Gemma's Not Sure by Gill Stewart Blog Tour

Today is my turn on the blog tour for Gemma's Not Sure by author Gill Stewart.








Buy link for the book, from Amazon.

About the book Gemma's not sure if she's brave enough to go to her audition, or if she even wants to study music at all. She's definitely not sure forming a band with Lily's hot ex-boyfriend is a good idea.

Jamie's university life isn't like he thought it would be, and he doesn't know what to do about it. One thing he does know is that he wants a reason to bump into Gemma Anderson again.

The Galloway Girls are back! With exams coming up and major life choices in progress, everything is about to change.




Contact links

Twitter: @SweetCherryPub
@GillStewart2

Instagram: @sweetcherrypublishing
@gillwritesnow

Facebook: /SweetCherryPublishing
/GillStewartAuthor

For my stop I have an exclusive extract from the book, enjoy.

GEMMA

‘I’m not sure I can do this.’ I mean to say it inside my head. ‘Of course you can!’ Lily turns her gaze from my computer screen. ‘You’re the best singer in the school, and you’re amazing at piano. You’re bound to get–’ I wave my hand to shut her up, which works, surprisingly. Maybe she’s noticed I’m on the verge of tears. I mean, everyone seems to think I should do this. Go to uni, study Music, make a career out of it … They’d said it couldn't hurt to apply, could it? As it happens, yes, actually. Because now the Conservatoire has sent me details of the audition and just reading them makes me feel so sick I think I might need to run to the toilets. (This is saying something given the state of the ones at Galloway Academy.) I take a deep breath and close the window. ‘No need to think about it now,’ I say, as brightly as I can.

‘Of course not. Take your time. Although, the audition is in November, so you do need to decide fairly soon …’ I pretend to rummage in my bag. Lily accepted her audition to study Drama straight away. No nerves at all. Me, I love singing at home, or in a choir – but on my own in public? My stomach lurches. And why did I even choose voice as a secondary instrument when I could have done just piano? Although, I’m not comfortable playing that in public, either. Basically I’m pathetic. Lily is being very patient, for her. She doesn’t mention the audition again for at least two hours. Then, as we walk back to her house after school, she says, ‘You know, they do a music-teaching course at the Conservatoire. Maybe you could consider that? It isn’t so much about performing in front of people.’ ‘No, it’s about performing in front of a class of kids every day of the year.’ ‘Only in term time.’ ‘Lily, I’m never going to be a teacher.’ She doesn’t give up. ‘You were really good when you led the choir in the pantomime last year. That was basically teaching. And you’re a prefect. That shows you know how to use your authority.’ Lily’s all about those ‘transferable skills’. But, again, ‘No, it shows I organise the prefect rota so I’m always on with you, and you can be the one to “use your authority”.

‘Oh.’ She looks surprised. Then she frowns. ‘I thought it was because you enjoyed my company.’ ‘And that,’ I add, in the unlikely event that I’ve hurt her feelings. And I do enjoy Lily’s company. She’s been my friend for forever. And I’m usually good at tuning out her overenthusiasm. As we turn to go up the steps to her front door I say, ‘Anyway, why isn’t Tom with us?’ ‘Tom and I don’t spend our lives in each other’s pockets, you know. We’re both independent human beings.’ ‘But where is he?’ ‘Taking Sarah to her hospital appointment.’ ‘Ah.’ That should put my worries about the Conservatoire into perspective. Tom’s younger sister doesn’t even get to go to school, so who knows if she’ll ever be well enough for university? And yet … What am I going to do about the audition? Mrs Guthrie, my singing teacher, and Mrs Marshall, my piano teacher, will probably have something to say about it. I know Mum and Dad will just tell me to do what makes me happy, but that’s the problem: I’m not sure what that is.


JAMIE

Uni life is amazing! Freedom. No one looking over my shoulder all the time. No one planning what I should do every second. This is what I’ve been waiting for! I’m not exactly smashing the academic side of things, but we’re only a few weeks in. The social side will probably calm down soon – not that I want it to. Innis, one of the guys in my flat, is on the same course as me and just as keen on making the most of student life. ‘You coming over to the Union?’ he says, as I drop my gym bag and reach for some juice from the fridge. ‘Aye, why not?’ I was going to look at my Accounting notes, but I’ve just put in a good training session. I deserve a break. ‘Give me ten minutes for a shower.’ My phone rings as I head into my room. Mum, of course. I could just ignore it, but then she’ll try again and again until she gets through. ‘I’m in a bit of a hurry,’ I answer.

‘I won’t keep you,’ she lies cheerily. ‘Just a couple of things. Your dad is in Glasgow tomorrow so he can take you out for dinner. That’d be nice, wouldn’t it? And I wondered if you’ve got your marks back yet from your latest assignment? Are you refereeing this weekend? It’d be lovely if you could come home sometime soon but I know how busy you are–’ ‘Mum, that’s already more than two things.’ ‘–and what I’m really phoning about is that Mrs Marshall has said she’ll fit you in a for a long piano lesson before you take your exam. That’s good of her, isn’t it? If you let me know when you’re coming home, I’ll arrange it with her. Then we can discuss whether you want to go on and do the diploma.’ Shit. I’d forgotten I let Mum enter me for the Grade Eight piano exam. Grade Eight! Why she even thinks it’s a good idea I have no clue. I’ve told her I have absolutely no desire to take my music further. ‘Actually, Mum, I haven’t been practising much – lack of access to a piano, you know – so maybe we should delay–’ ‘You can’t do that! I’ve paid the entrance fee. Anyway, you need to pass this to count towards your Gold Duke of Edinburgh.’ Ah yes, that’s why I’m still learning piano. ‘I’ve got a lot on just now …’ ‘I know you have, darling. So I won’t keep you. Just message me a couple of dates and I’ll arrange it all for you. Love you. Bye.’

That’s another thing Mum’s good at: ending conversations just when I’m about to get a word in. Oh well. No point worrying about that now. I’ve got an evening’s drinking to look forward to. Tomorrow is another day and all that. The Finance lecture first thing the next morning turns out to be a group presentation. Which I knew about. Probably. At least before the evening in the Student Union, which turned out to be pretty good. Cheap beer, lots of laughs – what’s not to like? Aside from the headache as we saunter into the lecture room. This guy Kris says, ‘You okay to do the speaking, Jamie? You said you would if we put the slides together.’ ‘Yeah, fine.’ I might have agreed to that. I’m too hungover to remember. ‘You have looked over them, haven’t you?’ ‘Of course.’ I flash my most confident grin. ‘Just having a final look now.’ I flick my laptop open and pull up the slides. I see someone was working on them at midnight last night, so I’m not sure when I was supposed to have had a chance to go over them. I was way too drunk by then anyway. When it’s our turn I straighten my shirt, check my reflection in a side window, and head to the front of the room. I’ve got this. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s standing in front of an audience and acting like I know what I’m talking about. Dad says I get it from him. Lily, my ex, said it was an unfair advantage. Whatever. We smash it. Looking confident really is half the battle. The lecturer nods throughout, and preens when I use some of his own phrases back at him. We even get a smattering of applause from the rest of the class, who pretty much slept through the other presentations. Sometimes I have my doubts about this course. I mean, who actually enjoys Accounting and Business Studies? But right now, I’m on a high. The guys slap me on the back as we sit down. I repeat: life is good.

Bait, Grist & Security by Mike Hodges Blog Tour

Today I am the final stop, closing the blog tour, for Bait, Grist & Security by Mike Hodges. If you didn't catch the previous tour stops please check them out as everyone has different content so worth checking out.





Bait, Grist & Security is available to buy on amazon, ebook and treebook format, CLICK HERE to order yours.





About the author: Mike Hodges

A U T H O R

Mike Hodges was born in Bristol, UK. As a television producer in the 1960s, he was invited to join the investigative programme World in Action. This took him to the US, covering the 1964 presidential election, and that same year to the war in Vietnam. He produced and sometimes directed the arts programmes Tempo and New Tempo. He is perhaps best-known for his work in cinema and television, including: Get Carter, Suspect, Rumour, The Manipulators, Pulp, The Terminal Man, Flash Gordon, A Prayer for the Dying, Morons from Outer Space, Florida Straits, Black Rainbow, Croupier, and I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead. He lives in London. This is his first book.

Mike Hodges is the director of the 1970s crime classic Get Carter, which is widely considered one of the greatest British films of all time. These novellas are marked by the same combination of style, grit and deadpan humour that have attracted a cult following to his films. For fans of Derek Raymond (He Died With His Eyes Open), Andrei Kurkov’s Death and the Penguin and Martin McDonagh’s film In Bruges, as well as classic American noir in the vein of Raymond Chandler and James Ellroy.





I have a wee extract from chapter two for you:

TWO

Early that same night, the last train had arrived on time. At exactly
21.36. The two carriages, all that remained of the express from London, are shunted backwards to the deserted platform.
Ayling-on-Sea is at the end of the line.
Water gushes through a hole in the station roof. A solitary passenger alights, slamming the door shut. He notes the rain splattering the platform, puts down his tattered suitcase, and slips a finger into the galosh that’s become dislodged. Opening a black umbrella, he proceeds to the unmanned ticket barrier.

Outside, a sign indicates a vacant taxi rank. The passenger moves to the courtesy phone housed under a plastic hood and picks up the receiver.
The line is dead.

Cussing, he starts his walk into town.

* The Journey’s End boarding house is at the unfashionable end of the esplanade. A ‘Vacancies’ placard dangles seductively between the frilly curtains of the front room. The passenger lowers his umbrella to study a scrap of paper before pressing the bell. The red and yellow sunrise pattern of the glass front door is abruptly illuminated as a figure comes to open it.

The passenger steps back to fully appreciate the woman standing before him. ‘Mrs Westby?’
‘Mr Snazell?

‘That’s me.’
‘En suite for one night?’
‘Correct,’ he looks her over. Enough curves to drive a man crazy. ‘Although the view’s so good I may stay longer.’
Snazell eases himself past Mrs Westby’s buffer breasts into the small hallway, his eyes fixed on her white silk blouse and the black ruched brassiere peeping out from behind a wayward button. Lewdness is an essential ingredient in Sandra Westby’s life. She enjoys being an object of male desire. Her glistening blood-red lips shape themselves around each word before finally setting it free.

‘You’re my only guest tonight.’ ‘One-on-one. Great.’
‘Choose a room between 1 and 15.’ ‘69.’
‘Don’t be saucy now. I’ll put you in 13.’ ‘13 – that’s my lucky number.’
‘I’ll put you in 7 then.’
She plucks a key off a board behind the small counter and starts up the stairs. Snazell follows, his attention alternating between her arse rotating inside a tight silk skirt and the immaculately straight seams of her black stockings. Reaching the second landing, she opens Room 7 and switches on the light. Snazell steps inside the small room. He immediately pumps the mattress, appreciatively.

‘Very nice. Nice and hard. The way I like it.’ He sits on it and bounces a couple of times. ‘Bet this bed could tell a few stories.’
‘Only cries and groans,’ replies Mrs Westby. ‘Of eternal love?’
‘I wouldn’t go that far, Mr Snazell.’ ‘Hanky-panky?’
‘That’s more like it.’
She sighs as she shuts the door then opens it again. ‘The bar will be open for aperitifs in half an hour.’
Left alone Snazell snaps open his suitcase. Lifting out several pairs of thermal underwear and woollen pyjamas, he reveals the tools of his trade: binoculars, bugging equipment, and a Smith & Wesson .32 automatic with silencer.

11 Missed Calls by Elisabeth Carpenter Blog Tour

Today is my turn on the blog tour for "11 Missed Calls" by author Elisabeth Carpenter. Today I have an extract of the book for you AND this is my first time ever having an extract on my blog, exciting!







Sheila sniffs and remains on her perch behind the till.

‘I don’t have to go in the back if I don’t want to,’ she says. ‘If she wants to say hello, she’ll have to come in here.’ She leans forward. ‘She could be a murderess for all we know.’ She whispers as quietly as a church bell.

I could argue that Ellen probably isn’t a convicted killer, and that being the veteran volunteer of the bookshop with twelve years’ service, Sheila should make an effort to welcome her, but I don’t. It will fall on deaf ears, as things like this usually do with her – she pretends, at times convenient to her, that she’s hard of hearing.

Instead, I say, ‘How many people do you know that have the same birth date as you?’

It’s like I can hear the index cards sifting in her mind as her eyes drift away into the past.

‘Mavis Brierly,’ she says. ‘Fattest girl at school, though I don’t know how; no one had much money to buy so much food. After that, I met a woman in the maternity ward when I was expecting Timothy – can’t remember her name … began with a “C”, if I remember rightly. So, two people. Though they’re probably dead now. Most people I know are.’

I shouldn’t have asked her; I shouldn’t be thinking like this.

The last time it happened was six years ago. It was the woman who used to work in the bakery a few doors down from the shop I used to work in. If it hadn’t been for Jack, I’d have a restraining order against me.

‘Okay,’ I say. ‘So, it’s not as unusual as I thought.’

‘Obviously not. There are only three hundred and sixty-five days in a year, and millions of people in this world.’ She leans towards me again. ‘Why do you ask? Has Tenko in there got the same birthday as you?’

‘Sheila! You must stop talking like that. Everyone deserves a second chance.’

Ellen clears her throat. She’s standing at the doorway.

‘This book,’ she says. ‘I think it might be valuable. It’s a Harry Potter first edition.’

Sheila picks up a pen and writes on the notepad next to the till on the counter. She pushes it towards me when she’s finished. She’s probably a thief.

My face grows hot as I rip the sheet from the pad. I screw it up and drop it into the bin, before ushering Ellen back into the storeroom. She can’t have seen what Sheila wrote, but she will have noticed the whispering, and the silence that followed her presence.