Yes I love to write, but…when it comes to marketing, I’m useless! I’m a self published author and always have a story in my head. A story that needs to be told, and if I don’t let it out, it would surely drive me CRAZY! (I’m halfway there already) When I finish my books, and tell all of my friends about them, they faithfully support me so there is a flurry of sales for which I’m very grateful, then it’s up to me to continue my marketing campaign. It never happens because I simply don’t know where to start.
I’m no good at self promotion. I’m excellent at promoting anyone or anything else successfully, and with enthusiasm, but not myself.
I’ve written ghost stories, thrillers and, more recently, a children’s book. My editor thinks my books are pretty good, and as an old girl, I think I’m pretty interesting, but unfortunately I’m a secret to myself.
And here I am, settled in my forever home. It looks like a fairy tale village doesn’t it. Yes I’m retired, and although it’s taken me a while, I’m settled. Changing a routine of a lifetime doesn’t happen overnight, but I’m getting there. Time to write! “Princess Tess and her Mess” is almost ready to publish. The book cover is getting its final tweak. Can’t wait to see what everyone thinks. Supernatural/Ghost Stories and Children’s books are very different, but variety keeps me youthful (I hope). In the meantime I’m going to combine my travel blog https://travelwithsandra.wordpress.com/ with this blog and re-name it. Not quite sure of the name yet, but I’ll let you know when I’ve decided. This is an exciting venture for me. I get to write about the things I love to do in one place.
“Sheila, you’d better tell me what’s going on, why are you so stressed?”
I opened my mouth to speak, but couldn’t find the words.
“Come on, deep breath, talk to me.”
“Viktor,” I whispered, “He’s back.”
“What? Sheila he’s dead.”
“Death didn’t stop him last year did it?” I sobbed.
“Last year you were contending with his evil family, they were playing tricks with your mind, not Viktor. Viktor is dead. His mother is also dead. Died in that horrendous fire, and hopefully burning in Hell. Yuri is in prison, they can’t hurt you. Look at me Sheila, listen to what I’m saying. The can’t hurt you anymore!”
I knew it was no use arguing. Neither Shirley or Jill had had seen Viktor, I was the only person cursed with seeing the dead. Now Shirley thought I was crazy. Maybe I was.
Evil Lingers for a while. Lingering Evil, my sequel to Dead of July is in the works, and coming along as nicely as Dead Russians will allow.
Shirley never finished her sentence.
The window just to the right of us exploded inwards. Splinters of glass flew towards us like tiny missiles. No time to move, we instinctively covered our heads with our hands and ducked. I felt tiny shards of glass hitting the back of my right hand, which was closest to the window. It only lasted a few seconds, but it seemed much longer. When I felt safe again I sat up Shirley’s head was on the table, she wasn’t moving.
The kitchen door burst open and Gay appeared. “Don’t move, I’ll call the medic’s.” Monica was right behind her, she looked at me “You okay?” she asked. “Yes, Shirley, are you alright?” Shirley lifted her head slowly, no blood on her face, her hands and hair had protected her head, but there was red mark on her forehead. She must have hit her head on the table.
She looked groggy. Her eyes wouldn’t focus!
I’ve been reading Stephen King as long as I can remember. From his very first story to his very last, and enjoyed ever single one. His last book, The Outsider, may have been my favorite. I say that and then I remember the Mr. Mercedes trilogy, and Dr. Sleep. Oh and then there are his novellas. His writing changed to suit the era, but I was drawn into every single book. When I read Stephen King I don’t open a book, I reconnect with old friends.
Why am I telling you this? Because I’ve been quiet for a while! My brain has been active though, and now, its ready to go. I’m writing for 1984, the era, the style, the times. My Dead of July sequel is progressing. You can’t rush, or force a good story. It needs to flow naturally. I want my readers to put it down, take a deep breath and think about me. I’m not Stephen King, I’m Sandra Thompson, but I want folks to remember what I’ve written, from Dead of July to….wherever it ends.
Its Easter Monday in beautiful Abruzzo. Been a busy week with not much time to write so instead I’m giving away a copy of Ghosts on the Sand, just to let you know I’m still around. Click on the link above from April 23rd to April 27th to get a free copy (kindle/electronic only).
If you enjoy a traditional ghost story, you’ll enjoy this collection. I’d appreciate a review on Amazon if you have time.
“Hey Man, no more climbing, let’s go through the tunnel”
“I don’t like tunnels?”
“We’ll run all of the way, won’t take us more than five minutes.”
“I don’t like tunnels!”
“If we climb the hill It’ll take us all day, and it doesn’t look safe, come on.”
Ralph headsed to the entrance and began to jog, not easy for him, he hated exercise. Jess followed reluctantly.
“Wait for me, don’t leave me alone, I really don’t like tunnels.”
Ralph soon slowed to a fast walk, jogging tired him quickly.
“C’mon Ralph, I don’t like it in here!”
Ralph picked up the pace and walked a little faster, but couldn’t jog.
“I’m coming, hold up.”
Jess waited for him.
“We’re not getting any closer to the other end, we should go back, I don’t like this.”
Ralph turned, “We’ve come a long way, we’re exactly in the middle, look”
Jess turned around, they were indeed an equal distance from either side. They kept going, focusing on the light ahead of them, the light that never got any closer. The light that seemed to get smaller.
“Ralph, I’m scared.”
His friend Ralph didn’t answer, Jess turned around.
“Come on, let’s go back.”
Ralph was gone!
I do love to write! Ghosts on the Sand, my latest book, is available on Amazon. It’s a compilation of short stories. The sequel to my first novel “Dead of July” will be available at the end of this year. Its called Lingering Evil, watch out for it.
My car stopped at a precarious angle. I daren’t move! Had I slid towards the canal? I couldn’t tell. All I could see from the driver’s side window was snow, deep thick snow. The passenger side widow looked up towards the sky, soon to be covered with thick snowflakes. My only escape was through that window, but if I moved my car would surely slide into the cold water that could be inches away. My engine had stalled and bitter cold seeped into the car, freezing my breath as it hung in the air.
Movement, the car shuddered. I braced myself for action. Not sure what I’d have to do to fight for my life, but I was ready!
What happened next defied gravity. The car move slowly and gently, but not down the hill as it should, instead it glided up towards the road again, almost floating! I sat still as it leveled out, waiting for someone from a tow truck to come and tap on my window, but no one appeared. Putting my hand on the door handle, I made to get out and thank whoever had saved me, but before I had chance the car moved forward. How could that be?
Straining my eyes I saw a light ahead, muffled by the snow, but still a warm glow. For a split second it brought me comfort, and then I worried what it was.
Two brothers, Yuri and Viktor. One dead, one in Jail. What happened to their evil unforgiving mother Marianna? Is she dead or alive?
Read Dead of July and see how she taunted me in Summer of 1982. Here intentions were obvious, she wanted me dead! I thought I was free of all of them, but in 1984, when I discovered I was pregnant Marianna and Victor returned to haunt me.