Introducing Indie Authors: Brit Lunden

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Brit Lunden

Brit Lunden’ novella, Bulwark, takes you down the dark path of spine-tingling horror. The eerie suspense will keep you turning the pages.


Clay Finnes is the sheriff of a small town in Georgia called Bulwark. Recently separated from his wife, all he can think about is what went wrong, and will Jenna ever come back to him. He’s troubled by a bothersome reporter trying to build a story from what he thinks is a normal day in his life. Clay has to admit that the fantastical stories, told by an accident victim as well as unusual sightings of wolves, things are getting a bit strange. A visit to the ominous Gingerbread House makes him realize that his life as he knows it will never be the same.

About the Author

Brit Lunden is also known as prolific children’s author, Carole P. Roman. She has published over fifty books.

Whether it’s pirates, princesses, or discovering the world around us, her books have enchanted educators, parents, and her diverse audience of children. She hosts two blog radio programs and is one of the founders of a new magazine, Indie Author’s Monthly. She’s been interviewed twice by Forbes Magazine. Carole has co-authored a self-help book, Navigating Indieworld: A Beginners Guide to Self-Publishing and Marketing.

Bulwark is her first book of adult fiction.

For more information, please see the following:

Website link/blog




Brit Lunden

For my family


ISBN-13:  978-1-947188-27-3


Chapter 1 – Primordial Soup

“It’s like a primordial soup,” Clay Finnes muttered his hands on his hips.

“A primordial what?” Owen Bishop raised his hangdog face to look at the town sheriff.

“Primordial, ancient, prehistoric…” Clay looked at the deputy’s blank face and finished with, “old…really, really old.”

“Oh,” Owen shook his craggy head. His bulbous eyes looked like two hard boiled eggs; his hair was matted as if was glued to the top of his round head. Owen never passed any of the tests allowing him to advance on the force. He was a deputy when Clay first got a job in Bulwark right out of the army. As the promotions started coming, Clay eventually became his boss. He wondered if it bothered the older man taking direction from someone who trained under him.

“You mean like dinosaurs?” Owen scratched his head.

“Dino… no… forget it, Owen. What else did the couple say?” He listened to Owen drone on about the car that was now sitting in the middle of the greenish pond.

“Appears they were coming from the other side.” Owen pointed vaguely in the other direction.

“How could they? There’s nothing there. That road has been closed off for years.”

Something was missing. He wasn’t sure what, but a feeling of unease enveloped Clay until his body fairly vibrated with it.

Clay looked up, his deep brown eyes scanning the thicket of trees surrounding the strange body of water that seemed to appear overnight. He crinkled his nose; it smelled pretty bad too. It was a greenish color, like a dirty army fatigue. It seemed shallow. He resisted the urge to stick the toe of his boot in the water. It was still, the surface like polished glass. The Ford Fusion was trapped in the what appeared to be the deepest part of the puddle as if they had tried to speed through it. The brackish water about two feet deep.

“If they had skirted the edges they would have made it through. He shoulda used the choke, probably got an entire engine full of water.” Once Owen started talking he could go on about something forever.

“Where the hell were they coming from?” Clay muttered to himself. He moved away as if to see through the gloom. “It’s a road that leads to nowhere.”

He took off his hat, wiping his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand. It was hotter than usual. No breeze ruffled the leafy trees or relieved the stifling humidity that made his shirt stick to his back.

There was nothing, no sound, not the humming of bees, or mosquitoes. Not a bird in sight or the croaking music of frogs in the late afternoon. When he got home, he’d mention it to Jenna…his wandering thoughts came to an abrupt halt. There would be no conversation. Jenna wasn’t there anymore. His family’s old farm house only had one occupant now. His wife had up and left him. He felt his chest tighten, his throat closing up. His entire life changed and would never be the same. Losing Claire was just the beginning of the end. After that had happened, it was as though they were stuck in some nightmare and couldn’t get out.

“Well,” Owen continued, oblivious to his boss’s distracted air. “The car hit the…um…water, at a high rate of speed, I think. It must’ve started to sink.”

“It’s not deep enough to sink,” Clay observed his deputy scratch his bald head, then turned to look at the enormous puddle. It covered the road from one end to the other. He chewed the inside of his cheek. He had to admit, it appeared larger than when he got here, but it couldn’t be that deep, could it?” Clay forced his attention back to Owen. It helped him stop thinking of his own life. “Where are they?”

“Over at JB’s house. The wives pretty freaked out.”

“JB?” Clay liked the old football pro, had shared quite a few stories with the old vet.

“Over what. The puddle?” The interruption was from Dayna Dalton, a reporter from the Bulwark Advance. She was walking toward them, a camera hung around her exposed neck, a spiral notebook clasped in the other. “Think somebody dropped a load of waste here.”

Clay looked at her, his cheek twitched. Her buttons strained to the point that she looked like her clothes had been painted on her body. She shook her mane of red hair like an angry mare. He turned his gaze away, knowing it annoyed her. No matter how much she pranced around in her tight jeans, he wasn’t interested. She didn’t do anything for him in high school, and she didn’t do anything for him now. Somehow, it never stopped her from trying to get him to notice her. Clay was tired of it. He sighed gustily.

She came around the back of the car, moving into his personal space. For a minute, Clay thought about backing up, but damn it all, he was the sheriff. He stood his ground, daydreaming of Dayna’s reaction when he threw her into the stinky, green lake that had developed overnight.

Dayna repeated her comment about someone dropping waste. Clay shrugged indifferently, then turned to Owen, ignoring her.

He could feel her bristling but refused to move. He dug his feet in the dark soil, his arms folded over his chest. “JB see anything? Maybe notice something out of place?”

Owen shook his head. “Nope. Nada. I asked. Been quiet. He said this started small. Says he has a few pictures on his laptop he can send us.” Owen paused and then said, “Wait, he mentioned they had a wolf problem lately.”

Clay looked at Owen sharply. “Wolves, there haven’t been…hey!”

He saw Dayna take off, her feet moving quickly toward a thicket of trees.

“Dayna!” Clay called, who was dashing up a small incline toward JB Straton’s small cabin over the ridge.

Introducing Indie Authors: Michael Phillip Cash

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Michael Phillip Cash

Winner of 14 awards, Michael Phillip Cash’s novel, Stillwell, enthralls to the last page. This riveting supernatural and psychological thriller, can be purchased at any of the following locations.

About the Author

Michael Phillip Cash is an award-winning novelist and screenwriter. His novels are best-sellers on Amazon under their genres – Young Adult, Thriller, Suspense, Ghost, Action Adventure, Fantasy, Paranormal Romance and Horror.

Michael writes full-time and lives on the North Shore of Long Island with his wonderful wife and screaming children.

To learn more about Michael visit him at the following.





Paul turned from the dark window, twitching the drapes back in place. It was cold in the house; it had the dank feel of being unused. It had only been empty for a week, and yet it held a stale feeling of overripe food and decaying garbage.

The kids would be coming home tomorrow. He had sent them to his sister’s place for the past week. It was too hard to have to worry about their schedules when he was sitting by Allison’s side. The funeral was yesterday, and he asked his sister to keep them one more day. He needed to have some time to collect himself. He’d spent the last twenty-four hours sitting in the dark, staring at nothing, his mind too numb to think

Lisa had taken over with the brisk efficiency of the nurse that she was trained to be. Stella was eating once again and Jesse and his twin, Veronica, were able to sleep at night. His sister’s was the safe house, and while he desperately missed his children, he couldn’t deal with their everyday drama while he stayed with Allison for her final weeks.

He played with the chain around his neck then placed the gold band that hung from it on his lips. He closed his eyes, feeling alone. It was his wife’s wedding band and it had never left her finger from the time he had placed it there almost fifteen years ago.

Everything happened so fast. Too fast. His mind replayed the last six months in a montage of colors flashing like an out-of-control merry-go-round. Only it wasn’t a happy ride. Well, he sighed, he had to admit that he did feel relief. It felt wrong to have this burden taken off his shoulders, but his wife didn’t have to suffer any- more. He admitted to himself that he was weary too. She had gone from bad to worse in such a short time. She had slipped into a coma. He held her skeletal hand for a solid week, watching hope die alongside his wife. His family had brought in food, but he felt no hunger. As he stayed by her side, nothing seemed important. Paul stared at her face, memorizing every curve, her deep dimple, the mole she hated above her upper lip. Every second counted, and he wouldn’t waste a minute on himself. His future yawned ahead in a great vastness of nothing that stretched endlessly before him. Alone, mute, and his thoughts jumbled in his head, he couldn’t find words to say what he needed. Did she know how happy she had made him? Did Allison understand how much she meant to him? Could she know that his heart was so numb, he felt as though he were a corpse? Though he sat caressing her hand, could his wife sense the man next to her was spent, empty? It was that burnt-out feeling like after drinking so much that the liquor loses its taste and cigarettes burn with dying fire.

The irony was that he was the smoker, even though he had stopped when the twins were born, thirteen years ago. Allison wouldn’t have it in the house. He cheated at work, chewing gum to disguise the smell on his breath. It had always been a huge fight, and while she painted all kinds of devastating scenarios if he continued to smoke, they never expected her to be the one to fall victim to cancer.

The twins were a rare handful for them. Married for just over a year, they were unprepared for the incessant work. He was building his reputation as a go-to guy for the McMansions that dotted Long Island’s North Shore. The pull of work and two newborns tested their marriage. Allison breast-fed until utter exhaustion—or as he liked to call it “udder” exhaustion—made her stop. She always laughed at that.

Introducing Indie Authors: Angela Hausman

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Angela Hausman

Some men are just evil. And, when Joan calls 911 to report the murder of her friend, Estella, she starts a manhunt for pure evil, but not in the way she expected. Buried Ladies is the first in the Buried Ladies Series. Buy now at:


About the Author: Angela Hausman


The Buried Ladies series (Buried Ladies, Scars of the Past, and Azure’s Revenge) are the first fiction written by Angela Hausman since creating a highly acclaimed (by fellow 6th graders, teachers, and family) science fiction series as a teen.

Dr. Angela Hausman was born in McKeesport, Pennsylvania and later received undergraduate and MBA degrees from the University of Pittsburgh before completing a Marketing PhD at the University of South Florida. Over her career, she lived in many places and met diverse people, which she filed away to create her plots and characters.

Angela currently lives in Washington, DC, where she works as a marketing consultant and teaches marketing at George Washington and University of The District of Columbia. She writes in her home office, where various dogs and cats block her in until she’s finished the day’s writing quota.


For more information about Angela, please visit the following:










Other novels


Scars of the Past


Description: We all love the convenience of connected devices, but what happens when those devices kill? SCARS OF THE PAST explores how hackers use IoT devices as weapons of destruction, even death. Jacob and his team of FBI cyber sleuths must find a serial killer hiding behind aberrant code in connected devices that’s killing Russian diplomats in the US drumming up support for Russia’s incursion into Ukraine. It seems anyone who opposes Ukrainian reunification is in danger—and the killers aren’t shy about leaving a trail of other bodies as collateral damage.


Review excerpts:


“This author knows quite a bit about the subject she writing about. I enjoyed the book. It is exciting and fresh.” Aly


“Likable characters pull you into the story.” Wendy


Azure’s Revenge





Not since the Dark Ages has the plague been such a serious threat to mankind; able to kill millions and bring down governments. Only this time, the bacteria is being manipulated by a group of domestic terrorists who are organized, well-funded, and determined. Will the FBI be able to thwart their plan before human exposure hits a critical mass that no one can stop?


The Grid (available for pre-order, Release Dec. 21)


Description: No phone, no money, no A/C or heat, right? Sure, but you also lose life-sustaining medical devices, water (towers can’t refill without it), food (no money to exchange for it and no energy to grow it) causing a total breakdown of government, social services, and the military (how do you communicate without electricity?). Massive chaos, looting, death.

Introducing Indie Authors: Anita Dickason

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Anita Dickason

Is a new Texas law a harbinger of death? Based on fact, award-winning author, Anita Dickason’s latest release in her FBI Tracker novels spirals to an explosive conclusion.

When the local investigation into a missing ATF agent stalls, FBI Tracker Adrian Dillard is sent to Texas to find out why. He’s not greeted with open arms.

Plagued by resentment from local agents, his uncanny intuition kicks into high gear when every lead ends with a dead body. Who knows more than they are telling? Is the missing agent an unwitting victim, or a deadly mastermind? And who is staying a step ahead of him?

Dyson’s fiancée, Homicide Detective Tracy Harlowe, may have the answers, but she’s not talking. The secrets the impetuous detective is hiding could very well get her killed.

A chilling discovery puts Homeland Security on high alert. Pressure mounts as the President demands answers. When Tracy disappears, Adrian knows he’s running out of time. There’s only one question left. Who dies next?


About the author: Anita Dickason


Anita Dickason is a retired Dallas police officer. She served as a patrol officer, an undercover narcotics detective, advanced accident investigator, and SWAT tactical officer and first female sniper.


Her novels are based on her extensive law enforcement knowledge and experience. She loves reading the folklore of Native Americans, the Irish and Scots. She adds a surreal touch to her characters from those ancient myths and legends.


You can find out more about Anita Dickason at the following links:








He hated undercover assignments. Most could be defined with one word—sleazy. Despite its ominous purpose, this one wasn’t any different. The bar stank. Smoke from the grills hung in the air, adding another layer of grime to the windows filled with flashing beer signs. Grease and dirt, and probably a good bit of blood mixed in, stained the wood floor. A rank odor of sweat rose from the bikers that edged the bar and grouped at the tables. Their attention was riveted on the action that flashed across the large TV screens mounted on the walls. An occasional cheer would resound when a touchdown was scored.

FBI Tracker Adrian Dillard leaned back in his chair, his long legs outstretched under a table tucked in a dark corner of the room. One arm rested on the scarred wood near a long-necked beer bottle. The other was on his leg within easy reach of the gun concealed by a grungy leather jacket.

He took a sip. His gaze wandered around the room, then back to the TV screen. While outwardly relaxed, his every instinct was alert. His neck tingled with a familiar sense of danger. Despite the rough stubble of whiskers and hair that brushed his collar, several of the bruisers in the place had already cast suspicious looks his way.

Would the informant show? He hoped the promise of the hundred-dollar bills in his pocket would be enough. An ATF agent, Stuart Dyson, was missing, and this might be his only shot at finding his whereabouts, or to learn if the agent was alive.

He glanced at the wall clock. Damn! The man should have been here by now. A whisper echoed in the tiny receiver in his ear. “Biker just pulled into the parking lot. He’s wearing a red bandana. May be our guy.”

Fellow Tracker Cat Morgan had the entrance covered from her position in a vehicle parked across the street. As he watched the door, Adrian shifted. His fingers inched closer to the gun.

Introducing Indie Authors: Carmel Hanes

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This raw and thought-provoking fiction tackles the “why” behind the incomprehensible, as we meet likeable youth who do unlikable things. In a world where not all prison walls are visible, the characters, young and old, struggle to overcome their pasts as they are caught in the turbulence of relationship conflict and a culture torn between punishing and helping.

A suspenseful read to a shocking conclusion, it is sure to spark strong reaction and lively debate. Realistic and believable characters, delicious prose, and a mesmerizing plot will keep you turning the pages. Crooked Grow the Trees can be purchased at: Buy on Amazon:


About the author: Carmel Hanes

Carmel Hanes is a retired school psychologist who worked in public and correctional schools with students who experienced learning and behavioral challenges. She enjoys hiking through nature, in all its forms, with her husband of 38 years. Her debut novel was inspired by her work with injured souls, and the troubled world she sees around her.


You can find out more about Carmel Hanes at the following links:




Facebook author page:



Panic increasing at the sound of punched flesh and skull cracking against cement, Sophia pulled harder on any fabric she could grasp and pushed the person wearing it towards the nearest wall, procedure and policy of not touching the youth out the window in her need to get to Aiden. Behind her she could hear the shouts of teachers as they tried to herd the agitated youth back into the classrooms or at least against the walls.

The energy of those continuing to watch amplified. Quinn’s reputation was well known, and his peers knew that his entrance into the battle would be an even more impressive show. Not only was this far more entertaining than school, or daily life on the unit, but it allowed a momentary purge of buried frustration, a long-distance release of futility. It was intoxicating; a dangerous moment, infused with emotional lightning, making one feel energetically alive. Sophia knew better than to attempt to physically control two feuding teenage boys, so she turned her attention to the throng of on-lookers and Aiden.

“Back to class or line up on the wall!” she repeated in the loudest voice she could muster in her anxious state. “You know the procedure!  Anyone not complying will face unit sanctions!”

It was a feeble attempt, she knew, but she couldn’t just stand there and do nothing. As she shouted at the crowd, she knelt down next to Aiden to check on the damage.

“Aiden?” she probed, “How are you doing?  What hurts and how badly does it hurt?” She gingerly touched his arm while inspecting his bleeding face at closer range.

Aiden opened the eye that was now swelling shut, rousing himself to see who was talking. “Number 301 on ways it would piss me off to die. Having a trained monkey with half my IQ manage to crack my head open so my impressive brain spills out. Just doesn’t seem right, does it, Miss Sophia?” Vague hint of a wry smile moved his lips prior to a grimace of pain.

Slightly reassured that he could still speak and appeared mentally intact enough to conjure an insult, Sophia told Aiden to stay as he was while she turned her attention to the continuing conflict. Standing again, she renewed her attempt to guide students to the walls or classrooms. The first three boys scowled at the directions but complied, taking several steps away from where they had stood, turning to face the wall.

Introducing Indie Authors: Alex R Carver

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I beta read for Alex and I thoroughly enjoyed his latest book as well as the others in the series.

The whodunit, A Stone’s Throw, is Alex R Carver’s latest release in his Inspector Stone’s series. The pre-order price for the Agatha Christie-style murder mystery is 99 cents. Buy now at:


About the author: Alex R Carver

After working in the clerical, warehouse and retail industries over the years, without gaining much satisfaction, Alex quit to follow his dream and become a full-time writer. Where There’s A Will is the first book in the Inspector Stone Mysteries series, with more books in the series to come, as well as titles in other genres in the pipeline.

His dream is to one day earn enough to travel, with a return to Egypt to visit the parts he missed before, and Macchu Picchu, top of his wishlist of destinations.

When not writing, he is either playing a game or being distracted by Molly the Yorkie, who is greedy for both attention and whatever food is to be found.

You can find out more about Alex R Carver at the following links:



Jennifer entered the room on Nathan’s heels, though she had to stop almost immediately as Nathan halted, forcing her to lean around him so she could see the room. Her eyes were drawn to the bed and what it held but she immediately spun away, her stomach heaving as she fought the urge to throw up.


It wasn’t that she could see much, except for the handle of the knife and a small red stain, but the knowledge of what she wasn’t quite seeing was enough to make her nauseous.


“Is he…is he dead?” she asked in a hesitant voice, afraid that the mere act of talking would be enough to make her lose control.


Nathan could guess at the answer, based on what he could see, nonetheless he moved forward and shifted the pillow out of the way, so he could press his fingers to Jean Martin’s throat. A single touch was enough to confirm what his eyes had already told him; the chef had been dead for some time, hours, he could only guess at how many, but even being covered up hadn’t helped to keep his body warm. He was as cold as only a dead person could be.


“He’s dead,” he said with a sad nod as he looked down at the deceased man. He realised that it was irrational, but he couldn’t help feeling that the murder was his fault; if he had been cleverer and quicker he would have linked the tenderiser to Martin yesterday, and by doing so he could perhaps have prevented him being killed. “Damn,” he swore briefly, venting his emotions before turning to Jennifer. “When you feel up to it, would you mind finding Constable Havers and bringing him here?”


Jennifer nodded weakly and left the room. She was glad to be away from the body of the man she had known for the past two years, but she didn’t think she would be able to forget the look on his face that had been revealed when the pillow was taken away. She stumbled down the passage towards the stairs, and as she did so she wondered how life could have changed so dramatically for her in such a short time.

10 things you didn’t know about me (and wish you’d never read.)

Photo by Magda Ehlers from Pexels

Originally posted on Medium

Thank you for the challenge, Carole P. Roman. Yes, that is brain matter leaking from my ears from the strain of thinking.

1. I’m the youngest of three. We do age gaps in my family. My sister is eighteen years older than me (she’ll love me for this). My brother is six and a half years older than me. Even my parents were older than me. (Er… moving on.)

2. I performed with the primary school choir at the Royal Festival Hall in London.

3. I worked in shops on Saturdays as a teenager before joining the BBC in London where I met my husband. I worked my way up from data entry to IT server manager and left when I realised I wasn’t cut out for an industry where everything you learnt six months ago was suddenly obsolete.

4. As a teenager, I auditioned at many of the drama colleges in London. Nobody took notice of me until after I had lost three stone. Suddenly, I had talent, all because I was slimmer.

5. I spent my twenties performing on stage at a local amateur theatre. I sang, acted and attempted to dance. I’m good with power tools and built various bits and pieces for the stage sets. I learnt to never do props because I never got it right.

6. I’ve run a successful weight loss business for over seventeen years, helping people use the same weight loss products I first used when I was 19 and trying to be an actress.

7. I have an Associated Boards of the Royal Schools of Music Grade 8 in piano (the highest grade, bar the diploma) and a Grade 4 in singing. Not quite enough for music college where I needed a Grade 8 and a Grade 6 but close.

8. I joined a belly dancing course and found out I was pregnant the following week. (No, one did not lead to the other.) I carried on until the end of the pregnancy. I’ve got nothing humorous to say about that. My son did not come out dancing, isn’t a dancer and has never expressed an interest in dancing.

9. Normal pets to me are things like:

Crunch the tortoise


Sam the degu


Cossie the flying, fire-breathing (not lying) bearded dragon

10. I’ve had my hair died daft colours for the last few years. My favourites are probably blue or mauve. It’s currently red. This will be rectified in two weeks. (Everyone goes for the red. I’m not everyone. I’m probably an alien.)

Enjoy more ‘10 things’ posts here:

Carmel Hanes

Samantha Beach

Erica Graham

Dale E. Lehman

Carole P. Roman

Introducing Detective Track. How long does it take to write a book?

The answer to that is probably the same as ‘how long is a piece of string?’ The time taken to pen a novel largely depends on the time you have available to dedicate to the task at hand, coupled with how long you intend the book to be. Personally, I decided to write short books. That way, if no-one read it, I’d waste less of my time! Having yet to be discovered and given a six-figure advance by a publisher for future works (I’m laughing as I type), like a lot of self-published authors, my latest book was written alongside running my other business and looking after my family and home. I started serialising Missing Remnants on Radish Fiction (to the rapturous applause, gratefully received from one person) back in September 2017. I am about to publish it everywhere else in May 2018.

Serialising a book in that way is probably not something I will do again. I wrote the prerequisite two-thousand-word chapter, edited it (missed some stuff) and published one chapter a week until the story was finished. It was an added layer of stress I didn’t really need but it became a challenge to see if I could pull it off. I rarely back down when I’ve set myself a challenge like that. Despite not appreciating the constant deadline, I managed it. I just probably shouldn’t have started serialising a second book before finishing the first. I finished the second one too. Two books in less than six months. And breathe! It certainly felt that way.

So, I have a detective called Track who lives and works on a space station. The story leads him to investigate the disappearance of a group of amputees called Remnants. Why pick on a bunch of amputees? Haven’t they been through enough? The inspiration for the story sits mostly within the Paralympics. Whether this is an urban legend or a real story, I’m not sure. What I heard was one country was asked who they were sending to the Paralympics and their answer was no-one, we don’t have any disabled people here. Excuse me? You have no disabled people in your country? None? I’m not sure that’s statistically possible. Now, I haven’t lost any limbs, but I do have a disability which affects my everyday life. I can tell you right now if someone tried to deny my existence I would be all shades of livid. The Remnants in my story are in a similar predicament. They are considered a burden to a society who would rather deny they existed. As many people with disabilities do, they battle on. The human body might be different, the spirit fights. Sometimes, even that needs some support.

Track has a desk in his apartment he laughingly calls his workshop. The desk itself is mostly based on my husband’s desk in our first house. We had the run of a three-bedroom house and we didn’t have children at the time. So, we slept in one room and had another bedroom each as a study. Those were the days! My desk had a computer on it. Danny’s had, well, stuff. Electronic stuff I couldn’t begin to name. There were thingamies and widgets and doofers. I have no idea. Danny is very good, and I mean VERY good at fixing things. Couple that with the 2012 Paralympics. I saw a short behind-the-scenes film where people with knowledge and a will to help waited to see what kind of problem might turn up to be fixed that day. Whether it was an arm, a leg, or a chair, there were people trying their best to make sure the athletes made it to the start line. Oh yeah, I thought. Of course, the athletes wouldn’t all have teams of people travelling with them to fix things. I doubt they all have huge sponsorships. They’d have to rely on the services available in the athlete’s village.It was a tiny visual into a life I had not experienced that gave rise to an imperfect character with a desire to just make things a bit better.

Go get ’em Track, they’re somewhere on the Si-Cross Four space station and they need you.

Detective Track is a good cop who can’t keep his mouth shut. He’s suspended just for doing his job.

Cut off from resources and official backup, he must do what the Authority won’t and investigate the disappearance of the missing Remnants. The vanishing group’s only crime was to survive the recent biological outbreak. Now, they’re considered a drain on society.

Track’s apartment is ransacked, he’s followed, attacked and hampered by an injury. His medication and cryptic messages from someone he knows to be dead threaten his sanity.

Is he losing his mind or is something sinister at play? The truth is more twisted than he ever imagined.

Pre-order now for download on 14th May Books2Read

First published on Medium 17th April 2018.

I was never any good at planning.

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When I woke up this morning I had every intention of taking it easy. Last night I’d had a busy few hours with my weight loss business. Even after the clients go, I always seem to have about an hour of paperwork and behind the scenes to do. This morning, I decided I could use a slow start to the day. Maybe put my feet up, read a book, catch up on some TV. Nooooo. Instead, I decided to look into my web hosting package and see about creating a website. Another website. I am not as technical as I once was. Even when I worked in IT, I considered myself as constantly winging it. Today, even I have managed to cobble together a thingamy on the internet and post drivel.

I’ve even found a picture. See that? I am in desperate need of about thirty of those. I’ll take mine with more water, skimmed milk and some sweeteners, if you’re buying. Cheers.