The Brooklyn Drop Publishes August 15

TBD-Final-WEBTHE BROOKLYN DROP. It’s Fina’s fourth book, and readers tell me it’s her most exciting mystery yet.

Here’s the summary:
In the middle of a wintry night, private investigator Fina Fitzgibbons finds Lorraine’s friend Phyllida Oxley slumped over her dining room table, the victim of memory-impairing date-rape drugs. When her condition goes from poor to comatose, her distraught fifteen-year-old granddaughter, Kat Oxley, disappears. Meanwhile, Fina’s agency is busy surveilling a massage parlor in Bensonhurst suspected of human trafficking, and Fina’s father reappears to throw a wrench into her relationship with NYPD Patrol Officer Denny McDuffy. As Fina frantically searches for the missing teen, she uncovers the truth behind the traffickers, but they have a surprise waiting for her in the not-so-friendly skies.

An excerpt from Chapter One:

It all started with icicles. The holidays were over. Our life was back to normal. Normal, as in a boring string of days between jobs except for a small surveillance gig watching a Bensonhurst massage parlor suspected of being involved in human trafficking. After an evening at the McDuffys’ during which I watched Denny and his father make fools of themselves over some obscure football game, I thanked Lorraine for the scrumptious meal, and we headed for home, braving a howling wind off the shores of South Brooklyn.

The cold must have zapped both of us since we decided to make it an early night. Denny hit the pillow and was out. As I peered outside before closing the bedroom blinds, I was stopped dead by a glinting across the street. I’d never seen such a large chunk of suspended ice, at least not in this part of Brooklyn. Thick at the top and coming to a point at the bottom, it hung from the neighbor’s overhang like a blade, almost touching the ground. I’d phone them the next day and suggest they might want to remove it before their roof caved. But I never got the chance.

About three in the morning I woke with a start when my iPad suddenly came to life, covering my corner of the room with a grizzly light. Some unwanted tweet, I figured. I rolled over. Denny slept on. Again the screen lit up. My heart raced, not with fear but with excitement—I’m such a glutton for work. Focusing, I read the message. It was from Lorraine. “Call me ASAP.” Then it disappeared.

I went to the window. The neighborhood was a hard dark except for a wash of light over the Manhattan skyline, the winking bridge lights, and a hazy sliver of moon over the harbor. The neighbor’s gigantic icicle gleamed.

When I called her, I could tell Lorraine was anxious. She talked so fast, I barely got every other word. Apparently her friend Phyllida Oxley needed help.

“Particulars?” I asked.

I heard Lorraine take a breath. “Why would she be calling me in the middle of the night? She’s never done that, not in all the years I’ve known her. She said one word, ‘Help,’ before we were disconnected. Her voice sounded so strange.”

“You sure it was your friend?”

Lorraine answered in the affirmative. “I’ve got the key to her four-flat. It’s across the street from us. Meet me there. Hurry!”

I shook Denny. He didn’t move.

“Your mom needs us,” I whispered into his ear and stroked it with my lips.

He smiled and continued sleeping.

My BMW was parked a block away, and Denny’s car was in front of our house. “Can I drive your Jeep?”

Magic words. He was up like a shot, dressed, and checking his Glock before I could stuff my snoop bag with the usual—booties, latex gloves, plastic bags, flashlight, magnifying glass, notebook, pen, iPad, and two smartphones. Overkill, probably. We pummeled down the stairs and into the Jeep. Denny drove like the off-duty cop he was, ignoring all red lights, so we made it from Vinegar Hill to Third Place in less than five minutes.

After we parked, I noticed a pair of backup lights down the block shrouded in exhaust. In a second, the car slotted into a space. The engine stopped and a figure, dark and hunched, got out and seemed to stare at us. I turned away from it, my attention arrested by something else—another long bone of ice. This one dangled from Phyllida Oxley’s gutter. Denny was unimpressed when I pointed it out. But as we started down the walk, I heard footsteps, maybe in the alley or the backyard, and suddenly the icicle exploded, shattering at our feet.

It publishes this Saturday, August 15, but you can pre-order it now on Amazon.

Photo: Cover, The Brooklyn DropAvalon Graphics

Pre-Order The Brooklyn Drop

TBD-Final-WEBI’m thrilled to announce my latest book in the Fina Fitzgibbons Brooklyn mystery series. It’s called The Brooklyn Drop, a full-length mystery, and you can pre-order it here.

Summary
In the middle of a wintry night, private investigator Fina Fitzgibbons finds Lorraine’s friend, Phyllida Oxley, slumped over her dining room table, the victim of memory-impairing date rape drugs. When her condition goes from poor to comatose, her distraught fifteen-year-old granddaughter, Kat Oxley disappears. Meanwhile, Fina’s agency is busy surveilling a massage parlor in Bensonhurst suspected of human trafficking, and Fina’s father reappears to throw a wrench into her relationship with NYPD Patrol Officer Denny McDuffy. As Fina frantically searches for the missing teen, she uncovers the truth behind the traffickers, but they have a surprise waiting for her over the not-so-friendly skies.

Here’s an excerpt:
It all started with icicles. The holidays were over. Our life was back to normal. Normal, as in, a boring string of days between jobs except for a small surveillance gig watching a Bensonhurst massage parlor suspected of being involved in human trafficking. After an evening at the McDuffys during which I watched Denny and his father make fools of themselves over some obscure football game, I thanked Lorraine for the scrumptious meal, and we headed for home, braving a howling wind off the shores of South Brooklyn.

The cold must have zapped us both since we decided to make it an early night. Denny hit the pillow and was out. As I peered outside before closing the bedroom blinds, I was stopped dead by a glinting across the street. I’d never seen such a large chunk of suspended ice, at least not in this part of Brooklyn. Thick at the top and coming to a point at the bottom, it hung from the neighbor’s overhang like a blade, almost touching the ground. I’d phone them the next day and suggest they might want to remove it before their roof caved. But I never got the chance.

About three in the morning I woke with a start when my iPad suddenly came to life, covering my corner of the room with a grizzly light. Some unwanted tweet, I figured. I rolled over. Denny slept on. Again the screen lit up. My heart raced, not with fear but with excitement—I’m such a glutton for work. Focussing, I read the message. It was from Lorraine. “Call me ASAP.” Then it disappeared.

I went to the window. The neighborhood was a hard dark except for a wash of light over the Manhattan skyline, the winking bridge lights, and a hazy sliver of moon over the harbor. The neighbor’s gigantic icicle gleamed.

When I called her, I could tell Lorraine was anxious. She talked so fast, I barely got every other word. Apparently her friend, Phyllida Oxley, needed help.

“Particulars?” I asked.

I heard Lorraine take a breath. “Why would she be calling me in the middle of the night? She’s never done that, not in all the years I’ve known her. She said one word, ‘Help,’ before we were disconnected. Her voice sounded so strange.”

“You sure it was your friend?”

Lorraine answered in the affirmative. “I’ve got the key to her four-flat. It’s across the street from us. Meet me there. Hurry!”

Brooklyn Bridge

Brooklyn

I shook Denny. He didn’t move.

“Your mom needs us,” I whispered into his ear and stroked it with my lips.

He smiled and continued sleeping.

My BMW was parked a block away, and Denny’s car was in front of our house. “Can I drive your Jeep?”

Magic words. He was up like a shot, dressed, and checking his Glock before I could stuff my snoop bag with the usual—booties, latex gloves, plastic bags, flashlight, magnifying glass, notebook, pen, iPad, and two smartphones. Overkill, probably. We pummeled down the stairs and into the Jeep. Denny drove like the off-duty cop he was, ignoring all red lights, so we made it from Vinegar Hill to Third Place in less than five minutes.

After we parked, I noticed a pair of backup lights down the block shrouded in exhaust. In a second, the car slotted into a space. The engine stopped and a figure, dark and hunched got out and seemed to stare at us. I turned away from it, my attention arrested by something else—another long bone of ice. This one dangled from Phyllida Oxley’s gutter. Denny was unimpressed when I pointed it out. But as we started down the walk, I heard footsteps, maybe in the alley or the backyard, and suddenly the icicle exploded, shattering at our feet.

TBD-Final-WEBPre-order The Brooklyn Drop.

Photos: Cover, The Brooklyn DropAvalon Graphics; A view of Brooklyn from the Williamsburg Bridge, stock photo

Guest Author: Julie Ryan

FO12C3E955871Please welcome guest author, Julie Ryan, here to promote her thrilling new mystery, Pandora’s Prophecy.

Pandora’s Prophecy is the third in the Greek Island mystery series but can be read as a standalone, although some characters from the previous books do make an appearance.

Lisa and Mark are going through a rough patch, Vicky is seventeen and has just discovered that the man she thought was her father really isn’t, Ruth is getting over her husband’s betrayal after nearly twenty-five years of marriage. On the surface they have nothing in common except that they are all staying in the same hotel on a Greek Island. As they each come into contact with the mysterious Pandora, their lives will change forever. Bodies begin to pile up as a serial killer is on the loose who might just be targeting the hotel. The Island’s Police Chief, Christos Pavlides, tries to solve the puzzle but he has problems of his own to resolve. It seems that the local celebrity author is the one who holds the key.

IMGP0755About the author
Julie Ryan was born and brought up in a mining village near Barnsley in South Yorkshire. She graduated with a BA (hons) in French Language and Literature from Hull University. Since then she has lived and worked as a Teacher of English as a Foreign Language in France, Greece, Poland and Thailand. She now lives in rural Gloucestershire with her husband, son and two cats, a rescue cat and a dippy cat with half a tail.  She is so passionate about books that her collection is now threatening to outgrow her house, much to her husband’s annoyance, as she can’t bear to get rid of any! They have been attempting to renovate their home for the last ten years.

She is the author of three novels set in Greece, Jenna’s JourneySophia’s Secret, and Pandora’s Prophecy. She considers Greece to be her spiritual home and visits as often as she can. This series was inspired by her desire to return to Crete although there is a strong pull to revisit the Cyclades too.

Purchase links

Jenna’s Journey

Sophia’s Secret

Pandora’s Prophecy

Author links

Twitter – @julieryan18

Facebook

Blog

Julie’s World of Books

HIDER SEEKER: A Pacy Thriller, A Likeable Maverick

HiderSeeker   … One client 

                           … One secret

                                                …One betrayal

 

 

Tom Claver’s debut novel, Hider/Seeker, is a pacy thriller about a likeable maverick who bites off more than he can chew when he comes to the rescue of a wealthy battered wife.

 

                     She needed to disappear, he knew how.

 

Harry Bridger makes a living helping people run from their enemies. But when he arranges for Angela Linehan and her son to disappear abroad from her violent husband in London, little does he know that his life will depend on finding her again.

It’s a job that reawakens Harry’s past and brings him back into contact with his ex-wife Bethany. Fate has given him a second chance to redeem himself in her eyes.

But Angela’s disappearance puts Harry and Bethany in terrible danger. He risks losing everything unless he can find where Angela is hiding in Central America. The clock is ticking and his finely honed tracking skills no longer apply. Chance and luck will decide everything.

 

                                    She broke his rules.

 

“Hider/Seeker is initially set in London but moves on to somewhere more exotic as Harry searches for his former client following a frightening revelation,” explains Tom. “It’s partly romantic, but there’s a lot of action as well as he needs to keep a step ahead of the pack searching for Angela. It’s full of thrills and keeps you on the edge of your seat to the very end.”

 

Published by Matador. Price: E-book $3.99

 

Free to download 30th April to 4th May from Amazon.

 

Official publication date: 29th April 2015

eISBN: 9781784629434

Format: eBook.

JMP_5087About the Author
Tom Claver is a freelance journalist who has worked in print and television, and was formerly a director of a publishing company. He was brought up in London and currently lives in Dorset with his wife.

Guest Author: Tom Claver

HiderSeekerI am thrilled to welcome author Tom Claver whose thriller, Hider Seeker, publishes April 29. Today he’s here to tell us about his formative years as a writer.

The Writer’s Block Sanction

By Tom Claver

Next month I will fulfill a lifelong ambition of publishing a thriller. Having reached a certain age, I thought it was about time to do something about this goal that has dogged me for so long.

Deep down I always wanted to write but never managed to convince myself to get on with it. I remember when I was bitten by the bug and under quite surreal circumstances. It was in the early 1970s when I was studying for a degree in economics at North East London Polytechnic in Barking, near Dagenham. It was a depressing era, I seem to recall, filled with social unrest, strikes, demonstrations, student occupations, and, of course, a terrible dress sense.

I lived in a freezing bedsit with only a two-bar electric fire to keep me warm. Every night one of the tenants would play Home on the Range performed on all things a Hawaiian steel guitar. Over and over, he played this damn record, only stopping when the electricity meter ran out of coins.

To reduce my exposure to the tenant’s nocturnal habit, I decided to go to an evening class on creative writing at the poly. It had been set up by a visiting professor from the US. Anything would be better than listening to the Hawaiian steel guitar.

Make my day

I waited in the class with a few other students for a Dr. Rod Whitaker to turn up. He arrived 20 minutes late, looking very dapper in a three-piece suit. He was around 40, slim, and heavily suntanned. To say he looked out of place compared with our scruffy lecturers and Trotskyist students in jeans and Afghans would have been an understatement.

His opening line caught our attention immediately. “Sorry, I’m late, but I’ve just been on the phone to Clint Eastwood.”

Had I heard that correctly? Yes, I had. It transpired that Dr Whitaker taught at the Department of Radio, Television and Film at the Austin School of Communications in Texas. It also transpired that he’d written a blockbuster thriller called “The Eiger Sanction” and he’d sold it to Clint.

Being a big Clint Eastwood fan, I was captivated by the story of his first book becoming an international best seller and being turned into a film.

So he began to explain to us why he’d embarked on writing a thriller. He despised dumb spy novels and James Bond films and decided to lampoon the genre. His book was written tongue-in-cheek and he thought by naming the protagonist Dr Jonathan Hemlock and having characters called Jemima Brown and Felicity Arce (pronounced arse, British English for ass), the publisher might have cottoned on. But no one saw through his fun and when he realised there was genuine interest in his MS, he started to re-write it into a more considered piece, while still keeping the colorful names. It was an immediate success though people were mystified by the pseudonym on the cover, prompting all sorts of conspiracy theories and myths among fans about the true identity of the writer.

Trevanian’s privacy

He wrote under the name of Trevanian and went to great lengths to keep his real name a secret, although never thinking twice about divulging it to us in Barking. Perhaps he thought we lived in the back of beyond and would never leave the neighborhood to spill the beans. Whitaker also wrote in a wide variety of genres and under five different names.

Despite achieving best-seller status he avoided interviews and publishers promotions that would reveal his true identity. Sometimes he would send imposters to represent him at interviews, just for fun.

Rumors circulated that he worked for the CIA. I don’t know whether that was true, but he did serve in the US Navy during the Korean War. However, he did mention to us that there was an objection to the word “sanction” being used to mean an “assassination”. He’d run it by someone in the CIA and couldn’t believe that the term was being questioned when he knew for certain it was used at the agency.

His pseudonyms

In 1979 he publicly revealed his true identity and his various pseudonyms in an interview with the New York Times Book Review. He scotched a long-running rumour that Trevanian was actually the thriller writer Robert Ludlum. But what readers may not have realised was that the pseudonyms he chose to write under were like character actors to him. By inventing the right character to write the book, he felt he could tell the story.

His writing classes were sometimes unorthodox, digressing occasionally into method acting exercises, but he did manage to get us to write short stories. And one evening I read my short story to the class and to my surprise all the girls around me loved it. I got the bug to write, there and then.

After graduating, my interest fell more in the direction of making films. I made some short films with moderate success. One 30 minute film I scripted was distributed in British cinemas and another short I wrote and directed was sold to Central Television in the UK. I started writing feature length scripts, one of which formed the basis of HIDER/SEEKER, my forthcoming debut thriller. The script had another title and was genuinely awful, but the BBC saw something and invited me to discuss it. Nothing happened and I decided it was time to put away my toys and turn my attention to raising a family.

The memories of Rod Whitaker drifting into our dreary lives in Barking still remained strong however, and like many people, I made attempts to write a book, usually the day after a significant birthday milestone.

Then a turning point came just over ten years ago when I decided I’d teach myself to write a thriller for the sheer hell of it. By reading books such as Stephen King’s On Writing and by sending my work for professional critique, I gradually improved. Two unpublished books later, I decided to take another look at the film script I’d sent to the BBC. I re-worked it into HIDER/SEEKER and I hope you will enjoy it when it is launched on 30 April.

From Zola to Chaucer

Out of curiosity, I wondered what had happened to Rod Whitaker over the years. I Googled him and sadly discovered he’d died of an illness in the West Country of England in 2005, aged 74. I had no idea he’d been living in the UK as I’d read long ago he’d bought a house in the Basque region of France. According to his agent, Michael V. Carlise, Whitaker preferred the intellectual climate of England rather more than that of America under Presidents Reagan and Bush.

Over his life time his 10 published books sold more than 5m copies and he was heralded as the only writer of airport paperbacks to be compared to Zola, Ian Fleming, Poe and Chaucer.

This elusive author who’d baffled so many in his lifetime has left a lasting impression on me and I guess on many others too. He also gave me the bug to write all those years ago. Thank you.

If anyone knew or studied under Dr Whitaker, I would love to hear from you. (Email: contact@tomclaver.co.uk)

HIDER/SEEKER will be free to download from Amazon as an ebook between 30 April to 4 May.

JMP_5087About the Author
Tom Claver is a freelance journalist who has worked in print and television, and was formerly a director of a publishing company. He was brought up in London and currently lives in Dorset with his wife.

Guest Author: Nikki Stern

NS_edited-1Please welcome my guest, Nikki Stern, distinguished author of two non-fiction books, BECAUSE I SAY SO and HOPE IN SMALL DOSES and a suspense thriller, DON’T MOVE, a novella. Her essays have appeared in The New York TimesNewsweekUSA Today and other publications and her short stories have been published online at the literary magazine, Fictionique. She’s currently working on a coming-of age-story set in New Orleans that explores elements of Voodoo.

Don't-Move-1-15Here’s an excerpt from DON’T MOVE, available on Amazon.

The sea is tranquil today. Sunlight plays along its surface, drawing out the full complement of greens and blues from azure, aquamarine and cyan to cadet and lapis. Out at the horizon, the water meets a cerulean sky where the earth curves. Small breakers gently lap the shoreline and wash the sand clean of debris. Circling birds or predator fins are nowhere to be seen. No slate clouds gather at the horizon. Not that the sea would volunteer a warning. When it comes to human suffering or terror, it remains completely indifferent.

Maybe the sea is a withholding bitch.

Bill would have said something like that. Like all good seafaring men, he ascribed to the briny deep an array of characteristics often labeled as purely female: stubborn, willful, unpredictable, mysterious or seductive; all surges and curves and hidden treasures beneath the shallows. I used to wish I could see the world as he did.

What would he say at this moment? “You’ll survive.”

No, he’d come up with something more lyrical or at least more encouraging. Too bad he’s not here. With my life hanging in the balance, I could use a shot of inspiration.

If the sea didn’t anticipate my sudden change of fortune, I damn well should have. Instead of looking out over the water and idly contemplating my life, I’m wondering if I’m going to live. Instead of listening to the tide, I hear my heart pounding. Rather than enjoying the breeze as it lightly ruffles my hair, I’m stuck with a gun pressed against my temple and a creep who seems to know only two words: “Don’t move.”

DON’T MOVE is available on Amazon

Nikki’s author page on Amazon (Don’t miss it, especially her interviews on hope.)

Nikki’s website

Her Facebook page

Twitter: @realnikkistern

Dorothy Johnston: On Writing a Mystery Quartet

dorothyjohnston_quartet_600I am thrilled to welcome my guest, the distinguished, award-winning author Dorothy Johnston. Dorothy has written nine novels, including a mystery quartet featuring security consultant Sandra Mahoney. The four books have recently been released as ebooks by independent Australian publisher Wakefield Press. Wakefield published the first three, The Trojan DogThe White Tower and Eden in paperback editions. The last of the quartet, The Fourth Season, is new. Each book is set during a particular season.

Here are her thoughts on writing a mystery quartet.

The Trojan DogDespite appearances and stereotypes, motherhood is not such a bad training for criminal investigation.

My protagonist, Sandra Mahoney, falls into investigating a crime, much as I fell into writing about them. Sandra has young children. She’s an everywoman, learning as she goes.

I have a son and daughter, though mine are grown up now. Sandra lives in the house I lived in until recently, in Canberra, Australia’s national capital. Her children go to the schools my children went to. In the first book, The Trojan Dog, Sandra is a reluctant wife, an adulterer, and a recent returnee to the workforce. She has an eight-year-old son with a reading problem. She is the antithesis of the loner stereotype beloved by the genre.

My main male character is Ivan, a Russian-born IT person who understands the technicalities of cyber-crime much better than Sandra does, at least at the start. Detective Sergeant Brook, the third partner in my investigative trio, has leukaemia, and is forcing himself to keep on working as a policeman.

I didn’t start out intending to write any kind of detective fiction. I’d completed four literary novels before attempting a crime one, and my most recent literary novel is sandwiched between numbers two and three of my series. I was an enthusiastic reader of crime, but never thought I could write it. I was also fascinated by the technological revolution that began to impinge on my life in the early 1980s, in 1982, to be precise, when I bought my first computer, a few months after my son was born.

Despite appearances and stereotypesThe computer was an Apple 2. I’d carried my son into the shop in a car capsule. He was as good as gold all the time I was making the purchase. The young man who sold me the computer carried it out to my small car, where I told him he’d have to put it in the boot because there wasn’t any room inside, the car being filled, as usual, with baby paraphernalia. The young man looked very put out at this, as though he expected that the baby should go in the boot, and the precious machine on the back seat, no doubt with a seat belt to keep it safe.

The third book in my quartet, Eden, is about Canberra’s sex industry. In Canberra, prostitution is zoned light industrial, which means that it’s legal in the light industrial zones of Fyshwick, Hume and Mitchell and illegal everywhere else. I sometimes think that is a kind of comment on the fact that, politics aside, Canberra has no heavy industry. At dusk on a Friday, when the used car yards and furniture shops of Fyshwick are closing up, the brothels come into their own. While writing Eden I had a lot of fun lurking around and watching who went in.

The Fourth SeasonThe Fourth Season begins when the body of young female environmental activist is found floating in Lake Burley Griffin. Ivan, who was in love with Laila, is a suspect and has no alibi for the time of death.

Sandra has to weigh up her desire to learn the truth against her children’s needs. Added to this, Detective Sergeant Brook is absolutely against her involvement in the case.

It takes all of Sandra’s ingenuity and courage to steer herself, and her family, through the dangers that lead to an eventual unmasking of the truth.

The Trojan Dog was published in 2000 and won the ACT Book of the Year. I’m pleased and excited that all four books in my quartet are finally out there. It feels like a job well done.

The Sandra Mahoney Quartet can be purchased from the Wakefield Press website, either as individual novels, or, as a special offer, four books for the price of three.

You can find out more about Dorothy Johnston and her books here http://dorothyjohnston.com.au/ Dorothy is a member of Sisters in Crime Australia.

Bio

Dorothy Johnston_600I’m the author of nine published novels, including a quartet of mystery novels set in Canberra and a self-published collection of short stories, Eight Pieces on Prostitution.

The first of my mystery series, The Trojan Dog, was joint winner ACT Book of the Year, and the Age gave it their ‘Best of 2000’ in the crime section. It was published in Australia by Wakefield Press and in the United States by St Martin’s Press. The second, The White Tower, was also published in Australia and North America, and the third, Eden, appeared in 2007. All three feature the cyber-sleuth Sandra Mahoney and her partner, Ivan Semyonov, along with Detective Sergeant Brook, of the ACT police. The Fourth Season, the last book in the quartet, was published by Wakefield Press as an ebook in 2014.

With Eden, I returned to the subject of prostitution, which has long interested me and provided inspiration. My first novel, Tunnel Vision, is set in a Melbourne massage parlour. One of my literary novels, The House at Number 10, imagines Canberra from a sex-worker’s point of view. I’ve also published non-fiction pieces on the subject, including A Script With No Words.

Two of my literary novels, One for the Master and Ruth, have been shortlisted for the Miles Franklin award. Maralinga My Love is set during the time of the atomic bomb tests at Maralinga, in South Australia.

I’ve had numerous short stories published in magazines and anthologies.

I’ve completed an historical novel, Children of Ghosts and a novella, Ashes from the Headland. I’m currently working on a sea-change mystery series, set at the home of ‘Sea-change’, the TV series, on the south coast of Victoria. The first of these is called Through a Camel’s Eye.

I regularly review fiction for the Fairfax newspapers.

I’ve been a guest speaker at the Adelaide, Sydney, Melbourne, and Salamanca festivals; at the Canberra Word Festival, and both Australian Sisters in Crime conferences. Overseas invitations have included the Salzburg seminar on contemporary fiction, and residencies at Ledig House, International Writers Colony New York, and Lavigny in Switzerland.

I’m a founding member of the influential ‘7 Writers’ group, which began meeting in Canberra in the early 1980s, and continued as a writers’ workshop and discussion group for almost twenty years. A subject which continues to fascinate me from a literary point of view is Canberra, Australia’s national capital, where I lived for thirty years before returning to Victoria. Canberra features often in my fiction, and my feelings about the city are summed up in my essay, ‘Disturbing Undertones’.

I’m also a member of the Australian Society of Authors and Sisters in Crime, Victoria

One for the Master, The Trojan DogThe White Tower,  Eden, The Fourth Season, and The House at Number 10 can be bought directly from Wakefield PressWakefield Press is offering a special 4 for the price of 3 for The Sandra Mahoney Quartet.

– See more here.

Tomorrow: two extracts from The Sandra Mahoney Mystery Quartet.