Winners of Dead South Retweet Competition

Dear All

Last Sunday saw my week long Twitter retweet prize draw competition come to an end. The prizes were 3 signed copies of Dead South.

In the week long competition my tweets were retwewted 125 times by 44 people. These retweets were posted to over 5000 people so I've been very happy with it. 

Please see the below video showing the prize draw in all its glory and congratulations to the 3 winners:

1. Zombie Response Authority (USA) 

2. Nadir Farrel (UK)

3. Greenwich Hour (UK)

Stay posted for more competitions.

Until next time.

David 

Social Etiquette

Dear All,

Following on from my last guest post by Skid (@SkidsGig) from skidsgig.weebly.com,  I have the pleasure in introducing you to the author and blogger Amie Ryan (@AisforAmie).

Amie is an American author who examines American culture. Amie frequently addresses the theme of how people communicate with each other and her blog post today examines the differences between Americans and the British. 

I have already downloaded her essay collection, Green Shoes Mean I Love You, and am looking forward to reading it. I implore you all to do the same via Amazon.

Check out Amie's blog: seattleamieryan.blogspot.com

Until next time.

David

***

Greetings, all, and thank you to Mr.Brinson for allowing me to say hello. My name is Amie Ryan and I write essay collections about American culture. This post comes all the way from the rainy city of Seattle!

I often write about the way people communicate and today my thoughts are on the very different way Yanks and Brits express opinions.

I'm speaking of Constructive Criticism. I wonder, do Brits feel the same spine shiver when they read those words? In America we volunteer our opinions 24 hrs a day. Actual knowledge of the issue at hand is never a requirement. In fact, often the least informed have the quickest (and loudest) things to say.

All too often we phrase our observations with "You should" or "You need to" or "You have to", as if we are the experts of the world. We force our views on friends and strangers alike: how others should look, how they should raise their children, whether they should divorce their spouse and how they ought to be making that sandwich.

This is not Constructive Criticism. It's DEstructive criticism. And it's usually voiced in a loud monotone, command-style, so that the already often hurtful statements sound even worse.

When confronted with what feels like a verbal attack, the listener feels upset and defensive. It instantly becomes a me vs. you battle, with one person right and one wrong. Even if the advice is good, it isn't heard: the hurt gets in the way.

The British seem to do the remarkable act of sometimes keeping their thoughts to themselves. You who gave us The Beatles, oh how I wish you could give us this also. Even when a Brit is required to give advice, it's often phrased "I wonder if you might.." or "Perhaps one way to go would be.."

This is marvelous, not just because it's kind and respectful but because it makes the listener feel as if the two of them are a team. Instead of feeling upset or defensive, the listener is interested and may readily agree about the idea. In fact, he or she may feel HAPPY because the person has helped them.

Construction should mean helping to build things, something Brits seem to already know and something Yanks might do well to remember.

I hope you'll visit me at amazon.com/author/amieryan and thank you for letting me say a hello from across the pond.

Enjoy more from Amie at seattleamieryan.blogspot.com and follow her on twitter @AisforAmie

                                 

Trying to crack America

Dear All,

Over the last couple of weeks I have been trying to increase sales of my book Dead South in America. I've tried dropping the price using a Kindle Countdown Promotion, I've directly advertised on Amazon.com and I've heavily tweeted about it. But nothing seems to have worked.

On the other hand UK sales have been fantastic and the book continues to perform well; it has been in the Top 100 horror books for the past 94 days. It's one of the most 'wished for' books in its genre and reviews continue to be really positive. It currently averages 4.8 stars out of 5 from 58 reviews.

So what do I make of it all? It would be easy for me just to think that people in the US aren't interested in UK horror, but I honestly don't think that this is the case. I just have to work harder to get noticed. Do more advertising, do more promoting and keep on plugging away.

And that is really the crux of this short post.

Don't give up! If you do that, then nobody will ever see your work.

Hopefully, I will be able to tell you about Dead South's success in the USA soon. But until then I'll keep on plugging away!

Until next time

David

How we label ourselves

Dear Everyone,

We all love a label, don't we? We love to label ourselves and others. I suppose it makes things easier for us to understand who and where we all fit in the world. But none of us just have one label and we can have multiple labels for different people. In fact, we can also give ourselves lots of different labels too.

I'm a husband, a son, a brother and a friend. I'm also a project manager and an author amongst other things. But these aren't the labels I'm interested in today. No, I want to talk about something else... I want to talk about the national/regional identity label.

Essentially, what label do I give myself when I'm describing myself to somebody new. Somebody from a completely different part of the country or even the world.

Would I tell them I'm a Londoner? That I'm English? That I'm British? Or that I'm European? I'm all of these things, but I suppose it all depends on what the circumstances are.

I'm a Londoner, but London is so big. And I'm from south of the River Thames anyway, so the truth is I'm a south Londoner. And believe it or not there is a big difference! To put it simply, south London is better than north London. But I digress.

I'm also a proud Brit. But Great Britain, has got 4 countries in it. So if I'm honest, I probably identify as being English more. Maybe, it's because I love football, cricket and rugby and the home nations all compete against each other in theses? Perhaps, if I was into tennis or athletics I'd feel slightly more British than I do English? Who knows? Oh yes and one other thing... Every 2 years during the Ryder Cup I'm a European!

So anyway, why am I going on about all of these perfectly plausible labels then? Well it's because of my novel, Dead South, and how different people from around the world see it and in turn me. Dead South is set in south London and quite a few reviews have stated that it has a real south London feel to it. Which is great. That was exactly what I wanted. I wanted to bring the places that I know and love to life and it seems that at least to other people from the UK that I'd done that.

I've been humbled by all of the positivity and well wishes that Dead South has received. At the time of writing this, it has an average of 4.8 stars out of 5 on amazon.co.uk from 50 reviews. I've also received scores of tweets and Facbook messages from lots of people who have enjoyed the book too.

But what about our American cousins? What do they think? Would they be able to get into the story or would it all be a bit too different for them? Would they find the jokes funny? Would they understand that cups of tea and not guns can really solve life's problems? I hoped they would, but I didn't know.

Book sales have been slower in the US, but the people who have read it have responded really positively to it. It's received  5x5 star reviews on amazon.com, but I thought that they could have been ex-pats downloading it and thinking of home. So I wasn't really sure. That was until the other morning when I woke up to the below tweet.

As you can imagine, I was pretty chuffed to see that an American was enjoying it and getting involved in the spirit of it too. That tweet was favorited and retweeted pretty much straight away. I also told anybody who would listen to me about it.

So when I saw the next tweet a day later, I had to pinch myself as I clicked through to the review.

To cut a long story short I was really happy with the review. And by really happy, I mean overjoyed. Now this wasn't only because the reviewer, Skid, said nice things about me and my book, but because he'd clearly put a lot of thought into it. It has depth and is really funny too. In short it is an excellent post. So excellent in fact that I decided to read the rest of his blog.

Skidsgig.weebly.com reviews technology. Skid is an avid techie and has had his finger on the pulse of all new gadgets and devices for over a decade. He wants to help people buy technology that will help them. But he does this with a twist. He throws in a little zombie humour to make it more interesting and also lets you know how the devices will stand up during and after the apocalypse. It is a must read for zombie fans, for people who are looking into purchasing a new piece of kit and also for anybody who just wants to have a bit of fun.

When I saw his blog I immediately asked him to write a guest post for me and I was delighted when he said yes. If it is half as good as I think it will be, we will all be in for a treat. I implore you to check his blog out because it is brilliant.

But before you do; have a read of his Dead South review below.

Until next time.

David

***

Review published on skidsgig.weebly.com on 25/2/15

Every once in a while I will leave the self-appointed task of reviewing gadgets in an effort to discuss something especially thought provoking.  Something monumentally important.  Or at least important to me.  I founded this blog on the basis of reviewing technology in an effort to gauge that gadgets relevance before and after the Zombie Apocalypse, and to date, I think I have been good at discussing several gadgets of relevance.

But what about the Zombies?  Have I neglected their relevance?  I think, to a point, I have.  An outstanding read is the classic book “I am Legend” by Richard Matheson.  (No, not the movie.  Neither the Will Smith version or “The Omega Man”.)  Yes, I know, not Zombies.  Vampires.  But, this book is genius in its approach.  The Vampires have taken over the world and only one human remains.  During daytime he wanders the earth killing sleeping Vampires.  He has become the Vampire “bogeyman.”  And really, you could put any monster into that role with the same results.  A world full of Werewolves, Gargoyles, Swamp Monsters, you name it.  If they were the population and hunted in their sleep, they would fear their manifested bogeyman.

Except Zombies.  This is what makes them unique.  If you populated the entire planet with Zombies, with the exception of one human being, who would roam around during the off hours slaying Zombies, they wouldn’t care.  Nope, not one bit.  No Zombie headlines, no Zombie news reports.  It would go monumentally unnoticed.  And you know why?  Because Zombies are stupid.

I realize that right here I have universally offended all of my Zombie readers, who are now, most likely, dialing up their Zombie lawyers to sue me for insulting them.  But thats a risk I’m willing to take, and I don’t mean it (not really) as an insult.  It’s an observation, and one that’s rarely made in modern Zombie literature.  But occasionally you will come across a great book that approaches Zombies in the classic sense.  A book that is entertaining but also an epic understanding of the post Apocalyptic world of Zombie kind.  

50% through David Brinson’s “Dead South: The Zombie Apocalypse in London” and that’s what I believe I have discovered.  Brilliant in description and character development, I have found myself thoroughly entranced as I flip through the digital pages.  I am not from London, nor have I lived in London, but I have had no problem imagining the environment so eloquently written by Mr. Brinson. 

To be fair, there’s been a slight learning curve as I catch up to the written environment, and I did have to google what a “Mini Metro” looked like.  (Seriously UK readers, that’s not a pretty vehicle!)  But what really separates Mr. Brinson from the average author is his excellent ability to script dialogue. 

I know, I’m not an author.  But I’m an avid reader.  And I know good dialogue.  And he’s done it.  I will admit, as a Yank I have to give Mr. Brinson the advantage, because his country invented the language I have been mangling it for years.  He has taken that advantage and penned an excellent read.

Details?  I’m 50% through, and I don’t want to give away spoilers.  But here’s what I can say - the story revolves around Dean, and his efforts to gather his family and friends to areas of safety during the beginning days of the Zombie Apocalypse.  Dean, as a hero, is perfect.  Quick and deliberate to act, constantly planning his approaches to the Zombie hordes.  There is an abundance of characters, but the book is so well written it is easy to keep them oriented as you read.

There is also an abundance of Zombies.  And, that brings me to my point.  David Brinson writes to the type of Zombie I prefer.  His hero understands that the Zombie is neither fast nor brilliant, and is able to plan effectively around the situations he finds himself in.  This is the situation I think I am easiest able to personify.  I think, in this situation, I could out think a Zombie.  It’d be close, but I think I’m up to that challenge!

I love a good joke.  I love classic Zombie humor.  This excerpt was fantastic, ““Sébastien Loeb, eat your heart out.” (Now before anybody judges me, at the time I had no idea that the nine-time World Rally Champion was indeed eating somebody’s heart out.)”

Free Sample of Dead South - Chapter 2

Dear All

As it is Christmas tomorrow I'd thought that I'd give you all a treat. Here's Chapter 2 of Dead South.

Click here to get your copy now. 

Enjoy!

Chapter 2

After a restless night I got out of bed at around six am with a banging headache. I went into the kitchen and headed straight to the medicine drawer. I dry-swallowed a couple of painkillers and made myself a cup of tea. Troy seemed to be a bit confused when I barged into his bedroom (our living room) an hour earlier than he had anticipated. After a good ten minutes the tablets managed to take care of my headache.

I ate a little breakfast and passed out on the sofa next to Troy. I only woke up when Sarah came into the room two hours later.

“Are you okay?” she asked me.

“Yeah, I just didn’t get much sleep. Yesterday must have got to me more than I thought.”

“Don’t go into work, if you’re not up to it. I’m sure they will understand.”

“No, I’ll be fine.”

I ran into the bathroom and literally got through the Three S’s (Shit, Shave and Shower) in record time and was out the door in fifteen minutes flat. I flew down the stairs and exited the building. As soon as the door closed behind me I remembered that I wanted a word with Mr Trotter. So I went back inside, held my breath and gently tapped on his door. My gentle tap nudged his door open a crack.

I pushed the door with a little more force and it creaked as it opened. I took one step into the hall and gently called out, “Mr Trotter, it’s Dean from upstairs. The door’s unlocked, are you okay?”

I heard nothing, so I took a few more steps into the flat. All of the doors leading off from the hallway were closed. The place was filthy, the walls had marks all over them and the hallway was filled with items of old electrical equipment and bags of fetid potatoes (an odd combination, I know). Imagine the worst smell you have ever smelt and double it, no scrap that, triple it. It was as if someone had eaten a rancid doner kebab, thrown it up, taken a dump on it and then left it to stew in the sun for a year.

I stood outside the door for what I assumed was the master bedroom and listened. I couldn’t hear anything. I lightly tapped on the door. There was no answer. I tapped again with a little bit more force. No answer again. I gently turned the knob and slowly opened the door. I took a single step in and looked around. The room was filled with dirty old clothes and had a filthy mattress tucked up against the wall. I couldn’t believe the amount of clothing that he had in there and then I couldn’t believe that he seemed to always wear the same things every day. I stepped out of the room and closed the door behind me.

I walked across the hallway, navigated a heavy looking VCR player and stopped outside the bathroom. I tapped on the door once, then twice. Nothing. I turned the knob, opened the door and looked in the room. There was just a dirty bathroom suite and about two hundred rolls of toilet paper. I suppose you can say what you want about Mr Trotter but at least he wiped his bum.

After coming up blank twice I didn’t bother to knock on the living room door. I just turned the knob and pushed it open. The stench instantly cranked up a few more notches and I started to gag. The room was filled with junk. Stuff was piled so high, it was as if he had constructed a corridor within the room and within half a second I had seen several newspaper mountains, stacks of old cathode-ray TVs and piles of rusty old tin cans. But what was truly nasty, and what I thought was probably the cause of the foul smell, was that every empty bit of floor space and every miniscule surface was covered with half-eaten, decomposing fast food—pizza, KFC, McDonalds. Name a fast food chain and there was food from them in that room. Maggots were everywhere. I felt dirty just standing in the place. I ventured into the corridor, took a couple of turns and then I saw him. Mr Trotter was standing in a small clearing beside a particularly tall stack of pizza boxes. He had his back to me but it looked like he was furiously eating something.

“Mr Trotter, sorry to bother you, it’s Dean from upstairs. The door was ajar and—”

He turned around. He looked awful. His skin was grey and mottled and his nose and mouth were covered in blood. It looked like he’d gone a few rounds with Lennox Lewis. But as bad as he looked, he still had his favourite Thomas the Tank Engine baseball cap on at the exact same jaunty angle that it always was.

“Blimey! Mr Trotter, are you okay?”

He started to moan.

“Obviously not! Let me call you an ambulance.”

I pulled out my mobile phone and he started shuffling towards me. “It’s alright, Mr Trotter, they won’t be long.” I looked at my phone and started to dial ‘999’. “Oh bugger. I don’t have any reception. I will just go upstairs and make the call for you. Okay?”

I put my phone back in my pocket and casually looked up at him. He was now less than a metre away and coming dangerously close to entering my personal space. “I’ll be quick, Mr Trotter. I promise.”

He bared his teeth at me and took another step closer. It was then that I noticed that his eyes were completely black. There was something really wrong with him. “Back in a tick.”

He didn’t say anything; he just continued to moan, so I took a step backwards. He mirrored my step backwards with a step forward of his own. He was a small man and could easily navigate this junkyard maze. I’m not a particularly big man myself. I’m only five foot ten inches and weigh about twelve stone. But that was too big for me to turn around without entering the small clearing first and getting closer to him, and to be fair I wasn’t going to do that. I didn’t want to catch anything. So, if I wanted to go back through the corridor, I needed to shift my arse into reverse. I went to take another step back but my left foot had kind of stuck to a congealed Big Mac, which was itself stuck to the maggot-infested carpet.

“Ah that’s disgusting.”

He moaned this time even louder, stopping me in my tracks. I looked up and I saw his blood-stained mouth wide open and his outstretched arms trying to grab me. Now, it’s not that I froze, it’s more that it took my mind a second or two to process what was happening. He got hold of my jacket and tried to pull me towards him.

“What the fuck!” I shouted as he tried to bite into my neck.

I pushed him off me as I yanked my foot up off the Big Mac and I ended up stumbling into a newspaper tower. Mr Trotter wasn’t deterred by my push and he came straight back at me. I regained my footing and kept my back against the wall; I moved crab-like along the makeshift corridor and stumbled back into the turn behind me. I looked over my shoulder and could see that I was nearly in the hall.

I was going to get out, I was home free, but then I slipped. I slipped on a fucking banana skin. If I didn’t think I was going to die, I might have laughed. I mean what a cliché; I slipped on the only bit of fruit this geezer had ever eaten. He turned the corner and was now only a few feet away from me. I scooted backwards, dragging my backside on the floor. I felt rancid food go up my shirt and maggots fall down into my jeans. It felt like I was in Hell. My back bashed into the door, I turned onto my hands and knees and crawled out of the room.

He never stopped, he kept on coming.

I just wanted to get out of the flat, shut the door behind me and go upstairs as quickly as I could. As I said earlier, I’m a lover not a fighter.

I lost another second as I bumped into the wall trying to get back onto my feet. And he was now gaining on me. He was that close that I’m sure I could feel his putrid breath on the back of my neck. I lurched forward and just missed a stack of TVs. I eyed a seventeen-inch Panasonic one as I went past and I was suddenly overcome by some kind of primordial urge. The TV was at waist height and perfect for me to pick up. I stopped in my tracks, lifted it and turned around to face him. He didn’t stop coming so I raised the TV as high as I could. As he took another step forward I smashed it over the crown of his head. But it didn’t stop him and although he could no longer see me, he still tried to grab me.

I looked around the room and noticed the stray VCR player from earlier. I quickly picked up the heavy machine and launched it right into his left knee. The impact must have shattered his kneecap into a thousand pieces as it gave way from under him and he clattered to the ground. As he hit the deck, the TV fell off his head, but his beloved baseball cap somehow stayed in place. Thick bloody goo started to ooze out of his neck, but it didn’t stop him and he kept on crawling towards me. I was shaking, adrenaline surging through my body; I picked up the VCR player again and I smashed it into his skull. Two times, three times, again and again and again and finally his skull caved in. His body went limp.

I staggered out of the flat, I was covered in filth and I was still shaking. My head felt light and I vomited all over the communal entrance. I walked up the stairs and stood outside my flat. I couldn’t steady my hand to put the key in the lock. I banged on the door and called for Sarah. A moment passed before the door opened. She looked at me. I was crying uncontrollably and tears were streaming down my cheeks.

Her face contorted as she said, “Dean, what’s happened?”

I just stood in the hallway sobbing. Sarah dragged me inside the flat and Troy came trotting into the hall to investigate. I was covered in a foul combination of rotten food, maggots and blood. I must have stunk. I wanted so badly to explain what had happened but I couldn’t get the words out. Sarah was panicking, but in fairness she managed to hold it together. She looked me in the eyes.

“Dean, are you hurt?”

I shook my head.

It might have taken a few seconds, but I slowly started to regain my composure. When I did I realised that I didn’t know how to explain what had just happened. I mean, how do you tell your wife that you just killed your next door neighbour?

“I killed him,” I finally managed to say.

“What?”

“But I don’t think it was him.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“I went in his flat to talk to him about the smell. But he came after me.”

“What?”

“I smashed his head in.”

She gasped.

“I had to. It was either him or me.”

She was stunned. Plain and simple. But as she stood there dumbfounded, it all started to make sense to me. “He was already dead.”

“How can you kill someone who is already dead? He was either dead or he wasn’t!”

“I think he was a zombie.”

“What?”

“His eyes were black, his skin was grey and his face was covered in blood.”

“Dean. You need to sit down. You’re in shock.”

“No I’m not… well, I might be. But I’m right. It all makes sense, especially after yesterday. The bloke from McDonald’s biting Jermaine. Trotter just trying to eat me.”

To Sarah’s massive credit she didn’t shout at me, she didn’t slap me round the face and tell me to get a hold of myself, nor did she make an immediate call to the men in white coats to have me taken away. She just stood there staring at me. “Was it self-defence?”

“Of course it was. He tried to rip my neck out with his teeth!”

She nodded. “Okay, you need to call the police and explain exactly what has happened.”

“They will never believe me.”

“It doesn’t matter if they believe he was a zombie or not, does it? They just need to believe that you were in danger and protecting yourself. Like the two dustman yesterday. Remember?”

“You’re right,” I said, walking into the living room to make the call.

“Stay there. I’ll get the phone. You’re not taking another step in here covered in that filth.”

Sarah came back clutching the phone and as I took a step forward to meet her, I felt a clump of squashed maggots and congealed meat fall from my bum cheek and slide down my leg. My throat instantly filled with bile. With a concerted effort I managed to swallow it down as she handed the phone to me. I dialled ‘999’ and waited. After three rings my call was answered. I was connected to a recorded message.

A lady’s voice simply stated, “All operators are busy at present, please try again later.”

“Holy shit!”

“What?”

“It’s a recorded message. A bloody recorded message!”

“Try again. It must be a mistake or something.”

I did as she asked and again the phone rang through to the recorded message. This time I held it to her ear. “Oh my God! What’s going on?”

“Zombies, Sarah! It’s got to be. Think about it. Think about what’s just happened.”

“I don’t know. It all seems a little farfetched.”

“I know it does.”

“Anything could have happened. It could be a terrorist attack or something.”

“If Mr Trotter hadn’t just tried to eat me, I would probably agree. But I’m telling you that he did and I’m lucky to be alive.”

She didn’t respond, she just looked at me. I mean really looked at me. Did she think I was mad? Maybe I was. Eventually she nodded. “Okay, let’s say it’s zombies. What are we going to do?”

“We need to warn as many people as we can. Call your mum and dad and make sure they’re okay. I’ll call my side of the family.”

I frantically tried to call my mum, but I couldn’t get through to her. I also tried my brothers, Pete and Steve, and my sister, Emma. But I had no joy with any of them. I didn’t give up and after a good ten minutes of trying I eventually got through to my mum.

“Dean, is that you?”

“Oh thank God. I’ve been trying to call you for ages. I think there’s something wrong with the phones.”

“It must be your one. I’ve got full reception.”

“Well anyway, don’t worry about that now. You’ve got to listen to me.”

“You sound panicked, Dean. What’s wrong?

“Mum, something really bad is happening.” I paused a second. Would she believe me if I told her what I thought was really going on? “Look, I can’t really explain it. But people are attacking each other for no reason and I don’t want anything happening to you. Promise me that you won’t go out today.”

“Okay, no problem.”

“That’s great, Mum. Just sit tight.”

“I’ll just pop out to the Co-op to get a chicken for dinner and then I’ll be right back.”

“Mum, please! I need you to take this seriously. Bad stuff is happening out there. Someone I know just got attacked.”

“Are they okay?”

“Just; but they nearly weren’t. Please listen to me about this.”

“Okay. Well I suppose Graeme can make do with pork chops.”

“Good. Good. Tell Graeme to go and get Nan.”

“You just said to not go outside.”

“Mum, she only lives next door. Just tell him to be quick and not to speak to anyone.”

“What about Emma and your brothers?”

“I’ve been trying to call them as well. They need to stay home too.”

“They’ve probably all left for work already.”

“Perhaps. But we still need to warn them. Can you try too? One of us should be able to get through to them. And anyway Pete and Steve are more likely to listen to you than they are to me.”

“If you really think it’s necessary. Of course I will. Now try and relax. I promise that we won’t go anywhere.”

I breathed a huge sigh of relief as I ended the call. Speaking to Mum had really put my mind at ease. I looked over at Sarah to see how she was getting on. “Have you got through to them yet?”

“No, it’s still not connecting. What are we going to do?”

“It’s okay. Just keep trying. Don’t give up. I’m going to try Emma again. It will be okay.”

I scrolled to my sister’s number in my mobile phone and hit the call button. I impatiently tapped my right foot as I waited for it to connect. It took about twenty seconds but eventually the phone started to ring.

“Morning, Dean. This is early.”

“Where are you? Are you and Jeff okay?”

“We’re both at the bank, just waiting for a meeting to start. What’s wrong? You don’t sound yourself.”

“I know this might sound a bit weird, but something strange is going on. How is everything where you are?”

“Everything’s fine.”

“Thank God.”

“Although thinking about it, it is a little odd around here. There aren’t that many people in yet and my meeting is running about twenty minutes behind schedule. This place is usually full of people by now and things do normally run like clockwork around here.”

“Shit. It sounds like something’s wrong where you are too.”

“Dean, what do you mean?”

“Okay,” I said, blowing out my cheeks. “I got attacked earlier.”

“Oh my God! Are you okay?”

“I am. But I nearly wasn’t.”

“Do you know who did it?”

“Kind of… you know Mr Trotter, don’t you?

“What, the smelly little man who lives downstairs to you?”

“Well it was him, but it wasn’t him.”

“What does that mean?”

“I know that this is going to sound crazy, but I think he was a zombie.”

“Dean, is this some kind of a wind-up?”

“I promise you that I am telling the truth, okay. He tried to eat me, for God’s sake.”

“Like what happened to the people in Margate?”

“Yes exactly, it was just like that. I need you two to leave work as soon as you can. Come straight to mine. It isn’t safe to be out.”

After a few seconds she started to laugh. “You nearly had me. Very good. You know we can’t leave work. It’s not like working for the Council up here, you know.”

“For fuck’s sake, Emma, this isn’t a joke! Just leave and get to me as quickly as you can. Don’t go on the train, just jump in a black cab and come now. It will be quicker for you to come to me from London Bridge than it will be for you to go all the way home.”

“Dean, are you being serious?”

“Of course I am. I’ve never been more serious in all my life. This isn’t a wind-up and I’m not bull-shitting you. Please listen to me, okay?”

“Okay, okay. I believe you. We’re leaving now.”

“Thank you. Just be careful. Don’t hang around, and get straight into a cab.”

I got off the phone at the same time that Sarah finally managed to get through to her parents. Relief instantly cascaded all over her face, but it didn’t take long for it to be replaced by dread. “Dean! Dean!”

“What’s wrong?”

“Dad’s just said that some strange people are trying to get into the house.”

Without thinking I said, “Tell him to lock the doors and shut the windows. I’m on my way.”

_______________________________________________________________________________

I hope you enjoyed. To find out what happens next Click here and get your copy now.

Have a great Christmas.

Dave

International sales!

What can I say? To be honest I am speechless. Yesterday I viewed my sales report and I saw that I have now sold copies of Dead South to 5 different countries.

It fills me with immense pride that people have decided to take a punt on my work.

The countries where it has so far been sold in are:

1. UK

2. USA

3. Australia

4. Germany

5. Spain

The book has also now received 11x 5* reviews on Amazon.co.uk as well as the one 5* on Amazon.com. 

I'm also getting lots of people emailing me about the book and asking all sorts of questions about it. If you have a question please feel free to get in touch.

Until next time.

David