I've Been Awarded The Memetastic Award

Did you say an award? For me? I'm just….I'm just speechless. Ooh, this is such an honor. I just wish Roger were here to share it with me.






Isn't it just precious. "Smooch" "Smooch" "Smooch". I love you all, and a special thank you to the funtabulous Sibel Hodge, Chicklit Humor Mystery author for bestowing such a wonderful. . ."whisper" "whisper" "whisper". Well, I've been informed there are rules I must follow if I wish to accept this cute little huggy bear.


1. I must proudly display the absolutely wonderful, although rather strange, graphic in a post. Check

2. I must list 5 things about myself, and 4 of them must be bold-faced lies. My readers are to guess which one is the truth by posting a comment on My blog. Check

3. I must pass on this awesomely, prestigious award to 5 deserving bloggers. Check

Well, if I must--but please don't hate me, I'm not really bad, I'm just drawn that way.


Sooo...Here are Five Funtabulous things about myself, one of which is actually true:


1. I was first runner up in the 1969 Miss America Contest.

2. I wrote my first novel when I was two. I called it "Nightmare on Potty Seat".

3. When I was sixteen I was kidnapped by two killers and their crazy girlfriends who wound up fighting over whether to kill me or let me go.

4. I met my first husband on a murder investigation. He looked awfully suspicious to me so I married him just to keep an eye on him.

5. I just found out I’m pregnant.


Now, I must pass on this award to the following lucky recipients.

Can I have a drum roll please?

I’m so excited about this. I feel like I’m giving away...well...a member of the family, after all we comic characters must stick together.

But, truth told, I can't wait to see what the following fantabulous people list as their Funtabulous Five Facts, one of which is truthful:

1) Larry Enright, funtabulous author of Four Years From Home
2) Seb Kirby, funtabulous author of Take No More
3) Kristina Jackson, funtabulous author of Feathers
4) Elizabeth Reyes, funtabulous author of Forever Mine
5) Samantha Fury, funtabulous author of Street Justice - Charlie's Angel


I'd truly love to give this award to all my friends and fellow authors, but. . .well, not everyone appreciates a good huggy bear.

So now, My Funtabulous Readers and Fans, can you guess which one of the above "facts" is my Linda Prather truth?

Snakes, Alligators and Voodoo--More of Find Me a WIP

I've really enjoyed working on this book, and the research into things I had absolutely no clue about. Hope you enjoy the excerpt.


Catherine kept her hands inside the boat, but couldn't help being drawn into the beauty of the Bayou as the marsh sparkled in the later afternoon glow. An alligator scampered away from the bank as the canoe approached. Herons, egrets and seabirds flew up from the grasses. The Bayou was certainly wild, beautiful and deadly.

"How far do we have to go?" Catherine asked, noting the shadows were getting longer around them. She really didn't want to be in this water after dark.

Aureole spoke with her grandfather who shrugged and kept paddling. "Grandpa says patience is a virtue."

Catherine bit her lip to keep from cursing out loud. Grandpa hadn't really said anything. It was clear Aureole didn't like her. Yet at times there was something in her eyes. Something very sad. There were so many questions Catherine needed answered and Aureole was her only hope of getting those answers.

"Tell me about Voodoo, and how my mother got involved."

Aureole shifted in the boat, causing it to rock gently and Catherine to reach for the sides.

"There are several religions referred to as voodoo, or voudou. There's also hoodoo which is similar in some respects. Our religion is a combination of Roman Catholic, African animism and Christianity. We believe in one God who is all powerful. Many of our traditional ceremonies are presided over by Roman Catholic priests.

"In the old world we call God "Bondje", meaning "Good God". We reach him/her/it through the spirits. We worship God, and serve the spirits.

"There are twenty-one nations of spirits, called the "lwa-yo". The more important nations of Lwa are Rada, Nago and Kongo. The spirits sometimes come in families such as Ogou, Ezilli, Azaka or Gede.

"Rada sprits are familial and mostly come from Africa. Petwo spirits are native to Haiti and can be more demanding and require more attention to detail. Both can be dangerous if angry or upset, although they are not good or evil. They simply are.

"Everyone has spirits, and each person has a special relationship with one particular spirit who is said to "own their head", but we have many lwa, and the one that owns our head, the "met tet" may or may not be the most active spirit in our life."

Catherine listened to the recitation, which sounded like it came from a history book, but her mind honed in on the twenty-one nations. Each of the victims had been stabbed twenty-one times. Why?

"Do you want to know more, or are you bored yet?" Aureole turned giving her a condescending look, clearly expecting her to be bored.

"I think it's fascinating. Of course, I could have read everything you just said in a textbook. Do you find it that boring?"

Aureole rocked the boat again, this time almost capsizing it, and gaining her a rebuke from her grandfather.

"Sorry," Aureole mumbled, clearly not sorry at all. Unless she was sorry Catherine hadn't fallen out of the boat.

" You still haven't told me how my mother became involved in this."

"I can only tell you what my grandfather has told me. Mother Rose was a Catholic nun who served in Haiti for many years. There she met my grandfather, and from there we came to New Orleans. When I say "we" I mean of course the Duprè family. She brought us to the Blanchard plantation where my family worked for yours. When grandfather saw your mother she was surrounded by spirits, and he knew immediately that she was born to be a "manbo" or high priestess. He trained her for many years, although to hear him tell it she trained his as well. She was an amazing woman."

"You knew my mother?" Catherine asked, noting the emphasis Aureole had placed on was an amazing woman.

"I told you, we came over with Mother Rose. We lived with you."

"Catherine. . . . come play with me."

"Were we friends?" Catherine asked.

Aureole turned, leveling her with an angry gaze. "I thought we were."

Catherine remained quiet as darkness closed in around them. The Bayou came alive with strange noises, and ravenous bugs. Thank God she had on jeans and long sleeves, but she found herself constantly swatting giant mosquitoes from her neck and face. Surely they didn't have much further to go.

Almost as if Grandpa had read her mind the canoe slowed and they approached the bank. Taking off her shoes Aureole jumped into the murky waters and pulled the boat ashore, tying it off to a huge tree.

Catherine followed Grandpa's lead and walked to the front of the canoe, stepping gingerly onto the bank. Once again she thanked God she'd worn boots. Five hundred dollar boots that were now covered in Mississippi mud.

Grandpa disappeared into the trees and Aureole slipped her shoes back on mud covered feet. "We walk from here."

Catherine looked around her, hearing the sound of a huge splash behind her in the water. "It's almost dark, how are we supposed to see where we're going?"

Aureole tied her shoe laces, glancing at the alligator now about ten foot from shore. "Guess you'd better keep up then hadn't you? The Kayiman looks hungry."

Tuesday's Tease - The Gifts, A Jacody Ives Mystery

“That’s Cooper,” Joshua whispered, crouching lower and signaling Gavin to do the same. They watched as he dumped something on the ground and proceeded to dig. Gavin glanced at Joshua, fear taking his breath, clutching at his heart. They couldn’t be too late. Not this time. Joshua shook his head and motioned for Gavin to follow him into the forest.

Joshua waited until he was sure they were out of hearing distance. He’d read the fear reflected in Gavin’s eyes. “Too large to be Nikki.”

“Who then?”

“Well, since that’s the good Reverend Cooper, I’d say maybe Mrs. Cooper.”

Gavin was horrified at the thought. “You think he killed his wife?”

Joshua shrugged. “Maybe she wasn’t his wife.”

“You know, you’re beginning to freak me out just a little,” Gavin stated. “My psychiatrist would have a field day analyzing you.”

Joshua grinned, placing a toothpick between his teeth. “That’s why they burned Joan of Arc. Just didn’t understand. Let’s go.”

Buy Now!

The Gifts, A Jacody Ives Mystery

Sample Sunday Anticipation--Something New

I always look forward to Sample Sunday, but this week is even more exciting as a group of Indie Authors have decided to have a "Cook Off". We'll be posting excerpts of books, flash fiction and/or short stories and weaving therein our favorite foods and recipes. A writing challenge that I simply could not ignore. How could I? I mean three of my favorite things. Reading, writing and food.

I wasn't sure exactly what I was going to do this Sunday as neither of my current books deal with food in any way that I found exciting, or even interesting. Could I actually do a murder mystery or serial killer plot involving food?

I love writing challenges because they do just that--challenge you to use your imagination. To step outside that secure little zone you've built for yourself and leap into something different. Here's a prelude to what's to come.

Food To Die Smiling For

Each year a prisoner on death row is allowed to choose a chef to prepare their last meals. This occurs over a three day period. Day one is breakfast. Day two is lunch. Day three is dinner, with dessert prior to the midnight countdown to death by injection. If the prisoner smiles after each meal, then the chef is assured that their career is forever safe. If a prisoner doesn't smile then their career is forever destroyed. Each year the whole world watches--sort of like watching Hell's Kitchen--to see if a prominent well-known chef will make it or go down in flames.

This year the notorious serial killer Ian McGregor will choose. But McGregor shocks the world when he chooses Carrie Thompson, a small restaurant owner that no one has ever heard of.

Carrie and her best friend, and business partner Sammie must come up with food to die smiling for. Are they up to the challenge? And what is McGregor really up to? Did he choose Carrie because he'd heard of her culinary mastery, or was he planning on having her for dessert?

Stop by Sunday and check out Part 1 of Food To Die Smiling For. We're having an Irish breakfast, with loads of fun, and some great recipes. Hope to see you there.

Movie Review - My Soul To Take - Wes Cravens

My Soul To Take - Wes Cravens

Probably my first "horror" film in years. I would have to say that it will definitely appeal to the younger generation. Seven 16 year olds who yearly hold Ripper night where they must face the killer who died on the night they were born and send him back to a watery grave. Fail to face him--and bad things happen.

As an author I enjoyed the psychological aspects of this movie. The distinct personalities of the seven. There are clues given throughout that I must say I missed until near the end of the movie, but then there really wasn't enough pre-information to allow you to know those clues were important.

My biggest disappointment--there was so much more story to work with here, and yet it turned out mostly to be a blood and gore, typical horror movie.

The beginning was truly exceptional, mixing in myths and the voodoo religion. Giving you a character you want to help, and a killer you hate--all wrapped up in the same package. This was, in my opinion, the best part of the movie. The ending--well, for me at least, the ending was a huge disappointment.

Still, I will remain a Cravens' fan. After all he gave us Nightmare on Elm Street.

Some Monday Humor--WIP - More of The Road To Hell

There were a million questions running through my mind, but a subtle kind of peace had settled over me and Jolly, and the thoughts of that pack of Red's Best kept my smart ass mouth closed until we reached the corner.

An old woman was standing there, grey as me, and twice as ugly. If life had been cruel to her, death sure as hell wasn't treating her much better.

"There she blows. So, how do I clean her up?" She sure needed somebody to clean her up.

Now, I knew that last part hadn't been spoken out loud, but the old woman turned to face me.

"Ah, sweet Jesus."

"Where?" Jolly squelched, a look of sheer terror on his face.

"It's a figure of speech dumbass. Look at her. Dammit, Jolly, she's drooling." What a mess. How the hell was I supposed to clean her up?

Jolly recovered quickly, but he seemed to lose some of his bluster. Almost sounded sad, like he was hurting or something.

"That's not your soul. That's Molly."

"So, what's a Molly?" I asked, feeling uncomfortable as those empty sockets continued to stare me down.

"That's what happens to a soul if you fail."

I took a good long look at the old woman. "Shit."

"Exactly, Jake Savior. Fail to deliver your soul on time and he will wind up lost here forever, slowly going insane until he becomes nothing more than a demented drooling mess." Jolly paused for emphasis. "And you will wind up like me."

Now that was a sobering thought and should have been enough to shut me up. Momma always said I was the prettiest one in the family, just not the smartest.

"Well, Jolly," I slapped him on the back in good humor, "looks like my soul is a no-show. What say I clean up old Molly and we all go home?"

Damn, there's those red eyes again. Thankfully Jolly wasn't in the mood to burn me to cinders this time.

"It doesn't work that way. There's rules."

"Rules, huh?" Well that was something to think about. Wherever there were rules there was a way to break the rules. "So, we just gonna leave her here to rot? That don't seem quite fair, does it? I mean it ain't her fault whoever was supposed to clean her up failed."

Jolly didn't answer, but I could tell the thought appealed to him. I was getting to him.

"Your soul is about to arrive."

If you've ever visited Lexington you know that traffic never stops on New Circle. Anytime of night or day you can find a steady stream heading somewhere.

I glanced at the highway expecting to see cars collide any second. Instead what I saw was a kid on a skateboard headed straight for the middle of the street.

"Oh, hell no, Jolly. I don't do kids." Screaming I headed for the street. "Get off the road kid. What the hell's wrong with you?"

Jolly was yelling something behind me, but I couldn't hear him over the old woman's squawks. Wouldn't have made any difference anyway. I kept right on going screaming at the kid and waving my arms at the car. It passed right through me and I heard the sickening sound of metal against flesh, the screeching of wheels on wet pavement and finally total silence except for my own labored breathing. Jolly joined me in the street.

"Rule Number 1, you can't stop it."

"Anybody ever tell you your rules suck, Jolly?

"Rule Number 2, stay on the path. And Rule Number 3, don't lose the manual."

With that Jolly handed me a small leather book with the words Good Intentions burned into the leather binding.

"So what do I. . ." Shit. Jolly pulled a disappearing act right in front of my eyes.

Okie dokie, Jake old man, looks like you're on your own. At least I had the manual to tell me what to do. Opening it I found the first page was a map, golden streets leading straight to the Pearly Gates. Sweet.

The kid looked about six years old so I wasn't totally surprised. I mean, all kids went to Heaven didn't they? This gig was gonna be a piece of cake. Get the kid there quick, find Jolly and get my reward.

Turning the page I couldn't help grinning. Jolly had a sense of humor after all. Rule Number 4, don't break The Rules." Ah, Jolly, and I was just starting to like you.The third page wiped the grin off my face and was the final straw that broke the camel's back in convincing me God really did have a sense of humor. The words seemed to glow on the page, burning with an eerie blue flame. One more mocking reminder that if life ain't fair, death's even worse.

THE ROAD TO HELL IS PAVED WITH GOOD INTENTIONS.

SampleSunday - Mel Comley - Final Justice (A Lorne Simpkins thriller)

March 20, 2011 – Mel Comley – Final Justice (A Lorne Simpkins Thriller)
A Chateau in Normandy



September 2009.

Chapter One

A smug satisfied smile stretched across Baldwin’s handsome but menacing features as he surveyed his lavish surroundings, self-congratulation exuding from every pore. Tonight would be all about him, his ability to manipulate others, as months of meticulous planning came to fruition.

A couple of the scantily clad girls, all of Eastern-European extraction, giggled in the corner. He scowled at them, when he realised they’d been helping themselves to the potent punch, intended for his esteemed guests.

With its final tune-up complete the band drifted off to get changed. Meanwhile, the experienced agency waiting staff were tinkering, adding the finishing touches to the thirty-foot table laden with some of the world’s finest food, specially imported for tonight’s soiree.

His gaze drifted out over the large terrace and he took in the incredible view; the view that had sold the chateau to him. A view that took in thirty acres of manicured lawns, bordered by hedges shaped like animals; luxurious surroundings more suited to royalty than a lad brought up, or rather dragged up, in the boarded-up slums of Salford, Manchester. A lad with a rap sheet longer than the Seine.

Most of his men were already standing in position, their weapons safely concealed beneath their smart tuxedos, they would be joined by the others once the limos arrived.

Baldwin glanced at his watch for the tenth time in as many minutes, his irritation bubbling just below the surface. The guests should have arrived at seven, a full ten minutes ago; where the bloody hell were they? He marched over to the window and craned his neck to look up the long tree-lined drive. Nothing, not a limo in sight, nothing but the grey gravel, glistening in the evening sun. It didn’t bode well, not in his book, anyway. His blood began to pump harder, faster so much so that the vein in his temple jutted out, just as it always did when something didn’t go according to plan. His plans.

‘Well?’ he asked, when Julio, his second in command, joined him at the window.

‘Nothing as yet, boss. Everything’s ready though.’

‘That much I can see, you bloody moron. Now go and see what the fucking hold-up is. I want this evening to go smoothly. You understand, Julio, no cock-ups.’

‘Yes, boss. I’ll get onto it straight away.’

‘Never mind, I’ll see for myself, I know how those guys can twist you round their fingers.’

Baldwin stormed into the communications room located next door. The room was littered with pizza boxes and a bottle of scotch sat on the desk in front of his men. The three men, all built like bouncers, leapt to their feet. ‘Look at the bloody mess in here. Did I say you could drink on duty? This is supposed to be serious business tonight. I’m warning you, fuck this up and you’ll pay for it, with your lives. You got that? Now, what’s the bloody hold-up?’ his glare unnerved the men, and they nodded, like toy dogs in the back of a car.

Baldwin stepped forward, a menacing look in his eyes. He stopped in front of the youngest of the three men, their noses a few inches apart, ‘I said, have you got that, Benji?’

The man gulped, his eyes bulging with fear, he nodded again, ‘Yes, boss, I got it.’

‘This is your final warning, Benji. Screw this up and….’ Baldwin left the sentence unfinished on purpose.

The new recruit backed away and Baldwin let him go, for the time being; he’d had his eye on him for a while, and had come to the conclusion that the man’s attitude stank. It hadn’t escaped him that the man thought highly of himself and enjoyed strutting around as if he owned the place, ‘Now, let’s start again, shall we? Tell me, what the hell is going on?’ He sat on the corner of the desk, looking at the ten TV screens attached to the wall in front of him, each showing a different area of the chateau and its grounds.

‘The limos called in a few minutes ago. They got held up a couple of miles up the road. They should be here within ten minutes,’ Benji said.

‘Make sure they are. I’m getting anxious and I don’t need to tell you what that means, do I?’

The men nodded their understanding of the unspoken threat. His anxiety was notorious, and often resulted in bouts of violence. Despite his men having muscles ten times larger than their IQs, when Baldwin went on the rampage, they all turned into quivering wrecks.

With the threat still lingering in the air, Benji pointed to one of the screens, as a car pulled into the drive, ‘Here comes the first lamb now.’

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Final-Justice-Lorne-Simpkins-thriller/dp/B004OEKFYO
http://www.amazon.com/Final-Justice-Lorne-Simpkins-thriller/dp/B004OEKFYO
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/43071 For other ereaders.

Final Justice (A Lorne Simpkins thriller)

www.amazon.co.uk
This is the sequel to Impeding Justice but is also a standalone thriller/adventure. After suffering a breakdown and quitting the force, former Detective Inspector Lorne Simpkins is contacted by a friend at MI6 to help in a covert operation. Against her will, Lorne is convinced to help track down an . . .