piled it on top of her head, fixing it in a clasp.
She needed a good image to replace the nightmare. Like at the end of a horror movie – she always watched a comedy show to soothe the residual adrenaline making her muscles twitch. Pouring another inch of hot water into the bath, she toyed with the idea of a number of men with different combinations of her preferred attributes.
When she turned off the taps, the music quieted enough for her to hear rain lashing the windows as the storm raged outside. It brought to mind the old song, “It’s Raining Men.”
Of course. What she needed was a houseful of men so she could determine her ideal type. Like that was ever gonna happen. Smiling at Aunt Ellie’s recent remark about “being ripe for romance,” Ginny closed her eyes and called on her imagination to help out.
A secluded beach, with one of those straw-topped huts housing a bar. Her gaze flitted over a number of barflies, all superb male specimens with muscular torsos and bulging biceps, each one making eye-contact in his own unique way. She was excited to meet each one and try out the adventure their smile promised. As she lay on a sunbed, a stunning waiter approached with another glass of perfectly chilled Champagne, accompanied by the melody of the wind chimes behind the bar. She smiled up at the gorgeous blond, but as she reached out for the glass, the bell rang again, shattering her illusion, despite its apologetic tone. You have to be kidding, right? No way was that the front door, not this late on a soggy Saturday night.
“Go away, there’s no one in.” Did she actually say the thought aloud? If she kept quiet, whoever it was might think the house was empty and leave her alone. Settling back into the bath, she strove to recall the sound of waves lapping against the shore and the healing warmth of the sun on her body, searching in vain for the bronzed Adonis and her sextet of hunks. Tee hee.
The urgent rapping of the door knocker, accompanied by continuous chiming, drove her out of the bath. Oh, for goodness sake, nobody could sleep through that amount of noise. Not even with a heavy sedative. She grabbed her purple bathrobe and dried her feet enough to shove them in fluffy slippers. The uninvited visitor would have to live without the sleek black cocktail number and a trowel-full of foundation. Anyway, she was gonna come straight back and resume her yummy dream as soon as she’d sent the person packing. More to the point, she couldn’t risk the din going on for a second longer than necessary.
She switched on the light at the top of the stairs, and the racket stopped. Thank goodness. Descending with purpose, she coiled her damp hair into a towelling turban. The shadow peering through the coloured glass stood back as she approached. With a final tug on the robe’s belt, she unlocked the door and pulled it as wide as the chain would allow.
“Thank God. I saw the light at the back and hoped someone might be in.” The intensely male voice had the energy of recent effort.
Ginny flinched. What little she could see of the man made her want to slam the door shut – fast. His face and hand were spattered in blood. Zombie apocalypse, anyone?
Observing her horrified reaction, his gesture was a direct appeal to her sympathy. “Please, you’ve got to help us; there’s no one else around. Bryn’s car skidded and crashed into a tree.” He moved aside. “He’s got so many cuts from broken glass, I can’t tell how badly he’s hurt. He may have a cracked skull.”
Her eyes narrowed as she looked past him to where the security light picked out a man sitting on the bottom step, holding his head in his hands and groaning.
The first guy carried on talking. “This place is like the back of beyond; no network coverage at all.”
She had to make a snap decision. No contest.
“I’m sorry. My uncle won’t let strangers in the house. I’ll call an ambulance for your friend.”
“Thanks, you’re very kind.”
She pushed the door to close it.
“Wait!” Something in his voice made her halt.
A beat. “Look, I know what you must be thinking, but Bryn’s in shock, and I don’t know how much longer he’s going to last out here in the cold.” He glanced down as the other man swayed ominously. Something quickened his words. Concern?
“He’s lost a lot of blood. If you could just let him come into the warmth … please. It could be ages until anyone comes and he’s in no state to do you any harm. I can go back and wait in the car.”

His sincerity was persuasive, and she was influenced by recent events: If not for a similar act of kindness, Uncle Reg might never have made it to hospital in time. She shuddered. “Ok, wait a sec. I’ll have to take the chain off.”

Friday, 30 June 2017

More Lyric fun

Years ago, I got hooked on these dratted lyrics and I ran a quiz every Christmas with a hundred of the things. People regularly growled when they saw me coming because the songs stay in your head for days afterwards. This one bugged me for ages - there was no internet back then: "Oh-hhh, reaching out for something, Touching nothing's all I ever do" - can you guess it?

Here's the next bunch - all I need is the titles. If you want a bit of a clue, scroll down.
Of course, with the internet, it's way too easy to look them up, but try for at least ten minutes before resorting to that. If you didn't find the answer to the last lot, they're in the comment at the bottom of the post below this one.

From the Fox Among Wolves soundtrack
Now I just want to get close to you
An' taste your love so sweet
And I just want to make love to you
Feel your body heat

From the Death Wishes soundtrack
And down the waterfall
Wherever it may take me
I know that life won't break me
When I come to call, she won't forsake me

From the Don't Stop Believing soundtrack
Someday love will find you
Break those chains that bind you
One night will remind you
How we touched  ...

A heads up: a heck of a lot of titles come from my fave artists: Journey, Queen, Bowie, City Boy, Whitesnake - pretty much anything rock related. But there are other genres, including a few novelty ones with song titles which fit the action.

Fox - A stationary blonde serpent as darkness falls
Death Wishes - A paranormal creature from a bad-ass Stoke lad
DSB - The opening riff makes a super-cool ring tone

If you think you know the answer, add a comment below and, even better, leave me a lyric from your fave tune to see if I can guess it.

Thursday, 8 June 2017

The Soundtrack to my life

Just a bit of fun. Here are lyrics from three songs for you to guess the titles.
Each one is taken from the soundtrack of one of my books - something I do to give me an awesome playlist while I'm busy scribbling.

So here's the first batch.
If you want a bit of a clue, scroll down, but give yourself a chance, first.

From the Fox Among Wolves soundtrack
'Cause tonight for the first time,
Just about half-past ten,
For the first time in history,
It’s gonna start …

From the Death Wishes soundtrack
Well we got no class
And we got no principles
And we got no innocence
We can't even think of a word that rhymes

From the Don't Stop Believing soundtrack
And lovin' a music man ain't
always what it's supposed to be,
Oh girl you stand, by me.
I'm forever yours ...

A heads up: a heck of a lot of titles come from my fave artists: Journey, Queen, Bowie, City Boy, Whitesnake - pretty much anything rock related. But there are other genres, including a few novelty ones with song titles which fit the action.

Fox - Every woman's dream??? Male precipitation
Death Wishes - A subversive song from a bunny-loving' guy
DSB - I sincerely hope you weren't expecting the title track

If you think you know the answer, add a comment below and, even better, leave me a lyric from your fave tune to see if I can guess it.

Sunday, 30 April 2017

Naughty Nibbles - a free sexy short story

Working Girl

One motel room

Two consenting adults

You can guess the rest

     She took a deep breath and pushed the door open, not quite knowing what to expect.
     He sat on the bed, smoking a cigarette in the quiet, dimly-lit room. ‘You’re late.’ Terse and unfriendly.
     ‘I’m sorry …’ she began.
     ‘There’s no time for your excuses. Just take your coat off and we’ll get started.’
     Moments later, she stood before him, looking suitably chastened. ‘What would you like me to do?’
     ‘You said you were a dancer ... so dance.’
     ‘But there’s no music.’
     ‘So you’ll have to do without.’ His voice held the same hardness as his expression, making her shiver.
     She tried desperately to recall a tune; the first one that sprang to mind was Joe Cocker singing “You Can Leave Your Hat On,” from the movie “Nine and a Half Weeks.” Casting away the naughty images, she made tentative movements, her face glowing with embarrassment, her eyes pleading for mercy.
     But he was having none of it. Reaching over to stub out the cigarette, he spoke quietly. ‘Strip.’
     She stood, frozen in shock, her eyes wide. ‘What?’
     ‘You heard me.’ His voice growled with menace. ‘And do it properly. Put on a show.’ 

Click here to read the rest of this naughty tale with a twist.
Did you see it coming?

Monday, 27 March 2017

It's been a while

My poor Angel and his math-teacher charge have been languishing in obscurity for a while, so I'm putting them out at a triffic deal price to attract a new audience.

Thanks to the wonderful team at My Book Cave for helping; check it out here.

Friday, 17 March 2017

Ro's Books

The links for my books have changed slightly, so I just want to collect them all up in one place:

Buy From Amazon:

Other Booksellers:
Fox Among Wolves: A smart cookie takes on a dark, edgy hero and a sexy, ruthless villain in this romance with muscle.

Get Fox Among Wolves on iBooks, Nook, Kobo etc
Wolf in Sheep's Clothing: A fragile mum clashes with an irreverent man-mountain under hazardous circumstances.
Get Wolf in Sheep's Clothing on iBooks, Nook, Kobo etc
Big Bad Wolf: A Cowboy and an Amazon take on a jobsworth, a couple of psychopaths and a UXB in this explosive romp.
Get Big Bad Wolf on iBooks, Nook, Kobo etc
Death Wishes: When Jo Gold dies, all Hell lets loose in Heaven; she must live until her bucket list is fulfilled. Who better to help than a rookie guardian angel? Think Coke Break guy with wings. Yummy!
Get Death Wishes on iBooks, Nook, Kobo etc
Triple Jeopardy: Three girls, three decades, one outcome. These heroines have one thing in common – they attract trouble.
Get Triple Jeopardy on iBooks, Nook, Kobo etc
Don’t Stop Believing: A failing marriage. A union separated by distance. An accidental encounter. Can the Edinburgh Fringe Festival work its magic?
Get Don’t Stop Believing on iBooks, Nook, Kobo etc

Sunday, 26 February 2017

Shakespeare, anyone?

If you're anything like me, the only way you can really access Shakespeare is if someone else has put a lot of effort into making it fit for human consumption - i.e. translated it onto modern-day language. As they did so well in this movie, re-telling the tale with a modern-day slant.
It didn't stay faithful to the original in every aspect, but it didn't need to, it stood on its own as one of the better teen movies of that era (1999). And Heath Ledger's bad-boy with a soft side is eminently watchable.

So, I'm just proof reading a scene where a bunch of 16-year-olds are translating Twelfth Night into modern day speech and it goes something like this:
Original: “’Tis thought among the prudent, he would quickly have the gift of a grave.”
Modern-day: “The smart money is predicting him an early grave.”

Original: “They that add moreover, he’s drunk nightly in your company.”
Modern-day: “The same ones that say you and he are pissing it up against the wall every night.”

So cool (if you're a 16yo boy for the last one).
If this sort of thing interests you, let me know, by sharing them below. I know that when the proof reading is finished a number of beta readers are required - if you are interested, you can sign up to help here.

Thursday, 9 February 2017

Is it time to wake up yet?

This was my January
Oops. Won't be doing that again.
After the rigours of NaNoWriMo in November, I had a houseful through most of December and kinda overdid it, on every level. By January, all I was fit for was sleep. Days of it. Make that weeks.

Ok, I did dust off a teen series and read through it, wondering if it could be updated by a couple of decades to make it fit for human consumption. Only my Beta Readers can tell.
Will keep you informed.