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Where To draw The Line
introducing William Hunter.

At what point would you choose to step over the line between what is right and wrong? How much would it take for you to break the law to uphold the law? "I found Zoe crying in the street, soaked to the bone and covered with blood. She asked me to take her to the hospital. She later died and the man she named got away with it. He knew I was on to him. The police had no evidence, so I had to find it myself. What I uncovered was not just one murder, but a string of them. And he was still playing..." William battles his conscience, the law and a murderer in this spine-tingling crime novel you won't want to put down. But will he know Where To Draw The Line?

Being Grey

Alice and her four friends are average kids growing up. Movies, shopping, picnics, more shopping and falling in love. They also have a very special role to play; they are 'Gifted' and can sense the very Being of a person. They can sense if on the inside someone is pure or damned. Whilst trying to make the world a better place, who knows who you'll meet? After all, there is no accounting for who you fall in love with...






Whispers

In the dark places of the mind, monsters lie... From the ghosts of Conaught Hall, the man at the Beach House, to the confusion of Terry, these are stories of mystery, wonder and warmth. Here, Kari Milburn brings them to life in tales that will leave you wanting more...







Stirring Up Magic

Alex and Ben are thrust into a medieval world which is strangely familiar to them. Without everything they take for granted in this life, they set out to save a fantasy world from the threat of evil. Their coming brings back magic into a world that has been without it for 500 years, and with their arrival, so also come the Unicorn, the Cyclops, and even witchcraft. Alaya is troubled by a dream so vivid and shocking, but The Lady Grace, a learned scholar, suspects that the girls dream is in fact Foresight, a magical gift, reborn in the mind of a 19 year old maid. Alaya has seen the war that will one day fall upon their lands. Knowing what may follow, they set out in search of the children destined to change their world, and now that the wheels of the Prophecy are in motion, they can only do one thing. They must find the boys who, as young men, will win the coming war for them.

George & Winter

George was freezing. He huddled under the scant shelter of a lean-to, his arms wrapped uselessly around him, shivering away, and he was completely miserable. He watched the snow drift to the ground, relentless in its pursuit of burying the city. It was doing well. Fourteen centimetres had fallen in the last hour and a half, and the usual dirt and grime was now wiped clean by a white that was blinding. 

Half an hour earlier, a man rushed past him and shouted something about 'getting indoors' and 'staying warm'. George had simply huffed at him. The guy had no idea what wonder can come from days like this. You just had to be patient and wait for it.

George was an optimist. Albeit, a miserable one at the moment. But though his body was crying out for warmth and a hot chocolate, his heart was loving every moment of this. When else do you get to witness the slate wiped clean, even if it did only last for the length of the storm? Nature had blasted its way into the city to bury the rush hour traffic, to close the doors on commercialism and capitalism, and to hush the noise. For it was quiet. So very quiet.

There's a stillness that falls with snow. The winds may whip the snowflakes around in flurries, but the quiet will always bring a stillness with it. Like the gap between two heartbeats. It's a pause. And George was here for the pause, for he knew that it's in times like this, that magic happens.

He'd been watching his breath puff out before him, watching the snow drift closer and closer to his feet, watching the wind whip flurries around and over cars and up against buildings. It had become almost hypnotic to him, and as he relaxed, dropped his shoulders, a warmth flooded through him. 

That's when the wind stopped. The snow didn't stop, but it did fall straight. No more flurries or gusts. The quiet surrounded him, and he knew she was coming.

She glided over the snow toward him so she didn't leave a single foot print. Her pure white cloak billowed behind her, as if touched by a wind that George couldn't feel. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, and her long white hair plaited in to a single braid that whipped about behind her. She had no age. She looked as young as a child but with a wisdom that showed her centuries.

"Hello," she whispered. She was still twenty feet from him, but he heard her clearly. "You've been waiting for me; I think?"

George nodded.

"I am Winter," she said, "and I am death."

Smiling, George stepped toward her. "I've met you before. Many times. I wait for you every year."

She raised a pale eyebrow inquisitively.

"You always tell me then that you are death. But I don't believe you. I have never believed you."

She laughed, and it was the sound of scraping ice, like taking something out of a too-cold freezer. It sent shivers down his spine.

"I am Winter," she repeated, "and I take life."

George shook his head. "Everyone here thinks that you do, but that's not how it works, is it?"

She had a short memory. Every year was like this. And she never remembered him.

"You are not death." George said now, as he faced the coldness that he had waited for. "You are not death. You are a carnival. A travelling carnival."

Winter didn't like that at all. a wind howled from nowhere, whipping the snow up from the ground and her cloak up around her. "Who are you to insult me?" she cried.

"I will always beat your ass back to where you came from." George stepped forward in to the snow, toward her, head held high and back straight. "I lay the seeds for summer. I give warmth back to the ground and melt your snow and ice into waters that feed the bulbs and bud the branches." His words were like knives to her, and for every word he spat at her, she took a tiny step backwards. "You are a travelling carnival," he continued, "and your time is limited. Pack your bags, Winter. The days are already getting longer."

Pushed back against a wall, Winter looked physically shaken by the ordeal. "Who are you?" she cried in fear.

George smiled as he stopped barely two inches from her face. "I am Spring."

            

My notebook

I have started using a small notebook (though I need to buy a smaller one that will fit in my back pocket), in which I plan to record my observations.

In layman's terms, I have to jot down the daft and weird stuff that people do, so I stop forgetting them.
I'll also be making stuff up about people in it. I shall explain...

I took my mum to an Italian restaurant this week, and decided to create a character sketch based on our lovely waiter. I know nothing of him, can't remember his name, and certainly didn't ask him about his life.
Today, three days after being there, he is now as follows:

His parents coddled and loved their child to the point of distraction, and as a result, our 19 year old hero still lives at home where his mother starches his shirts and makes his bed.
He is the grandson of a height challenged old woman, who lives in Rome and cleans at the Hilton Hotel.
His elder sister married a millionaire banker in Paris and has virtually abandoned her family because they embarrass her so much (it may have had something to do with her father crying in to his wine while trying to make a speech at her wedding. He basically threatened her husband with death should anything bad ever befall his beautiful daughter).
Our hero is single (because of the parents, no doubt) but has a good crowd of friends (male and female) who love him to pieces. Not enough to date him though.
He's good looking, lean (goes to the gym 3 nights a week), kind, thoughtful... everything that should land him the girl of his dreams. But alas, they all love him like a brother.

Now, what situation should I put him in that'll make for a good story?!