#Throwback Thursday ~The Snow Killer by Ross Greenwood #Review #hard-boiled mystery @greenwoodross

‘Fear the north wind. Because no one will hear you scream…’

A family is gunned down in the snow but one of the children survives. Three years on, that child takes revenge and the Snow Killer is born. But then, nothing – no further crimes are committed, and the case goes cold.

Fifty years later, has the urge to kill been reawakened? As murder follows murder, the detective team tasked with solving the crimes struggle with the lack of leads. It’s a race against time and the weather – each time it snows another person dies.

As an exhausted and grizzled DI Barton and his team scramble to put the pieces of the puzzle together, the killer is hiding in plain sight. Meanwhile, the murders continue…

The first in a new series, Ross Greenwood has written a cracking, crackling crime story with a twist in its tale which will surprise even the most hardened thriller readers. Perfect for fans of Mark Billingham and Stuart MacBride.

Praise for The Snow Killer:

Move over Rebus and Morse; a new entry has joined the list of great crime investigators in the form of Detective Inspector John Barton. A rich cast of characters and an explosive plot kept me turning the pages until the final dramatic twist.’ author Richard Burke

‘With The Snow Killer, master of the psychological thriller genre Ross Greenwood once again proves his talent for creating engrossing and gritty novels that draw you right in and won’t let go until you’ve reached the shocking ending.’ Caroline Vincent at Bitsaboutbooks blog

‘Ross Greenwood doesn’t write clichés. What he has written here is a fast-paced, action-filled puzzle with believable characters that are spiced with a lot of humour.’ author Kath Middleton


Our Review

Detective John Barton is overworked and overweight, but one of the most likeable characters I have met in a long while. We discover that he is a happily married family man, most unusual in his line of work. His relationship with his family and colleagues is a delight to read about and a lovely contrast to the job he does.

The opening chapters are set fifty years ago in a snowstorm and sets a serious tone for the story, as a child watches in silent horror as his family is brutally slaughtered. Fifty years later, people begin to die every time it snows. But who is the Snow Killer?

The Snow Killer is a brilliantly written detective story with perfect pace and just the right amount of tension. Although, saying that, the end of the story will have you gasping for breath as the drama goes through the roof with such a twisting finale that I really didn’t see coming!

This is a story that will chill you to the bone and not just because the drama intensifies every time it snows.

I will be eagerly watching for the next story in the DI Barton series…

WIP Wednesday…

Where is my walk in the park?

There have been days in the last six months when I have had trouble doing anything writing-related. Days when I rely on autopilot to get me through the day.

What with all the worry about my sister’s health, my primary job as a carer has pretty much removed all hopes of my writing anything. Consequently, the current WIP, Ghost of a Chance, has become static. On a good day, I sit and look at it, hoping inspiration or something similar will turn up, but then duty or a problem calls, and I must walk away again.

Stubborn is as stubborn does though, and I have a new plan.

Ghost of a Chance has become a complicated mess with storyline plot holes big enough to swallow my desk and only two-thirds finished. I have realised that to keep writing, hoping it will make better sense as I go on, would be disastrous, eventually making the problem worse.

So, and I’m getting quite fond of that word, I have a new plan.

I have created a blank storyboard for all my characters, and I am slowly reading each chapter and placing them in what I hope will be the right places. This system should highlight the missing parts too, I hope.

Now I am no longer concentrating on the concluding chapters, I think I will be able to sort everything out, thereby making finishing it a real walk in the park. (Or at least something similar!)

Anita is home from the hospital, but far from well. We are taking good care of her and hoping for the best. And good news in two weeks at her check-up would be lovely too…

His Ladyship by Stevie Turner ~ #Fiction ~ #Review ~ @StevieTurner6

Norman Wicks is 57, overweight, and has diabetes. He is sick of his life. He has never left home, had a girlfriend, or held down any kind of job. The only friends he has are online, as he prefers to stay in the comfort zone of his bedroom. His devoted 92 year old mother Agnes waits on him hand and foot.

Norman has a secret he has kept hidden from the world for the majority of his life, but now he is desperate to bring it out into the open. He is terrified of how his family will react. However, for his own happiness and peace of mind, Norman must find a way to tell his mother and siblings exactly what they do not want to hear.

HIS LADYSHIP reached the finals and the Longlist of the 2021 Page Turner Awards.

About the Author

Stevie Turner is a British author of romantic suspense, humour, paranormal stories, and women’s fiction family dramas. She is a cancer survivor, and still lives in the same picturesque Suffolk village that she and husband Sam moved to in 1991 with their two boys. Those two boys have now grown, and she and Sam have 5 lovely grandchildren.

One of her short stories, ‘Lifting the Black Dog’, was published in ‘1000 Words or Less Flash Fiction Collection’ (2016). Her screenplay ‘For the Sake of a Child’ won a silver award in the Spring 2017 Depth of Field International Film Festival, and her novel ‘A House Without Windows’ gained interest in 2017 from De Coder Media, an independent film production company based in New York. ‘Finding David’ reached the quarter-finals of the 2019 ScreenCraft Cinematic Short Story Competition. Stevie’s latest book, ‘His Ladyship,’ reached the finals and Longlist of the 2021 Page Turner Writing Award.

To quote reader Roberta Baden-Powell, ‘I’m looking forward to reading your new book, and find your books the best so far. The style you write in has given me a new perspective and a renewed inspiration in reading once again.’

You can find out more about Stevie from her website http://www.stevie-turner-author.co.uk or by reading her WordPress blog http://www.steviet3.wordpress.com

Stevie can be contacted at the following email address: stevie@stevie-turner-author.co.uk

Don’t forget to sign up to Stevie’s mailing list for new publications, events and giveaways! http://eepurl.com/dvNklLRead less

Our Thoughts

This story opens when Norman was just four years old, bitterly unhappy with his birthday presents.

He was already raising eyebrows with his choice of friends and the toys he preferred to play with.

Even at the age of four, he knew he was different.

As he grows up, he becomes increasingly confused and unhappy, hiding away from the world. Eventually becoming something he likes even less, overweight, uncaring of anything or anybody, and obsessed with his fantasies.

Normans struggle was like watching a butterfly appearing from a chrysalis. Not immediately beautiful, but the signs were there.

His journey was long, painful and frustrating, but finally ended with him achieving happiness.

Although I rooted for him throughout, I couldn’t help wishing he hadn’t wasted so much time…





The World in White… #Festive Fiction

Image by Alain Audet from Pixabay

Snow crunched beneath my feet as I walked towards the church. A string of icicles hung from the Lychgate.

A world in white, silent, the snow lay untouched by others. I looked back at my footprints, melting pools of snow lay behind me.

Unlit houses dark against the white, no sign of life. I felt alone, abandoned in a strange place. I have no memory of passing this way before.

The church door stood ajar, inside I felt warmer, welcomed. The early morning light threw a kaleidoscope of colour across the pews. The tiled floor danced, shimmered with light. With the door being open, I didn’t think anyone would mind if I wandered around.

Three steps beneath the church lay the most beautiful room, lit by the light coming from the tall arched windows. I counted twelve pillars, covered in carvings of cherubs, grapes and strange winged creatures I had no name for.

My mind told me I should be afraid, but I felt at home. As I moved through the space, touching each pillar as I passed, a feeling of having touched them before filled my thoughts. Memories that cannot be mine.

I was there with six others, bare feet and long white dresses. What we were doing there was not revealed to me. I did not run from this place, for we were happy. That much was clear from the smiles and the sound of laughter.

These strange blue pillars seemed to hold some kind of attraction that kept us playing here long after we should have been home asleep in our beds.

I couldn’t wait to get back to the B&B to ask about the church. Fresh snow had fallen, stealing my footprints. As I walked through the Lychgate, I felt a shiver grip my body. I heard a voice in my head and knew it belonged to my grandmother Sarah. “Don’t look back…”

I knew the tone, she meant for me to obey so I did as she bid. Reaching the B&B, I asked about the church.

“You’re frozen, come sit by the fire…” The landlady led me to an armchair, and I sat.

“You have been outside for hours…” She put a hot cup of tea in my hands and told me there was no church here. “It burnt down more than 100 years ago. We almost sent out a search party to look for you.”

I looked at the clock on the mantle, I had been gone for four hours. I remembered leaving at ten o clock that morning. I told her she must be wrong; I was inside the church.

She patted my hand like an aged aunt and told me again how it burned down, taking six young lives, young girls about to take their first communion.

 I could not speak to her. Ignoring my grandmother’s warning, I went straight back to retrace my steps, but I could not find the church. I did find the remains of a graveyard and seven headstones. Tears froze on my face as I read each name. My own stood out like neon, Sarah Wilkes, aged ten…

©AnitaDawes2021

WIP Wednesday… Ghost of a Chance…

I thought I had better update my progress today before my muse and/or madness put an end to my struggles.

I think I mentioned last week that there was a serious problem with the plot of my work in progress, Ghost of a Chance. Despite all the patience in the world and several brainstorming sessions, I don’t think I am getting anywhere. Fast.

In fact, the more I study it, I keep finding other problems too. Of course, none of this is supposed to be happening before the end is written, but probably better now than later. At the close of play yesterday (I am joking by the way) there seems to be three muddles. The major one, where a crucial moment seems to have happened far too late in the story, and second, I seem to have written the same conversation in at least three chapters. Added to this list is a character I seem to have forgotten all about.

I almost concluded that the bin was the best place for it, but luckily, my stubborn streak wouldn’t let me do it.

On a more positive note, I have managed to isolate one particular chapter, and if it can be sorted out, will point the way to a satisfactory outcome.

So, this is my target for this afternoon… and unbelievably, I am looking forward to it!

This is the working cover for Ghost of a Chance…

Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch… An Acrostic Poem

It had to happen, I suppose.

Anita loves to write acrostic poetry, and for some reason, longer words are more attractive. So when she chose this particular word, I just smiled. I knew it would be in safe hands…

Long winding road ahead beckons
Little did I know, ghost lie in wait
Air, thick, cold with fear
Never ever bends behind fog laden turns
Fathers words of warning echo in mind
Arrive as you mean to go on
In shadow would be helpful
Rain splashed streets shine under moonlight
People rushing, bump against me
Worries rub against my own
Lost time touching unknown thoughts
Lodging in mind, memory stirs, something sticks
Gutters blocked, rain reaching my feet
Wishes held from childhood
Yearn to be freed
New wishes gather in the background
Getting harder to find space to wait
Yesterday’s thoughts stick, unused
Longing for inspiration
Lead laden boots stamp away dreams
Gritted teeth, drag out my steps
Over lightning ahead, I push on
Greetings, warm welcome greets my end
Envying those sat warm inside
Rain doubled the weight of my clothes
Yule logs burning, guests anticipated
Children wrapping Christmas gifts
Happy faces behind frosted glass
Winter eggnog raised in cheer
Yuletide carols sung by the fire
Rain, no worry to those inside
Never ending tide of water
Drowning out all comforting thought
Run now, thoughts charged
Overwrought emotions
Bumping inside grey matter
Willing my legs onward, my socks soaked
Legs cold aching to rest
Longest road I have travelled
Laden with secrets, lights shining from windows
Long lost families come to mind
Arriving unbidden, I sweep them away
Never a good thing to bring into mind
Touching yesterdays ghosts will never do
You need to think of the now
Stay with the dream, polished with wishes
In time spent dreaming
Longing for success
In long dark nights alone
Over playing your hand
Getting nowhere fast with dreaming
On long days you write them down
Getting yourself a diary full of words
On summer nights, you sigh with remembering
Great times you have planned ahead
Of time spent checking each detail
Comforted by foolish dreams
Hope springs eternal…


©AnitaDawes2021

Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow…

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

Yesterday

Yesterday my life felt as though it was hanging on a hair. What could go wrong, did.  I couldn’t think straight, I dropped things, walked into doorways.

One of those days when I should have stayed in bed. Mind you, I probably would have fallen out of that. Thank God yesterday is over.

Today

I have the bull by the horns, or so I think. I start by tidying up, do the washing while the drying is good, then read a good book before trying to write a bit. So far so good, the washing is on the line, kettle on, coffee made. I do my best thinking while reading a good book.

Tomorrow

Let tomorrow take care of itself. But we don’t. We try to lasso it into place. Make it what we want it to be. It rarely turns out to plan and we can thank the cosmos for that, then fate steps in. The future is already out there, how else could we walk into it? Nowadays I don’t plan ahead too much. I let the cosmos surprise me…

©AnitaDawes2021

New Release: No Such Luck by Staci Troilo #Contemporary Romance Fiction @stacitroilo

I have started reading Staci’s new book and loving every word, but couldn’t wait to tell everyone about it! My review will follow in due course…

Piper Seidel has one thing going for her—a red carnation given to her by Tommy Burnett in the tenth grade. It might have dried over the years, but it’s still her good luck charm. Losing it sets her life in a downward spiral, forcing her to return to her hometown where she comes face to face with her high school crush.


The years have been kind to Tommy, who looks better than ever. Unfortunately, Piper is at her worst, continually embarrassing herself whenever he’s around. The only plus? Her long-time friend, Jack Rhodes, still lives in town. Since she last saw him, his legs have grown longer, his biceps thicker, and his shoulders broader. He was always the brother she never had, but now she can’t help noticing him in an unsisterly way. Jack is every bit as caring as he’s ever been—until her bad luck drives him away, maybe forever.

Piper needs a new good luck charm, and fast, before she loses her final chance at happiness.