Thursday, October 31, 2013

APPARITION ~ by Absolutely*Kate . . . (scares it up again)

   A P P A R I T I O N   
circa 2009 -- How time flies when writing's fun

*AT THE BIJOU* proudly presents an oldie but a goodie, scared up at the classic Horror Queen's hallowed ~

13 Days of Horror:  Absolutely*Kate at the very eerie ERIN COLE's:

WELCOME TO THE 13 DAYS OF HORROR

The esteemed author ERIN COLE once murmured, like a warm stage whisper:
My next featured guest on the 13 Days of Horror is a writer with such a unique edge, her prose is a voyage through the magic and mysteries of spirit and psyche — she has muses working for her. Collaborating thirty-three writers for the stellar venture, Harbinger*33, {sailing out of the future}, backed with her own witty, diligent, and talented works, she is a gale storm of splendor and a true comrade to many.

It is with great honor to introduce to you my next guest, and kindred spirit, Absolutely*Kate and her story, APPARITION.

   A P P A R I T I O N   


           ~  by Absolutely*Kate


Bill didn’t have a ghost of a chance when Mary died suddenly the night following the annual Christmas cookie exchange on Mocking Raven Lane. Bill adored all the merry merits of Mary. Why, that’s why Bill married Mary. Admiration knew no bounds for the passions, pleasures and playful priorities that Mary brought to the blend of their loving life. Oh how Mary loved life!

Mary created and considered, then created some more, and Bill loved Mary’s creations ever more. He cherished her pottery, plantings and photography, her tapestries, timetables, teriyaki and tiramisu. Whenever Mary baked up a storm for any season’s reasons, he played their special song while the oven attuned to 350-bake. Midst brown sugar and sprinkles, almond flavoring and the warm flavor of Mary’s appetizing eyes, Bill slowly undressed his pal and his gal, let fingers linger, sensed thoughts collide, and came into new understandings every way inside. Proud Bill told talented Mary time and time again, “Just like you Mar, perfection is delicious.”

On the pre-holiday afternoon of the annual thumbprint cookies bake-a-thon — which the whole neighborhood knew were to die for — Bill’s thumbprints left slow, swooning indentations all along Mary’s supple breasts, pulling her natural lovely nakedness oh so tenderly into his own. Aye, that was the rub that tendered the Bill. The whisper from the big-hearted man into the woman who flexed his vitality, rasped with feeling over the raspberry filling, “Sweet Mar, never change any ingredient. How could it be you if otherwise?”

   * * *   

As the calendar turned a new year and turned Bill’s life achingly upside down, the new neighbor Edna showed up with casseroles and condolences. Eager Edna edged into pedal pushers, then short shorts, then a string bikini as spring gardening turned into backyard summer tanning. While cutting the lawn one day, Bill noticed where the grass was greener. Theirs was a spirited howl of a whirlwind relationship from late May to early October, in which Bill bedded and wedded Edna in a thinly veiled ceremony attended by the knowing neighbors of Mocking Raven Lane. The reception was held at one of Bill and Mary’s former favorite haunts, where some said they felt uneasy around easy Edna.

Every night felt so familiar as Bill told Edna how well she filled out Mary’s silks and satins, which he hadn’t the heart to toss into Thursday’s trash or the Goodwill receptacle downtown. He told her she was an apparition to behold.

Halloween night saw Edna half-heartedly backing the buoyant boyhood spirit of Bill at the door, with Reese’s, Butterfingers and Snickers galore. He chuckled past princesses, Transformers, zombies and more, after asking one pirate tyke, “Hey — where’s your buccaneers?”, and the kid jeered back, “Under my buckin’ hat!” To Edna the joke fell flat. Bill reminisced how Mary would’ve giggled on and on about that.

Funny, in all the groups of Trick-or-Treaters, one costumed neighbor mom fringed the sidewalk’s edge more and more. In the midst of the mist of the darkening dusk, he sensed a melancholy her non-smile was putting out. Cheer of prior years hauntingly reminded ~ he just missed Mary. Mentioning the freaky frequency he’d gazed at the gauzy lady, edgy Edna crackled and snapped, “Most likely the vicious vampires are changing their get ups behind the bushes and hitting us up for more than their fair share. Can we shut the porch light out yet?”

Upstairs in bed, Bill heard Mary’s grace of giggles. His dreams? The radio? Nope ~ he’d remembered waiting until 12:15 when their old favorite radio station played Clapton’s “After Midnight”. A simple play list maneuver, but any purposeful pun set off Mar’s giggles. The allure just took off from there. Nope, the radio was off . . . but the music wasn’t.

Bill didn’t have a ghost of a chance when “Unchained Melody” began to play. Like the wind, her song stayed on his mind, as engulfing passions tend to do. Desire aspires to where intertwined fires flair and flare. Her spirit, or his bewitched, bothered and bewildered thoughts played “Misty” for him next. A chilling sensation just out of reach had his guilty reach go to Edna. Chilling there too; no real surprise. He strained to adjust his eyes towards two small approaching lights. Warm lights like ~

The first shot that rang out in the dark went straight through Billy Boy’s heart. The following volley sought where Mary wondered if evil Edna even had one. When she’d viewed their vows at the flimsy altar of intentions, her solemn dark of soul vow became to taunt, daunt and haunt the man who done her wrong, the man that should’a known . . . the proof wasn’t in the pudding that fateful night, the secret was always in the sauce, the raspberry sauce.

Three ghosts now aghast circle-swirled the wretched room. Two rookies and a seasoned spirit of soul who knew how to create an entrance, amongst other titillating talents. Take tonight ~ she’d done her tutorial well, bided her time, knew the Halloween power of forging worlds. With the savvy of mentor Marley’s ghost, Mary unchained her refrain dead-on, evenly at Edna’s eerie “Eeek”.

There were sparks to her aura and she knew how to use them. In solemnity of spirit, she taunted just right, “I saw you through your garbage. That’s where you nonchalantly tossed your vile vial. Since it didn’t make my raspberry butter batter better that afternoon, you were bitter. You tried to take over my perfect life. You set out to become my Bill’s wife. But it takes love to have a perfectly delicious life. Cold souls can’t. Disintegrate Bitch!”

And with that declaration centering her power, Mary turned on the power of that which was hidden ‘neath her diaphanous spinning swirls ~ the trusty dust-buster that mutilated grime and the remnants of this farcical crime. Marley had showed her the adjustments for molecular karmic ‘vacuumation’. Edna was now an eon of her former self.

“And YOU!” She turned to Bill, the only lights in the room the flash of eyes he remembered taunting him so well. Despite her dismissive disgust, he was desperate for her tantalizing touch, that sink into sensation of skin against skin . . . errrr . . . apparition against apparition? How the sorcery did they express pent-up passions? Does ghostly charm disarm or alarm?

Mary’s soul though, went solely for harm. “You willingly let another ingredient prevent perfection. By the powers vested in me by the Exalted Spirits of Eternity, your punishment is permanent paralysis of reach and touch and please and ease. A vortex of vulnerability is where you’ll flail. Nothing personal any more Bill, I’m sentencing you to hell.”

Mary positioned the life-size pottery images she’d conjured into various dead shadows in various darkened windows. The folks on Mocking Raven Lane went about their street sense and left lifeless recluses to themselves. The sage among them though, (and those who burned sage), remembered that perfection was the joy of a life vitally lived as Bill and Mary had vibrantly done. At nights, Mary at first visited hers and Bill’s old haunts, but with true character no longer tormented by a broken soul, Mar ‘s heart opened to a new whirled’ wide woo of warlocks . . . and wonder of wonders, developed a zest for zombies along the way. 

Zing went the gossamer of her spirit and un-life passed perfectly. 

She became a ghostwriter and is finishing . . . 
this . . . 
story . . . 
now.


The original ran proudly at Erin Cole's with all of the Really Scary Authors of our Life and celebrated Times . . . 


~ Absolutely*Kate, Halloween festooned as vintage vixen, shares the daring duality of fellow Gemini gal the eerie cool ~ Erin Cole ... appreci'kating the opportunity to scare it up with the horrorifics - back when we first danced with the wonder of words.

No Trick -- all Treat ~
Read every book Erin Cole's written,
destined to write and conjures still.

~ Fan & Fanfare,
~ Absolutely*Kate on Hallow's Eve




Friday, September 13, 2013

THE ROOKIE Rambling the Rounds and Ranks of BOUCHERCON



R O O K I E  at  B O U C H E R C O N ?

~ Absolutely*Kate


Oh yeah, first time, virgin appearance, musing and schmoozing rough and tough elbows with crime-time greats. Noir Stars and killer-thrillers of our shadows' days.

All cliches come real in the zeal of this rookie ramblin' rounds of the ranks at
Bouchercon, this year in Albany's state of NY crime-mind: 


What? You've seen these guys around?

    Lookin' mighty forward to meeting up (again and first times) with Authorfolk we all know 'round our reading pleasures and the wiles of WebTowne:


Oh yeah.
The BIG GUNS.

Those who gut-know how the words should do more than snap, crackle and pop in serial tales . . .



SURE SHOOTERS IN CRIME 








TAKING IT FROM THE TOP:
'Best Bud' Kevin Michaels ~ 'Hero' Matt Hilton ~ Robert J 'Pally' Randisi ~ slinky lady Kate Laity ~ Noir-at-the-Bar star Eric Beetner ~ Moonlighter Vince Zandri ~ big lug o' tough Les Edgerton ~ secretly a Berlin, CT boy (shhh), now big West-coaster Joe Clifford ~ 'Uncle' Raymond Chandler ~ sharpest shooter of 'em all, who taught me and Nelle Callahan swell, Dorothy Parker ~ showman RapSheet schmoozer Ali Karim ~ new pal about New England'ville, ShotGun Honey's editor Chris Irvin ... and now me, Absolutely*Kate.   Uncle Ray Chandler and Miss Dorothy Parker will be there ... in how I shadow my spirit of intrigue. 


Yeah. Who hasn't read or read of these loaded luminaries?  

Watch for my 
hot commentary in the COMMENTARY, as this Lucky'13 BOUCHERCON rolls its dice at what comes out naughty or nice from these luminaries I know I'll be hangin' with.




Will Rogers out-genre'd his genre, but I'm thinkin' he'd have plenty to say about this hot shot time up in Bouchercon as September slings herself. 


" If you want to be successful, it's just this simple. Know what you are doing. Love what you are doing. And believe in what you are doing." -- 


Me?  Them?

Gonna post some quips and quotes, cool shit and hot stuff at the end of each day at the bar -- er, a few panels -- where insider insights may prevail . . . swell.
* C L I N K *

~ Absolutely*Kate, rookie makin' the rounds
~ author / promoter / presenter of  ~ 

*AT THE BIJOU*
"The Shadows of Our Noir" 

the new  THE SHADOW KNOWS  excerpt site

plus Authors Rising  and The Espresso Cafe

~ representing 

NOIR NATION as Brand Ambassador

to VegaWire Media and 
Bare Knuckles Press 

~ proudly promoting 

publisher Eddie Vega's Noir Nation 3 and Noir Nation 4,  our International Crime editions soon out the door

~ excited as all get out to come out this fall
in Nelle Callahan's debut novel
THE DAMP FEDORA


Sure, watch for gal gumshoe with gumption, Nelle . . . 

but watch in the next few weeks for

 COMMENTS in the COMMENTARY

 of ~  "Who Said or Did What" 
at this brazen Bouchercon before me . . .

~ Gotta go pack, folks

~ Absolutely*Kate

( who damn well knows she shall meet and mingle with many more prominent authors, agents and publisher folks at this mystery / thriller / noir / crime scene bash )

. . . You'll see, oh yeah -- You'll See 


Friday, August 9, 2013

SeaPunk ~ " Now You Sea It " . . . when a chanty meets a challenge . . . By ~ Absolutely*Kate


Author Chuck Wendig, in his terribleminds posting had a not so terrible idea --

Create your own 'punk' lit -- past the hem and haw and cranks and wheels of  steampunk and valvepunk and his new specialty ~ home grown 'cornpunk',

I entered into the array of his fray with my stream of conciousness ~

SeaPunk.

Hope you dig some treasure buried here, 
and get a good gander at the pile o' punks
chuckin' up their stuff at Chuck's.

Oh yeah, *AT THE BIJOU* is back in town baby.

Gonna shine spots and kleigs on stories, glories, punks and shadows of our noir
You'll see  ~ ~ Oh yeah, you'll see.

~ Absolutely*Kate,
'cause the best shows in WebTowne must go on





Now You Sea It
~ By Absolutely*Kate

There’s flotsam. There’s jetsam, and never the twain shall meet – even when most folks don’t rightly know bad flotsam from good jetsam when they’re up to wading wet ankles in white kicky, salty foam brine. There’s knowing which cove on which semi-deserted beachwalk at which time of tides is ready, willing and able to yield up the conch catch o’ the day ‘neath the still pinch-your-nose stench o’ the big black creepy seaweed. Yep, there’s all that and a white soft slow-mo spiral of a seagull’s feather you catch in the palm of your hand and a scallop shell and the cobalt glass triangle that caught your eye on the last bendover. That’s the stuff of good pocket-fillings so’s your arms are open for the expected unexpected hunk of driftwood – beached when you weren’t here at this fine day’s mornin’ ebbtide.


     Crosscurrents and eddies that ain’t the name of your Uncle Ed’s son Ed, and tyin’ the cleat knot on the line thrown your way and barefooting the well worn pier at the hometown marina with that cool one waitin’ in the rusty red cooler ‘board ship is a simple pleasure high – kinda like the sky this time o’ getting’ ready for evenin’ sail. Blue skies, nuttin’ but blue skies, vast with peachy keen overlay -- and who really gives a flybridge of a damn when a cliché is actually worth embracing the stuff it got swirled out about. Yeah, this be the Life from mains’l to top gallant which is so friggin’ cool to say – but not quite as intensive as the boost your psyche gets when you boom out, “Come Aboarrrrrd!” as hearty response to that pal or bum who wanted to share a hunk o’ your day – any ol’ seafaring way.

Yeah man, watch those sandpipers skitter at the edge of the edge of true grit sandy wonder. This be livin’. Kinda full life grab you at every place worth being grabbable that ol’ Satchmo and Popeye sing chanties about.

This be seapunk.

Wave on, wave on.


Kerplunk.

~ Author Absolutely*Kate (c) 2013,
bringin' a chanty to a challenge 



Oh yeah, 

*AT THE BIJOU* 

is back in town baby.
Gonna shine spots and kleigs on stories, glories, punks and shadows of our noir
You'll see  ~ ~ Oh yeah, you'll see.

~ Absolutely*Kate, 'cause there's no biz like show biz like no biz I knows

( Everything about it is appealing )






Tuesday, January 15, 2013

THE LUSH LIFE ~ Coming soon ~ AT THE BIJOU


Jazz ~ Cocktails ~ 


The Lush Life ~


* AT THE BIJOU *


Put on your high hats and your high heels. 

High ideals? Hell, they're optional.

But order a high ball.
Or a Mickey Slim, a 1940's fave
of all the swell high rollers.

You're gonna need a brazen belt 
for the New Year's "Cheers" lineup.


It is  Lucky*13  after all.

You'll see.

You'll see.


********************************************

c o m i n g    c i n e m a t i c a l l y    s o o n


*******************************************


   MICKEY SLIM sauntered in the upscale new cocktail lounge AT THE BIJOU joint and barked out, "The usual".

   The new girl, Evelyn, looked at Shirley who squinted at Doris (who knew nuttin' just comin' outta the chorus). They'd seen Mickey around, were even familiar with the swagger of his saunter, but just weren't up to snuff on how usual his usual was poured out. The guy had a crisp edge none of 'em wanted to see flip over. Somethin' sour must've sloshed the careen of his world. Put it this way - The guy wasn't whistlin' any happy tunes.

   Yikes. What to do? What to do?

 
 Life is perfect timing. Always is, always will be. Fortunately for the bevy o'beauts behind the bar AT THE BIJOU, Marjorie and Ruby shimmied in their own swish and saved the day. They knew where that maven mixologist Sugar Mae had hid her book o'tricks. "Peachy keen! Here it is - right next to the whiskey sour mix." 


   Shoogs had scrawled copious pink notes on both the regulars and the high rollers' choice of refreshment libations. Shoogs was always sweet to please:


The Mickey Slim for Mickey Slim is a cocktail drink that I predict will have a very short-lived popularity around town. It's a killer, I tell you, a risky killer ~ 

   First you jigger in the Gin

   Then 1 pinch DDT punch. 

   You heard me. Many countries ban this DDT ingredient, 'cause the effects, like absinthe, don't really make any hearts grow fonder. Could have something to do with what an insecticide is set up to do. Then again, Mickey's a dangerous old bugger.

   I add a little ice cold water and plunk in one sugar cube.

   Girls, when you push it towards him on the counter, lean in with all the bouncy cleavage you gots and repeat after me ~ 

   "Here's your poison, Bub."

   Mickey loves drama with his drink. We are AT THE BIJOU after all. And Katie says our shows absolutely must go on!

   At his swanky corner table, Bogey chuckled, "The problem with the world is that everyone is a few drinks behind."

   He reminded the girls, and Mickey too, who had glassy eyes and a wide-ass grin, "Katie's looking to run some fine 40's film gems on the Lush Life. Cocktails and swells. Spread the word, will ya?"

   The feller who came in with Sugar plugged his 2-cents worth:

 "Yeah. Tell any Authors ya know worth their salt to spiel their best stuff. Don't order the Mickey Slim though. It ain't worth the gulp."

   Sugar Mae giggled, clung to the blue-eyed guy she came in with and took up her pink pen again. Wrote the submission guidelines: 


Friends of  AT THE BIJOU,

SUBMIT:  

Lush Life Stories
to run through Oscar's Greatest Night
under 1000 words

SEND TO:
Absolutely*Kate and Film Crew
for AT THE BIJOU
@RiverviewStudios@gmail.com


   Mickey raised high what was left of his green cocktail, matching a peculiar shade of his face. With good gusto, he mustered his mutter to all gathered at the swanky new cocktail lounge AT THE BIJOU

   "T'anks folks. Can't wait to see dese screen gem shows."


********************************************

c o m i n g    c i n e m a t i c a l l y    s o o n


*******************************************



You'll see.

You'll see.


It is  Lucky*13  after all.


~  Absolutely*Kate
( sipping scotch, single malt ~ with a splash )


Photo credits:

StepByStep.com  ~ Mickey Slim cocktail
Maltese Falcon ~ Mr Bogart
Sugar Wendy Staley - Mr Sinatra and She
Jazz ~ Absolutely*Kate's collection






Friday, June 29, 2012

SICK IN THE HEAD ~ David Barber's Debut in "THE SHADOWS OF OUR NOIR"


Sick in the Head.

By David Barber


Dad, it’s so late.
What are you doing down here
You look a state
Have you been hitting the beer
  
I’ve been waiting for you, son
Did you forget the curfew
You know, it’s not a lot of fun
Waiting and worrying about you
  
This is so lame, Dad,
I’m not a kid anymore,
I’m 21, no longer a lad
I’ve got ‘the key to the door’
  
There’s a killer out there
And I don’t want you dead
Do you think it’s fair
I’m worried out of my head
   
As I’ve just said
I’m no longer a child
I’ve got a good head
I’m not foolish or wild
  
Age is immaterial
To a hunter of the flesh
Be it singular or serial
Be it old or be it fresh
  
Dad, if you want the truth
I went down the pub
I met up with Ruth
I think we’re in love
  
Are you being serious
That slag from The Crown
That’s fuckin’ hilarious
She’s the bike of the town
  
You don’t have a clue
You’re so wrong about her
I’m done talking to you
This chat is totally over
  
You could find another
Not that dirty one
You could do a lot better
Get rid of her, son
  
My ears are sore
And your words are dead
I’m not listening anymore
I’m going to my bed
  
Tomorrow you’re staying here
You hear what I said
There’s a maniac out there
Who is sick in the head

The killer targets females
It said so on the news
And according to the details
Takes away their shoes
  
A guy or a chick
It doesn’t matter, son
If his mind clicks
He’ll strike: job done
  
Wait, how do you know
That the killer’s a he
The news never said so
It could be a she
  
Just go to bed, son
You’ll be safe up there
I’m staying down here
I’ll be sat in my chair
  
I walk up to my room
And close the door
My Dad will be sleeping soon
Of that I’m sure
  
I take out the blade
From my bedside drawer
And walk over to my wardrobe
Slowly opening the door
  
In there are my prizes
On the shelf behind my clothes
All styles and sizes
In nice neat rows
  
Red ones, black ones
Navy ones, too
All expensive leather ones
The best kind of shoe
  
I leave my room
The knife held in my hand
And walk through the gloom
Not making a sound
  
I enter his bedroom
My dad’s still downstairs
In a world of dream
Asleep in his chair
  
I walk to his wardrobe
And open the door
Moving aside a bathrobe
And assess the score
  
I count up the shoes
My dad is one pair ahead
It obviously proves
We’re BOTH sick in the head

©2012 Author DAVID BARBER
Another original DEBUT ~ AT THE BIJOU
for ~ "The Shadows of Our NOIR"

 
Absolutely*Kate sails authors
in all their cross currents

David, David, David ~ 
You are a prince 'mongst mere mortals -- You've let ME pub this FIRST! What a gem - and what a beginning to  beguine a whole slew of variant scenes . . . You've a separate book in the making when each stanza-laden delight strings together what you said your head did not know from where  words hailed . . . Hmm, one wonders what could take over a madman so wise?

This is bountifully brill, but you felt that flow from the first to all the cross currents of stream-throughs ~ didn't you? Each stanza evokes both picture and mood and tucks in phrases all just right, just right, just right. Should I effuse any more you'll either get your noggin stuck in doorways or wonder what's in my coffee. 


DAVID BARBER, "NOIRETRY's" ~ STANZA-MAN ~
 Kate,
  
Well, my head is huge now! You're way too kind! Thank you for enjoying my work, Kate. Poetry isn't normally my thing. Thanks again for the spotlight. It's great to be back submitting work.


Best,
David.



DAVID BARBER
MAN WITH PEN

needing no license

He knows how to use it.
JUST THE FACTS, MA'AM 
David Barber was born and bred in Manchester, England, but after 39 years of city life decided to up sticks and move to  Crieff in Scotland with his wife, Lisa, and their two daughters, Imogen and Melissa.  
Having written for a few years when he was younger, fatherhood took hold and, being self employed, earning money suddenly became more important so mindless scribbling had to take a back seat.
It was after a visit back down to Manchester that his childhood friend and fellow writer, Col Bury, invited him to write something for a magazine he was assistant editor of – the award winning magazine Thrillers, Killers ‘n’ Chillers.  He rattled off a six sentence story called 'Sorry Love' and sent it off.  That piece then went off to win a 2nd place Bullet Award.  
Since that day his writing has flowed from fingers to keyboard and onto magazines, such as A Twist of Noir, Near To The Knuckle, The New Flesh and Blink Ink.  He has also had the honour of having stories published in print and in e-book anthologies, True Brit Grit, Action: Pulse Pounding Tales, Off The Record and The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology.
He has just ended an 18 month stint as editor of The Flash Fiction Offensive.  During that time his eye for detail has vastly improved and the editing side of the industry has helped his own writing enormously.
He is currently working on a few projects including a novel and an e-book short story collection.  

David Barber can be found lurking at David Barber ~ Writer  
On Amazon, on Twitter at @thetwoblokes and on Facebook


BUT ~ Be these murmurings
FACTS OR FICTION? 


HOT HAYES

"David moved to Scotland only because he's always want to root for the Dunfermline Athletic Football Club and secondly (maybe more importantly) of his (some say unnatural) attraction (and affection) to the famous Scottish Highland Cow. He's a woolly buggar our David is. "


~ AT THE BIJOU Author AJ Fedora Fella Hayes
(scroll around - see him rough his stuff)





POUR ANOTHER, SMITH
"Dave is a tiler who unwinds by going for a night on the tiles. Dave's beauty therapist wife gives him a makeover every Sunday night. "


~ AT THE BIJOU Author Graham Sensation Smith (scroll around -you'll find him)


LADY LAITY
"Fact: David Barber once considered being a barber so he could have a business card that said “Barber, Barber” and planned to ply his trade in Sing Sing or else Walla Walla.

"Fiction: As a wee lad, David Barber starred in frightening public information films to warn children away from the dangers of the then popular sport of cat wheedling, but was found to be allergic to moggies and summarily fired. 

They might both be untrue... "

~ Author shady lady, Kate Laity, taking on all the spotlights she can unshadow for an AT THE BIJOU debut . . . as summer goes to a month of Julys.

MY GODFATHER,
GODWIN
"David Barber used to model himself on Sweeney Todd before he was arrested for stealing pork pies."

~ Good God, it's Author Godwin, Richard Godwin -- yeah, that's him ~ Watch for The Godwin Show of Shows debuting on hot summer nights, 
AT THE BIJOU.
RG: Kate your mischievousness will get you in trouble one day, I am fully prepared for my debut at the bijou, I am having my tux steamed. ~ Richard.

TWO SWINGING BOYS
"David Barber's nickname as a spotty teen was 'Barbs' to some, and he had (still has?) an uncanny resemblance to Depeche Mode's lead singer, David Gahan. Also, our good friend is a Manchester United fan, BUT he was a ball boy for their/his bitter rivals (and my beloved blues) Manchester City back in the 80's, and I was on the front row behind the goal (slightly envious) as he scampered around the sacred grass collecting any stray balls (coughs) for my (his?) heroes. Is he really a closet Man. City fan...? ;-)" 

~ Author of true grit, cool COL BURY, 
likewise making his AT THE BIJOU Debut
... after novel gets to agent!

THIS JUST IN from our AUTHOR!

"Kate,
You're a star. It looks great and has taken me by surprise. I've been a tad busy this past week with my e-book, which is now available on Amazon. Here's the link if you could (by any chance) add to the post." ~ David

Kate (packing yet, packing yet, for 6'am flight to OuterBanks grand seaside all-the-family-in-the-family vacation) -- "GOTCHA COVERED PAL. But -- YOU are the shining star shootin' off all heights!"

Here ya go folks ~ 


HOT OFF THE E-PRESSES!


Yep, you can find ~
 David Barber's "The Stranger"
Graham Smith's "Isaa's Island Prison"
Kate Laity's "Chickens"
Richard Godwin's "Savage Sun"
Col Bury's "Gallance"
and Absolutely*Kate's "Angel Tough"
all pulsating in ~
 MATT HILTON'S tumultuous
natch at Amazon, US and UK.

Thanks David for takin' the heat under the spotlights and kleigs ~

* AT THE BIJOU *

~ Absolutely*Kate,
inviting "Come one, come all!"

to ~ "THE SHADOWS OF OUR NOIR"

Sashay or Saunter in every
summer*weekend!

The popcorn's better buttery,

and the hits?
Heck, they just keep comin'!

WHATTA LINEUP!


WHEN AN AUTHOR
 MEETS AN AUTHOR,

COMIN' THROUGH THE WRY,

you'll next spy ~

the thrill of PAUL BRAZILL

good God, it's GODWIN

shady lady, KATE LAITY

and more,

so very sure
 and shadowy more 





"Be there

or be square, Bub.


You too,

Toots.


Our Katie puts on

absolutely

killer shows."





Oh go ahead . . . Share some popcorn on this one . . .