Posts Tagged ‘fiction’

Think of Australia and you think of beaches or perhaps the Outback, or Sydney Harbour Bridge…I could go on. I’m from an inland rural area so I particularly enjoy a beach holiday, heading north along the NSW coastline, with the prospect of swimming every day in that beautiful Pacific Ocean.

On holidays, I really chill and contemplate while being inspired by the present. I love to lie on the beach after a swim and dry off in the sun (sunscreen has been applied of course), and while I’m lying there letting my mind wander to the various beach scenes in front of me. The little boy who surfs the waves like a dolphin, the dad and his daughter sharing a good relationship, the nanna who is such an integral part of a nearby beach family. And my own children, strong and growing up, laughing and teasing me when I try and body surf…and get dumped.

This holiday we took our caravan, a little home away from home and put up the annex for extra room. It’s like glamorous camping really, but you are close to simple living and non-existent routines, which means most things are spontaneous and creative. And because you are all living so closely together for such an extended period (no computer games, no long phone calls with the best friend) it’s definitely quality family time.

This week there was time to laugh with, and at one another. There was time also for eyebrow raising and robust debate, but most of the minutes spent away were meaningful. That’s the thing about camping holidays, they draw you closer together as a family – no getting lost in 5 Star hotels, just simple things like walking through the bush together, or enjoying the sunset on the beach.

It’s these times that remind me of all the wasted time spent in working day routines, where long days, every day and sometimes on the weekend, take you away from family. The focus shifts to your latest work project, the difference of opinion with a co-worker, the stress of a deadline. At home you nod vaguely when someone says something, still replaying that conversation with a work colleague or boss. Such a waste of precious time really.

Today I reveled in a beautiful summer breeze (well Spring breeze really) – back from my beach holiday and trying to keep the faith. I shot some hoops with my son – the best to 10 – and I swung in the hammock. I helped cook the cheesecake and laughed at silly jokes. Right now, I never want to return to the mind-numbing routine of a 6 day working week that is about as family friendly as a work conference and the obligatory booze-up.

It’s the little things that bring the pleasure…and writing of course. On that subject I’m seriously planning and plotting my first horror/paranormal novel – not my first novel, but the first in this genre, and that’s really exciting. Now I just need a beach view and I’ll be set…


I have just finished another short story for my upcoming horror anthology called ‘Trinity of Terror’. It’s about ghost hunter, Sybilla, who is very good at what she does, and knows it. Without giving the story away, there’s a lesson to be learned when readers reach The End.

Mind you, there’s nothing wrong with being confident as long as you are not belligerent and naive with it. Then, as I have observed, something will inevitably take you down…a rung or two. Better to be savvy, confident and with just a hint of caution. In my story, Sybilla shows absolutely no caution and there is someone who is second guessing her…which is not that hard to do with arrogant and naive people because they have given up covering their tracks, and even keeping a look out for danger; and their instincts are blunt.

Risk takers have always fascinated me though. They live on the edge and, it seems to me, are not really ‘living’ unless there’s risk involved. At first the risks might be small but, after a while, they get bigger – just like the thrill that accompanies them. At some point, they will cross the line, almost becoming habitual, and then it’s just inevitable really that the risk becomes real.

I’m not sure what attracts me to the horror genre but I think it’s a fascination with the edge of life. I might not be a risk taker myself, but I am an intuitive and analytical observer. And I know that most things in life are rarely simple but overlayed with complexity and, often, dysfunction. Sometimes that dysfunction borders on the bizarre.

I also believe that this life and this reality is not all there is. There are energies, universal and karmic laws that, while not readily understood, can manifest in real ways. So bring together an active imagination, experience, observation and analysis, and a certain ‘psychic’ sense, and it’s not that hard to conjure the horrendous. Did I mention a certain cynicism too? I don’t think you can write horror with happy endings…well not for every character in the story. Someone must, inevitably learn and there is often suffering involved in learning.

Writing horror also allows for a fertile imagination. I can be inspired by grey clouds and a windy half-light, or a slightly bizarre encounter with an individual, or even observing a couple who are overly affectionate. What lies beneath, or ahead, given just the right twist.

My horror anthology ‘Evil Imminent’ will definitely be out before the end of the year – just in time to take away with you on Christmas holidays, perhaps to read late into the night or in broad daylight if you prefer.


Ok. So the 31 May is here and so is publication of my book Dawn of the Shadowcasters, out now through Lodestone Books. It’s a pretty good day, as far as days go, because it represents the culmination of creative energy, focus and sheer bloody discipline.

Any writer will know the process of getting a book published is a joy and a frustration. Multiple edits are in themselves mountains to climb, every time. For Dawn of the Shadowcasters, I had a Lodestone copy editor to work through, but this was on top of the multiple edits I gave the book before sending it off to the publisher. And then there was the production process and getting the book blurb right, and making sure everything worked seamlessly – that the book was the sum of its parts really.

Lodestone took six months to get Dawn of the Shadowcasters to market, and that day is today, 31 May 2014. Even before publication – months before in fact – the promotion, public relations and marketing began. It will continue well into the future because not many books are launched with a bang, rather a profile [and reputation] is built over time.

But for today, I’m happy that the second book in the Stevie Vegas trilogy is out and on the shelves and listed online. It’s time to look back and acknowledge the hard work, not only for Dawn of the Shadowcasters, but for the first book in the trilogy Shadowscape, for my women’s fiction book Belonging Places and the collection of short horror stories I’ve nearly finished. Lot’s of writing really in a few short years. As I nod to myself, one eye half closed, I’m saying, “good on you Maryann.”

Sooo, what’s all the fuss about Dawn of Shadowcasters and why is it worth buying. That’s not for me to really say, but I can give you information on the book, and sample chapters, so you can make up your own mind.


Only light can drive back the darkness. Only Stevie Vegas can stop the Shadowcasters. It’s been a year since the 13-year-old skateboarder found out he was an Illuminator with special powers – the ability to read minds and make things happen. Then, he was forced to use his new powers to fight the Shadowcasters. Now they’ve turned up in his hometown wanting revenge, and it will take all his skills as an Illuminator and the help of his friends to beat them again.

Sample Chapters


I met him today. Stevie Vegas. I was always meant to meet him. Part of the plan – that’s why I was saved – the daughter of a Shadowcaster, no less.

I am different now to what I was then when my own people turned against me, tried to kill me. Yes, I was born to a Shadowcaster, but I am NOT one of them. I fought against the darkness that engulfed me, tempted me and tried to seduce me.

There was a light, far off in my distant self. I clung to that. That and the birth right of my mother who was descended from the Illuminators. The light ran strong in her blood, until they killed her one random but predetermined night – a house invasion the police said…

He skates, Stevie Vegas. He is different from the other boys. The light is very strong in him. Thank you, oh thank you, Aunt Bessie, for saving me from the Shadowcasters. It wasn’t easy to stay out of their vision, but thanks to you I nearly managed it. Stevie Vegas is lucky to have you as an aunt; I have no one, but you’re near enough, Aunt, to me.

Aside from my horrid birth right, my struggle to escape the Shadowcasters and hiding desperately from their view, I try to be like any normal teenage girl. Sound stupid? Well, what’s normal I say?

I have pretty hair, I know that. It’s soft and shiny, the color of dawn. And my eyes are pretty too; the darkest of brown. Intense, yes – they sometimes make people uncomfortable but that’s just because theyjhp52dcea0a69edd know what I see. I see them.

And I ride as fast as the wind – not a skateboard like Stevie Vegas – no, I prefer the raw power of a motocross bike and the idea that it’s not supposed to be a ‘girl thing.’ But I’m no ordinary girl any more than Stevie Vegas is a normal boy. We are both

Shadowcaster and Illuminator alike. But these days, with the help of Aunt Bessie and those that follow the light, I am just as much Illuminator as them, and the plan is for me to help Stevie Vegas succeed. He will need my help; there is no surer thing.

They’re coming for him. I can hear them from behind the veil that separates the real world and its underbelly. Like weeds they’ll try and break to the surface, into the shadows. Some of them are here, like me, in Valley Dale. Ordinary people, doing ordinary things. To look at them, you would never guess, but they are here nevertheless. Their dark auras surround them like the black night envelops the quarter moon.

We Illuminators are here too. Opposite sides of the coin and before it’s over we’ll see what chance has in store for all of us. Stevie Vegas has no idea who I am, but when the time is right I will tell him that his Aunt Bessie saw good in me – saw the light within the darkness. Nothing is ever simple, is it? Nor ever that black and white? Shades of grey are everywhere, but what counts are the choices we make. I choose to be an Illuminator and I choose to fight with every breath in my body against what is coming.

Stevie Vegas will have many friends when they come for him. He will need them. I am one of them. I can hear the far off voices of the Shadowcasters, whispering on the wind. I am old before my time. I should not know what I do, hear what I do, and see what I do.

Why can’t I have the same uncomplicated life any 13-year-old teenager has. They like nothing better than to lip sync to their favorite singer’s songs, or spend hours straightening their hair, painting nails purple, shopping for clothes – parents catering to every whim.

Nah, that’s not me. My Yamaha 250 is my family. And Aunt Bessie too, and because of her, Stevie Vegas.

It’s time for a ride now, out beyond Valley Dale’s limits where the woods begin and, if you look hard enough, the hundreds of trails that lead down to the river, and onto the sea.

Life is not all threatening darkness, thank God. I can smell the not so far off ocean. I can feel the sun on my arms. I see the blueness of the sky and the mighty oak that lives outside my window. I know somewhere Stevie Vegas is practicing his skateboard stunts, just like I am about to ride to the ocean.

For the moment, we can be like other teenagers. The darkness will come, soon enough.

 Chapter One

Nightmares Revisited

Stevie Vegas stirred fitfully in his dreams. Dark shadows penetrated the safe fabric of the reality of his new life in Valley Dale, just as certainly as Jacob Barron sent his thoughts across the landscape from where he lay in a coma, at Smithson.

He tossed. Snippets of that day were making their way back to him through this night of dreams – the stranger’s hooded face who had moved in just that day, next door. Stevie had bumped into him by chance as the hooded man was directing the moving truck into his driveway.

While Stevie was spent from a hard session at the skatepark practicing his big air twists, he couldn’t help feel the odd sensation of immediate dislike of the stranger. He thought about the Shadowcasters, briefly, for the first time in a year. No, not in Valley Dale, he reasoned. Smithson and the Barrons were far away, like a long forgotten nightmare, and life had returned to normal since those dark days when he first learned he was an Illuminator and battled the Shadowcasters.

Throughout that following year after Smithson, Stevie had buried the past, concentrated on his schoolwork, reveled in his family life, and placed the Illuminator stone far away in the back of his sock drawer. He neither used his powers of Extra Sensory Perception, nor made things happen with the strength of his mind. He buried his Illuminator powers underneath layers of denial. There were times, and battles, he wanted to forget. Like all 13-year-old boys, he was preoccupied with growing up and despite the scars of Smithson, and the threat that one day the Shadowcasters would turn up, his thoughts easily turned to the simple pleasures of living. Dark thoughts were banished, his brother Jem had fully recovered from his accident at the hands of the Shadowcasters, and Stevie had slept peacefully at night. That was until now.

His nemesis Chris Barron’s face appeared in quick succession to the hooded man’s veiled, piercing eyes. He recalled Chris Barron’s parting warning to him as his family were leaving Smithson, “Sleep while you can, young Illuminator, there will be a reckoning for you. Not today, but someday, soon. That day will dawn when you least expect it, when you experience the world as better place, and you will learn that the Shadowcasters’ influence can never be put down. And while you will never know when and how, your day of reckoning will come.”

Stevie had spat on the ground in front of Chris Barron – something he never did, and especially to an adult – the ‘leading light’ of Smithson no less, and turned away, propelling his skateboard slowly down the road while pushing his thoughts out toward him. “I am not afraid. I do not cling to the cliff’s edge waiting for fear to make decisions for me. I stand strong against you and all the others like you. I am an Illuminator.”

When his family had left Smithson so quickly after Stevie and his Aunt Bessie’s desperate midnight dash to spirit the cursed stones away from the Barron estate and drown them in the depths of the Katounga River, they had settled into Valley Dale, and Stevie felt happy. But his happiness was always marked by a back of the mind worry no 13-year-old should feel.

He had reasoned it away with time. The cursed stones, the source of Chris Barron’s power, were gone but there had been one stone they could not recover, that of Chris Barron’s son, Jacob. But, again, he had reasoned away that Jacob Barron was laid up in a hospital bed of his own making. He had fallen during the skateboarding duel with Stevie, when evil incantations had backfired, like karma having the last laugh.

Jacob Barron had been rushed to Smithson Emergency and had slipped into a coma, which he had not, to this day, recovered from. Stevie had struggled with remorse and, even in Valley Dale, felt the cold weight of guilt, which was present more often than he cared to admit.

In his dreams that night he heard Jacob’s voice too against the wind outside on that dark night, rattling the panes, and disturbing the peace of the Vegas household. Like that day in the Valley Dale schoolyard when the wind was blowing the leaves in circles outside the classroom window whispering its hidden messages, Jacob Barron was talking with someone from behind a shroud-like veil. “It is going to plan, we are growing stronger again. They are gathering. With your help, we will triumph. No light will penetrate the blackness of our being…”

Stevie sat bolt upright in bed and reached frantically for his night lamp. Fumbling with the switch, breath sucked inwards, he finally found the light, which flooded his room, driving back the darkness. He was sweating, and dazed. He looked around and found the one thing of comfort – his skateboard. He shook his head in disbelief. Why, why was he dreaming about the hooded man and about Jacob Barron? He looked skyward with what seemed like a pathetic plea. Please God, not again. Not here and in Valley Dale.

His thoughts turned to anger. He did not want to fight battles any more. It had nearly cost his brother’s life, turned his family upside down, and inside out, as they had spent the better part of a year back in Valley Dale building up their veterinary practice again. Jem had not been the same since his accident that fateful day when the Shadowcasters drove him toward an impossible climb, always honing in on the weakest link. Well his brother was not the weakest link in the Vegas family. Stevie gritted his teeth.

He didn’t know why, but his resolve rallied against the thought that he might meet with the Barrons again – he was not afraid. He hadn’t used his Extra Sensory Perception in a long while, but in the middle of the night, sitting upright in his childhood bed, he thought of his Aunt Bessie who was the other Illuminator in the Vegas family. “Aunt Bessie,” he whispered into the night.

“It’s starting again.”

He got up and quickly went to his chest of drawers. Opening the top one where his socks and baseball caps were, he reached into the furthest of corners. He felt the warmth pulsating from the back of the drawer even before his fingers reached his Illuminator stone. He picked up the necklace and relief flooded through him. Somehow, in that split instance, everything was all right again. He hadn’t worn that necklace in a year, but now he slipped it over his head. The blackness of his nightmares receded, just like the dark ocean of his fear. Yes, he was full of anxiety about what he knew was coming – but not afraid. Never afraid.

Stevie let sleep take him then, one hand on his Illuminator stone and the other resting on his skateboard which he had stood beside his bed.

Morning dawned just like any other and he heard his mother’s urgent tones from downstairs. “Stevie, Stevie Vegas, will you get up and start getting ready. You will be late otherwise and I have a little dog that’s just been brought in with a broken leg. I need to go into surgery in twenty minutes and I won’t be able to drop you at school.”

Stevie jumped out of bed at his mother’s voice. She very rarely raised it, and he knew that there was a veterinarian emergency on her hands. He would have to take Jem to school, but at least he could skate the mile or so to Valley Dale Elementary, while Jem rode his BMX. Ah, yes, there was that guardrail on the stairs leading down into Fontenoy Street. It was one of his favorite places to Grind. Perhaps he could practice that kickflip off the rail, though it was pretty high and his landing may not be smooth…

As he ran past Jem’s door he noticed him on the computer. “Hey, bro, ace it up, what are you playing, you know that Mum and Dad say no gaming before school.”

Jem dragged his gaze away from the computer. “Shut up, Stevie, you’re not the only one who’s good at stuff. I’ve just reached a new level on this new game, and it takes strategy to do that. It’s not just about shooting ‘em up, you know.”

“Whatever, bro, but you better put your skates on, ‘cause Mum is cracking the whip something bad.”

His brother grimaced at him. “I’m not the champion skater in this family. You are, remember? Leave me alone and stop always trying to run my life. I’m not you.”

Stevie shot a puzzled look at his brother. “Sorry, Jem,” he muttered on his way to the bathroom, under his breath. “I only do things ‘cause I care. Sorreee!”

Both he and Jem were soon downstairs, enjoying the bacon and egg breakfast their mother had cooked earlier that morning.

“Stevie, how many times do I have to tell you? Do not bring your skateboard to the table,” his mum pleaded. “It doesn’t have to lean on the table next to your chair. It will be all right in the lounge. Now, go and put it there and don’t bring it to the table again.”

He did as he was told, but not before he winked at his dad.

“Oh, come on, Syl, it won’t hurt, you know.” His dad was always ready to come to the defense of his son’s hobbies. He was less tough on his two boys than Sylvia Vegas, though goodness knows teenage boys needed a few boundaries. Mrs. Vegas supplied them but Stevie knew, like Jem and his dad, that he would not bring his skateboard to the table again…well, at least for one week.

It was a quick breakfast for the Vegas family that morning. His mum worked in the annex at the side of the house, which doubled as their vet surgery given they had to let the rented practice go as a result of the upheaval in moving to Smithson, and then back to Valley Dale. Money was a little tight when they had returned, so the double garage had been converted into vet rooms to save money. His dad, on the other hand, was doing house calls to the ritzy part of town – not something he overly enjoyed as he specialized in larger animals, but it did bring the extra money in when doting, rich pet owners wanted their dog’s nails clipped.

“Well, Vegas boys,” his father said brightly getting up from the table. “I’m off to Green Valley to tend to a spoilt pooch.”

“And I’m off to do some real work,” his mother said, giving her husband a kiss on the cheek. “You boys finish your breakfast quickly, and out that door please within two minutes. I’m just next door you know, and I can hear the front door slam.”

Stevie smiled at Jem. “Coming, Jemmy?” He waited for his brother’s sarcasm, but, surprisingly it didn’t come.

Jem spooned the last of his eggs into his mouth and gave Stevie a tired look that said, ‘It’s OK’ and the harsh words of that morning were forgotten.

They were just about out the door, when his mother called to him. “Oh, Stevie, Aunt Bessie rang this morning. She wants you to call her back tonight. She’s travelling at the moment, but said she wanted to catch up with you. Everything all right?” Mrs. Vegas asked, a slight worry underscoring the faint lines on her forehead.

Stevie too was puzzled, but then remembered his nightmare. “Yeah, Mum…err everything is OK, I just wanted to say hello to Aunt Bessie and make sure she’s not overdoing things, you know travelling around the country…”

“Umm, OK, then,” his mother called. “Now off to school and easy on the skating tricks on your way.”

And with that, the Vegas family began their seemingly normal day. Only Stevie was preoccupied, remembering his dark, night time dreams.

Buying Links

Amazon US:

Amazon UK:

Amazon Aust:

Lodestone Books:


If anyone would like to host my new book on their blogsite, let me know. I’ll do a swap and do the same for your book. And, if any blogger would like to review Dawn of the Shadowcasters, leave me a message either in the Contact Me section of my blogsite, or in the comments section below.

As always, happy writing [for writers] and happy reading [for readers].


Hope in the future, despite indomitable odds. That is the message I got from watching The Great Gatsby tonight – perhaps that was director Baz  Luhrmann’s take on Scott F Fitzgerald’s classic, or perhaps it’s what I heard tonight. On the many reads of the novel, I took away multiple messages; that Gatsby was better than those ‘born to rule’, and that people shine like brass in all their breathtaking superficiality. And that love reciprocated can be just as fickle and feeble, and as dishonest as Daisy’s ultimately was for Gatsby.

And yet, at the centre of it all, was Gatsby’s incredible will and sacrifice for Daisy and his blind hope in the future. Naive hope, is one interpretation, another is admirable and inspiring. For my part, I will come down on the side of hope and love, and our will to battle on against the current.

I have always believed in the future – in a rainbow – and in our ability to get to the end of it and find our ‘treasure’. Always willing to row against the current if needed, I have steered a course, often, to get to the end of that rainbow. Sometimes I have found gold and, sometimes, I have found brass. When I was younger and I uncovered superficiality and feebleness, I would be disappointed for months, perhaps years, but I always got back in that boat and rowed on, spurred on not by disappointment but by hope.

When I found gold it would fill me up, and my belief in life and love would make me joyous. As I’ve grown, I’ve learned that the outcome is not as important as the journey. I’ve learned too, not to waste time on journeys which will, no doubt, uncover brass. I’m a lot more discerning in my travels these days.

Tonight, Gatsby’s hope in his love for Daisy was a reminder of the strength, will and determination of love. It was enough.

My new book ‘Belonging Places’ examines the universal theme of ‘belonging’, taking the reader on a journey through the eyes of three women – all at various stages of their lives.

“It’s a story that all women can relate to, and offers one answer to the age-old question: where do I fit in; where do I belong?” Maryann says.

Weston1-7 (1) small“It’s very much a healing journey for the reader and is set in real life scenarios. The issues my three central characters face are issues I’ve faced, and the women in my life have faced.”

The contemporary fiction novel tells the story of Liliana, Estelle and Jill. “Liliana Flint-Smith is young and starting out on her own. Leaving a dysfunctional family behind her and with nothing but a university degree in librarianship, Liliana moves to a remote village in the country,” Maryann says.

“Different from everyone else in the town, she must find her place in a society that doesn’t take kindly to strangers. With the help of an old woman who lives in the flat next to her, Liliana begins to find herself and discovers it was never about her changing, but about learning to be herself.”

And then there’s successful career woman, Estelle Wainwright.

“She’s burning up the career ladder and has just made editor at a national women’s magazine. Her husband Joel is also carving out his niche as an architect and, together with son Corey, is the picture of success. Or are they?” Maryann says.

“Estelle is fighting the tension within herself: work and home, career and husband, businesswoman and woman. She then has to navigate through a health crisis that will test the decisions she has made about how she lives her life.”

Our final character is Jill Bridges who’s ageing and struggling to stay afloat after the death of her lifetime partner, Maryann says.

“Her children are busy with their own lives, and she’s facing the prospect of a nursing home. But it’s her independence that makes her life worth living and she’ll be damned if she’ll bow to society’s plans for her,” Maryann says.

“She must find a way to triumph over old age and emerge into a life that still holds meaning.

“These are definitely experiences, challenges and triumphs women face every day. And that’s not to say that men shouldn’t read this book. There’s something in it for everyone, because that sense of belonging that gives us happiness in life is a quest all human beings, regardless of age and gender, are on.”

Belonging Places is available on Amazon:

In print, here;

As an eBook, here.

You can find out more about my books by visiting my website.

My name is Bruce A. Borders, author of crime-fiction books. I guess you could call me a professional dreamer – or a schemer. Either one fits.

First, thank you to Rave Reviews Book Club for voting me this week’s Spotlight Author! And a huge thanks to all the members who agreed to host me on their site! 

Bruce A Borders-Author

While in school, Bruce held three part-time jobs; a store clerk, a janitor, and a dental technician, working about 60-70 hours per week. After graduation, he became employed full time as a dental technician. Other jobs have included restaurant manager, carpenter, and grocery store cashier. For the past sixteen years, he has worked as a commercial truck driver, logging more than two million miles. 

Bruce A. Borders was born in 1967 in Cape Girardeau, MO. Bruce’s childhood years were spent in a number of states, including Missouri, Oregon, Wisconsin, and Wyoming.

During his high school years, he was a member of the football, basketball and track teams, involved in various non-athletic activities such as school yearbook production and photography, and won numerous awards for his artistic creations. Bruce graduated Valedictorian in 1984.

At the age of fifteen, Bruce decided to become a writer. He began by writing songs, news articles, and short stories. Eventually, books were added to the list. Over the years, he continued to write and currently has a catalog of more than 500 songs, numerous short stories and over a dozen completed books. He writes on a variety of subjects such as fictional novels of legal issues and westerns. Titles include: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, Miscarriage Of Justice, The Journey, and in The Wynn Garrett Series – Mistaken Identity, Holy Terror, Remote Control, Judicial Review, Even Odds, and Safety Hazard.

About his “SPOTLIGHT” novel: Over My Dead Body

Over My Dead Body Web Display

How far will a man go to protect his family? When the director of Child Protective Services uses his position to exact a personal vendetta in removing three-year-old Ashley from the Blake’s home, Jeff Blake, a financial advisor, responds to the threats in the only way he feels he can – violently. By the end of the short encounter, three people are dead and Ashley, the daughter, is still taken and placed in temporary foster care, so the tragic fiasco gained Jeff nothing. Or, so it seems. Matters are further complicated when Amy, the wife and mother, winds up for a brief stay in a mental ward due to the trauma she witnessed in their home. It seems as though everything is against the Blakes. Understandably, the police, as well as the Courts, are not too concerned with the needs of the family. Complete with many twists of fate, the story looks at the common problems of a typical family caught between love and the law.

Over My Dead Body is available at:


Barnes & Noble


Sony Reader



You can connect with Bruce:

Facebook address: handle: @BruceABorders

Website address:


It was 4am and I was wide awake. The day had been muddled with too many things to do and not enough focus. I had gone to bed too early perhaps, and with too much on my mind. A dark dream preceded my wakefulness and breathing heavily, and quickly, I awoke and pushed the tiredness away, glad that I was truly on the earthly plane and not battling the phantoms of my dreams.

I had dreamt someone stole my wallet; a dream that left me without any material security in a crowded place, rather like being naked. I’m not sure why I dreamt that. In any case, I reached for my i-phone, trying to take my mind off the dream and off a feeling of being lost…and without even 10 cents to my name.

I scrolled through my twitter feed and happened on a link from Dean Wesley Smith, a science fiction author. The particular post was titled: Killing the Sacred Cows of Publishing. What a great thing to read at 4am in the morning – seemingly without a wallet.

As a newly published author with a dream of becoming a successful publisher, I read every word of that post. What attitude, a real down to earth look at why it’s quite conceivable and realistic to have the goal of successfully publishing my own books, or perhaps being a hybrid (author that is both indie and traditionally published).

A part of me has always liked the idea of the wild west and Dean is pictured on his blog in full cowboy regalia. In the fictional wild west battles were settled with a bar room brawl, or a shoot em up. Either way, no-one seemed to mince words. Well Dean’s post didn’t. He came right out and said write plenty of content across multiple genres, fill the shop, and readers will come because you’ve got full shelves and lots of variety. At 4am his no nonsense attitude was refreshing and I refocused on my publishing dreams, knowing that it was entirely possible I might be successful.

So then I went back to sleep and missed the commotion of the early morning in our house. My middle son had lost his wallet that night coming home from a nightclub and a wonderfully kind lady had phoned at 7am to let us know she had it and would drop it round to my son. As he was away for the weekend, in a large coastal city without any money, ID, or petrol for his car, this woman’s kind gesture meant everything to our son, and to us.

Dream mystery broken. Somehow I had picked up on the lost wallet thing. And as for Dean Wesley Smith and the kind lady who found my son’s wallet and returned it, thank you.

My book Shadowscape is all about mind power and intuition. It’s available at Amazon if you want to take a look. And I’m also beginning to fill the shop with Book 2 Dawn of the Shadowcasters out on 30 May 2014 through Lodestone Books. If you want to find out more about the books and why I write head over to Smashwords and read my author interview.