Three hoodies save the world

Constant moaning and whinging about everything

Archive for the month “March, 2015”

Clash of Legends Giveaway

Get this while you can. I’ve read some already and they were terrific.

Amaranthine by Joleene Naylor

Clash of Legends, the seventh book in the Amaranthine series, is live! To celebrate, I’m holding a giveaway. Since this is the seventh book there will be up to seven winners (chosen by random.org). The giveaway is opened between March 31, 2015 and April 28, 2015. Winners will be chosen at the end of April and notified by their preferred contact method.

To enter:  Leave a comment below (or send an email to Joleene at Joleenenaylor.com ) telling me  your favorite part of Clash of Legends (or any book in the Amaranthine series). IMPORTANT: You MUST leave me a way to contact you – either a link to your facebook profile, or an email address (if you’re worried about posting these publicly, send your entry to me via email). Otherwise I have no way to contact you if you win.

The prizes: I’ve given away a lot of things over the…

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Having fun destroying all things that make my day hard.

Here’s a little excerpt from my third Kongomato novel. It’s proving to be fun trashing all the things that make my day driving around London so hard. After destroying Buckingham Palace in book two I’m running out of really worthwhile places but I’ve managed to find another. Who knows what will happen by the time I finally finish the book.

‘Trouble,’ murmured the driver with masterful understatement before revving the engine hard and accelerating with enough power to throw Hendry back into his seat. Anxious to see more he lunged forward and immediately wished that he had not. There, before them lay Admiralty Arch, or more precisely, what was left of it.

The one hundred year old building, a memorial by King Edward VII to his mother Queen Victoria was a shattered pile of rubble. Parked near to the remains of the previously curved structure was a single empty police car, the blue lights of which were providing the eerie light show. Hendry looked, but as far as he could see absolutely no policemen were in attendance. Where they had gone was as puzzling as the fire which although beginning to gutter seemed recent but sufficiently ferocious to demolish it entirely.

‘Stay here,’ said the driver after cocking his enormous pistol and jumping from the still moving vehicle. Hendry’s cry that he should stay or at the very least get them out of there were unheeded as the man went to check – on what, he could not imagine; the entire structure had been destroyed. Parked this close to the fiery remains he looked on aghast. Of course the fire would not burn on ground level for long since what lay above the road was largely stone, but there were multiple levels below ground and God only knew how many people had been there. Had the prime Minister escaped? The questions and terrifying sight surrounded him as he tried to think. Then any more thinking was unnecessary for above the crackling of the flames and single siren echoing about the burnt out rubble, another sound shattered the air. Hendry had it heard it many times before and then as now, it petrified him. That explained where the police had gone, either fled or eaten. Of course the enormous fire would attract any Cryptid for miles around. Leaning from the door he shouted at the top of his voice for the man to return.

He saw him for one moment as a strong gust of wind blew most of the remaining flames to one side and a shower or sparks flew away in a incredible curtain of orange sparkles.

‘Get back here now!’

The man looked up, saw what was above him and with either the most incredible bravery or utter foolishness pointed the weapon upwards. Five shots, five very deliberate and well aimed shots flew upwards to the Cryptid Hendry could still not see. A shrill scream of rage suggested that at least one had found its mark. Then apparently the gun jammed or the creature had moved out of sight, for a moment later the driver turned and ran towards him. One hundred feet, seventy; it seemed he would make it for by now Hendry could see his wide open terrified eyes, the sweat running down his face until with yet another screech, this time from another direction, and the man halted, fell to his knees and with a horrendous scream of his own covered his face.

First it’s the horses and now it’s The Walking Dead.

I foolishly hoped that after working my heart out for a week (with another to do before she’s fit enough) my alleged daughter might actually be grateful that I’ve missed a week’s work and a week’s wages, almost worked myself to death and parted company with three knuckles into the bargain – but no.

Sitting, nay lying in front of the TV tonight with barely enough energy to breath, I was enjoying the new episode of NCIS that I missed on Friday night because I was too tired to hold up my eyelids. Just as it began, in breezed El Bratto and snatching the remote (my territory, and sole right) turned over to some awful program called The Walking Dead, which describes me perfectly. Is nothing sacred? I know it’s the very next day after first being shown in the US but who cares? She could watch that any night. But to interrupt NCIS – has the girl absolutely no shame?

On the bright side, since it was raining and the pony has some unpronounceable disease which precludes him from getting wet, and the horse is unable to do whatever it is that horses do in fields on his own, we got home early, which left me to do some writing.

The typing required about three times longer than usual since my fingers are about three times thicker than they were last week and can barely move enough to find the keys without spelling everything wrong, just like they did when I first learned to type approximately forty years ago. No matter, I did get eight pages done and if I finish with the furry money-drains before midnight tomorrow I might even be able to repair all the gibberish I typed tonight, provided she hasn’t boosted my computer for something important like a mounting block to climb on the nags.

It’s a sale!

Much too good to let go.

Suddenly they all died. The end.

TD-SWASFAS-EcoverHey, everybody! It’s a beautiful Thursday afternoon and I woke up to some amazing news this morning, so I’ve decided to put my books on sale. From now until April 1, 2015, you can pick up Tuesday Daydreams and A Song for All Seasons for just $1.99! Find them on Smashwords and enter coupon code WN73K for Tuesday Daydreams or coupon code JR38E for A Song for All Seasons.

Enjoy, and have a great day! 🙂

(c) 2015.  All rights reserved.

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Revenge is sweet; if a little childish.

I did this to irritate my daughter, and it worked beyond my wildest dreams.

The nag wasn’t too impressed, either.
pony

My work here is done.

Absolute lack of fun – part two.

When I was in Royal Marines training, they would tear us out of bed about 04.00 depending on their whim, and if the folds on our bed sheets weren’t sharp enough for our drill Sergeant to shave his already badly scarred chin, or the freshly polished floors not shiny enough to reflect his bloodshot eyes, we were in for pain of the highest order. If, after a twenty mile run over Dartmoor (usually in the rain) our boots were not shiny and dry and our kit not looking as if it had just been issued then five times around the assault course would be the least of our punishment.

I mention this only as a comparison, as I’ve taken over the upkeep of my daughter’s horses for the next few weeks since I could never hope to earn a fraction of what it would cost for someone else to do it.

“Why does the straw all have to be leaning at an angle of thirty seven degrees? And does all the sawdust have to be exactly twenty two point three centimetres high?” I asked despairingly of my daughter who is not allowed to do anything more strenuous than breathe for the next two weeks as she oversaw my pathetic attempts to clean her stables.

‘Oh, dad, don’t be silly, the straw only has to be uniform – exactly twenty centimetres deep and the sawdust at least four centimetres thick. We don’t want him to get cold in the night. And don’t forget to take out all the straw from their water buckets, we want to give them clean water.” All this despite said buckets being filled with straw the very next time they stuck their hairy snouts into them.”

But she meant it. Stick three stripes on her arm and she would have terrified the life out of my battle hardened old Drill sergeant – and he’d been to war.

After only three days of this, what “we” would like is to curry both of them and torch the stables. I might just sell my body parts and get someone else to do it.

Have I misunderstood the word “fun?”

After having spent the last 72hrs either waiting in, or hovering near to our local hospital waiting to discover if my daughter was to lose her spleen following the severe pounding she received from the two (shod) hooves of a wild horse interacting with her midriff, I’m still trying to understand why it is that people must own horses.

First there’s the expense of buying them, not an inconsiderable amount. Then the really great part, according to my severe mangled offspring: you feed them, clean out all of yesterdays food from the bottom of their stables, then prepare tomorrow’s food. Then tomorrow you do that same thing all over again – forever.

Yes, I know they ride them, so perhaps the joy of it all is avoiding either careless or downright malicious vehicle drivers on the road.If someone could explain to me where the actual fun begins I’d love to know.

And now that she’d back from hospital, thankfully intact, I can begin writing again. I wasn’t this afraid when people in other countries were trying to kill me on a daily basis. At least then I could fight back, and instead of paying a king’s ransom for the privilege, I was being paid.

I’m just glad she’s back safe, if a little dented, but if she could find another hobby like knitting, I’d be delighted.

My best writing week for years.

After spending almost an entire week working on the cover for a novel I haven’t even written, I decided to actually write the novel upon which I’d wasted so much time faffing about with the cover.

Happily this has been my best marathon for years. I’ve managed to do a second fifty pages in the past four days after the first took almost two months. I even welcomed a new character I hadn’t even thought of until she bustled her way onto my pages. I’m not sure just how much she’ll bugger up the works, or even perhaps help to keep my headstrong character from trashing the only part of London he and the winged reptiles haven’t already succeeded in destroying.

I love it when that happens and finally acknowledge that I’m a panster forever. I’ve tried a dozen times to write the way apparently normal authors do, which is to say plan my novels. Or at the very least envision a beginning, a middle and an end, preferably in the correct order, and stick to it. But every time I do that I either end up becoming hopelessly lost or lose interest. So I’m sticking with the way I love. And if it doesn’t work, then I’ll just begin a new novel and come back to it later. I have already have four that fell by the wayside which I will finish before I die.

Guest Post: Multi-touch iBooks and ‘The Sword of Air’ by R.J. Madigan

Books: Publishing, Reading, Writing

I was so intrigued by R.J. Madigan’s experimentation with new innovations in iBook formatting that I requested a Guest Post about the subject for my own blog as I believe this will be of interest to many of my readers, as well.

The Sword of Air – Punk publishing at it’s best, pushing the medium
to create something new

unnamed 1

Visibility is the indie author’s enemy and with new titles being published every day it is getting harder and harder to stand out in such a crowded market place. This is why I decided to publish my first Young Adult Fantasy novel The Sword of Air as an iBook. With world-building creative options like music HD video, 3D modelling and photography to colour my story I was able to create a book unlike anything else on the market.

View the book trailer here.

Sales of printed books are falling every…

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A review for a book I haven’t even read.

As usual WordPress won’t play nicely, and won’t let me post my new blog, so here’s the address of my blogspot post for a review of kay Kauffman’s new book of poetry.

http://threehoodies.blogspot.co.uk/

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