The Writer and The Rake. Chapter one.


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NOW DUDES  THAT IS NOT SO. What’s this then……


The Writer and The Rake. Chapter one the illustrated preview version.  Time Mutants series.

Chapter 1

Present Day. Dundee, Scotland.

If life was what happened as she dreamed, then what a bloody nightmare hers was right now. Flashlights pinged. “Sign this, Ms. Carter,” “Ms. Carter, over here,” “Brit-tany, Brit-tany,” screeched legions of adoring fans.

Some were trampled underfoot as she sashayed up stairs that dripped in red velvet, her carefully coiffed, exotically scented, chestnut hair framing her face, pink lips pouting, figure, slim as an ice pick in the little lime-green number she’d ordered from Saskia’s online. A snip at a thousand quid.

At least, in her fantasies people asked her for her autographs, her fans were being trampled and the dress cost that.

The truth?

Not even a mouse at her book signing in some shitty Scout hall.

Another parking ticket to stuff in the overflowing glove compartment. If only the compartment was a magician’s box that would make it vanish. A thwack, as one windscreen wiper tangled with the other, breaking it off and pinging it across the car bonnet in the rain battering off the tarmac.

And need she ask herself what that noise was? The tinkling of a broken tail light. Not hers. As for the dress? Sufficient to say that Zaskia’s wasn’t Saskia’s. So it was stuck in transit somewhere over Europe. She’d fit it all right. For the past week yogurt was all she could afford. Her stomach growled with hunger.

She stuffed her cigarette in the ashtray and creaked open the car door.

“Well, doesn’t this just make my day, ma’am? Stoopid. Stoopid.”

The icing on the cake. A shaven-headed, Neanderthal in a long leather coat, down on his haunches, squinting at his car bumper lying in the road. American, so probably born with a legal writ in his hand. She’d planned on picking up Rab by nine and it was already ten minutes to.

“Look, please don’t blame yourself.” She dragged her cigarettes and lighter from her raincoat pocket. “An accident can happen to anyone. I’m perfectly certain if it’s the first time—”

“Do you think I meant me?”

Forget being sued. On a sliding scale in a galaxy of last things, Rab disappearing to the pub for a quickie because she was late, was her biggest fear. She flicked her lighter, dragged the hot smoke into her lungs, let the heavenly scent waft up her nose.

“Well, darling, I sincerely hope you aren’t meaning me. I mean, I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Brit. Hey, doll, is something up?”

Rab, proceeded by his beer belly, dark quiff plastered to his forehead, his feet rammed into unfastened trainers, splashed through the puddles, guzzling what looked like a half bottle of voddie in a brown paper bag. Or was it a full bottle? It didn’t bode well for taking her revenge on Sebastian when she was doing her best to stay calm.

“You might say, darling.”

“Fine. Why don’t I just get in the car then? Just—”

He almost fell his length while pawing the door handle. When she’d thought about picking him up, she should have realized it would be out of the gutter. She glanced the other way. At least he was here. Sebastian’s was only a fifteen-minute drive through the city and over the road bridge. They’d be there by nine thirty.

“I beg your pardon, ma’am.”


Ignoring Rab, and the butterflies rising in her stomach, she flicked her gaze over the man on his haunches, streetlight gilding his face.

“Did he just say, Brit?”

She forced a smile. If he had her name and went to the police with it, that would be the end of the plan to sort Sebastian.

“Brita? Yes.”

He stood up, wiping grit and plastic specks from his palms, his voice just audible above the water gurgling down the drain, inches from her toes. “An unusual name. It’s not short for something, is it?”

“It’s second generation Norwegian actually.”

“Really? You don’t sound Norwegian.”

“Oh, I don’t sound a lot of things, that’s why everyone up here calls me a Sassenach. But my grandfather was Norwegian and my mother is English.”

“You don’t say. Brittany Carter? Yes?”

“And what’s that to you?”

Cold trickles of rain ran down her spine as she shot a glance at her car and more importantly Rab sitting like a mountain inside. With that long shiny raincoat and shaved head, this stranger’s faint scent of hot exhaust, mugging old ladies, and extorting money at knifepoint from women like her, were probably as much as he knew. Not that she had much money. He’d be sadly disappointed. Even if he read her books, it wouldn’t do to go leaping about the street. The trick was to appear calm even if she was actively fighting the urge to finger her neck. Waft a little smoke his way. “Well?”

“Fame, success, riches.”

“I think you must have mistaken me for someone else.”


“Trust me, darling.”

“Fame, success, riches.”

“In your dreams. Last month’s royalty statement wouldn’t pay for a loaf of bread.”

His lips cinched. “I should have added, the choice is yours. So long as you do it wisely.”

“Goodness. That sounds just like a book blurb.”

“Perhaps.” He dug in his pocket. “It only takes one thing.”

Good God Almighty. An autograph? He was a fan? A man like him? Her publisher had stressed the importance of appealing to all sorts. Men. Women. Why argue? Especially when she hadn’t appealed to anyone and this man pulled out a folded square of soggy paper. This was an awful lot better than exchanging insurance details.

“Hold on.” She opened her bag. She wasn’t exactly short of pens. “Although I must ask, do you mean, perhaps it only takes one thing? Or, perhaps? And then, it only takes? Oh, never mind. You’ve bought my books? The Captive Viking? The Captive Viking’s Bride? Then, of course, there’s my latest, A Viking for the Saxon Prince. It’s not as it sounds. The Viking is a lady. Her name is Frigga. Yours is?”

“My name? I don’t see what my name—”

“Unless you want me to guess, which I have to tell you darling, I’m in no mood for. You want a personalization, don’t you?”

She stared at the silver raindrop trickling down his face. An escaped lunatic was the last thing she needed tonight.

“Well, I—I just need you to sign if you are Brittany Carter, then all these things I mentioned can be yours.”

“How kind, but I still need your name.”

“Morte.” His voice rumbled like distant thunder in his chest.

“Mort? How interesting. Short for Mortimer, or Mortmain, is it?”

He shrugged, his face dead as stone. The smile wasn’t a smile. “If you say so, lady.”

“Well, if you’ll just open the paper?”

She waited while he pulled the ends of the piece of paper apart. Screeds on it, in fancy rain-smeared lettering she could barely get her eyes in gear to decipher, stranger than the black symbols etched into his shaven head.

What were they? Crude attempts at reproducing crop circles? A problem with his barber? She screwed her eyes up tighter. She’d signed that mortgage with Sebastian without thinking after all. Now he kept defaulting. She couldn’t even get a credit card company to touch her. Shouldn’t she at least try to see, look knowledgeable, prevaricate? This might be an insurance disclaimer. He moved closer.

“Is there something wrong?”

She jerked up her head.

“Oh I—I—”

“Let me, ma’am.” He shrugged and turned around.

“I’m sorry?”

“You can sign it right there. Use my back as a desk.”

How obliging. More so than any man she’d ever met and she wanted to get to Sebastian’s tonight. Besides, she’d dreamed of this. What possible harm could there be? She tossed the cigarette aside, stepped forward, wedged the piece of paper between his soaking shoulder blades.

“All good wishes.” She scrawled in the wet creases. “‘To Mortimer, my only, I mean my number one fan, with love from Brittany Carter.’ How’s that? Now, if you don’t mind, I really must be getting on my way.”

“Not at all, Brittany. It’s very good of you to sign. Just . . . just remember what I said about choice. It’s important you choose wisely, do you understand?”

“Your car . . .”

He’d asked for her autograph and now she glanced down in the yellow light. That was quite a dent in the boot.

“Don’t worry about it.” A shrug of his expansive shoulders. “I won’t need it where I’m going.”

“Somewhere close at hand, is it? After all, you wouldn’t want to get wet in all this rain if there’s a problem with it.” Or cadge a lift. She dropped the pen back into her bag. “Now, talking rain, I really must go. But, so lovely to have met you, Mort. Take care of yourself, won’t you?”

She nearly shot out of her skin. Thunder clapped right above her head. The street lamps flickered. Sparks showered on the cobbled road inches from her toes so she’d done her damndest to stand there and muffle the shriek. Mort merely stared.

“You should go.”



“I will. Don’t hang about yourself. Goodbye.”

She sloshed towards the car, relief and alarm coating her skin. Rab had fallen over and was sprawled across her seat. She shoved him upright, squeezed inside.

“There you are, Brit. What was all that about?”

She stuck a cigarette between her teeth. “Not that you were paying any attention, but it was a fan.”


“Well, I do have some, darling.”

“Did I say you didn’t?”

“You didn’t have to.” She glanced in the mirror. “His name’s Mort and he wanted my autograph.”

So badly he was splayed on his knees kissing the paper in a dancing sea of rain, raising it heavenwards, the hem of his coat frothing in a perfect circle around him. The unlit cigarette dangled from her lower lip. Who needed a legion of fans when she’d one like this? She’d better be careful driving away. It would be terrible to run him over.


Rab’s yell split her eardrums. The bolt of lightning hadn’t just struck behind them. It had struck Mort. Her fan. Her only fan had flames licking all over his coat. And he knelt there, doing nothing. She must save him. She couldn’t lose her only fan. There would be no one to buy her next book.

“Quickly Rab, the extinguisher.” She raked under the seat. “Get the car rug. Hurry. Hurry. Phone 999.”

“Jeez, Brit, what the hell do you think I am? Superman?”

“Now. Now.”

She stumbled out, grabbed the extinguisher. Flames pooled at the hem of Mort’s outspread coat. They spread like golden butter up the coat itself while he sat with his eyes closed, his dark brows in a straight line, his lips too. The acrid smell of burning leather stung her nostrils. Fortunately her eyes didn’t water. She could see.


Her unlit cigarette was still wedged between her teeth. It gave her something to bite down on as she took aim. Foam scooted in a frothy jet, spattering Mort’s rugged face, covering his eyelids like snow. “It’s fine, darling. I’ve got you.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“You don’t have to be afraid.”

Shock obviously did things to a person. It’d done things to Mort. He couldn’t see blackened, smoking holes punctured his coat and seared his flesh. He hadn’t even fallen over.

“Rab has phoned an ambulance.”

“That too.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You’ve interrupted a process here.”

She bit her lip, the cigarette along with it, scooshed more foam. “Well, if that’s your head going up in flames, I’m glad I did. Or you’d be crisped, darling. Now, just let me get that blanket for you.”

“Do you think that is going to solve anything? A goddamned blanket?”

She turned. The poor man. She shook the blanket out and tucked its soft folds around his shoulders before he got even more aggressive. At least it would be warm. Good for shock.

“There. Let’s just get this properly round you. That’s it. There. Till the ambulance gets here.”

His dark eyes, weary beyond ages held hers. “No. You don’t understand. This is about choices. You just made the wrong one.”

wandr-emmemHe saw her coming. If he’d known her effect he’d have walked away.

When it comes to doing it all, hard coated ‘wild child’ writer, Brittany Carter ticks every box. Having it all is a different thing though, what with her need to thwart an ex fiancé, and herself transported from the present to Georgian times. But then, so long as she can find her way back to her world of fame, and promised fortune, what’s there to worry about?

Georgian bad boy Mitchell Killgower is at the center of an inheritance dispute and he needs Brittany as his obedient, country mouse wife. Or rather he needs her like a hole in the head. In and out of his bed he’s never known a woman like her. A woman who can disappear and reappear like her either.

And when his coolly contained anarchist, who is anything but, learns how to return to her world and stay there, will And when his coolly contained anarchist, who is anything but, learns how to return to her world and remain, will having it all be enough, or does she underestimate him, and herself?




Incy Black on these special secret agents.


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Spies, no condoms by Incy Black

Nil illegitimi carborundum – don’t let the bastards grind you down. The bastards being anyone in authority worshiping the god of ‘red tape’, about whom I personally harbour deep-seated suspicions.

Which probably accounts for my thrill of a good conspiracy—lardy-arsed officialdom, the villain—and my cheering on of the men and woman who thumb their nose at the ‘rules’ but being smart, swallow their resounding ‘fuck off’ behind a grin—smiling crocodiles, if you like.

Hence my love affair with spies, spooks and secrets. The corruption of loyalties, the lies and deceptions, and the down right rude. Evident in one of my favorite quotes from Hard to Protect: “You stick your head any further up Butters’s arse, Berwick, and no one will be able to hear you singing Rule Britannia.” Angel, the heroine, is giving the hero a right gobful, at this point.

Whitehall and the British Intelligence Service, clashing head on, the perfect arena where the bad boys (and girls) get to behave outrageously, all respect for pretty much anything but ‘the win’ withheld. Insubordination and insolence paving the way. Must be why they call espionage ‘The Game’ because it’s fun and in it’s own way, heroic.


And who is responsible for distorting my view of what is mischievous?


Why Rudyard Kipling (Kim) and Ian Fleming (James Bond), of course. Both recognized the excitement of ‘finding trouble’, who cares that neither is now politically correct. The romance of bad boys is that they are virile, sexy, unapologetic, and defiant as all hell.

Bond with his fast cars, his smoking, gambling and drinking—dry martinis, shaken not stirred. His womanizing—not a condom in sight. The sanctioned killings—the bodies of opponents piled high. All for queen and country? My arse.

It takes a special kind of damaged to kill. A fierce addiction to adrenaline to put yourself in a position of doing so. And that in itself is fascinating.

Spooks and assassins, on the side of good or nefarious, like—or is it a need—to live as large as their stories. And long may they and their thrills clutter our pages, for they are the dash of colour in the Establishment’s grey.




 Some Black Op missions are too dark—even for him.

Volcanic hot and ambitious Special Agent Will Berwick doesn’t give a damn what his orders are, he’s not taking the enemy—the lovely, but arctic Dr. Angel Treherne—to bed. Nor will she die on his watch, most certainly not by his hand. Oh, he’ll root out her secrets. But his own way—teaching her a much-deserved lesson while he’s at it: that no one messes with his career plan just because they’re a little peeved with him.

Caught up in a tangled web of deceit and betrayal, psychotherapist Angel trusts no one—certainly not alpha-cocky, cunning Will Berwick. First he’s hostile, then he’s charming, now he wants to protect her? Why? What’s he hiding? With her life—and heart—on the line, she needs to know.

With the risks high and personal, can Will and Angel agree the dangerous choices they must make?

 Buy Links:

 Amazon US   Amazon UK   Amazon Aus   Amazon Canada   Apple iBooks    Barnes & Noble   Kobo

Freya Pickard and trying hard to find a recipe…


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I’m not actually a dragon, though I think some people think I am.


Apparently I can be very fierce. My alter ego, Dracomagan, the heroine in Dragonscale Leggings, is a Dragon Slayer, and she is pretty nifty at slaying such monsters with her trusty giant potato peeler.

If I was a dragon, I’d be a beautiful, sleek, blue-scaled good dragon, with an iron-clad agreement with Dracomagan in which she’d agree NOT to try and kill me!


No, I don’t think I’d really want to be a hamster. Why? Because there are too many predators to look out for; cats, dogs, birds, hungry humans… I like to be in control and to be independent – I’d hate to be always on the lookout for someone who might eat me!


Vintrig was the founder of Vintrig’s Kingdom. (Funny, that!) About 966 years ago he travelled with his people from South Haven all the way to the northern mountains and built his Castle on Mount Hvitr. He was a tall, strong man who could endure the harsh climate.

He left a bloodline which, nearly a millenia later, results in the birth of the Princess, Isu Magan. That’s really the background for my novel, Vintrig’s Kingdom.


My writing is usually categorised as Fantasy. I actually prefer the term Speculative as it embraces not just Fantasy, but Science Fiction and Parallel Universes etc. Plus, being a Speculative Fiction Writer sounds really cool!

Yup! Rebellion is easy. Just think and act the opposite to the way you’re supposed to think and act. Only, if you’re living under a dictatorship, it will probably get you killed! You have to think outside the box, or your cage, and get out there into the freedom of choice. But if you’re a hamster, you still need to look out for predators!


I was born a writer. I learnt to read and write when I was 2 years old and it’s just developed from there. I’ve always written – poetry and stories. Now I am a serious writer – I write novels and publish short story and poetry collections! I love words and the sound of my own voice.


Always write from the heart. Never, ever let anyone tell what makes a story work or not. Write what you want to read. Don’t write to a formula – your readers will get bored. Don’t write what is popular – it will quickly become unpopular. Don’t write to please anyone, only yourself.


I don’t think Vintrig actually did any cooking.

He left that to his servants and womenfolk.

(We’re talking about a medieval world here!) But I do know that his favourite dish was snowrabbit casserole with dumplings. (He refused to eat any other kind of rodent though. Apparently rats, mice etc just didn’t have enough meat for him!)


To be honest, I never really think of it as world building. When I get an idea, I explore it in my head for a while and make lots of notes. As the plot grows and the story outline takes shape I discover more information about the world, or at least the bit of the world I’m writing about. It’s a very organic process for me and I find it very easy!


Hopefully more published books! But I am in the process of moving house and starting up a new business, so publishing is on hold for a few months! I’ll let you know when the next book is due out though. I’m hoping it’ll be the sequel to Vintrig’s Kingdom!

Book Cover


Book Blurb

When Isu Magan, heir to Vintrig’s Throne, finds the journal of a vanished Scriber, her perceptions of history and the truth are challenged. A growing distrust of her loyal and powerful Counsellor, initiates rebellious and frightening thoughts within her heart. Adding to this disruption of her ordered life, Isu finds herself attracted to the itinerant musician, Sama Conn. As the endless winter thaws, and a brief summer returns to the Castle, Isu longs to learn to dance, but fears her feelings towards Sama. Knowing she cannot love a mortal, the princess flounders in her increasing infatuation that could lose her the throne, and possibly her life.

Told from five viewpoints; Isu Magan, her maid, her steward, an elderly mute and an anonymous Scriber, Vintrig’s Kindom is a tale of romance, intrigue and dark history.

All the characters are challenged and empowered by the arrival of Sama Conn and his travelling musicians. But Jya, the Counsellor, appears set against them and the change they bring to Vintrig’s Castle. The balance of power is threatened, and each character has to decide which party they will ally themselves with. Against this backdrop of scheming and fear, rises the question, again and again; what is the importance of Throne Peak?

This tale is set within the mountainous, winter-bound walls of Vintrig’s Kingdom. Instead of the usual “quest”, the journey each character treads is a journey of the soul, into the innermost recesses of their fear to question the validity of the history they know.

Vintrig’s Kingdom is currently reduced to just 99c / 99p at most online stores ($1.23 at, until 26th March 2017.

Social Media links

Tina Frisco and the origin of the Vampire………


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Before I answer that, dudes, I want to thank you and Shey for having me over to visit. I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to meet you and share a little conversation. Now to your question . . .



.Yes, I’d like to think Mother Shipton prophesied hamsters would one day take over the world. In my opinion, hamsters would be far better than humans at accepting diversity and less likely to have designs on world dominance. To put it in a nutshell: Hamsters are pure love wrapped in a fur coat, while humans are naked works in progress.

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Dudes, I don’t want to burst your bubble, but I need to tell you something. The Golden Age of Enlightenment is in emergence. It’s dawning but hasn’t yet fully crested the horizon (I use those terms metaphorically rather than literally). You see, all of this is happening in cosmic time. Astrological or cosmic ages are approximately 2160 years long. We’re moving from the cosmic age of Pisces into the cosmic Age of Aquarius. Astrological ages move retrograde to the signs of the zodiac.



Also, be aware that astrologers don’t agree on when the Aquarian age will start or even if it has already started. Many say it arrived in the 20th century, while fewer say it won’t arrive until the 24th century. However, if my sensing as an empath holds any weight, I feel the dawning has begun. The global unrest of humans combined with their heightened consciousness points to this. But none of us may live long enough to see it fully emerge. When it does, however, I think hamsters will have achieved a much higher status among all beings on planet Earth.


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Music is my heart and soul. I literally would die if my life were devoid of music.



Music is rhythmic vibration, like the very beating of our hearts. Rhythmic vibration is healing and sustains our life force, as does light. I find myself rocking to an inherent rhythm throughout every day. I sing in the shower. I sing in the car. Sometimes I even sing answers to people’s questions in conversation. Music is intricately tied to my spirit, as I sense it is tied to the spirits of all living things. I feel that most, if not all of the world’s problems exist because people have stopped listening to their intrinsic tones.

I have many favorite musicians. To name a few: Joan Baez, John Denver, Sarah Brightman, ABBA, Cris Williamson, Gordon Lightfoot, Tina Turner, Leo Rojas, Andrea Bocelli, Tom Rush, Emmylou Harris, Loreena McKennitt. All of these folks (and many more) strike a chord in me that resonates with Divine sound.









Now that’s an intriguing idea! I’m sure Gabby and the quads would love to meet you and co-feature in a book with the Hamstah Dudes. We’d have to title it Gabby and the Quads and the Hamstah Dudes, because there would be no end to the pouting, whimpering, and tantrums if the quads were left out. Any ideas for a storyline?



I can see Gabby and the quads meeting the hamstah dudes and having endless madcap adventures. You’d have to enlighten me to your travel needs, though. I wouldn’t want to be anything less than completely accurate.





Thank you so much for asking! I always have been fascinated by the myth of the vampire and often have wondered if the phenomenon actually could exist.



My background in medicine led me to speculate about how this might have a basis in reality. If rooted in science, how might this myth come to life? The most likely answer would be as a physical disorder or disease. So I started thinking . . . What if vampires were not the undead, but rather the dying? What if there were two factions among vampires: the sustained and the unsustainable? And what if those factions were at war with one another over the life of a young woman who promised them a future? Vampyrie brings the myth of the vampire into the realm of possibility.

Phoebe Angelina Delaney is a reluctant genius and compassionate hothead. She finds herself in a pitch-dark underground and doesn’t remember how she got there. Did she drink too much alcohol and wander off in a stupor, or was she kidnapped by a malicious element determined to make her life a living hell? Sir Michael Alan David is a vampire – an enigma, charismatic and mysterious – who weaves in and out of Phoebe’s life. Does he intend to use his title as a ruse to draw her closer to an unearthly fate, or is he a cloak-and-dagger knight in shining armor?

Too many secrets have been kept for too long. Phoebe must unravel the mystery in order to survive. Two major characters from my first novel, Plateau, join forces with Phoebe to battle the demons in Vampyrie.




Yes and no. Most days I see vampire lore as nothing more than myth. But there are those dark days – days I dwell in the depths of all things possible – when I know without a shadow of a doubt that vampires are real. I imagine walking into a dimly lighted crypt. The door slams shut behind me. As I turn and madly try to open it, an eerie creaking sends chills up and down my spine. I start to shiver. Goose bumps cover my arms and legs. I push my back against the stone door, bracing myself for what I know will be a most unwelcome encounter. And then . . .


Anyway, you get my drift. Our universe in multidimensional and we occupy only one of the dimensions. Who knows what might exist on the others? And when time gets compressed – as explained by quantum physics – the dimensions can abut, even overlap. The possibilities for adventure, if not waking nightmares, are endless!




I have no idea. Writing is something I’ve always done without giving it a second thought. I loved rhyming and making up little poems and songs as a kid. I got my first guitar as a Christmas present when I was 14, and I’ve performed and written songs ever since. Over the years, I’ve published book reviews, literary articles, and articles in the field of medicine.

I wrote and published my first novel, Plateau, in 2012, because I was disheartened by all the doomsday documentaries marking December 21st of that year as the prophesied apocalypse. I wanted to inject a message of hope into the world. I published my children’s book, Gabby and the Quads, after my niece had quadruplets. A child’s moral compass develops early, and I wanted to write a book that was ethically as well as traditionally educational.

Writing is spirit expressing itself, and mine has always had a lot to say.

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Follow your passion! If you’re compelled to write, let your thoughts flow and put them to paper. Make sure your writing is grammatically correct, and then go for it. I recommend self-publishing. Create a blog and join social networks. Befriend other authors; they’re your greatest support. Pay attention to critiques and ignore critics. Finally, don’t give up. Many famous writers were rejected time and again before they were published. If you quit, you’ll never know what you’re capable of. You’ll never know what might have been . . .



Oh dudes, I’ve always looked out for critters – even insects. I remember an incident as a child where a neighbourhood boy was pulling the wings off lightening bugs. I plastered him. zsilvsounfair2

And while he lay whimpering on the ground, I gave him a lecture on compassion. I know, I know; my approach wasn’t very compassionate. But I felt such pain and outrage that I reacted instead of taking effective action. Needless to say, I learned to temper my emotions as I grew older.


Throughout my adult life, I’ve been active in many different animal rights groups and regularly contribute to a few no-kill shelters. Humans are supposed to be the stewards of our Mother Earth, not the destroyers. I trust you dudes will do a much better job of it once you take over.



Gosh, I won’t know the answer to that until spirit moves me. I do know I’ll continue supporting authors on my blog. I know I’ll continue writing inspirational articles, because that’s the form my writing usually takes. But whether or not I’ll write another book is yet unknown.

But the very, very next thing for Tina Frisco is to thank you and Shey for featuring me here on your most excellent blog. You dudes are aces in my book. And right now, I’m hugging each and every one of you. By the way . . . Where do I send the treats?

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My Links:


Website   Amazon   Facebook   Twitter   LinkedIn   Google+   Goodreads

Happy Valentine’s Day from dudes to dudes


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The Viking and The Courtesan is a Sceal Book Award finalist






   “How do you define love, Brittany?”
    An impossible question. No wonder she shrugged and a strange, I’m-trying- my-damndest-to-think, sound came from the back of her throat?                                                                                                                          Mort shrugged. “There’s a hundred different kinds of it. Instant love now, is that lust?”
       There’s couples still together years after that arrow strikes. Then there’s what starts out as an obstacle course, so you might not see what’s under your nose, might think this is not the person for you. But that person, by ways too complicated, too tortuous, too twisted to explain, becomes that very one you will never find another of, who you will perish without. The very things about them you think you hate will, by degrees and inches, turn your head, make you look, will worm their canker’s way into your heart, weave into the fabric of your soul. You have no choice but to admit this is the person for you. And you will never walk away because that road is dust, ashes and every lousy thing under the sun that will break you into a thousand pieces if you do. Twisted paths. Brittany. That you’re still here means you’re somewhere on the journey.”



What’s in the name Sally Cronin?


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I am so excited to be here with you and The Dudes Shehanne.. I have never had a family member quite so small.. But I have to say you have me converted. Can you let me know where to find the talking kind and do you provide training?





I have often asked myself this question and I finally realised it shaped who I am today both positively and negatively. I loved the whole experience from the travelling on planes and ships, to meeting new people and immersing myself in new cultures. Even at a very young age of three or four it gave me a confidence with meeting people, particular adults and I absorbed every moment like a sponge.


That has stayed with me as my husband I have travelled and lived around the world ,but I have to admit that there comes a point when you feel you need to return to your roots.

There is a downside to this constant moving every two to three years, especially as a child, as you leave friends behind. In those days you knew that you would never see them again unlike to day with modern technology. It could be tough learning a new language and trying to fit in at a new school but again, I do think that it gave me a resilience that stood me in good stead in my career and future relationships.


I would say too, that because there were frequent changes as a child and teenager that I find it hard not to get itchy feet after a couple of years. Hence I may have been a little hasty when I announced to the world that this was our last move!



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We were in our mid 30s, no children and living in a complex with others of a similar age. They were so welcoming and we had some very good parties at the weekend…I mean ones that you either cannot remember or cannot talk about! Thankfully some of those that we met in 1985 – 1987 are still friends with us today. My husband was working but I was not allowed to without an appropriate visa. This meant that I would take full advantage of the pool as well as retail therapy.. I was fascinated by the food in the shops and variety as well as the discount malls which did not exist in the UK. David was travelling a great deal and racking up the free air miles.  This meant we could take full advantage of living in the US for the two years. I would fly off on a Friday and meet up with David wherever he might be in the States and fly back on Mondays.. We got to see a great deal of the country including Hawaii. Now I could live there in a Mumu and a few pearls around my neck.




Wow what a place.  Dudes.. Stop getting excited….a mumu is a dress.

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I was always a story teller (I think my mother called them fibs!) I would create scenarios in my head from about the age of five and then act them out. This did result in some escapades which I later committed to paper. I was quite fond of verse and by 16 was writing songs but then things took a back seat to work and life. I began writing short stories when we lived in the States and had more time on my hands and they accumulated until my 40s when I began to get serious about it.




I probably would say my years on radio are the ones that stand out for me. Loved the whole presenting, music, guests buzz and I would do again in a heartbeat. I keep threatening to do a podcast and it is something that is definitely on the agenda. But I have so much on the agenda that I have to cram in over the next 30 or so years (I am an optimist) that I might have to prioritise. Learning the Argentinian Tango was high on the list five year’s ago but my right knee is on strike and I may have to take that off the list.. But never say never!

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I think it is a fairly even mix as I tend to have two books on the go at the same time or four! I like swapping between non-fiction which is a different style of writing across to fiction that I can be more imaginative about. I find non-fiction requires a more serious approach and does not quite offer the same opportunities for humour.. The body and its organs require the upmost respect.. I do however allow myself a little more latitude in non-health books.. With fiction the world is your oyster and depending on the genre of course, you can be as fanciful as you like.





You have a point there.. Trouble is, I have not really had an up close and personal relationship with hamsters. Now I have met you, I can see this is very remiss of me. Sam would have liked you as he was not a hunter but a lover.



zdickenssHe collected stray kittens and was very gentle. It is perhaps something I can rectify in the next volume of Tales from the Garden.. You will need to send me some photographs so I can write a story around you.. Perhaps a formal pose or two and one being a little more natural but I am afraid you might have to leave the bubbles behind…I would of course find a title to the story befitting your status in blogland.






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This is entirely possible as they love carrots for exactly the reason I recommend them for humans. It makes them see better in the dark and I would think that was a benefit for rabbits and hamsters alike. The other benefits are that you can wear the feathery foliage attached to new carrots as decorations for your hats.zmedcell









I would need to know how much Hamstah actually eats in the day


and how long he spends on his treadmill..zdickens-cell

I would suggest that he does a workout for 30 minutes before eating three times a day.. Only half a carrot, half a gem lettuce and some grapes.. Red ones as they are better for him. And as a treat some nuts and seeds before bed.


(What he must do is stop ferreting around in his human’s porridge oats when she is not looking!)



Writing is not a hobby, it is serious work that requires a great deal of time, research, effort and emotional and mental strength. These days there are the additional elements of self-publishing which is the most common route to being an author. Writing might be a solitary occupation but it should never be isolated. You need people who will support, encourage and give you constructive criticism.

First and foremost.. Read, read, read. Especially your chosen genre. Read the best and the most successful and then when you write bring something new to the game. Don’t expect to have a hit right away but stick with it and learn to love and respect your talent. Finally build a platform of other writers who will see you through the sticky times.. And there will be some. But there is nothing better in the world than seeing your first book in print or as an ebook available around the world.. Or your second, third or more. Go for it.



My next collection of short stories has just been released. What’s in a Name is based on letters of the alphabet, with each letter having two stories one male and one female.. Multi-genre with murder, mystery, romance, revenge and any other emotional entanglement I could find..

I have three more books planned for this year.. Another Tales from the Garden.. A combined business and personal people management manual (there are many parallels at work and home).. And a non-fiction book that is nearly finished on modern life and how to survive it.

Apart from that… Just keep blogging, reading amazing posts and books and sharing other authors and their work. Dream job.

Thank you so much Shehanne for having me over.. I am just doing a pat down and head count in case I wander off with a Dude… I hear that they get everywhere..zdickens-cell

And Dudes.. Your reputation proceeded you and they were all lies.. You are delightful and perspicacious… A rare combination…keep eating the carrots.



There are names that have been passed down through thousands of years which have powerful and deep-rooted meaning to their bearers. Other names have been adopted from other languages, cultures and from the big screen. They all have one thing in common. They are with us from birth until the grave and they are how we are known to everyone that we meet.

There are classical names such as Adam, David and Sarah that will grace millions of babies in the future. There are also names that parents have invented or borrowed from places or events in their lives which may last just one lifetime or may become the classic names of tomorrow.

Whatever the name there is always a story behind it. In What’s in a Name? – Volume One, twenty men and women face danger, love, loss, romance, fear, revenge and rebirth as they move through their lives.

Anne changes her name because of associations with her childhood, Brian carries the mark of ancient man, Jane discovers that her life is about to take a very different direction, and what is Isobel’s secret?

What’s in a Name available at a reduced price via my publishing website-


Or Amazon:

All my other book available:

Main contact links

Blog :







Revisiting The Pendle Curse


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Interivew with Debby Gies.






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The Witch of Knaresborough   By ….. Catherine Cavenidish  






My novel – The Pendle Curse – has some of its roots in a true story. In August 1612, ten men and women were convicted, in Lancaster, England, of crimes related to witchcraft and subsequently hanged on Gallows Hill. They became known to history as the Pendle Witches.

Needless to say, as mine is a horror novel, my witches are a pretty evil bunch –



powerful too. But back in fifteenth century Yorkshire, not all that far from Pendle, lived a witch of a very different sort.

In 1488, some say in a cave near the Petrifying Well, a young girl gave birth to an illegitimate daughter: one who would be called Ursula Sontheil but whom history would remember as Mother Shipton.


Mother Shipton was not exactly England’s answer to Nostradamus, but she developed a reputation for her prophecies.


These involved not just the local people around and about Knaresborough in North Yorkshire, where she lived, but also the great and good of her time.

One of the most famous of these was the Archbishop of York, Cardinal Thomas Wolsey, who had never actually visited that city. Mother Shipton predicted he never would. In an attempt to dissuade her from repeating these assertions, the somewhat rattled Wolsey sent three lords to Knaresborough to see her. They told her in no uncertain terms that one of Wolsey’s first acts on reaching York would be to see her burn for witchcraft. She laughed in their faces. After all, why should she be scared? He would never get there in order to carry out his threat.

(c) Leeds Museums and Galleries (book); Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation

(c) Leeds Museums and Galleries (book); Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation

The Archbishop was furious


and made haste to travel up from London and prove her wrong. But, just ten miles south of the city, he was arrested for treason and Mother Shipton’s prophecy was fulfilled.

Many of her other predictions are legendary – and, shall we say – subject to a certain amount of embellishment and creative interpretation. Did she really predict the advent of ships, submarines, motor transport and airplanes?

In water, iron then shall float

as easy as a wooden boat

Through towering hills proud men shall ride, no horse or ass move by his side. Beneath the water, men shall walk, shall ride, shall sleep, shall even talk. And in the air men shall be seen, In white and black and even green.

 Or telecommunications?

Around the world men’s thoughts will fly, quick as the twinkling of an eye 
Indeed, if all the interpretations are to be believed, she predicted the French Revolution, the rise of Nazism, Benjamin Disraeli and just about every disaster – man-made or otherwise – since the year of her birth. She may have even predicted the European Union (although I don’t see any reference to Brexit!)



Whether true or not, you can today visit the famous Petrifying Well and the cave where she was reputedly born. The Petrifying Well is said to be unique and, if you take along a teddy bear, leave it there and return five months later, it will have turned to stone. Although, if you can’t wait that long you can always buy one in the shop ( ‘here’s one I prepared earlier’!)




She may have got some things wrong though – including the date of the end of the world which she allegedly gave as ‘eighteen hundred and eighty one’, (however, it is entirely possible that the inclusion of any such date was added by someone else, after her death. One of a number of examples of the embellishment I mentioned earlier.)
As 1881 passed and the world carried on, some versions then amended the date, while others dropped it, although I do have a recollection of it being in the little book of her prophecies given to me when I was about eight or nine. That would have been in the early Sixties and I vaguely remember something about ‘nineteen hundred and ninety one’, but my memory could be faulty on this. Mother Shipton was said to have married a man called Toby Shipton at the age of 24 and she lived to be 72, just as she had predicted. Her prophecies and legend live on. Was she really able to see hundreds of years into the future? Or was she just an eccentric, old, poetic witch, mentally a little flaky, but excellent with herbal cures and potions?


We will probably never know…unless we live to see the fulfilment of her prediction of the future after the apocalyptic end of the world:

… the land that rises from the sea will be dry and clean and soft and free

of mankind’s dirt and therefore be,  the source of man’s new dynasty.

And those that live will ever fear  the dragon’s tail for many year

but time erases memory

You think it strange? But it will be!


Four hundred years ago, ten convicted witches were hanged on Gallows Hill. Now they are back…for vengeance.

Laura Phillips’s grief at her husband’s sudden death shows no sign of passing. Even sleep brings her no peace. She experiences vivid, disturbing dreams of a dark, brooding hill, and a man—somehow out of time—who seems to know her. She discovers that the place she has dreamed about exists. Pendle Hill. And she knows she must go there. But as soon as she arrives, the dream becomes a nightmare. She is caught up in a web of witchcraft and evil…and a curse that will not die.

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Absolutely compelling
Hands up. I am a big fan of the kind of horror Catherine Cavendish
serves up in spades. A rich blend of good old spine tingling horror usually served in a historical sauce but with a dash of the present  day sprinkled in. The Pendle Witches are well documented. We know their stories, how it happened and the awful ends that befell them. What Catherine Cavendish does so successfully is transport us to that time to try and get to the real story of people who played with fire in their every day lives and suffered the consequences, James by obliging Mistress Towneley in more ways than one, Alizon, by believing a little too deeply in her powers. People who lived in that atmosphere of fear and superstition. But there’s another story and that is that of the recently widowed Laura Phillips and it’s set in the present day.
I won’t spoil things by saying what the link is but the meld is seamless. Hats off to the author for pulling it off.
I turned the pages of this book knowing that eventually I would come to the words, the end, never wanting to reach them.

You can find The Pendle Curse here:


Barnes and Noble

And other online retailers

Other books by Catherine Cavendish include:pic-7


And are currently available – or soon will be – from:

Catherine Cavendish Amazon page


Catherine Cavendish lives with a long-suffering husband and ‘trainee’ black cat in North Wales. Her home is in a building dating back to the mid-18th century, which is haunted by a friendly ghost, who announces her presence by footsteps, switching lights on and strange phenomena involving the washing machine and the TV. Cat has written a number of published horror novellas, short stories, and novels, frequently reflecting her twin loves of history and horror and often containing more than a dash of the dark and Gothic. When not slaving over a hot computer, she enjoys wandering around Neolithic stone circles and visiting old haunted houses.

You can connect with Cat here:

Catherine Cavendish




Interview with the Television Editor.


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Ha, well I’m being facetious when I say in my spare time.

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My full-time job is as a Post-Production editor for television, but between trying to write and having twins aged 2 1/2, work can sometimes feel like the time that’s left over! Glasgow is a good city to work in at the moment for post-production as there are several companies based here, along with STV and BBC Scotland. I work at BBC Scotland, and have done for the last ten years. I started out doing various jobs – photo-copying, runner, camera assistant and eventually worked my way up to editor. The work of an editor involves, at it’s most basic, telling a story with moving pictures and sound. It’s often difficult to describe exactly how that happens and it varies between different types of programs. The basic mechanics involve sitting in front of a computer screen and television monitor, either on my own or with a producer or director and figuring out how the story should unfold. There is a technical side to it, but in relation to my love of writing and story-telling with words, there are a lot of creative similarities.


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I have worked on various programs, and as I say, all are different and present their own challenges. A lot of my more recent work has been on Children’s programs, which, with a young family seems quite appropriate. If anyone watches CBeebies or CBBC the chances are they will have seen my name on the credits to something, like Copycats, Comic Relief does Glee Club, Nina and the Neurons and My Pet and Me,


to name just a few. There’s a long list of other shows including The One Show, Trust Me I’m A Doctor, The Secret Life of Books, The Review Show, Sportscene, T in the Park. A couple of things I am most proud of are editing the final interview given by the author Iain Banks that he gave about two weeks before he died – ‘Iain Banks – Raw Spirit’. We literally finished editing the program on a Friday, and he passed away on the Sunday. It was very emotional and touching, especially as I am a big fan of his writing. Another, completely different, thing I worked on, as part of a massive team was the BBC Sport coverage of the London Olympics in 2012. I was based in the Olympic Park for the duration of the games and got to edit some amazing footage and sporting events, as well as experience the Games from a unique perspective. I have just finished a series of special programs of ‘My Pet and Me’ where they went to film wildlife in the Galapagos Islands, with the same cameraman who filmed for ‘Planet Earth’. They will be on CBeebies in March and we’re all really pleased with them – well worth looking out for even if you don’t have preschool kids in the house!





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I ignored my Career Guidance Advisor at high school and decided to go to University and study Film & Television Studies at the University of Glasgow because film was something I had always enjoyed. At the time you had to do the course combined with another subject, so I combined my love of film with my love of reading and ended up with a MA degree in English Literature and Film & Television Studies. I loved doing this course, but my Careers Advisor was right on one level because at the end of the course I had no idea what job I wanted to do, or how I was going to turn my love of film and reading into viable employment. After a bit of time working in shops and temping in banks I gave up my flat, moved back in with my Mum and started at the bottom as a runner. There were definitely times when I was delivering mail round offices, doing the tea rounds and photo-copying scripts that I wondered what I was doing with my life and with my degree, but after a lot of long hours and hard work it all worked out in the end. My ‘break’ came while working as the mailroom assistant on BBC Scotland’s soap drama River City. I was able to spend a lot of time with various departments, learn how television was made, and had access to editing equipment – that was when I decided editing was for me.

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Well, like I said, I had always enjoyed reading and equally I have always enjoyed writing. From a very young age at primary school I would write little stories. In the years when I was working long hours trying to make my way into a television career I stopped writing for a long time with only occasional half-hearted attempts at starting to write a novel or short story. Partly, in the days before online blogs and self-publishing, there was always a part of me that thought it was a bit pointless because no one would ever read what I had written. Only in the last couple of years have I returned to writing regularly. At the start of last year I finally did an online writing course with Strathclyde University and through that caught the bug again to tell stories with words. With the stories I wrote for that course I decided to start a fiction writing blog and try and get my stories out to an audience rather than leaving them unused and gathering dust.

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As part of the writing course and for my blog I have concentrated on short stories. With a blog it is much easier to gain a wider readership with short pieces. I really enjoy the satisfaction of sitting down to write a piece of flash fiction or short story and having it finished either that day or within a short period of time. There is an instant sense of gratification and achievement when something is complete – especially if you know you have written a good one, which doesn’t happen everytime!



The difficulty I find with writing a longer piece is you don’t get that instant gratification and feedback – it’s a long old slog and you have to keep these characters and plot swirling around in your head for a long time without becoming bored by them – something I have always struggled with.


However, as well as keeping my short pieces going, the target over the next few months is to get a novel finished. I have an idea and a rough plot and am literally starting to write the first few pages now. 



Getting towards the end of last year I realised I had a good six months worth of short stories and flash fiction pieces that amounted to a reasonably substantial piece of work. There were also enough recurring themes and ideas among them all that I thought they would work together as a collection of stories. Having not self-published before, it also presented a good opportunity to learn about the process involved in doing this. It also meant I could find a new audience for these stories and keep them fresh rather than disappearing on the web and never being read again. I had no great expectations at the start of the process, but I’m really pleased with how it has turned out and I think it stands as a really good selection of my work. I called it ‘Collected Sketches’ because I felt the stories leave a lot for the reader to do, they are in many cases starting points that give you something to think about after reading,  to fill in the rest of the story as they want to – that’s a kind of fiction I like to read as well. 



It’s been said before by plenty of others more qualified than me but the simplest advice is to keep writing and keep reading. Don’t let doubt get in your way. My other tip would be to not be afraid to get your work out there somehow – whether self-publishing, via a blog, entering competitions – make sure it gets read and take back all the advice and criticism that comes your way – 99% of all the feedback will be constructive and encouraging and it is so fufiling to know that people are taking the time to read your work and respond to it. 




I am proudly Scottish, but it’s a very fluid question at the moment with the political situation in the UK and Europe.  I support independence in principal for Scotland, but would also like us to remain within the European Union. I have an English mother and other relatives, so I am by no means a hardcore independence campaigner. It has also been a tricky time working for the BBC, which has been seen by some to be biased against the independence campaign and anti-Scottish. From my position on the inside that’s not an argument I agree with particularly, and I try to avoid getting into that particular debate! All the uncertainty in Scotland and more widely round the world does mean there is a lot of fresh material to use as a writer – these are interesting times, and my writing does tend to use real world situations and scenarios (as opposed to fantasy or hard science fiction) In my writing I do like to try and bring a sense of Scottish-ness to my stories, and being born and bred in Glasgow, even a certain Glaswiegian sensibility to my characters – and the novel I am starting just now definitely does that, as well as touching on some of the politics of the day (although it’s never a good idea to get bogged down in too much political debate in a fictional novel). 





My film reviews were something I started a few years ago to try and use my education and keep my hand in at studying films. As a film student I always find it difficult to narrow down favourites, but I guess spy films (think Le Carre through to James Bond) would be at the top of my list. However, anything that is a good film I will watch, regardless of genre – which is also true of my reading preferences. If I ever find the time I would like to return to doing more regular film reviews on my blog alongside my fiction writing, but at the moment I’m concentrating on the fiction work.

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As I mentioned the target for 2017 is to get a first novel written, edited and out there – whether that’s sending in out to agents and publishers or self-publishing I will decide once I have a finished novel. Alongside that I will continue to write my short pieces and there is always the opportunity to follow up my first collection of stories with further collections if this first one goes well. Keep an eye on my blog for further news. I’m really enjoying the writing and the journey that I’m on at the moment, so hopefully it continues to be fun as well as productive. And I have to do that in as well as carrying on my editing career and chasing after two toddlers with way more energy than I have!!ztinchal






Collected Sketches is a series of short stories and flash fiction exploring human nature and the world that we inhabit. Sometimes funny, sometimes scary, from the everyday to the imagined future, exploring locations across the globe, these stories reflectt the globalised society we live in today, the recent history that has led us here and the future we may have already created.

Iain Kelly lives in East Kilbride, near Glasgow in Scotland, where he spends almost all my time raising his twin son and daughter. In his spare time he  works as an editor of television programmes.  Highlights of his work include London Olympics 2012 / Sportscene (BBC Sport), My Pet and MeNina and the Neurons / My Story / Same Smile (CBeebies), Copycats / Comic Relief Does Glee Club / Who Let The Dogs Out and About? (CBBC), Time To Remember (BBC4), Trust Me, I’m A Doctor / 2012 – Scotland’s Year to RememberThe Review Show / The Culture Show (BBC2), Iain Banks – Raw SpiritQuestion TimeWeakest Link (BBC1) among many others.



Have D G Kaye, will visit.


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Interview on the Daily Stroll











D.G  Kaye I

’m so excited to be here today, and looking forward to having Shey over to my blog. I had also asked Shey to bring one or two of you dudes over too. I’m sorry my home isn’t big enough to have you all over at one time, especially since you guys are always so nice to me. So no, I’m not optimistic about making a choice, I hate making decisions having to choose one. Please know, when I choose one, I love all you guys.





D G Kaye.

Please don’t throw things at me, or spread nasty rumours about me. I’ve chosen …………….. to escort Shey over to my place.


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DG Kaye.

Aw c’mon guys, you aren’t neglected, so many love you. You just have ta learn that ya can’t always have the spotlight.


I began writing about my past when I was much younger. I kept a running journal to document incidents in my life to help me analyze things that happened, which became part of the searching for the whys. I decided to write books later in life when I realized there were many others who’ve encountered their own similar family dysfunctions, and hoped I could offer some insight by sharing my own experiences and lessons.






DG Kaye.

Lol, you guys crack me up! But you’re right. My first book, Conflicted Hearts and its sequel, P.S. I Forgive You are about my life growing up with an absentee, narcissistic mother. But I learned to overcome my painful past and chose to live my life as an optimist, always looking for the humour. I think part of my overcoming unhappiness had a lot to do with using retail therapy, lol. And once that addiction began, no matter how happy I became, I was still hooked on shopping . . .and shoes – I love shoes!


Couple that with my love for travel, and what did I get? A whole lotta suitcases and overweight luggage, causing a lotta travel predicaments.

I thought I’d share some of those funny stories for a change of pace. Now, ta answer to the last part of the question, I’ve never had any hamster dudes of my own, so I never thought of a book called, Have Hamsters, Will Travel. But with that being said, I think it’s a great book idea for Shey to write, or, even better, maybe that’s a book you dudes can write since you’ve been having so many writing issues, that could be your big break?




D G Kaye

I do love to travel, erm, I used to love the whole part of traveling, now with all my baggage woes and airline restrictions, I just prefer the part about when I actually get to my destination, hoping luggage is intact with me.

My favourite place in the whole world is Arizona. I just feel ‘home’ there, more so than I do in my own home. I love the beautiful mountains, the desert air, the cacti, and the history and many things there to see and do. It’s my piece of heaven.




D.G Kaye.

Now, that’s a toughie. I have so many wonderful memories. But ever since my first time in Arizona, all those special moments being there are etched in my favourite memories and calling me to come back to make some more.




D G Kaye

Besides my passion for Arizona, and my second passion for cruising the Caribbean, my favourite country is Italy. I just love everything about that country, from the people, to the lifestyle, to the history. I’ve been there a few times and visited several cities and towns, but I never got to Capri or Sardenia, two islands that I’ve always had a desire to visit when I can manage to get back to Italy.



I began writing little poems and note cards with pictures for loved ones when I was a child. As I grew into my teens, writing became my saviour – a place to put my thoughts and voice my opinions because I wasn’t permitted to express myself vocally.

I knew, in my twenties, I wanted to be a writer, but had no conception about how to go about it. Throughout the ensuing years (and some decades), I began writing seriously in my journals, and wrote a few articles for a Canadian health magazine. By the time I turned forty, I felt compelled to write my memoir, Conflicted Hearts, but felt held back to do so because my mother was still living and I couldn’t bear her reading my work. I finally got the nerve to start working on that book two years before her death and even more nerve to publish it before she died. After publishing that book, I couldn’t stop writing. And now here I am guesting with the dudes!






No. Conflicted Hearts is done. It’s all wrapped up now in closure with P.S. I Forgive You. That very long chapter of my life is done. I’ve found my peace doing so.

I find my writing now going in the direction of where my life continues. My next book (which has been sadly neglected since autumn), is in rough shape, but is going to be about aging and wisdom, about how life, aging and illness can change relationships in marriage, and how I deal with the changes.

 Thank you so much Shey, for having me over here today. And thank you little dudes! It has been a great pleasure to guest here, and to be able to share some of myself with you all. ❤


Short bio:

I’m a nonfiction memoir writer who writes about life, matters of the heart and women’s issues. I write to inspire others by sharing my stories about events I encountered, and the lessons that come along with them.


I love to laugh, and self-medicate with a daily dose of humor. When I’m not writing intimate memoirs, you’ll find me writing with humor in some of my other works and blog posts.


Find D.G. on Social Media:


Author Page:


About me:

Twitter:  (yes there’s a story)







Check out D.G.’s Books:


Conflicted Hearts

MenoWhat? A Memoir

Words We Carry

Have Bags, Will Travel

P.S. I Forgive You