Poor, Poor Writers…

 

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I came across this interesting and revealing article from my publisher’s website, Arrow Gate Publishing, and I know I just have to post this. Read on, and when you see a book, or any creative work for that matter, do know that a lot goes into the final work.

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                                                                    Writers And The Unpredictability Of Their Profession!

A new article by Alison Flood of theguardian.com has created divided opinions. She painted a very gloomy picture of the pittance authors make from their trade and she reveals that, ‘figures show the vast majority of authors, both traditionally and self-published, are struggling to make a living from their work.’

Astonishingly, she is right, and as a publisher dedicated to getting the right book out to readers, our roles seems interwoven. Are we taking a gamble in this unpredictable business? Or just doing it because we love the written word? The answer is simple, we love writers and their stories. It is a noble but lonely profession, where writers could hole up in a room for several months trying to put the thoughts in their heads to life.

The words of this article are not necessarily our opinion, however, it is a compelling read at the same time. Please enjoy!

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The publishing industry has never been so sharply divided. In the week when the erotica writer Sylvia Day signed a staggering eight-figure two-book deal with St Martin’s Press, a survey reveals that 54% of traditionally-published authors and almost 80% of go-it-alone writers are making less than $1,000 (£600) a year.

More than 9,000 writers, from aspiring authors to seasoned pros, took part in the 2014 Digital Book World and Writer’s Digest Author Survey, presented at this week’s Digital Book World conference. The survey divided the 9,210 respondents into four camps: aspiring, self-published only, traditionally-published only, and hybrid (both self-published and traditionally-published). More than 65% of those who filled out the survey described themselves as aspiring authors, with 18% self-published, 8% traditionally-published and 6% saying they were pursuing hybrid careers.

Just over 77% of self-published writers make $1,000 or less a year, according to the survey, with a startlingly high 53.9% of traditionally-published authors, and 43.6% of hybrid authors, reporting their earnings are below the same threshold. A tiny proportion – 0.7% of self-published writers, 1.3% of traditionally published, and 5.7% of hybrid writers – reported making more than $100,000 a year from their writing. The profile of the typical author in the sample was “a commercial fiction writer who might also write non-fiction and who had a project in the works that might soon be ready to publish”, according to the report.

Fortunately only a minority of respondents listed making money as “extremely important” – around 20% of self-published writers, and about a quarter of traditionally-published authors. But authors’ top priority was not divorced from commercial concerns, with around 56% of self-pubbers, and almost 60% of traditional authors, judging it “extremely important” to “publish a book that people will buy”.

According to the report’s co-author and Digital Book World editorial director Jeremy Greenfield, the report confirms the finding that “authors of all stripes, but particularly self-published authors, don’t earn huge sums of money doing what they do”.

“Most authors write because they want to share something with the world or gain recognition of some sort,” Greenfield said. “There are, of course, outliers. The top 2% or so of authors make a good living and the most successful authors – including self-published authors – make a tremendous amount of money.”

“The question of money is a tricky one,” agreed Greenfield’s co-author, professor Dana Weinberg. “Publishing a book for sale is a matter of both art and commerce. I would argue that for most writers publishing is not only about money; it’s about a lot of other things including touching readers and sharing stories, but the money is important in a lot of ways.”

The dream of quitting the day job to pursue writing is only a reality for a tiny fraction of writers, she continued. “Writing good books is a big time commitment, as much for many writers in the survey as a part-time job, and income gives writers something to show their family and friends for all of their effort and hard work. Some writers are looking for validation, and in the world of self-publishing, where you don’t have the prestige of being chosen by a press, the money is a tangible and rewarding substitute. While writers aren’t motivated purely by money, the money does matter on many levels. The high royalty rates in self-publishing also give writers higher expectations about their potential income.”

So too, do success stories like that of Day, who originally self-published her erotic novel Bared to You, or the author Hugh Howey, who sold hundreds of thousands of copies of his dystopian novel Wool himself on Amazon before landing a publisher. But according to Howey, the survey casts self-publishing in too gloomy a light.

“This survey does not capture the fact that self-publishing is going through a renaissance,” Howey said. “It expects a group of authors with two or three years of experience and market maturity to line up against the top 1% of authors who have had several generations’ head start. Remember that not all books that go the traditional route are counted here, just the few who get published. Meanwhile, every self-published book is tallied.”

For Howey, self-publishing plays a vital role by allowing writers to “hone” their skills. “I would say the results of this survey cloud how nearly impossible it is to make a single cent through traditional publishing (because only the top 1% who ‘make it’ are tallied). The simple fact is this: getting paid for your writing is not easy. But self-publishing is making it easier. How much easier? We don’t have sufficient data to know. But a conservative estimate would be that five to 10 times as many people are paying bills with their craft today as there was just a few years ago. And that should be celebrated.”

NP: Well done if you managed to read this article, would love to know your thoughts! :) Now, back light-hearted matters, Valentine is around the corner, but my husband says that everyday is supposed to be ‘lovers day,’ and I think he’s right! :) I hope you would have a great time.

Have a pleasant weekend my friends. Much love, always!

:) :)

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In Search Of Innocence

John Revisted (part 1)

I first heard the news on TV, that a  3-year-old boy had disappeared at Edinburg overnight, (this was a few days ago) my heart was in my mouth and when the police revealed that they weren’t looking for little Mikaeel Kular anymore, my heart sank. (To some, this is stale news but I couldn’t get the face of the boy from my mind) I’m the kind of woman who believes in the impossible, miraculous acts that usually astound and even confound the most obstinate heart. However, the story of this little, innocent boy hit me hard.

You may wonder why, I am not in any way related to the Kulars, but I am a mother, who had experienced the loss of a child, although not in that way. You may read of my true story here: http://seyisandradavid.org/2012/11/14/death-and-the-angels-of-mercy/

The most disturbing aspect of the story, is this,  the mother seems to be the major suspect, I don’t want to delve too much into the story of the mother or what propelled her into such an atrocious act but of that innocent boy. Someone once commented that people shouldn’t be taken on facial values (whatever that means!) and that no one should be trusted, in a way, the commenter could be right. We live in a very dangerous world but I am forever an optimist, and would remain so, even in the face of outright evil. Mikaeel must have loved his family, but something went wrong and now he is no more. Whatever the circumstances of his passing, I believe he’s at peace now, safe from harm.

I only hope we live in a world where the innocent would not pay for the sins of the wicked and like Louis Armstrong’s song, we do live in a wonderful world minus the murderers, perverts and the indescribable.  Although our world is often tainted by evil, we can do our bit to make it a better place, by being our brother’s keeper – watching out for others in our own little way… endlessly searching for the innocent… helping the homeless, like the man in the picture… That way, the innocents would be safe from the onslaught of wicked people!

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Now,  on to more uplifting news. An online magazine, upcoming4me.com, recently published an article I wrote chronicling the story behind my new book ‘Cydonia,’ you would find the article here: http://upcoming4.me/news/book-news/story-behind-cydonia-by-seyi-david and my publisher, arrowgatepublishing.com also carried the same story here:

http://arrowgatepublishing.com/2014/01/10/story-behind-cydonia-by-seyi-david/

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My book trailer would be out soon, and the eBook, the iBook, Kobo and other ereading devices would release ‘Cydonia’ in the coming weeks. However, if you prefer to read ‘real’ physical book, you can click on my sidebar and it would take you to the right place to buy it or better still, click on these links:

Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Cydonia-Rise-fallen-Seyi-David/dp/0957593031/ref=sr_1_cc_1?s=aps&ie=UTF8&qid=1390301384&sr=1-1-catcorr&keywords=cydonia%3A+rise+of+the+fallen

Amazon US : http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_0_17?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=cydonia+rise+of+the+fallen&sprefix=Cydonia%3A+Rise+of+%2Caps%2C241&rh=i%3Aaps%2Ck%3Acydonia+rise+of+the+fallen

Waterstones:

http://www.waterstones.com/waterstonesweb/products/seyi+david/cydonia/10190216/

Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/Cydonia–rise-of-the-fallen–seyi-david?keyword=Cydonia%3A+rise+of+the+fallen%2C+seyi+david&store=book

Book Depository: http://www.bookdepository.co.uk/Cydonia-Seyi-David/9780957593039

Abe Books: http://www.abebooks.co.uk/servlet/SearchResults?kn=Cydonia%3A+Rise+of+the+fallen%2C+seyi+david&sts=t&x=50&y=8

Hive.co.uk: http://www.hive.co.uk/search/cydonia%3A+rise+of+the+fallen/mediatype/all/

I reckon this should do for now, you can buy ‘Cydonia’ from all fine bookshops world-wide. I don’t like long posts but I believe a bit of self promotion wouldn’t do any harm. :) I hope you’ll all enjoy the rest of this week, wherever you are in the world!

Much love, always! :)

Escape…

 

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I must have fallen and hit my head on the pavement, I felt hands on my legs and slowly, I slipped away. Then the pulling started, I felt searing pain tearing my insides into million pieces. I wanted to scream but couldn’t. It was a scary feeling. I felt trapped, immobile but my senses were sharp. I wanted to feel my body but it was like being wrapped in a bubble.

It was a floating kind of feeling, if you know what I mean but I guess you don’t. Then darkness came, it was oppressive and in my comatose existence, I welcomed it.

I was like that for God knows how long when suddenly,  sounds began to filter to me. It wasn’t clear or anything but I could make out voices. By now, I think I know a bit about my situation but escaping from wherever I am, was impossible.

Again, I tried to touch tangible things but I was weightless, helpless and the floating feeling returned in intensity. Then I realised that my mind could do things. I thought of Tom, my son, and immediately I was racing towards his school, invisible but in a life form all the same.

I breezed inside and saw him in the lecture room, his face ashen and seemed carved out of granite. I wanted to touch him but there was this irrepressible gulf. I felt defeated and thought of my husband. My mind took me on a whirlwind drive back to the hospital.

That was the first time I saw myself.

My bloated face looked blue and lifeless. Tubes were sticking out from every part of my body. Nathan, my husband was speaking but I couldn’t make out the words properly. I concentrated all my energy and studied his lips and finally, caught what he was saying,

‘It’s been five years doctor! I want my wife back.’ 

The doctor shook his head and patted my husband on the shoulder and slowly walked out of the room.

Then the memories rushed back.

I’ve been in coma for five years? I could float out of my body and see things! I’m trapped. I thought and watched my husband approach me on the bed. He crouched low and his hands slowly found the exposed part of my arm.

‘Please forgive  me Carey, I’m so sorry. I tried…’ And his voice trailed away.

What? Wait, don’t pull the plug, I’m here, don’t kill me! Don’t stop my life support!’ I screamed with everything I’ve got but Nathan walked to the other side of the bed and a miracle occurred, he stopped midway. Staring at me.

He paused for a while and looking straight at me he said, ‘I’ll fight for you Carey, I’ll wait. You’ll come back to me and the boys.’

I guess I escaped but how on earth am I going to open my eyes. I can hear things, I can see but the doctors thought I’m brain-dead. I really want to live… Can you please help me?

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This story,  whatever it is, came to my mind today early in the morning when my three-year old son trotter to my room and crept under the covers. Since my sleep was broken, I thought of the former Israeli Prime minister, Ariel Sharon who had been in a coma since 2006. It’s mysterious how someone could slip into a coma while still alive. Some come out of it and some don’t. I guess we should be thankful for everyday we see the sun. On a lighter note, Carey came out of the coma and it was happy days again. If only life is as simple as fiction.

Thanks for reading and have a brilliant week friends!

Much love. :)

A Grateful Heart!

 

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”The unthankful heart… discovers no mercies; but let the thankful heart sweep through the day and, as the magnet finds the iron, so it will find, in every hour, some heavenly blessings!” — Henry Ward Beecher

In light of Beecher’s quote,  I want to appreciate everyone who helped make my new book a huge success. It’s still an on-going process but the success of a great book rest not only on the written word but the advert preceding the release and after.

I want to specially appreciate Alastair Forbes – http://Kattermoran.com, he was and still a huge source of inspiration to me. Prior to the release of Cydonia: Rise of the fallen, he blogged about it incessantly, he’d also written a review on Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk. I also want to thank Celestine of ‘Readingpleasure’ who promised to write a post about it and buy a copy from Amazon. Also Ken of WriteOutLoud, you’re a darling. Pamela Beckford of http://pamela984.wordpress.com is still reading as we speak. Ste J is still waiting for the PDF copy, I’ll send it soon I swear! :) To Uzoma, a poet and a great writer, thanks for reading. To several others who requested a copy, I’ll send it soon I promise! :)

To many others, I appreciate you, I am grateful for your friendship and kindness. You don’t even have to buy my book or review it. The mere fact that I could write something and people visit my website is enough to spur me on. As of now, my publisher is speaking to a few producers on Film rights on Cydonia… I know it’s still early days yet but I think the book is going to be massive.

 

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I still need all the advert and PR I can get. The Press release would be out soon, the eBook version would be released within days so is the book trailer but in the main time, if you’re interested in reading a massive 644 pages of thriller to your heart’s content, here’s the link on Amazon US:

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_0_14?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=cydonia%20rise%20of%20the%20fallen&sprefix=Cydonia%3A+rise+%2Caps%2C537&rh=i%3Aaps%2Ck%3Acydonia%20rise%20of%20the%20fallen and

Amazon UK:  http://www.amazon.co.uk/Cydonia-Rise-fallen-Seyi-David/dp/0957593031

Well, like a friend would say ( I won’t mention his name… ;)… Enough said… :)

How’s everyone preparing for Christmas? On my end, I haven’t done any shopping. Moving home and releasing a new book seemed to have sent me off track but I’ll retrace my steps and do a few shopping now. I wish you all a Merry Christmas and if you’re not a Christian, have a happy holiday…

Just got my internet sorted out so I’ll start visiting more blogs now… Take care of yourselves guys and don’t get into trouble! :)

Much love, always! :)

 

Unending Hope…

 

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(Photo Credit: JT Kunley)

 

In the end, it’s not the years in your life that count. It’s the life in your years.

Abraham Lincoln

I love this wonderful quote by Abraham Lincoln. It’s not because the guy set a historical ball rolling in the US nor because of his stand on slavery, I love the quote because it simply means that we should LIVE and not merely let the seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks or years roll by.

We should live by positively changing the story of others around us – smiling at strangers, giving when we should, not later, helping the elderly, giving to the poor etc.

You may ask, what about me? Why do I have to give all the time?

It’s simple… When you give, you’re enriched! You’re blessed.

Christmas shouldn’t be celebrated with relatives we hate nor endured with a plastic smile pasted on our face. It should be a time of unending love, thanksgiving, not the frenzy buying of gifts that were not needed or wasting money on food that would find its resting place in the bin. I hope this season would fill us with love, joy and laughter.

I pray for nothing more…

And when we live with love and joy, our remaining days would be filled with unending hope.

I had wanted to write another post entirely because my new book Cydonia would be formally available for sale on Monday but I just find my fingers typing this and I hope I’ve been able to touch a soul. Live and live well, our times on this earth are incredibly short. It would be a tragedy to waste it on malice, anger, hatred and all those stupid dross that weight us down.

I guess I better stop now before I start preaching! :)

Friends, I need all the ‘ Shout-outs’ I could get for my impending book release on 16th Dec 2013 (just a mere three days away!!) If you would like me to write a short piece for your blog or a feature post with the book cover and details, please let me know and I’ll rustle something up! Thanks guys. :)

I hope you’ll all have a fabulous weekend wherever you are in the world!

NP: My home internet is still awaiting the expert touch of an engineer, Sky (my broadband provider) promised to send an engineer on Tuesday. I can’t blog when I’m in the office because my editor is constantly breathing down my neck! I’ve started visiting some blogs and I’m certain I’ll start fully next week! Please do bear with me. :)

Much love, always!

:)

Here Is It!

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”THE BIG clock in Ilford town centre in East London resounded at seven in the evening. The town centre was still bustling with shoppers when a glittering black GMC 4×4 slid past the shoppers and came to a screeching halt at Cranbrook road, a few miles from the town centre. Three men got out of the jeep and dashed into the Golden Oaks pub, brandishing AK-47 assault rifles.

 The pub was packed full of people that cool Wednesday evening, and the men heralded a tense atmosphere as they barged in. There were muted gasps from everyone. Aaron Cohen was among the throng of people in the pub. Instantly, he knew they were looking for him.

A woman stifled a sob and her whimpering grated on Aaron’s nerves. Slowly, he slipped his face cap down to hide his identity: it would do him good to stay hidden.

There was complete silence.”

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Well friends, here’s the cover of my new supernatural thriller due for release on Dec 16th, I’m spellbound by the cover, and I want to appreciate you all for your love and kindness. I mentioned all my awesome blogger friends on the ‘Acknowledgement section,’ of the book. The novel would be available worldwide, wherever books are sold.

My publisher is ready to release Advance Review Copies (but PDF) at this point in time. Please if you’re on Goodreads or have an amazon account, and you’re interested in reviewing this novel before the launching day, please contact me on this email address: seyisandradavid@gmail.com and I’ll respond with a digital copy.

It’s been hectic on my end (always so), I’ll be moving house in a couple of days… yes, I’m excited but scared of the mammoth work staring me in the face. After all this, I’ll go for a week’s holiday and the only thing I’ll be doing is watching films and blogging.

I love you all and hope you’ll enjoy the rest of this cold week. To my friends who are still battling with that freaky storm in the US, I wish you peace and safety.

Much love, always. :)

The Borrowers

 

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(Photo credit: Flickr)

 

Ethan smiled and his blue eyes danced with glee, the contract was a done deal. He strode toward his private jet, a man with the world under his feet. He felt like he owned the universe but at the corner of his eyes, he saw a glimmer… And that was the last thing he remembered…

++ ++ ++ ++

Raja hid under the bed, his heart beating with fury, but his impotent rage would achieve nothing. He gritted his teeth and dug his nails into the brown smelly carpet. Then the men came in stealthily, searching for their target, their cold ruthless eyes noticed a flicker of a movement.

And they smiled.

Then the rapid sound of gunfire reverberated throughout the estate…

++ ++ ++ ++

Jonathan stretched his long taunt body on the sofa, his accountant breathing down his neck in excitement.
‘We did it,’ Jonathan said with a boyish grin. Two hundred million pounds worth of cocaine had sailed through unscathed.

Then the accountant’s smile slowly faded like a receding shadow.

‘Honey,’ his new wife called from the bedroom, ‘I’m waiting!’
Jonathan stood to his feet and then saw the gun,

His heart froze.

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‘The glory that goes with wealth is fleeting and fragile; virtue is a possession glorious and eternal.’ Sallust

I consider all men (by that I mean everyone!) as borrowers, we’re living on borrowed time. No one is going to physically live forever, and the earlier we let that sink into our subconscious mind, the better for us. When we realise how futile it is to wage wars, to keep malice and abhor love, I guess we’ve cracked the code to world peace!

I’m happy to be writing this, although I’m still navigating slowly through my deluge of deadlines but things are looking up. And I also have great news – I now have the official release date for my upcoming supernatural thriller, 16th of December 2013! I want to garner as many reviews as I can get, it always boost sales.

Please, if anyone is interested in giving a sincere review, do let me know and once my publisher releases the ARC (Advance Review Copies) I’ll send it to as many of my friends as possible. Thanks for your friendship, I’ve visited several blogs and enjoyed reading diverse and richly entertaining contents. I’ll still continue to do so, and if I’ve not stopped by yours, please bear with me and I’ll visit soon!

Enjoy the rest of your week and have a fantastic weekend!

Much love, always!

:)

TRUST

By the sea

(Photo credit: Flickr: Bruce M Walker)

”A little girl and her father were crossing a bridge.
The father was kind of scared so he asked his little daughter:
“Sweetheart, please hold my hand so that you don’t fall into the river.” The little girl said:
“No, Dad. You hold my hand.”
“What’s the difference?” Asked the puzzled father.

“There’s a big difference,” replied the little girl.
“If I hold your hand and something happens to me, chances are that I may let your hand go. But if you hold my hand, I know that no matter what happens, you will never let my hand go.”

In any relationship, the essence of trust is not in its bind, but in its bond. So hold the hand of the person whom you love than expecting them to hold yours…”

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I saw this today and though I had planned another post entirely, I believe it would suffice for what I’m feeling now. Trust is the back bone of all relationships, that’s what makes us safe. I hope you’ll all have a glorious week, I intend to.

Much love, always!

:)

Stranded At Santum Close (5)

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(Photo credit: Marabelo)

Even such is time, which takes in trust

Our youth, our joy, and all we have,

And pays us but with age and dust;

Who in the dark and silent grave,

When we have wandered all our ways,

Shuts up the story of our days:

Apart from which earth, and grave, and dust,

The Lord shall raise me up, I trust.

Linda repeated Sir Walter Ralegh‘s poem ‘Epitaph’ over and over again as she watched the body of her assailant self-combust. It all started with a strange shadow falling in front of her snarling attacker, who fell down immediately and began to shake uncontrollably, foaming in the mouth. She struggled to release herself but it was futile, she persisted and only succeeded in falling back, hitting her head on the tiled floor. She gritted her teeth in frustration, staring hard at the ceiling and wondered what she would do next and that was when she began to choke.

Linda dragged herself away slowly, so she could see what was happening and her heart stopped in her mouth, her attacker had been reduced to ashes, save for his lower limbs and shoes, he was burnt out. She whimpered as she struggled feverishly, rolling to her side, she managed to stand to her feet but with her hands still tied back, it was very painful. Sweating profusely, Linda refused to look at the ashes on the floor, the only thing on her mind was freedom.

Outside, a  little girl skipped along the slippery sidewalk, her long blonde hair dancing with the wind, her short, pleated skirt swirled around her knees. The smell of rain and rotting leaves hung heavily in the air. She stopped suddenly and a chuckle escaped her pink lips when she saw a black BMW parking beside her.

She stared at the shrivelled old man on the back seat.

Bernstein Joel Bonnke tried to smile but it ended in a grimace and he put his bony hands on his parched lips, he knew that he looked awful.

The driver of the BMW got out, a tall, lean, bony man with bushy eyebrows. The man opened the door for Bernstein, who stepped out like royalty, his eyes still firmly trained on the girl, who curiously, was still staring at him. The leafy street was deserted at that time of the day, it was mid afternoon, and Bernstein was glad for the privacy.

He approached the inquisitive little girl, a fixed smile on his gaunt face.

‘How are you my lady?’

‘I am fine, you don’t look well, are you ill?’ she asked, her blue eyes searching Bernstein’s face. And he felt uncomfortable under her piecing gaze, his visit to London was meant to be a quick one, he doesn’t want to leave any trace or clues if he could help it.

‘Yes my dear, old age is my disease,’ he answered smoothly and reached for her head, she allowed him ruffled her hair for a few seconds, then without warning,  a chill went through his body, it was akin to an electric current. He removed his hand quickly and scampered away, his body guards glared at the girl but she was unperturbed. She watched as they all entered the last house on the street, she could not move and her eyes never left the end of terrace house.

‘Amber!’

Someone called her, and she turned her attention to the petite woman standing on the front porch of the house across the street, it was her mother. She skipped towards her, there was a wild look on her face.

‘Mama, are you okay?’ Amber asked anxiously.

There was no sound and her mother later screamed in reply. Amber turned to look at what had upset her so. What she saw turned her blood to ice.

*****************************

Gordon held his sons close, the tears refused to fall. He was still in shock. He had just come in from the police station. The police had interviewed him all night, and they had interrogated each of his sons as well, though they stated blandly that they were merely following procedures but Gordon knew better. The bullet that killed his twenty-three year old son was the exact replica of the bullets he used for his semi automatic assault rifle. He was mourning for his son, praying that his wife would return home safely and trying to prove his innocence and that of his sons.

It was a horrible way to live.

Luke, Gabriel, and Peter moved away from their father’s embrace, the tragedy of Eliza’s death was still fresh and with the police breathing down their necks, they were practically living in hell. The police seemed to be hounding them than pitying them.

Luke stood up and went to his room, he’d hardly spoken a word since he heard the news. Gabriel stood up and sauntered to the window, then turned back abruptly and said with clenched teeth,

‘You caused these entire problems dad! If mom hadn’t disappeared, Eliza would still be alive now!’

Gordon thought about Gabriel’s accusations and replied calmly,

‘Eliza’s death had nothing to do with your mother’s disappearance. I believe he was killed because of the contents of your mother’s diary.’

‘How do you mean?’ asked Gabriel shrewdly, his dowdy appearance further heightened by the stubble on his jaw. At twenty, his life peaked too soon. He bagged a first class honours degree in Engineering from the University of York but sadly, was not keen to do anything else but smoke cannabis all day, a habit that had put him at loggerheads with his mother. Gordon also suspected that Gabriel was jealous of Eliza’s success.

Eliza was running his property business, and doing a good job of it. After college, he had refused to go to the University; rather, he had leached on to him, following him to auctions. Within months, Eliza had bought three properties, renovated the houses, and made a profit of more than three hundred thousand pounds.

Gordon was a proud father.

‘There were some things in your mother’s diary that Eliza saw, I was certain he was shocked when he did. He gave the diary to me and shortly after that, he was killed.’

‘Where’s the diary?’ Gabriel asked quietly.

‘I have given it to the police,’ Gordon said carefully, looking at his son, ‘they believe the contents of the diary was behind the death of Eliza and could be behind your mother’s disappearance, hopefully, the diary would clear our names.’

Gabriel locked eyes with his father, and Gordon shuddered with fear. It was the cold, ruthless eyes of a killer.

Who in heaven’s name is Gabriel Leonhard! Gordon thought with a deep sigh, he wondered when the nightmare would end.

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My publisher, Arrow Gate, has indicated their interest in this story, so I am afraid, this would be the last post on this story! But if anyone is interested to know more about the mystery and intrigue surrounding the Leonhard’s family and the grotesque Bernstein Joel Bonnke, you can subscribe to my newsletter and when the novel is released next summer, you’ll be the first to get a copy.

NP: July has been a special month for me, I signed up for WordPress on 17th of July, 2012 and my first post was on the 31st of July 2012. So it’s exactly a year ago that I started this blog, although I didn’t start serious blogging until mid October, it’s been a great journey so far. I have made great friends and didn’t regret starting this blog.

I also celebrated 13 years of wedded bliss to my sweet husband Kay! It’s been a great month!! (He refused to have his picture taken, he’s so shy! :) ) I hope you all had something to celebrate… the gift of life!!!

I love and respect you all, you’re all awesome!

Much love, always!

:)

Stranded At Santum Close (4)

jtkunley

(Photo credit: jtkunley)

The man fell down with a  heavy swoop, hitting the ground like a bomb, his eyes turned red and Linda screamed, staring at her assailant in shock.

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A day after Linda’s disappearance, Gordon was desperate to find answers and he decided to check his wife’s things. He rummaged through the contents of the drawers in their room as sweat poured from his agitated body in torrents. He threw his wife’s clothes on the floor, looking around with a deranged glint in his eyes and swore softly under his breath. His gaze swept the room clean and he shook his head in despair, he was sure he had checked everywhere.

Eliza appeared at the doorway with arms akimbo and his demeanour spelt trouble but Gordon was not in the mood for his arguments.

‘Dad, what do you think you’re doing?’

Gordon sighed in defeat and answered, ‘I am looking for clues son, anything that could show me what to do!’ Eliza considered that, came inside the room, then sat down on the bed.

‘I found mom’s diary on the table when she left for work yesterday, she must have forgotten it, you might find some answers there.’ ‘Eliza said quietly, his eyes sad. Gordon took the blue diary from him and held it to his heart.

‘Thanks son, I’ll see if I can find anything in it.’

Eliza nodded and left the room and the next thing Gordon heard was a deafening sound as gunshots erupted outside his bedroom, he heard stomping footsteps and his heart broke into a million fragments.  Disregarding his own safety, Gordon bolted out of the room after his son, but it was too late. Eliza was lying on the corridor with blood pouring out of his chest wound.

‘No!!!’ Gordon yelled and held his son close to his chest, weeping uncontrollably. He gently laid him back, ran into his room, yanked open the door of his walk in wardrobe, picked up one of his semi automatic rifles, and strode out of his room, darting downstairs but there was no one around. Minutes later, sounds of siren tore down his street and Gordon finally realized, that  his life was rapidly going downhill.

Three police officers alighted from their cars, their gloomy eyes suggested they hated the sight of the grief ridden man whose house had become accursed.

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I appreciate everyone who has followed this story thus far, the culminating part would be posted next week. Do continue to enjoy the rest of your week!

Much love, always. :)