Monthly Archives: February 2013

Adventures in Writing – a personal journey by Stuart G Yates

Something happened to me the other day which has happened before, and will no doubt happen again.

The publisher of my novel ‘The Story of Don Luis’ folded.

This meant, of course, that the book came off the shelves at Amazon, B&N, Smashwords, etc,etc, and the rights reverted to me. The initial shock gave way to a kind of simmering optimism. I now had choices, real choices. Should I submit it again, to another publisher, or take the plunge and self-publish?

I’m still debating.

The thing is, I began to write a follow-up. I won’t use the word’ sequel’ because it isn’t. It is a stand-alone story about Don Luis getting himself involved with solving a murder. I’ve always wanted to write a ‘whodunit’ ever since my first outing when I was 12 and wrote one for my Nan (see an earlier blog of mine which details all of this). Well, I wouldn’t call this your typical Agatha Christie-type work, but it is something of a mystery. And I’m loving writing it. However, it hasn’t all been plain sailing.

There is a scene in the book in which the villain (there’s always got to be a villain, right?) shoots at Don Luis from a distance of over 200 paces. Now, this may not sound a lot, but actually it is. Try it and see. We’ve all seen Usain Bolt cover 100 metres in way under ten-seconds, but have you actually seen a 100 metre running track? Well, double it. That is long!

So, the problem I had was this: was there, in the Seventeenth Century , a musket capable of shooting someone over that distance. Naturally, I did the Internet surfing thing. I read about the Afghani Jezail, a beautifully carved musket of exquisite craftsmanship, with a range of over 250 paces! Success…or perhaps not. Because the Jezail was used in the 19th Century against the Brits during the Victorian Afghan Wars. Had it been around earlier than this? Well, I didn’t know. So I got in touch with the British Museum. They didn’t know. Then I contacted the Leeds Armouries, and they didn’t know, but they put me onto someone who might…but they didn’t. So, I was put onto someone else…and I’m still waiting.

This is what makes writing so exciting and interesting for me. It may start out as mere imagination, but fairly soon – if you have set your story in a historical period – the facts have to be checked out. I can’t wait to learn if this gun was around 350 years ago. If it was, then that is great…but what if it wasn’t? Well, I’ll have no choice but to do some serious re-writing!


You can visit my websites and discover more about my books and links to purchasing them.

For Stuart G Yates (thrillers and adult fiction) visit

For Glenn Stuart (for YA paranormal mysteries) visit:

Thanks for dropping by, and keep reading!




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Adventures in writing – a personal journey by Stuart G Yates

The writer’s craft. This is something I’d like to touch upon. And one particular aspect. Descriptions.

I’m reading a book at the moment, by a very well known author. I shan’t say who it is, and I am not offering anything of what I say as a criticism, more of an observation as to how different writers work in different ways.

The book is interspersed between pages of sharp, stark dialogue, realistic and compelling, and lengthy descriptive passages of buildings, streets, highways. I found my attention, and my interest, waning as these pages became more and more laborious, and I wondered what they had to do with the story. Of course, we need some focus, some idea of setting, but to be informed of every minute detail, I found it tedious and I skipped whole pages, anxious to get back to the action. I confess I did wonder if all of it was simply to pad out the narrative, to fulfil the current credo that a thriller must be 80,000 words long. Perhaps, if all of those long, rambling passages were removed, we would be left with only sixty to sixty-five thousand words, and it wouldn’t look so thick on the shelf. When handing over our hard-earned cash, perhaps that is a consideration. Certainly it seems that way as far as publishers go.

I have read all of Cormac McCarthy’s work, and his descriptions are vivid, but not lengthy. You know exactly where you are, what the characters are seeing, and that enables you to become more immersed in their world. But none of this detracts from the story. I have never skimmed over McCarthy’s paragraphs.

The same can be said for Raymond Chandler, and Robert B Parker. Details are given, but they are brief, albeit well observed. For characters too, one is given outlines, maybe hair colour, physical shape, clothing (Parker always mentions clothing, describing exactly what each person wears. I’ve noticed John Harvey does this as well. I’ve never understood why we need to know how many buttons are on a person’s jacket, or whether their trousers have turn-ups or not. Some might be interested in that, but does it actually matter? I’m not convinced).

A hundred and fifty years ago, Dickens would describe a character’s physicality to the nth degree, leaving nothing to the imagination. But that man was a genius, crafting his words to paint pictures in a world without film or television. Now, I feel we do not require such over-statement. What is wrong with leaving a lot up to a reader’s imagination?

I rarely describe a character’s features. I may hint at it, putting in details of their age, size, possibly even hair colour. I might say a woman is ‘beautiful’ but do I really need to explain exactly why she is beautiful. Besides, my idea of what being beautiful is might actually be totally opposite to what my reader has in mind. So, by hinting, or giving clues, I am allowing the reader to fill in the blanks. That, for me, is far better and leads to a tighter, more well-paced story. I hate waffle of any kind; let’s get to the point, and make the journey an interesting and exciting one.

So, this book. It is a riveting read, but I’ve missed out thousands of words. Has this heinous act lessened my enjoyment, my understanding? Not at all. The act of skimming annoys me, and I’d much rather do without hundreds of words of detailed descriptions of the outside of buildings, their position on the street, how the paintwork has been lovingly and painstakingly applied to create a pseudo-Edwardian facade…yawn. I don’t care.

Each to his own. I offer these thoughts to simply underline what I think are the important aspects of writing. Pace, realism, mystery. By not giving too much away, we add to the reader’s enjoyment. Heroes and heroines are created in our imagination as we read. That’s how it should be. The reader then has ownership, and they can become rightly angered, or indeed pleased, when they see this character portrayed on the silver screen.

I am enjoying this book I’m reading. But I’ll not lie awake and worry myself over missing vivid descriptions of road surfaces. I’d much rather read over all of those to discover who actually ‘did it’.


Why not have a look at my own use of descriptive writing? You can go along to my websites and seek out where to buy my books. ‘Burnt Offerings’ has just been reduced in price for the Kindle, and is well worth a look.

Enjoy, and keep reading.




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Adventures in Writing – a personal journey by Stuart G Yates.

The very first book I wrote happened to be a thriller, so it seemed only natural that eventually I would wander back into the genre. When I took up writing seriously, initially I lent my hand to writing paranormal mysteries, aimed at young adults. I have written ten such novels, but the last one, ‘Interlopers From Hell’, certainly seemed much more appropriate for an adult audience. I’d already begun to think of ‘cross-over’ books, and I would go so far as to say that all of my earlier novels are of this type. But writing a fully-fledged adult book, that was what I wanted to do.

‘Splintered Ice’ had many of the hallmarks of my previous work. Indeed, half way through I decided to write two different versions. One of them ended up as an out-and-out thriller, but the second version was twenty thousand words longer, and packed full of paranormal activity. I think, to be honest, that this one is the better version. Unfortunately, it is not the one in print. Nevertheless, I enjoyed writing it, and although nobody has bought it, I still feel the story packs a pretty hefty punch.

‘Burnt Offerings’ was my second venture into the thriller genre. Living in Spain, the story simply came to me one day, perhaps three years ago. I worked on it for quite some time, and when I submitted it, an agent got back to me almost straight away with some excellent advice. One of the few times when an agent has actually shown any interest in my work. Taking note of what he said, I went back to it, smoothed down the edges, and sent it to a publisher who accepted it immediately. It has received some excellent reviews. This is always the most nerve-wracking period for an author. A

fter the book has been sent out into the world, what will the buying public actually make of it?Burnt Offerings is now available at a new, reduced price for the Kindle. Visit any Amazon site to take advantage.

Burnt Offerings is now available at a new, reduced price for the Kindle. Visit any Amazon site to take advantage.


Well, for ‘Burnt Offerings’ they seem to like it. My publisher did; they want a series, and I’ve already written the second and planned out the third. Paul Chaise is hard-boiled, living a quiet life in Spain, but when trouble raises its ugly head, he responds in the only way he knows how. Ex-SBS he knows how to kill, and his old employers get wind of what he has got himself involved with, and they don’t like it.

The second Paul Chaise adventure, ‘Whipped Up’ will be available later in the year. I wanted to put Chaise in a contemporary setting in the UK, pitching him against some pretty unsavoury Eastern Europeans who are based in Norwich. I knew someone who had employed some Eastern Europeans to do some house building for him. Pretty soon he became embroiled with the people who were running the builders. They wanted a cut of the proceeds. This was the basis of my story. My dear old friend extricated himself fortunately, sacked the lot of them, and did most of the work himself. In the book, it doesn’t go that smoothly. And Chaise’s employers don’t want him bringing too much publicity into the mix. So they hire an assassin. His job: to kill Chaise.

Now, the third story written, it’s fairly clear that Chaise does not die. He’s a man who is here to stay. Each successive story will reveal more about this man, what drives him on, why he can do what he does so dispassionately, and so well. I am hoping it is a series which will run for a long time.

In the meantime, I am also writing stand-alone thrillers. I’ve just completed one, and am now working on redrafting it. I don’t particularly relish this aspect of writing, but as I do it, I fall in love with my characters once again, think up additional scenarios, develop them, improve them.

‘Burnt Offering’s has just been reduced in price. I felt, as an e-book, it was too expensive, and now it is far more reasonably priced. E-book should be affordable in my opinion. That way people can store them on their e-readers, and read them at their leisure and not feel that they are emptying their bank accounts. I love traditional books, as I mentioned last time in this blog, but e-books are with us whether we like it or not, so why not take advantage if the price is right.

I am also writing a historical novel, but more of that next time.

The process of writing is, for me, and adventure. I never know in which direction I’m going to turn next. That is what keeps it interesting and fresh. If what you have read here spurs on your curiosity, please visit my website – – where you can find out all about my books and where to buy them. And don’t forget, please take advantage of the special, reduced price of ‘Burnt Offerings’.

Thanks for reading.

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Fallen Past, Chapter Five

Here is the continuing free sample of my unpublished novel FALLEN PAST. We’re up to Chapter Five, and things take a new direction for Craig…

He sat on an old, worn out bench which sagged under his weight, and gazed at the ripples moving over the surface of the lake. The bike stood propped up against a nearby wall, forgotten for the moment. Time had become meaningless. Craig didn’t care. A slight disturbance at the back of his mind; concerns over Mum, what she might say if he rolled up late. Crossland and Samantha and their empty threats. Thoughts of the window-cleaner’s story about Dad. Sporadic, fleeting thoughts, he gave none of them any heed. Instead, the lake held his attention and he allowed himself to drift, not unlike the fallen leaves on the water. So consumed by this state of near thoughtless meditation he did not notice the figure looming up beside him until it spoke.

“Not playing tennis today?”

Craig gave a little jump and looked up. For a second or two he thought he might have slipped into a dream. He blinked rapidly to bring the present into focus, and saw her. He let out a gasp of surprise, heart juddering as if jolted by a surge of electricity. She smiled at him; the girl who had watched him play all those weeks ago. Real, three-dimensional, hair tumbling to her shoulders, eyes big and wide. Her loveliness was even more noticeable this close up. He gaped, struck dumb for a moment.

She giggled and sat down next to him. She wore skin-tight jeans and a white top. “I’ve been watching you for a while.” She stooped forward, picked up a pebble from the ground, and tossed it into the water. “Are you OK?”

Craig swallowed hard, barely able to breathe. Her thigh pressed against his, and her easy, open gaze held his eyes. She was so close he could smell her perfume. The fresh, clean aroma of cucumber mingling with something else. A flower, a spice; he didn’t know, didn’t care. Delicious, whatever it was. He shook his head, battling to find some words. Anything. “I’m Craig.”

She laughed, hand against her mouth. He gazed at the way her hair bounced around her shoulders, shining, reflecting the sunlight. And her face, smooth, skin like alabaster, perfect, no lines, so clear. How old could she be? Fourteen, maybe fifteen?

“I’m sorry,” she said through her laughter, “you must think I’m an awful cow.” Another guffaw. She rocked forwards, looked at him, spluttered, “You look so shocked.” She took a few breaths, brought herself under control. “It’s just that…well, you know. Craig? Is that all you have to say” She pulled out a tissue from her jeans pocket and wiped her eyes. “Sorry, but the way you said it, blurting it out like that.” She shook her head, gave her eyes one more wipe and put the tissue away. “Sorry.”

Mesmerised, Craig took no notice of her words. For all he cared, she might have been reciting the English dictionary. The way her mouth moved, her lips so soft, so full, they held his total attention. Nothing else mattered, his entire world centred on that delectable area of her lovely face. He closed his eyes and breathed her in, tiny explosions going off across his body. No pain. Exhilaration. Unlike anything he’d known. He wanted it to last forever, this feeling. Her. Time stretched out, a soft comforting blanket enfolding him, bringing him warmth, security.

“Look, I’m bothering you.” She slapped her hand down onto his knee and stood up. “Sorry.”

Craig’s eyes sprang open, drank her in. Those dark blue jeans, so tight. Probably Wranglers. She fitted them well, rounded hips straining against the material, legs long and slim. If there was a better-looking girl, he had yet to meet her.

“I’ll, er…” She shrugged, gave what looked like a forced smile and turned to go.

The world snapped into focus at that point, and the panic gripped him. She’d come upon him so quickly, unannounced, appearing out of nowhere, and he’d crumbled, not knowing what to say. He should have said something meaningful, friendly. A simple ‘hello, lovely to see you again.’ Instead, all he’d given was his name, unasked for. What the hell possessed him to be so idiotic? Girls. He’d always been uncomfortable around them. They were like another species, to be admired from afar, not approached and engaged in conversation. Scary.

Not her. No, she was different. Special. She’d watched him at the tennis court and she’d smiled. And what had he done? He’d blown it, not responding, unable to, mouth full of jelly, tongue too big. Now, at his second chance, he’d done the same, idiot that he was. He’d caused her to walk away, her cheeks a little red, embarrassed, probably angry too. Nothing good ever happened. Girls, friends, Dad. Always the same damned result.

Craig gritted his teeth, stood up, breathing hard, a decision wrought out of exasperation at his own pathetic self forcing him to run after her. Without thinking. A new, powerful determination emerging from somewhere inside telling him not to allow this opportunity to slip by.

Words scurried through his head in no order, a mad unplanned rehearsal of what he needed to say. He caught up to her, clutched her arm, turned her around, saw those big, baleful eyes and melted. She held his gaze, waited. The seconds crawled by, all of his courage, determination slipping away.

At last, she came to his rescue, tilted her head and said, “Craig? You want to say something?”

He nodded, gulped. “I’m the sorry one,” he said, voice tight, dry. “Not you. Me.” He grinned, breath coming fast. “I’m really sorry.”

A yawning chasm of silence followed. The evening sun played around with her hair, lending it a golden glow. He held back the urge to reach out and touch her. The birds sang, people walked by. Craig cared for none of it, only the desire to be with her.

They stood and they stared.

“I’m an idiot,” he managed at long last. “I meant to say ‘hello’, that was all.”

“I didn’t mean to laugh.”

“I know, but…well, you surprised me.”

“I guess, yes. Sorry.”

“You say that a lot.” He smiled. So did she. Lit up her entire face. Craig’s heart sang, then skipped a beat when he realised he still held her arm. He quickly let his hand fall away. She giggled. He liked the way she did that. “Can we, er, start again?”

She bit her lip. “You’re not angry?”

Angry? Why should I be angry?” He nodded back to the old bench. “Let’s go and sit. Give it another try.”

“OK,” she said, and they did.


Over an hour later they still sat and talked. Her name was Melanie, and he was correct – she was fifteen. She seemed so grown-up, so wise and knowing, and yet so easy to talk to. Craig held nothing back, the flood gates opened. He told her about his life, his friends, what he liked doing, what he wanted to do after he left school. She listened, she commented. Not once did she seem bored, or irritated. When she too began to reveal something about herself, her words sounded so sweet, lyrical even, as if she recited poetry or sang a song. They laughed. Time disappeared, dusk giving way to night. Craig offered to walk her home, and she accepted.

He wheeled his bike and she walked next to him. They talked about the cinema, and her favourite pop groups. He listened, taking it all in, logging it away for future reference. Why had he never done this before? To be with a girl like this, was there anything better? He didn’t so much walk as float.

He left her at her front door and when she had gone inside, after giving him a wave and a tiny smile, he wanted to cartwheel all the way down the street. This might have been difficult, as he still had his bike. Instead, he rode home, twisting through the streets, veering left and right, his laughter ringing out across the night.

As he turned into his own road, grin as wide as the Mersey-tunnel, he pulled the bike up short as a sudden thought smacked into him, almost causing him to lose his balance and fall over. He shook his head, ran a hand over his face. Of all the stupid, pathetic things to have done. “I really am an idiot,” he groaned.

He’d forgotten to ask her when they could see one another again.


I hope you’re enjoying this story. To find out more about what I do, please visit my website: There you will find all the links to my work, what they are about and where you can buy them.

Take some time to visit some other blogs which always have something interesting to say and which I recommend: (This blog will be ready very soon, with yours truly amongst the contributors).

Keep reading everyone!



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Adventures in Writing – a personal journey by Stuart G Yates

I’m always thinking of things to write. Novels, I mean.

I’ve never really been a great one for short stories. The writing, or indeed the reading. Saying that, I have written some, and the very first thing I ever had published was a short story. That was because all the so-called ‘experts’ advised in order to get yourself known, get a short story published in a magazine. Well, I did. But I don’t write them anymore. I write novels, and get totally immersed in them. Character and plot development. I love that.

Often, what I do, I put personal interests in my books. That way I keep myself awake!

My latest Glenn Stuart novel ‘Interlopers from Hell’  involved the protagonist (I hate that word, don’t you? Why not use hero, heroine, victim, main character…how I hate rules!) entering an old house and coming across a huge table laden down with model soldiers.

big cover

I’m a great wargamer you see – well, I was, before writing took over my life. Every Friday, down to Bodmin with the best bunch of guys in Cornwall, staying up until two or three in the morning refighting battles. Anyway, the thing is, I put that into this book. A few scenes. Not an obsession. I’m not obsessive. I promise.

Okay, I am. Just a little.

The thing is, I met a guy in Suffolk. John. He had a collection of model soldiers and he invited me to go and see them. His house was large, but not a mansion. Nice, set back from the road. A cheerful guy, he invited me inside. We’d already corresponded a few times as, both being ardent wargamers, we were members of an online-community. Well, he asked me to his house, and I went.

I stepped into his games room and just froze. Speechless. I had stepped into a kind of heaven.

There they were, shelf upon shelf of the most exquisite models I have ever seen. Eight thousand of them. Yes, let me repeat that – just so I can believe it too. EIGHT THOUSAND!

All of them stood in serried ranks, immaculately painted, some on foot, lots on horseback. From the eighteenth century, Austrians, Saxons, British, Americans, and any number of other nationalities. John wargamed the American War of Independence. He’d set up the table to game The Battle of Cowpens, complete with hills, woods, buildings. And the soldiers, of course. Lots of them.

It was this scene that formed part of the finale to ‘Fallen Past’, my unpublished novel that I am serialising here (we’re up to Chapter Five, so you had better catch up). I won’t give too much away about that, but here is the point. Using what you know. That’s what I do in a lot in my books. You have to be faithful and true, especially when writing fiction. Honesty. Yes, you can use Wikipedia, but it never rings true unless you have had experience of it yourself. Naturally there are limitations. When writing ‘Burnt Offerings’ I wanted the car to be rigged with a bomb. So I researched it. I’m lots of things, but not a bomber! So research can help, of course it can. But, when you are writing about reactions, feelings, you have to know.

I haven’t been shot. But I’ve seen someone who has. That knowledge…it stays with you. I’ve seen people being hurt. Badly. I use that too. Pain. Sadness. Emotional torment.

Sometimes happiness too.

Don’t want you to think I am one hundred percent bleak.

However, if I have an interest, I love involving it in my books. That makes it personal, and I do love my stories to be personal.

So, the moral of this story…You must write from a sound basis in truth. Fiction is fantasy, but your readers need to believe in your story. And they will know if it’s false, believe you me; if you begin to wax lyrical about something you know nothing about, they turn off and put your book at the bottom of the pile. If you don’t know, talk to people who do. I’ve interviewed soldiers, guys who have fought, who have experienced battle. I listen, log it all away, and use it. That’s what you should do, if you write. Always. Memories, research, personal experiences, everything helps to create a believable world.

Thanks for reading. My books are all available on the various Amazon sites, as well as Barnes and Noble and Smashwords. Take a look. Visit my website or, to find out where to buy ‘Interlopers from Hell’,  I’m sure you’ll find something there that you like.


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Adventures in writing…a personal journey by Stuart G Yates

I came off my motorbike about 2 weeks ago, mangled my knees and smashed my shoulder. The shoulder is getting there, but my knee…I can hardly walk!

Still, as I am off work, it has given me the chance to catch up on all sorts of business that required my attention.

Like web sites.

We are always told, as authors, that we need to establish a presence on the Web, build a web site, have a blog, develop social networking. I am now of the mind that I don’t believe much of that works. The only thing that generates much interest is this blog. Very few people so much as look at my posts on FaceBook. And as for book promotions, the best place to buy a book, for me, is still in a bookshop. It would be interesting to see how many of you agree.

I love book shops. I remember when I was a boy, every Saturday morning I would wander up to my local town-centre and go to the bookshop. It was called, conveniently, ‘BOOKLAND’ and I would spend hours just browsing through the titles. More often than not I would buy something. I always longed for a library of my own and my dad, who was amazing at making anything out of virtually nothing, built me a splendid bookcase. Empty shelves stared back out at me, and I knew it would be a long process to fill it up. But fill it I did.

Do you remember those adverts that graced the back covers of Sunday supplements, for ‘World Books’, or ‘The Literary Guild’? You could buy six hard-back books for about two pounds, and then you had to become a member and choose a book a month. I bought some amazing books from them. I still have most of them. ‘The Washing of the Spears’, ‘Trafalgar, the Nelson Touch’, and, of course ‘The Complete Works of William Shakespeare’. Most of us must have that, I shouldn’t wonder, despite most of us never reading any of it!

Well, my library grew. I bought a wide range of books, mainly fiction but with plenty of history thrown in for good measure. I seem to recall I had a lot of John Creasy. No idea why. I doubt I ever read a single one, but I wanted to, so there they would stand and I would stand, and look, and feel my heart swell. My library. Wow.

Now, sadly, it is increasingly difficult to do all of that. Perhaps, in a generation, nobody will possess their own, private library. The age of the download is upon us, as well we all know. So where do we go to find our next book? Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Goodreads? There are a plethora of sites nowadays devoted to recommended reads. But none of them, sorry to say it, can replace the smell, the ambiance of a lovely bookshop. I still believe this is the best type of marketing. To see your title on a shelf in a bookshop…WOW! The joy of picking up books, flicking through the pages, reading the blurbs, being enticed by the covers…how can you beat that? And yet, when I asked my daughter, who lives on Merseyside, to find an independent bookshop that might be willing to stock my books, she couldn’t find ONE! NOT ONE! I couldn’t believe it.

So, imagine my joy when, last year when I went to Burgundy for a holiday, I visited a tiny little place and it had not one, but THREE bookshops! And what wonderful places they were. Small, cluttered, thousands of books piled up to the rafters together with greetings cards, wrapping paper, pens and pencils, etc. They even had a ‘foreign titles’ section. I was blown away. The French love their books, and they have a wonderful approach to their reading – they still buy REAL books! Those bookshops are flourishing whilst we, in the UK, allow our shops to die. It’s the same with everything, as we see from the news. Shops we have grown up with, disappearing one by one, unable to compete in the instant, sanitised world of internet shopping. Soon there will be none left. It’s all somewhat depressing.

I don’t know what will happen, and I am in no way decrying the rise of the digital book, but I rarely, if ever, go on sites to find a new read. I go to a bookshop. Here, where I live, in Spain, I would often go to the English Bookshop, and have a really good browse, more often than not picking up one of their ‘on offer’ titles (as new books are simply far too expensive now). Imagine my horror when, only last month, I went to choose a book and…The shop had gone. Disappeared. POOF! Yet another victim of the crisis…or, perhaps, the rise of the digital market?

Who knows?

Well, I mustn’t complain, because my own books are offered for sale on all the mobile devices. And for the moment THE STORY OF DON LUIS is FREE on Kindle. So, I mustn’t be too negative must I? No, I’ll leave that for something else.

In the final analyse, I don’t suppose any of it matters as long as people reads. That is the important thing. My school has recently purchased a stack of Kindles. Perhaps that is the way forward? If the by-product is that young people become excited about reading, then perhaps it really is a good thing. And they do seem excited when they pick up that slim machine. You can see them, their eyes glowing with expectation. It could even cause them to be more adventurous in their reading choices, to hunt out classics that they may otherwise have overlooked, for any number of reasons. Buying ‘War and Peace’ and feeling the weight of it in your hands is extremely daunting, but you don’t notice that on an E-reader. Big books, little books, it makes no difference to the machine itself. But if more people read because of that…then…Hallelujah!

You can visit my website which has details of my published books, where to get them (sadly, not in Bookshops) and of the FREE OFFER for Don Luis:

And a friend of mine has dipped her toe into the publishing world, and written a very saucy book, loosely termed erotica! And that too is FREE. Seems to be a trend, and not a bad one at that. Give her book a try by visiting her website: where you will find all the details. It is raunchy however, so be warned.

Thanks for reading!



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