Sally’s Cafe and Bookstore – Christmas Book Fair – Jacquie Biggar, Stevie Turner and Olga Nunez Miret

Thanks to Sally Cronin for this mention of ‘Mind Games’ in her Christmas Book Fair.

Smorgasbord - Variety is the spice of life

Welcome to the second Christmas book fair today and the first author who has a book that would delight any reader at this time of year is USA Today bestselling author of Romantic Suspense Jacquie Biggar with Silver Bells.

About Silver Bells

Will a Christmas wish give a lonely author a family? A heartwarming, passionate story of true love.

Mystery writer, Joel Carpenter, has no time for romance. He has a deadline to meet, and too many skeletons in his closet to trust the slightly spinny artist renting his house.

Christy Taylor has her hands full dealing with an ailing business and a diabetic daughter, she doesn’t need the temptation that is her landlord, Joel Carpenter.

Can a Christmas wish bring two stubborn souls together and give a little girl the gift she wants most? A delightful mixture of women’s fiction, chick-lit, and romantic comedy, Silver Bells has something for every…

View original post 1,237 more words

Advertisements

Your Vote is Needed Please!

Much to my delight, my latest novel ‘Mind Games’ seems to be on the ‘Literary’ voting list of Read Free.ly’s  50 Best Indie Books of 2017!

Please would you consider voting for ‘Mind Games’?  Your vote would be very much appreciated, I can assure you.  You can vote by clicking on the link below until 4th December:

http://www.readfree.ly/vote-50-best-indie-books-2017-literary/  

 

Thank you!  

I took the advice of an agent back in 2014, who asked me to re-write ‘The Porn Detective’, taking out some of the events, and giving it a new title.  At the time I had just finished writing the book and couldn’t bear to start all over again.  However, late in 2016 I decided to take her advice.  I will definitely send it to her again if ‘Mind Games’ wins lots of votes!

 

 

 

Last Day of Sale

Today is the last day to purchase my women’s fiction novel ‘Mind Games’ at just $0.99 on Amazon (US only), which focuses on the effect that an addiction to pornography has on the marriage of Martin and Frances Andrews.  The story is told from both Martin and Frances’ perspectives.

The price reverts back to normal tomorrow.

 

Stevie’s New Book ‘Mind Games’ is Now Available for Pre-Order

This post has been scheduled as I’m currently away on the Isle of Wight.

Mind Games is now available for pre-order.  It shines a light on the effect that an addiction to pornography can have on a previously happy marriage.  The story is told from the perspectives of both the husband and the wife.

http://bookShow.me/B073YHXSJH

Frances Andrews is sick of her husband Martin’s addiction to pornography, and has lost her trust in him. Martin views porn as a harmless pastime, but when Frances threatens to leave, he is distraught and begs her to go with him for marriage guidance therapy. Counsellor Rhona suggests they take a holiday in the first instance, and start talking to one another again. Frances just wants out of the marriage, but finally agrees to go on a cruise…as long as they have separate cabins.

Here’s a little sample from Chapter 1:

FRANCES

She could not bear the sight of him.  As he brought the car to a halt outside the familiar end-of-terrace house, Frances Andrews jerked the passenger door open and jumped out, slamming it behind her with more force than was really necessary.  She glared at her husband Martin over the car’s roof, as he slowly unfolded his 6 foot 2 inch frame from the driver’s seat.

“What’s the point of coming back here?  We’re getting nowhere!”

Martin, pale and tight-lipped, activated the car’s central locking system with a click of his key fob.

“This time it’s my idea, so humour me if you can.”

Even the sound of his voice grated on her nerves.  Frances turned around sharply and headed past Rhona’s obviously new Honda Civic, which sat squarely on a concrete pad in what had been a pretty front garden 18 months before.  She ignored Martin as he rang the bell, and took another quick glance at the counsellor’s car over her shoulder.

“Business must be booming.”

She heard Martin sigh beside her.

“Yeah, I expect Ipswich is full of shitbags like me beating a path to her door. Probably that’s why out-of-towners call it Ip-shit.”

“You’re in the right place then.”

She shot a thin smile towards Rhona Perkins, purple haired and still resembling a middle-aged hippie, who greeted them with what seemed to Frances like genuine warmth.

“Frances!  Martin!  Lovely to see you again!  Do come in!”

“Hello Rhona.”  Frances stepped into the hallway as the counsellor closed the door behind them. “Thanks for fitting us in at such short notice.”

“No problem.”  Rhona ushered them along a passageway with one hand. “First on the left as usual; make yourselves comfortable.”

The consulting room was almost as she remembered, with the blue velvet two-seater sofa and matching armchair opposite, but a newer looking Persian rug than previously and even more shelves of books lining the walls. Chaz, the same sleepy ginger cat, stretched out languidly on the window sill in the late evening sun.   A fresh vase of flowers and three glasses of water were on a glass coffee table placed in-between the sofa and armchair, along with the compulsory box of half empty tissues.

Frances sat down carefully on the sofa, as far away from Martin as she could get.  Rhona plonked herself down in the armchair and picked up her sheaf of notes.

“How long has it been since I saw you both?”

“Must be about eighteen months.” Martin cleared his throat before continuing. “But it’s my idea to come here this time.”

Frances shrugged and crossed her legs.

“For what good it will do.”

“I’m trying.”  Martin sighed. “At least I’m here of my own accord this time.”

“Glad to hear it!”  Rhona chuckled and looked up from her notes. “So; what brings the two of you here today?”

“Same old problem.”  Frances rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Little did I know that thirty five years ago I married the bloody Porn Baron of Norfolk.”

 

 

Result of Kindle Scout Campaign

Well, surprise surprise, my Kindle Scout campaign for The Porn Detective wasn’t successful.  It’s hard to keep promoting a book for a whole month.  It’s okay for a couple of days, and then to be honest I expect people are sick of the sight of it.   Unless you have an army of fans who are all clicking away and nominating every single day of the campaign, then it’s difficult to keep the book up there in the ‘Hot and Trending’ section where the judges are looking.  I did notice though that the whole campaign did receive about 1,400 hits, so perhaps all is not lost.

However, you can’t keep a good story down, and instead I’ve had a rethink, changed the cover, changed the title in case it was giving readers the wrong impression, and put it up for pre-order on Amazon.  The Porn Detective has morphed into…

MIND GAMES

Pre-order here:    http://bookShow.me/B073YHXSJH

Mind Games will be published on 1st September 2017.

Frances Andrews is sick of her husband Martin’s addiction to pornography, and has lost her trust in him.  Martin views porn as a harmless pastime, but when Frances threatens to leave, he is distraught and begs her to go with him for marriage guidance therapy.  Counsellor Rhona suggests they take a holiday in the first instance, and start talking to one another again.  Frances just wants out of the marriage, but finally agrees to go on a cruise…as long as they have separate cabins.

Told from both Frances and Martin’s perspectives, Mind Games shines a light on the effect that an addiction to pornography can have on a previously happy marriage.

Alys In Hunger-Land

I’ve often read that as authors it’s good to sometimes write outside of our comfort zone.  I must admit that I do prefer to base plots around middle-aged protagonists carrying emotional baggage or going through some sort of crisis.  I find a mid-life crisis more interesting to write about rather than younger people who are yet to experience life’s ups and downs and tend to be more self-absorbed in their quest for a career and/or partner.

Even before I had begun writing my debut novel in 2013 I had started a short story based on an overweight 18 year old, Alys Linford, who spends most of her life sitting with her equally large mother Jackiey on the sofa watching daytime TV.  Alys wants to be slim and have a life outside of their dingy council flat,  and after one particular over-indulgent Christmas she gets the motivation to try and shed half her body weight.  Jackiey has no such inclination to lose the pounds, and therefore Alys and Jackiey’s contrasting lifestyles start to cause some friction.

The short story was never finished, and it was put on the back burner as I then had the idea for The Porn Detective.  Recently after re-writing The Porn Detective I picked up Alys In Hunger-Land again and turned it into a 29,000 word novella. It seemed strange after 4 years of writing novels about over 50’s and then sitting down to finish this one about a person who is so young, but if you’re looking for a light beach read this summer for just $0.99/£0.99, why not give it a go?

At the moment Amazon seem to have published the old book cover which I had originally added back in 2013, but hopefully the new cover will be on view soon.

http://bookShow.me/B00BGS2E0O

Here’s a little taster from Chapter 1:

Hi.  I’m Alys Linford.  The Alys is pronounced the same as Alice, but Mum wanted me to be a bit different from all the other Alices.  I certainly am a bit different, because I’m probably somewhat larger than the majority of them.   I’m only 5ft 3, and look like a little round ball of fat.  Life sucks big time.

I hate weighing myself, but I’m addicted to seeing just exactly how much I do weigh.  In the privacy of the bathroom I flick my shoulder-length brown hair behind my ears out of the way and gaze down at the scales (I make sure I’ve ‘been’ to the loo), noticing with some alarm that two more pounds have been gained, tipping me over into 20 stone something instead of 19 stone something.  I want to cry.

I trudge back into the front room and flop down dejectedly onto the sofa.  Mum looks up from doing The Sun crossword, takes another puff of her fag, and blows out a smoke ring.

“What’s up?”

I wipe away a tear and look down at my feet.

“I’ve just gone up another two pounds.”

“That’s Christmas for you.” Mum shrugs. “Eat and be happy, that’s what I say.  I’m going to throw those bloody scales away.”

Mum had bought a huge turkey for Christmas Day.  She hates vegetables and never cooks them, so we had eaten loads of turkey and chips and baked beans for our Christmas dinner.  She doesn’t like fruit, fruit cake or Christmas pudding either, and so she had made a big chocolate cake full of fresh cream for afters.  There was just Mum and I to eat it all, as Dad had died of a heart attack last year and I don’t have any brothers and sisters.  The turkey and chocolate cake lasted us about three days.  After that it was back to normal.  We often have Chinese takeaways for dinner, or if not Mum will cook something like pizzas, pies or sausages with loads of chips, or big fry-ups with lashings of fried bread.  It all tastes lovely.  Sometimes I wish it tasted like shit, and then I wouldn’t want to eat it.

 

 

 

Yecheilyah’s Book Reviews – Waiting in the Wings by Stevie Turner

Thanks to Yecheilyah for this great review of my memoir ‘Waiting in the Wings’.

The PBS Blog

Name: Waiting in the Wings

Author: Stevie Turner

Print Length: 199 pages

Publisher: KDP (November 30, 2016)

Publication Date: November 30, 2016

Sold By: Amazon Digital Services LLC

Language: English

ASIN: B01M3MOEPV

*I received this book as a gift from the author*

This book is close to my heart in more ways than one. To start, my mother happens to be sick at the moment. In Waiting in the Wings, Stevie’s mother Dot is also very sick and is getting worse as time moves on. Dorothy Eliza Wilkins or Dot had a breech birth. My twin sister was breech as well. It means that she was born feet first instead of head first. Sadly, Dot suffered a dislocated hip and osteomyelitis due to being pulled from the womb by her left leg. This would play a great role in her adult life, especially as she ages and her body…

View original post 313 more words

Tuesday Newsday – 31st January

Oh, I’m afraid this one got my back up a bit.  A temporary receptionist arrived for work at a finance company, and was told that she had to wear shoes with a 2 – 4 inch heel.  She refused, knowing she would have struggled to walk around for a full day in high heels, and was laughed at when pointing out that male colleagues were not asked to do the same.  She was sent home without pay, and says “I think dress codes should reflect society and nowadays women can be smart and formal and wear flat shoes. Aside from the debilitating factor, it’s the sexism issue. I think companies shouldn’t be forcing that on their female employees.”.

She has since set up a petition calling for the law to be changed so that women cannot be forced to wear high heels at work. It has had more than 10,000 signatures, and so the government will now have to respond.

As far as the law stands, employers can dismiss staff who fail to live up to “reasonable” dress code demands, as long as they’ve been given enough time to buy the right shoes and clothes.  Employers can set up different codes for men and women, as long as there’s an “equivalent level of smartness”.  Of course some women prefer to wear high heels, and that’s their choice, but it should not be forced upon the whole female workforce.  I only wore high heels once in my life.  I was about 18, and fell off of them in Lewisham High Street, twisted my ankle, and tore my bell-bottom trousers.  I never wore them again.

This whole scenario is what happens when a few (usually younger) misguided male employers have unrealistic expectations of what women should look like, based on what they have viewed through a myriad of misogynistic media outlets.  They have no consideration for the damage to women’s feet, spines and calf muscles through stumbling around in unsuitable footwear all day.  Through their crass demands, they are unwittingly giving out the impression to some of the more affronted women that they are just air-heads who are put upon the earth for man’s sexual gratification.  Grr!!!

My Memoir, ‘Waiting in the Wings’, is Available for Pre-order.

 

I have finally got around to publishing my memoir, Waiting in the Wings, after nearly 59 years. The story revolves mainly around my early upbringing, and the latter part of my mother Dot’s life,  which is told in flashbacks and in modern-day often humorous conversations between my mother and myself.   The e-book is now available for pre-order on the following worldwide link.  My thanks go to author Y Correa for the cover.

http://bookshow.me/B01M3MOEPV

Description:

At the grand old age of 92, my mother Dot suddenly starts telling me that she loves me. I am quite dumbstruck at these outbursts of emotion, as she has never mentioned the fact before in all of my 58 years. Over the entire course of my lifetime we have often argued bitterly, and have never really seen eye-to-eye over anything. I squirm with the inner knowledge that she wants me to reply in a similar vein, but try as I might, I cannot.

The guilt I feel at being unable to grant Dot her wish is overwhelming. As Dot’s health deteriorates more towards the final chapters of her life, I take on the role of carer. I find the only way to bring her out of her perpetual misery is to reminisce on past events by showing her old family photographs, and by helping her to remember holidays and happier times. We look back without anger and sometimes with a lot of laughter, getting to know each other better, raking over the past, and talking more than we have ever done.

As a carer for my mother, I, a middle-aged woman, begin to understand the perils of ageing that I might one day face, and also the struggles that elderly people suffer on a day-to-day basis while stoically attempting to maintain their independence.

An excerpt from my memoir ‘Waiting in the Wings’.

Later in the year I shall be publishing my (quite often humorous) memoir ‘Waiting in the Wings’, which deals with two subjects; the sometimes fraught relationship I have had with my mother Dot over the years, and the perils of ageing.  The book is so new that it hasn’t even got a cover yet, but I thought I’d give you a little taster and share Chapter 16 with you.

Chapter 16 of ‘Waiting in the Wings’, by Stevie Turner. Copyright Stevie Turner 2016.

What teenager doesn’t like to stay in bed all morning at weekends and surface around mid-day?  I am no exception to this rule, but unfortunately Dot always makes sure that I never remain in bed past 8 o’clock on a Saturday or a Sunday.

“Come on, get up; I want to make the bed.”

Dot’s preference for everything in the house to be neat and tidy includes me.  After 07:30 passes I can sense her agitation as she constantly checks if I am up or not.  I know that by 8 o’clock she would have lost any patience that she might have had.

“I’ll make the bed when I get up.”  I mumble from beneath the covers.

“No; I need to tidy the bed now.” Dot pulls off the eiderdown. “Your breakfast is ready.”

It is the normal routine every weekend.  Dot is a light sleeper and an early riser, and living with my mother as I do it is impossible for me to be anything else but the same.

Reluctantly I force myself out of bed and head for the bathroom, knowing full well what Dot’s parting shot will be before I close the door.

“Don’t sit on the toilet seat; I’ve just polished it.”

Obediently I lift the toilet seat, which is shiny and slippery with polish.  I have become so used to sitting on the under-seat of the toilet that to actually sit on the seat itself feels alien and uncomfortable to me.  After cleaning my teeth I leave the top of the toothpaste off, do not wipe around the sink and taps as Dot does every time she washes her hands, and throw any dirty laundry into the basket from a distance, thereby making sure that some of it fails to hit the target.

When it is time to get dressed I pick through the pile of clothes at the bottom of my wardrobe which have fallen onto the floor.  This sartorial mountain is a constant source of irritation to my mother, who berates me several times a day to hang them up properly.  I actually prefer my dresses, tops and trousers to be in a big pile as they are more accessible, and rage against the fact that my mother’s clothes are neatly hung in seasonal and colour co-ordinated magnificence in one of four huge wardrobes.  I am sick of having to be tidy, and am in chronic rebellion of Dot’s OCD behaviour when it comes to tidiness and cleanliness.

The straw that breaks the camel’s back does not take long in arriving.  As I sit slouched in my creased tee-shirt and trousers watching ‘The Partridge Family’, Dot nips backwards and forwards in front of me, waving a duster and a can of polish at anything that stands still long enough.  The constant cleaning and polishing drives me to distraction.

“I’m watching David Cassidy!” I shout. “Can’t you do that later?”

“The shelves are dusty.”  Dot begins to noisily take all the ornaments off the shelves in front of me. “I won’t be long.”

Huffing, I sit on the floor with my nose almost pressed up against the TV screen whilst my mother polishes behind me with all her might.  When the hoover is switched on and drowns out ‘I Think I Love You’, as far as I’m concerned it’s the last straw.  I stand up and stomp off to my room.  Dot gives me a passing glare.

“Don’t sit on the bed and mess it up!”

I slam my bedroom door, kick the pile of clothes at the bottom of my wardrobe so that they spill out onto the carpet, plonk myself on the bed and leave a body imprint, and curse my mother to hell and back.

***

“Do you remember the state of my bedroom when I was a teenager?” I laugh and look around Dot’s living room.  Not an item of furniture is out of place.

“Your dad always told me to just shut the door on it, but I couldn’t.” Dot sighs. “You were just like your grandmother.  Every cupboard was ‘pleased to meet you’.”

“What’s one of those?” I chuckle.

“Where everything falls out when you open the door.”

“I’ve still got those now.” I laugh. “And it’s all your fault for being so tidy.”

“I was rebelling against my own mother’s untidiness.”  Dot shrugs. “It seems each generation does the complete opposite to the one before.”

“I should have lived with Nan, then.”  I smile at my mother. “We always did get on well.”

“You’d have both disappeared in your own filth eventually.”

“No we wouldn’t.” I shake my head. “You would have tidied everything away and carried on looking until you found us underneath a pile of rubbish.”

“Talking about rubbish.” Dot points to a speck on the carpet. “Can you pick that up and put it in the bin?”

---

If you are interested in the book, please sign up to my new mailing list (the form should pop up on WordPress.  If not, you can find it on my website http://www.stevie-turner-author.co.uk ) and I will inform you by email when it is available on pre-order.  Thank you (and thanks Clive for signing up already!).