Thursday 22 September 2016

Get the Crime Files box set for 99c or 99p (Limited offer)



For a short time only, the Crime Files box set featuring the first 3 books (Hell To Pay, Throwaways and Don't Come for Me) is just 99cents on Amazon.com
and 99p on Amazon.co.uk

A bit about the box set 

HELL TO PAY - BOOK #1

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…

THROWAWAYS - BOOK #2

Huddled in a doorway, in a blonde wig, and my best Pretty Woman outfit, I'm already soaked to the skin. As downward spirals go, this was bad.

But I wasn’t here because I was reduced to turning tricks for a living. I was here to catch a killer…

Throwaways.

That's the word they're using for the four Glasgow sex workers who've gone missing. But two people do care.

When Suzy Henderson was found dead in a landfill site, her eyes pecked out by crows, they found the finger of another missing woman wedged in her throat.

Nancy Kerr and Tommy McIntyre are on the case and they won’t stop until they find the missing women.

But, how can they trust anyone when they can’t even trust each other?

DON'T COME FOR ME - BOOK #3

What if you were charged with your boyfriend’s murder, but you knew he wasn’t even dead?

That's the position rape survivor Nancy Kerr finds herself in. Now, she faces a race against time to find Tommy before she’s convicted of his murder.

But, someone doesn’t want her or Tommy’s Special Forces buddy, Eric from finding out the truth.


And getting too close could get them killed.

Wednesday 7 September 2016

An extract from Vile City and what made me write the crime thriller


Vile City tells the story of abducted Shelley Craig and DI Duncan Waddell's attempts to find her.
The inspiration for Vile City 
The idea for Vile City came to me one day when I was walking through Glasgow city centre. In my mind's eye, I could see a young woman walking with her boyfriend. He's caught short and goes down an alleyway to relieve himself. 
When he hasn't returned after five minutes, the young woman goes looking for him. 
She sees him lying on the pavement as though he's fallen and leans down to check if he's okay. That's when a figure appears and grabs her and injects her with something.
It was trying to figure out why that would happen that Vile City came about. 
Who was this woman? 
What was going to happen to her?
Has she been targeted or was she simply unlucky? 
Would she live to tell the tale? 
I kept asking all these questions and like anybody would, I wanted answers.
I hope you'll be as interested to find out the answers as I was. Hey, I'm nosy like that:)
Yay, publication! 
It's been a long, long path to publication for Vile City. At one stage I was convinced the book would never see the light of day.
Yet in 2011 when I won the Scottish Association of Writers Pitlochry Quaich for a first crime novel, I thought it would help me win a publishing contract or an agent or both. I came close a few times.
One top publisher loved it, then turned round and said there were too many Scottish crime novels. Another only wanted to publish it as an eBook. But I love real, physical books. The feel and smell of them, so I turned down the contract offer.
Thankfully, Caffeine Nights came along and I was delighted. They write the kind of books I love to read and publish one of my favourite authors Shaun Hutson.
Vile City will be published in 2017. Stay tuned for the exact date.
Meanwhile, here's a sneak peek - 

Chapter 1
Stuart was hiding something. Shelley could tell. She was always the one who'd had to wake him because he could always block out the shrill of the alarm clock, but these days he was up before her, grabbing the mail whilst she slept. And, he’d started making breakfast – nothing much, just tea and toast, but that was more than he’d ever made her in their two and a bit years together.
When she'd calmly ask him if anything was wrong, he’d shrug his shoulders, give her a wee smile and say everything was fine. But, she knew he was lying because his face went even paler, making his freckles stand out as if they'd been drawn in by a kid with a coloured pencil. She never pushed it, maybe because deep down she was worried that he’d tell her he’d met someone else.
The No.76 bus was empty when they clambered onboard - one of the benefits of working until 11 at night in a call centre, was that there was no need to scoot past a sea of legs and become a contortionist to get on and off a bus.
Their cold breath filled the air with ghosts as they walked towards Waterstone’s, Shelley pausing to take a peek at the new crime fiction releases showcased in the illuminated windows, whilst Stuart fidgeted with his watch. He was always footering about with something since he’d given up cigarettes and it drove her mad, but at least it didn’t fill his lungs with tar and make the house smell like an overflowing ashtray.
“I need to have a pee,” he announced, as they came to the dimly lit lane off Mitchell Street that reeked of eau de Glasgow: decomposing takeaway, urine and other bodily fluids.
She groaned. “Can't you wait until we get home, Stuart?” She knew she’d pronounced his name “Stew-art” as she always did when she was annoyed with him, but she couldn’t help it. What made men think it was okay to urinate in public?
Stuart looked pained. “Sorry, I can’t. Too much coffee tonight.”
She let him walk on ahead of her and whilst he scooted down the alley, she stood outside the amusement arcade, pretending to look in so she wouldn’t be mistaken as a prostitute. Around here, at this time of night, unaccompanied women were likely to be mistaken for prostitutes. It'd happened to her once when she'd got off the bus alone. Stuart hadn't been working that night.
Five minutes later, she was so cold she couldn't feel her nose and Stuart still wasn’t back.
She turned the corner to look for him, fully expecting to see him ambling back towards her with that jaunty walk that always made her smile. But, he wasn't there.
Where was he?
Anger welled up in her chest. Had he started smoking again? He swore he wouldn't.
There was one way to find out.
She headed down the alley. The sole light was provided from some nearby buildings so visibility was poor.
She’d walked a few steps when she spotted a bundle of rags on the ground. Was someone sleeping there?
She moved closer. Squinting into the dim light, she realised it was Stuart. He was lying motionless on the ground. He must have tripped and knocked himself out after hitting the concrete.
She ran over to him, calling out his name, the squeezing in her chest waning slightly when she knelt down and heard him groan.
She pulled her mobile phone from her bag to call for an ambulance.
She didn’t make it to the third digit. A gloved hand clamped across her mouth and nose, cutting off her airways and the phone fell from her grasp, clattering onto the cobbles. Terror gripped her and she couldn’t breathe.
As she struggled, her assailant pressed his mouth to her ear. He was so close that it occurred to her that if anyone saw them they would think he was her boyfriend whispering sweet nothings in her ear.
“Your man’s been given a strong sedative. He’ll wake up with a sore head and nothing more. But, if you scream, I’ll kick him several times in the head and he’ll never get up again. Do you understand?”
She didn’t recognise the voice, but there was an accent. Not from around here. His voice was cold and emotionless.
She nodded under his hand. Then she did something he didn't expect: she back-heeled him in the groin.
There was a satisfying yelp as he released her.
She ran, arms pumping away like Usain Bolt’s, down towards the cafĂ© at the end of the alley and safety.
She'd almost made it when he grabbed her arm and hauled her back. An electric shock shot from her elbow to her shoulder as she pulled herself free. He was too strong.
She could offer little resistance as he dragged her towards him.
Before she could scream, he punched her fully in the face and she went down with a thud jarring every bone in her body, momentarily stunning her.
As she fought to get up, he punched her in the back and she fell again.
The last thing she saw was the pavement rushing towards her before she blacked out...
TO BE CONTINUED...










Saturday 27 August 2016

My name is Jennifer Lee Thomson and I'm agoraphobic



From the age of 11, I was bullied mercilessly at school and in the small village where I lived. I couldn't go anywhere without getting targeted.

I'd get spat at, pushed and shoved by one boy who was two stone heavier than me and who was a trained boxer and a neighbour who'd once been a friend marched up to me on the bus and spat "You're ugly," in my face as other kids howled with laughter. Well, you'd better laugh so you won't be the target of the bullies.

I had no idea what I'd done to merit this treatment. Even today, I still haven't answered the question why? That's when my agoraphobia (also known as social anxiety disorder) began.

It made me terrified to go out. Outside my home. To school.

By the age of 13, I was hiding pills under my bed with the intention of swallowing the lot.

My writing was the only thing that gave me confidence and that's what stopped me from taking an overdose.

Ever since I was a little kid, I'd been a writer scribbling away on notepads, writing wee stories. I sold my first piece to Bunty comic when I was 13, then sales of short stories to Jackie magazine followed.

My agoraphobia didn't ease and even simple things like going to the shops were a nightmare. The only way to beat it was by going with someone else. I tried various jobs and they didn't last - I was too jumpy and nervous. It's just as well I've always make some money out of writing magazine articles.

My agoraphobia is so bad that when I won the Scottish Association of Writers' Award for my crime novel Vile City in 2011 LINK my social phobias were so bad that I couldn't attend the ceremony. It'd have been a boost for my writing career as there were some great authors in attendance as well as literary agents and publishers.

It wasn't always that way. Once upon a time I was a confident kid - maybe a bit too confident as I once told my teacher that my answer to a question was right and she was wrong. In primary school I regularly entered Burns competitions* where I'd sing and recite poetry. The stage held no fear for me.

Cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT)

One doctor sent me to a psychologist for cognitive behavioral therapy. They also refer to it as talking therapy, probably because it involves a lot of talking. CBT gets you to challenge your thoughts, beliefs and attitudes and how they affect your feelings and behaviour.



But what about if the way you behave is perfectly proportionate to the way other people treat you? Besides, my problem has never been with myself and how I've responded to others - it's with other people. Life is tough enough without people being so nasty and petty minded to each other.

Cognitive Behavioural Therapy does help people, but I knew it wasn't going to work for me when my psychologist was sitting there telling me how I needed to learn to be happy with who I was and out the corner of my eye I saw a box of slimmasoup on her shelf. With all her training she wasn't happy with who she was, so how could she help me?

By the end of my sessions with her she couldn't. I was offered CBT again and I refused it. I didn't want to take up the
appointment time where somebody else could be helped. Just because it didn't work for me didn't mean the treatment wouldn't work for them.

Antidepressants

At one point I was also put on the antidepressant Fluoxitene (Prozac).
Tip - if you're vegetarian or vegan like me you can ask for the medication in a solution form like a cough syrup, as it usually comes in gelatine capsules (bits of animal muscle and bone swept up from the slaughterhouse floor).

So far though, nothing has helped. Going out alone is something I avoid. When I have to go out alone it's a nightmare for me. I have panic attacks where I feel as though I'm going to stop breathing or have a heart attack.

The only way I can go out alone is with my rescue dog. I'm so preoccupied playing and talking to him that I seldom have panic attacks.

At the moment, I'm on Diazepam to help me cope with day to day life. Like everyone I have good and bad days.


Are you agoraphobic? quiz 

If you answer yes to the following questions then you probably are. Agoraphobia can vary in severity.

Do you feel scared before you go out or try and avoid going out?

Are simple things like going to a nearby store difficult for you?

Do you suffer from panic attacks when you go out?

Is the only place you feel safe your home?

Do you suffer from obsessive compulsive disorder before you go out? Looking constantly out the window to see if anyone's around? 


*Robert Burns is Scotland's most famous writer. Competitions are held once a year where his songs are sung and his poems recited by school children. 

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