Friday 22 May 2015

Winners of have a character named after you in Don't Come for Me (Crime Files Book 3)

A while ago to thank everybody for supporting my books, I held a competition for readers. The prize, a starring role in the 3rd book in the Crime Files series, Don't Come For Me.

There was only supposed to be 3 winners, but thanks to an amazing response (and because I'm so garbage at naming characters) I decided to have 5 winners.

And the winners are...

Thomas Dettingen

Kirsty Lothian

Per Lundberg

Connie Lundy
Bonnie Smith

Congratulations to all the winners. Thanks to everyone who entered:) 

Each winner has had a character named after them in the 3rd Crime Files book, Don't Come for Me. 

Here's a wee taster -

Nancy Kerr's in trouble. Boyfriend Tommy McIntyre's missing, presumed dead, and the police think she's killed him. But, how can she prove her innocence when she's got no idea where he is, or whether he's alive or dead?


Sales links to follow:) 

Saturday 16 May 2015

Can you hear the Thunderclap?



I’ve started a Thunderclap campaign for Hell to Pay, the first book in my Crime Files series. I’d love your support and if you would like some author love in return (or have a humane cause of your own to support) please let me know.

The book's set in Glasgow and features feisty Nancy Kerr and as well as being described as a "thrilling read" the book looks at violence against women. 

What’s Thunderclap? Well, until I started one of my own, I thought it was a sign a storm was coming. What it actually is, is a way of spreading the word about something on social media. Sign up and on a specific time and day a Tweet or Facebook post will go out.

Being an author can be such a lonely business, as we all know, but if we support each other, it doesn’t seem so lonely. 

Here's the link 

Saturday 9 May 2015

Why I wrote Throwaways (Crime Files Book 2) about murdered sex workers in Glasgow



I've written stories, ever since I was little and always used to keep a diary. One of my first ever sales was a short story to Jackie magazine when I was 15. A friend of the family cashed the cheque and posted the money through the letterbox. It was such an exciting moment finding £60 in three crisp twenty pound notes waiting for me when I came downstairs in the morning.

I got fed up with the lack of strong female women in fiction, so I decided that I wanted to write entertaining books with tough women (and male characters) and that's how I came up with the Crime Files books featuring Nancy Kerr and Tommy McIntyre. 

The first book was Hell To Pay and focused on Nancy Kerr who gets revenge on the men who killed her parents and left her bleeding to death on the kitchen floor.



The inspiration for Throwaways came from the unsolved murders of a spate of sex workers in Glasgow in the 1990s. They were treated like throwaways and even when one lady was murdered in her own home that had paper thin walls, her neighbours claimed they hadn't heard a thing.

I wanted to write a book about people who did care about the disappearance and murder of women like them and who decided to carry out their own investigation. Although Throwaways is set in Glasgow, it's completely fictional.

My best time to write is in the wee small hours. That's when inspiration hits. I do have a tendency to spend too much time on Twitter. 

I tweet as @jenthom72 and also have two blogs - about my writing and also one about zombies (my not so secret passion).


I'm a huge fan of the George Romero movies and The Walking Dead and I had a zombie novel set in Scotland published called The Restless Dead

My main writing influence has been Stephen King. For me, he's the best living writer and his books are always entertaining. I also love Sue Townsend, Shaun Hutson, Mark Billingham, Craig Russell, Stuart MacBride, Margaret Atwood and Marian Keyes.



If I'd to offer any advice to budding writers it would be to never give up. It's so hard to get published, but the more you write and hone your craft, the more chance you have of being successful. You also have to be able to take criticism on the chin, from publishers and reviewers, which for me is the toughest thing.


   Oneclick   







In the third book in the Crime Files series, Don’t Come For Me, Nancy finds herself in a nightmare situation – he boyfriend Tommy has gone and in his place is a puddle of blood and a knife. Then the police arrive and think she’s killed him…

Read an extract from Don't Come For Me here 

They think you killed your boyfriend - you know he's not dead. 

Sunday 3 May 2015

Reviewers & Bloggers wanted for new Crime Files series Hell To Pay (Crime Files Book 1)

HOW FAR WOULD YOU GO TO GET YOUR REVENGE?





Jenny Thomson and Limitless Publishing would like to invite you to participate
in the release of Hell To Pay.

Book 2 and 3 in the Crime Files series will be out on May 12th and May 26th. 

BLURB:
Nancy Kerr refuses to be a victim—even when she walks in on her parents’ killers and is raped and left for dead…

Fourteen months later, Nancy wakes up in a psychiatric hospital with no knowledge of how she got there.

Slowly, her memory starts to return.

Released from the institution, she has just one thing on her mind—two men brought
hell to her family home.

Now they’re in for some hell of their own…


ARC's are available for review for those who would like one, and all guest posts/packages will be sent prior to the events.

To participate, click HERE

WHAT WOULD YOU DO TO GET REVENGE? Hell To Pay (Crime Files Book 1) is out NOW







An extract from Hell To Pay (Crime Files Book 1) 


She took a few more steps into the living room and walked straight into hell…



Chapter 1


I’m cold, colder than I’ve ever been in my entire life and I don’t know why. Slowly, I open my eyes, tentatively at first because even opening them a fraction feels like someone's shoving red-hot pins into them. The light is so bright.


What’s with the light anyway?


Has Michael wandered in, blootered on some poncy new beer and left the light on, after collapsing in a heap onto the bed?  I’ll brain him if he has. I’m no good to anyone when I don’t get my eight hours.


Pulling myself up in bed, I reach out my arm to nudge him awake so I can give him a right mouthful. My hand finds empty space.


Where is he?


My eyes sting as I prise them open – it’s as though there's been an accident with false lashes and I've glued my eyelashes together - and that’s when I realise I’m not in our flat. The reason I’m freezing is because I’m wearing a tracing paper thin hospital gown: the kind that shows off your backside when you’re being whisked off to x-ray.


A tidal wave of panic hits me and I jerk into full consciousness.

What’s happened to me?

I try to remember, but my brain’s all bunged up as if the top of my head's been removed and the cavity filled with cotton wool.

My arms are bandaged up. Have I been in an accident?  If I have, I don’t remember. Maybe I hit my head.


I take in my surroundings. If I’m in hospital, it’s no ordinary one. For one thing, my room’s more like a cell. There’s a bed and a table bolted to the floor, but no personal stuff: photos, or cards, or stuffed animals from people wishing me well. Does anyone even know I’m here?


I grope for a call button to get a nurse, but there isn’t one. What the hell? This place is a prison.


Staggering out of bed, I fight the wave of nausea and dizziness that make me want to yell at the world to stop moving because I want to get off the carousel. The tile floor is stone cold and there are no slippers by the bed. My feet are ice blocks. Why don’t I have any socks or tights on? 


Before I reach the door, there's a jingle of keys, then a key scrapes in the lock. Holding my breath, I brace myself for what’s coming.


A woman I don’t recognize with brown hair tied back in a ponytail appears. She’s dressed in a nurse’s uniform and there’s a small smile playing on the edge of her lips.

"Good, you’re awake, Nancy."

She sounds pleased, as if we’re bosom buddies, when I’ve never seen her before in my life.

"Where am I?"

My voice comes out as a rasp as though my throat’s been sandpapered down.


The nurse puts a hand on my shoulder. "Let’s get you back into bed, Nancy."

I do as she says. I’m worried if I don’t lie back, I’ll faint.

"You’re in Parkview Hospital," she says, as she fixes the pillows so I can sit upright.

I know all the hospitals in Glasgow, but I haven’t heard of that one. I ask her what kind of hospital it is and she tells me it’s a psychiatric facility. The reason I haven’t heard of it, is because they don’t publicize it. Perhaps because it’s full of nutters they want to keep away from society. The prospect terrifies me because that would mean they must think I’m cuckoo. Why else would I be here? 


I suck in my breath. When I ask her if this is a nut house, she presses her lips tightly together as she tells me no one refers to psychiatric hospitals in that way any more. Suitably chastised, I mumble an apology not because I think one’s needed, but because she’s the one with the keys.


"Why am I here?"

I’m dreading the answer, but I need to know. I don’t feel any different. Surely if I’d lost my mind, I'd know.

"You had a breakdown."

The way she says it, she could be talking about the weather.

She asks me if I want anything and I tell her a pair of proper pajamas, a dressing gown and slippers would be nice because I’m an ice block. If she gets in touch with Mum, she’ll bring me in some stuff.


Her smile’s still there, but breaks down around the corners of her mouth. There’s something she’s not telling me, because she’s worried how I’ll react. There’s fear in her eyes. I notice she’s wearing a lucky heather brooch, the same one I got for Mum. I’m staring at it as she tells me she’s going to fetch a doctor, when a memory stirs inside me and no matter how hard I try to push it away, someone’s taken their finger out the dyke and the water’s rushing in.


Blood, blood everywhere. Dad’s slumped in his favorite armchair, head bent forward as if in prayer (he never prayed a day in his life); a single bullet hole in his head. 

I know it’s him, even although his face has been beaten to a pulp: his blood staining the fireside rug my mum was so fond of. 

Even in death, my dad has a presence. He fills a room with the sheer weight of his personality. 

Discarded nearby is the baseball bat they used on him. It’s covered in blood and something sticky and dark brown, resembling raw mince.


All material is copyright of the author Jenny Thomson (C) 2022


Get it now - Hell to Pay (Crime Files Book 1) on Kindle

Click here to be taken to your country's Amazon store. 


***Books 2 and 3 are also available ***








Saturday 2 May 2015

CAPTION CONTEST – WIN A $10 or £10 Amazon voucher and a free eBook



It was my rescue dog Benjy’s birthday yesterday. Here’s a picture of him at 17 months old when he first came to live with us. 



As you can see from the pic, we greatly overestimated his size. Hence the huge bone. 
Once you come up with a caption, head over to my book launch party at 

https://www.facebook.com/events/1417899068518517/ and write your entry underneath the same picture on that page. 



I can’t wait to read your entries:) You can enter more than once.

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