Saturday, April 30, 2011

Shirley A. Roe, Releases Her Sixth Historical Fiction Novel "Now My Life Begins"

RealTime Publishing author, Shirley A. Roe, releases her sixth historical fiction novel “Now My Life Begins.”


RealTime Publishing are delighted to announce that Shirley A. Roe’s latest book, Now My Life Begins is now available in both print and ebook version. Books can be purchased on in print or kindle and ebook at:

“Shirley introduced us to the Whittaker family in Dreams and Nightmares” states Richard O’Brien, founder of RealTime Publishing. “ Dreams and Nightmares was the winner of the UK Blether Gold Award. The second book in the series, ‘The Whittaker Family Reunion’ takes readers back to 1881 where the family is reunited once again. This book was nominated for the Indie Excellence Award. Fans of Roe’s claim her characters are so real, they become family and friends in their minds. Readers feel their pain, their fear and their happiness. Roe’s books are written to appeal to young adults as well as older readers. Christian readers appreciate the references to the family’s never ending faith in God and each other. Well received by readers of romance, adventure and mystery as well as historical fiction. The third book in the series, Return to Whittakerville was released in summer of 2009 followed by Snow Eagle in 2010.”

Fans are happy to hear that a screenwriter is currently working on bringing the Whittaker family to the big screen. Author, Shirley A. Roe divides her time between Southern Ontario, Scotland and Florida. In addition to being an author, Shirley A. Roe is the Managing Editor and founder of Allbooks Review, an author promo and review source. Her credentials speak for themselves. Often a guest speaker at Writer’s guilds, conferences, libraries and schools, she is a sought after guest on many radio interview programs. Roe’s syndicated column for the California Chronicles is well received. She is a regular reviewer for Foreword Magazine, Midwest Reviews, Mystique Books, Poetic Voices and several other prestigious review publications. Currently working with a group of gifted students in Ottawa, Ontario Canada, she loves to inspire a love of books.

RealTime Publishing is delighted with the announcement. “Shirley is one of our finest authors,” concludes Mr. O’Brien,. “Also nominated for an IPPY Award, we believe she can go all the way and can count on our total support throughout. Congratulations Shirley.” Books can be ordered from the publisher, and most bookstores including Borders, Waterstones and Books A Million. Also available in ebook and Kindle format.

Contact information, or contact Shirley

Shirley A Roe at IAN

Friday, April 29, 2011

Sibel Hodge Kicks off International Chicklit Month with a Huge E-book Giveaway!

Welcome to the inaugural International Chicklit Month! As a chicklit author, I’m soooo happy to be hosting this celebration of all things chicklit.

The chicklit genre is so diverse, encompassing all the issues that modern women face. And it’s so much more than killer-shoes and pink covers! It can be sad, happy, kick-ass, fun, comic, scary, inspiring, heart-warming, intriguing, romantic, raunchy, sassy, full of attitude, quirky, tear-jerking.

So, ladies, this is the time when we get to celebrate our journeys in life, and I’ve got a contest running all month to win lots of fabulicious chicklit ebooks. All you have to do to be in with a chance to win one of the prizes is leave me a comment saying exactly what you love about chicklit. The best answers will win so impress me!

Now I know there are actually a lot of men out there who love chicklit, too, so let’s see some guys getting involved!

Check out the contest and the amazin prizes at Sibel Hodge Blog

IAN Member Page

Thursday, April 28, 2011

Thriller Thursday For April 28

The Thriller Thursday feature is....

SET THE NIGHT ON FIRE by Libby Fischer Hellmann

SET THE NIGHT ON FIRE by Libby Fischer Hellmann



Someone is trying to kill Lila Hilliard. During the Christmas holidays she returns from running errands to find her family home in flames, her father and brother trapped inside. Later, she is attacked by a mysterious man on a motorcycle. . . and the threats don't end there.

As Lila desperately tries to piece together who is after her and why, she uncovers information about her father's past in Chicago during the volatile days of the late 1960s . . . information he never shared with her, but now threatens to destroy her.

Part thriller, part historical novel, and part love story, Hellmann's Set the Night on Fire paints an unforgettable portrait of Chicago during a turbulent time: the riots at the Democratic Convention . . . the struggle for power between the Black Panthers and SDS . . . and a group of young idealists who tried to change the world.

ISBN: 978-0984067664 (hardcover)
978-0984067657 (trade paperback)
Allium Press
December, 2010

Now on sale. Purchase the book from Amazon Kindle for only 99c now through May!

Review Snippets:

“A tremendous thriller, sweeping but intimate, elegiac but urgent, subtle but intense... this story really does set the night on fire."
—Lee Child

"Superior... Passion, pain, and protests emerge in vivid detail."
Chicago Tribune

A top-rate standalone thriller that taps into the antiwar protests of the 1960s and 70s... A jazzy fusion of past and present, Hellman's insightful, politically charged whodunit explores a fascinating period in American history."
Publishers Weekly

"Top Pick! A marvelous novel."
Romantic Times Book Reviews

"Hellmann... clearly has gone to school on—or experienced firsthand—radical Chicago politics during the Vietnam era... the tension will keep you turning the pages."
Jeff Johnson, Chicago Sun-Times

"Haunting... Rarely have history, mystery, and political philosophy blended so beautifully... could easily end up on the required reading list in college-level American History classes."
Betty Webb, Mystery Scene

"Hellmann captures the uncertainty and passion of the time... this is a wonderfully evocative read, for those who were ten, twenty, thirty or forty in 1968. Settle in for a great ride."
Robin Agnew, Aunt Agatha's Bookstore

Available in Hardback, Paperback and Kindle at

SET THE NIGHT ON FIRE by Libby Fischer Hellmann (A Sample)

from Part Two

"Casey, you're a Celtic knot." Alix giggled as she passed Rain the joint. The smoke Casey had been holding in exploded out of his lungs. He coughed long and hard, drowning out the chorus of "People are Strange" by the Doors.

"Are you all right?" Rain squinted through her granny glasses.

Casey nodded, his throat so raspy he couldn't speak.

Rain crossed her legs Indian-style and took a hit off the J. She held it in, exhaled quietly, then passed it to Dar.

"What do you mean, Alix?" Casey finally croaked.

Alix tucked a lock of blond hair behind her ear. The six of them were on the living room floor of the apartment, a shabby space with yellowed shades, torn linoleum, and cracks in the walls. "You're always making connections," she said. "With people, places, events. You twist things all together. Like a Celtic knot."

"Aw, man, you're just stoned." Payton wiggled his fingers and sang along with the music.

"Cool it, Payton." Dar raised a warning hand.

"It's all right." Alix gently stayed his hand and took the J from his fingers. She passed it to Payton. "Actually, a Celtic knot is a symbol for the complexity of the universe. No matter how our lives play out, we're all intertwined. Twisting and weaving and overlapping. No beginning. No end. Here, I'll draw it."

"Alpha and omega," Teddy said. He lay spread-eagled on the floor.

"Right." Alix got up slowly.

"You all right?" Dar and Casey said it together.

She giggled again and grabbed the back of the couch. "Trippy. I guess I'm a little high."

Dar's eyes, always dark and brooding, were edged with concern. He looked liked he wanted to rescue her, Casey thought. He usually did.

"Just sit," Casey said before Dar had the chance. "Don't draw anything."

But Alix shook her head and went to a large leather satchel in the corner. She fished out a pad and ink pen and started sketching. A minute later she brought it back and handed it to Payton. "See? It folds back on itself. Nothing lost. Very economical."

Payton stared without comment, took another hit, and passed the J to Teddy.

Casey peered at the sketch over Payton's shoulder. He saw a circle with lots of overlapping lines and squiggles. "Far out," he said appreciatively.

"That's you. Symbolically speaking." Alix plopped back down beside Dar.

"Hey. This is good shit." Teddy exhaled and passed the joint back to Casey. "Where'd you get it, Payton?"

Payton scratched his forehead underneath his rolled up red bandana. "Uh... some guy."

"Casey scored it," Rain said. "Not Payton."

Payton shot her a dark look.

"Well, he did. We were in Old Town, looking for copies of The Seed—you know, the special one with the psychedelic 'Yippie' on the cover—and we met this guy. Casey started rapping with him, and a few minutes later, we walked out with an oz."

Alix splayed her hands. "Connections. See what I mean?"

Dar took Alix's outstretched hand. She snuggled closer to him.

Casey tried not to notice. "Where's the hemostat?"

Teddy sat up, found it, and handed it to Casey. Casey clipped it to the roach, took one last hit and passed it back to Teddy, who took another toke, then dumped the hemostat and roach into a large ashtray.

Payton sighed. "So what's the program, group?"

"I Love Lucy," Teddy said.

"Star Trek." Casey blew out the last of the smoke.

"The Flying Nun," Alix said.

"Fuck it." Payton shook his head. "And you call yourselves activists?"

"We boldly went where no man has gone before," Teddy said in a stagey, TV voice.

"And met some very spacy creatures," Casey added with a laugh.

"We've done our part," Alix said.

"Wrong. 'There can be no peace until every soldier is out of Vietnam and the imperialistic system is destroyed.'" Payton scowled. "Quick. Who said that?"

Casey rolled his eyes. "Give it a rest, Payton."

Payton persisted. "Who?"

"Rennie Davis," Dar cut in.

"Give the man a medal," Payton said.

Alix and Dar exchanged looks. "Alix has a point," Dar said. "We brought thousands of people to Chicago. Discredited the government... and the party that got us into this mess."

"So we brought the war home for a few days." Payton shrugged. "The war didn't take a few days off. And the pigs are still in control."

"You can't run the world according to Mao's little red book, Payton," Rain sniffed. When Payton arched his eyebrows, she added, "I saw you leafing through it the other day. That's dangerous."

"Shit, Rain." Payton ran a hand through his long blond hair. "We invade a country, dump bombs on the people, and risk the lives of millions. All in the name of 'Peace with honor.' Now that's dangerous."

"Hey man, Payton's right," Teddy said, coming to his defense. "Look what happened last week. Troops in the street. Fucking bayonets and tear gas. Mass arrests. This isn't America. It's Nazi Germany." He pulled out a cigarette from a crumpled pack, struck a match to it, and took a long drag.

Alix frowned. "I thought we all agreed it was time for a break. And you shouldn't put that poison into your lungs."

Teddy took another deep drag. For spite, Casey figured.

He went to the window, only half-listening to the bickering. Below was the intersection of Sedgwick and Willow, a few blocks north and west of the heart of Old Town. The neighborhood was in transition from an artists' community to a home for hippies, and some of the buildings were abandoned factories that had been divided up into apartments. Theirs wasn't much more than a few rooms with bare bulbs and the occasional cockroach, but the rent was reasonable, and at night you could imagine you were on the Left Bank of Paris or Greenwich Village.

Casey had never thought of himself as a connector. Then again, over the past week they'd formed their own personal collective, Payton called it—and it had been Casey's doing. His and Alix's.

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Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Book Review: The Baron of Clayhill by John W. Huffman

Publishers Weekly review of The Baron of Clayhill:

Set in 1967 East Texas, this novel mixes a soupcon of the supernatural in with the mundane. Twenty-year old Paul Henry is released from the Army physically healed from the wounds he suffered in Viet Nam, but still suffering from deep psychic wounds and a radically changed outlook. Having gone through the classic lost-his-girl-to-his-best-friend scenario, estranged from family and friends and not knowing what he's going to do with the rest of his life, Paul decides to visit the grave of his father, John Allison Henry, a man he never knew, who supposedly committed suicide on the day his son was born. Paul's impulsive decision to find out more about his father sets him on a journey among strangers in a strange land, where he will find happiness and horror, love and hate, the power of determined effort, and the force of capricious fate. The author does an excellent job of keeping you enthralled, making you hope all will be well, yet causing you to fear that all will come crashing down. Like a skilled poker player, this story keeps its cards close to its vest until all the bets are in, the hand is called, and boom! - the cards are laid on the table for all to see. After the emotions stirred up by the showdown abate, one thought is left - wow! Deal another hand!
A 2010 Finalist in the Popular Fiction category of the National Indie Excellence Book Awards.

Available at Amazon in Print and Kindle

Monday, April 25, 2011

FERRYMAN by Carole Sutton (A Mystery Monday Sample)


Carole Sutton


Cornwall, England 1977

Stanley Higgins closed the hatch, turned off the cabin lights and fumbled his way towards his bunk. He patted his wife’s behind, as he passed her shadowy figure encased in a sleeping bag.

“Night love.” He zipped his own bag up, and let out a long, satisfied sigh. About to give himself up to the boat’s cradle-like rocking Mave’s voice startled him.

“Stan. What’s that noise?”

“What noise?” He raised his head, but could hear nothing more than the gentle, gurgling sounds of the night.

“That. Sounds like something bumping.”

“It’s just the anchor chain jerking. Go back to sleep, love.” Stan closed his eyes.

“There it is again! You’ll have to go and look. What if we’re dragging the anchor, we’ll end up on the mud flats. Or, what if it’s Beaky?”

“Beaky?” His eyes snapped open. He recalled the story in the Falmouth Packet about a wild dolphin that was hanging around the Fal Estuary. He’d become famous for playing with swimmers in the shallows, which was fine, but when it came to pranks like moving small anchors, well, that was something else again. Stan sighed and unzipped his bag. In bare feet, he edged towards the shelf where he kept the torch.

“Stay here. I’ll go and look.” He lifted out the washboards and climbed outside. A brilliant moon lit up the night and the water appeared as a moving mass of black and silver. He grasped the handholds on the cabin roof and made his way forward to check the anchor. The deck bobbed in the choppy conditions. Wind funnelled in through his pyjamas and made him wish he’d stopped for a jacket. He heard Mave step into the cockpit.

“You didn’t have to come, love. It’s cold out here.”

“I want to see what’s making that noise.”

Stan reached the foredeck and shone his torch into the water. The boat had pulled back on the anchor against the outgoing tide, but the stronger wind blowing at right angles to the river had pushed the stern out across the flow.

He turned to Mave. “See, nothing here, it’s a rough patch, that’s all.”

“Look there! Isn’t that Beaky, that white bit?”

Stan held the torch steady. A shape like the long white belly of a huge fish appeared in its beam. Caught halfway along the leeward side of the boat, it gently bumped the hull, bounced off and then pushed by the tide came on again, slowly bumping its way towards the stern.

He snapped his fingers. “Gimme the boathook.”

Mave unclipped the pole from the deck and handed it to him. Stan stabbed the water and the pale shape slewed sideways. He caught his breath as in the narrow shaft of brilliance a head broke the surface. Long tendrils of chestnut coloured hair spread like a fine seaweed around the unmistakeable slope of shoulders.

“Oh, shit. Take this. Hold it still.” He handed Mave the torch and using the pole, he thrust its hook behind the neck and pulled his catch into the side of the boat.

“Get me a rope – starboard locker. Quick, before I lose it.”

Mave scuttled down the deck. When she returned with the rope, he passed her the boathook. “Hold this.” His fingers quickly formed a noose in the end of the rope. He lay flat on the side deck, and with one arm bent around a stanchion, he stretched the other down towards the body until, despite Mave’s wavering torchlight, he managed to loop the rope over the head.

“Keep the light still,” he shouted, and drew the rope taut. The body rolled and revealed a white swollen face of a woman. Naked, the form appeared to dance in the current. The water movement lifted her enough to show him a pair of hands held as though in prayer across her chest. “Oh, shit.”

Shards of light reflected off the shiny steel handcuffs that bound her wrists together.


Detective Inspector Alec Grimstone smoothed down his thinning grey hair and looked up from the report he was working on, as his sergeant entered his office.

Sergeant Brenda Warren, as usual, looked neatly turned out in a dark trouser suit and crisp white shirt. At five foot six and weighing in at eleven stone, he’d always thought her a tad on the heavy side, though he conceded, most of it was muscle. He knew how much time she spent in the gym working out. She came to a halt in front of his desk, and drummed her fingers against the file held across her chest.

“Yes, Brenda, what can I do for you?”

She cleared her throat. “That body they dragged out of the river two days ago. We’ve identified it,” she said, and flicked a long strand of brown hair behind her ear.

Alec knew the case she had been working on, but not much of the detail, yet. He sat back. “Good, so who is she?”

Brenda shifted from one foot to the other. “We got lucky. Sam recognised her description, said it sounded like a woman who went missing a while back.”

“Constable Sam Tregarth?”

“That’s the one. Apparently, it was the first serious case he was involved in and he remembers it well. We compared the photo taken in the morgue of our river-body with the one on file. Even allowing for deterioration, the likeness was there. We contacted her dentist. He confirmed a match.”

“Well, spit it out sergeant, who was she?”

“Angela Dupont. Went missing two years ago.”

Alec nodded. “I know when she went missing.” It had been his case. He recalled the investigation where even without a body he had successfully prosecuted a man for her murder; the trial must’ve been around eighteen months ago. Well, well, so Angela’s remains had finally turned up to vindicate him. At the time, some doubted the verdict.

Then he frowned. “You took a photo of her face? After two years in the river?”

The sergeant looked uncomfortable. “The pathologist says she can’t pin down the exact time of death, sir, but believes it was not more than one week ago.”

“One week . . .” Alec sensed his jaw dropping, and snapped his mouth closed. He thrust his hand forward. “Let me see that photo.” If Angela Dupont died only a week ago, he’d jailed the wrong man. If they were right, there was no way Steven Pengelly could have killed her two years previously.

So, what the hell was going on?

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Sunday, April 24, 2011

A Love Rekindled by Myne Whitman (Sample Sunday)

Efe raised her head with a jerk, but there was no one else in the room. The white walls pressed in on her, and she closed her eyes, putting a hand to her pounding temple. She must have imagined what she saw earlier. The door opened, and her eyes flew open. Kevwe’s twin closed the bathroom and door walked over, handing her a small towel soaked with cold water.

“Let me guess, you didn’t eat today,” he said.

Efe thought of her Wakkis lunch and shook her head, pressing the towel to her face. At least there was no nausea, or she would’ve disgraced herself further. “I’m sorry. Did I faint?”

He nodded, and she blamed her high-strung nerves for seeing what was not there. His twin gestured at a glass of chilled water on the table beside her, and she gulped down some. As she put back the glass, she noticed the files she’d dropped stacked there, and wondered who put them there if the doctor had gone to get the towel. Was it possible Kevwe was here? Wouldn’t he had let her know if he wanted to meet and talk to her?

“You’re the same Efe Sagay who dated my brother while you guys were in university.” He walked to the desk, and shoved some files aside to lean on it.

Efe looked at him and scrambled for what to say. She wanted to ask if Kevwe was around, but didn’t want to appear the fool.

“Why didn’t you tell me when we met last week?”

Efe glared at him, needled by his threatening tone, and she did not understand his hostility too. Hadn’t she left Kevwe when they asked? She was the one who’d been hurt here, not him or his twin.

“I see no reason for you to speak to me that way.”

The door swung open, and her voice died away on seeing Kevwe walk into the room. A nurse was behind him. Efe blinked, head moving from side to side. Her eyes hadn’t been deceiving her; Kevwe had been there earlier when she came in. Without saying another word, Ofure took the nurse’s arm, and they left the room.

Efe sat up immediately. She couldn’t believe this was real. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

She jumped to her feet, marching to the desk and dumping Ofure’s business report. As much as she wanted to leave this office, she didn’t want to repeat the journey. Kevwe had caught her unawares this time, and she would not give him another opportunity. Being alone with him in this enclosed space was doing strange things to her, and she would be most happy if she could get out without having to speak with him. She took a deep breath and then tried to push past Kevwe who stood at the door.

He snagged her wrist. “You’re not going anywhere!”

Efe stared at a point beyond him. She didn’t want to deal with this. It had become apparent once she saw his brother she might run into him, but she had hoped it would not happen so soon. She wasn’t ready to face him yet. This man had broken her heart so badly. Her young self had adored him, allowed him into her heart, and shared her body with him. But he’d sent her away when it wasn’t enough.

She finally faced him, and her stomach quaked as warmth trickled over her skin. He looked even more stunning, more rugged. His dark latte skin and chiseled lips were sexy as hell. His hand on the skin of her inner wrist raised dormant feelings. She could not bear the heat in his eyes and closed hers, in a bid to wipe away the effect he had on her. They stood like that for another moment.

“Please let me go, you’re hurting me,” she finally said, though the spell they wove together still held her in its clutches. Waves of memories heaved over her, and she was powerless against them.

Kevwe’s hand loosened and dropped.

“You promised you would never break my heart Kevwe, but that was what you did seven years ago.” Efe couldn’t stop the words from escaping; they’d been on her lips for so long. It had been where all her pain came from seven years ago. After drawing her out, past her caution, and into a place of trust with him, he’d dashed it all. Tears threatened, but she blinked them away.

She walked out of the room, ignoring Kevwe’s call to stay, and he was left staring into space, reminded of past promises.

Available in Print and Kindle at

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Saturday, April 23, 2011

Fire Season by VH Folland

Easter Holiday Offer - Fire Season 99p on Kindle

For Easter, Fire Season by VH Folland is now 99p on Kindle. (For US and German readers, it has been similarly reduced on and

The story of a remote airstrip in Fire Season, the novel has been well received. Following the busy paperback launch at ExCel, the Kindle edition is now following suit with this promotion which marks Ragged Angel Ltd's first venture into e-books outside their Principia Malefex game line.

"It was a wonderful book about a community in action, a great vacation book." EK Family Reviews

"...hidden twists and turns paving Folland's well-laid path of adventure all the way to a thrilling conclusion." J. McAlpine CR5 Magazine

For the duration of the offer, the reduced rate is available here: &

Friday, April 22, 2011

Book Review: Deception Past by Franki deMerle

Deception Past – Review by Martha A. Cheves, Author of Stir, Laugh, Repeat

‘Growing up, Sand was confused by the two recurring nightmares. The dream about the house with the black cloud was vague and what preceded and followed it changed each time, but the other nightmare was a vivid memory that repeated itself exactly the same way each time. She was in an adult body, naked and being dragged by men in black uniforms toward a brick building. To the right of it next to the wall was where they let go of her, and she sank to her knees onto the ground with her head tucked under her body. There was a loud bang. She felt even more pain searing through her upper body and neck, and she knew she’d been shot from behind, but she was still conscious. Then the uniformed men picked her up and carried her into the brick building toward the left side of the room. It was a room with the ovens.’

Sandra Strasberg, called Sand by her friends, was born the day after Thanksgiving in 1953. She was born to normal, southern parents who showed very little affection between themselves much less Sand and her older brother Jody. Due to her mother being Catholic, she attended the local Catholic school and live went on smoothly, but the times were on the verge of changing.

At the early age four Sand would dream of living in another life during another time. For most of her life she had no idea of what could possibly be causing this disturbing dream. As Sand will later learn, her dreams seem to follow the life of Nadia Narim who was arrested in 1943 by the Nazis. Could she possibly have been reincarnated? I’ll let you be the judge of that.
Being born as a baby-boomer, Sand grew up with many changes going on throughout, not just America and the south but throughout the world. She lived through segregation in the schools, Alabama governor Wallace being shot, Dr. Martin Luther King’s assassination, the Viet Nam war, and even a few disasters involving the race to the moon. What made Deception Past so interesting to me was that I too lived through these times and events. Reading Deception Past was like reading the “cliff notes” of American history from 1953 to 2006. I found myself pausing with each new occurrence to remember where I was and what I was doing at that time. It was a sometimes very enjoyable sometimes not so enjoyable walk down history lane for me.

If you’re a baby-boomer, like myself, I feel sure you will enjoy following the life of Sand, her family and friends as they travel through this time period in history. I have no doubt that you too will be sent down a road of memory. If you aren’t a baby-boomer, give our history a try to see how it stacks up with your own.

213 pages
ISBN# 978-1-4502-1473-5

Available at & Barnes&Noble

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Thriller Thursday For April 21

Today for Thriller Thursday we spotlight

Drawing a Blank: Portrait of a Smokin' Serial Killer


R.K. Finch

Drawing a Blank: Portrait of a Smokin' Serial Killer by R.K. Finch

She is a successful Internet executive. She has just inherited a boatload of money. She's a chain-smoking, self-diagnosed sociopath who lives in a bizarre moral framework of her own creation. She's a deadly serial killer who has a taste for executives, politicians and anyone else she thinks is "unjust". She's a beautiful chameleon - and she believes she is going to get away with it all. Beginning just after the death of her ex-lover, this unrepentant female serial killer explains how she copes with her personality disorder, what her relationship is to her industry and colleagues, when and how she began killing, her relationship with her one friend, and her views on the Internet, homelessness, social work, art and politics. Both empathetic and abhorrent, this first-person memoir reveals the best and worst of what to her appears to be an increasingly thoughtless, shallow world. Between what she claims at the beginning of the book to be her final murder and her actual final murder nearly two years later, she chronicles in detail her bloodlust, her short-lived psychotic breaks, her persistent desire to disappear, her enthusiasm for the hunt and murder ritual, her search for like-minded individuals and her ever-growing log of victims.

Sneak Peek

I like how I look in wigs; I like how I look smoking cigarettes in them. I like the way a wig, some colour contacts and a little makeup can transform me into an entirely different person. I often go to clubs this way. I also like to wear gloves. Long gloves that go all the way up my arm. I love armbands and belly-bracelets and silver garters. I love anything that lightly binds me. Wigs have this similar effect.

One night about a year after the Silacorp debacle I was at a club in Ottawa called the Bullpen. It was supposed to be an "older" crowd, ranging from about 22-35. I was wearing a blonde wig. Silver makeup. Black vinyl strapless mini-dress. Looked like a kid from the NYC glam party-scene in the eighties. I was slightly buzzing on vodka and feeling the effects still from a line of coke some chick had offered me in the bathroom a half hour earlier. Dancing on the floor with a group of people, I suddenly felt some breath on my neck.

"You're magnificent," a deep voice purred in my ear. I turned around and saw who it was. It was time.

Available in Paperback, Hardcover, and Kindle at

Available in Paperback, Hardcover, and Nook at Barnes&Noble


Wednesday, April 20, 2011