Indie-Movie Lovers—Don’t Miss Out on This Red Carpet Premier!



I know this is primarily a blog about books, but hey, there’s no law against sharing awesome news about indie movies :). Here’s one a little dragon told me about and it looks like a lot of fun. Wish I lived in Washington D.C. (well I don’t really but maybe wish I was visiting) so I could attend. Don’t have too much fun without me!night of the templar

Do you have your ticket yet? You cannot miss the red carpet premiere of Night of the Templar. Here’s the deets: Written, produced, directed and stars Paul Sampson. Let’s not forget stars Norman Reedus of The Walking Dead, Udo Kier of Blade, Billy Drago of The Untouchables and it is the last feature film of the late, great David Carradine of Kill Bill and Kung Fu. Tickets include pre-event reception, screening, Q&A, celebrity after party.


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My, How Time Flies

Hey, everyone. I’ve been a bit quiet of late as real life has kicked me in the butt with stuff to do. Uni is almost finished—I have one and a half subjects to go, so really excited about that. I’m writing to a deadline with the last book in the Circle of Talia series, which will definitely be out in July. Sorry to all those readers who are patiently waiting. It’s been frustrating for me too as I had been hoping it would be out by now, but life does get in the way. The cover has been started and I’ll be doing a cover reveal in 5 weeks, so stay tuned. And of course, my editing and copywriting work has been flat out (it seems everything happens at once).

It hasn’t been all work and no play, though, as I’ve just returned from the Gold Coast where I attended Indie Authors Down Under 2014. What a blast we had! Sold a few books, met some amazing people—both authors and readers—and partied Saturday night away. They’re holding the event next year too, and it’s a great one for readers to get along to as there are both smaller and larger name authors who attend, and there’s the VIP party where readers get to mix with their favourite authors.

Author K.A. Last & I at Indie Authors Down Under book signing.

Author K.A. Last & I at Indie Authors Down Under book signing.

In some good news, both Shadows of the Realm and A Time of Darkness have been accepted onto the Minister’s Reading Challenge list for high schools in Australian state ACT. Thank you so much to the awesome people who decide which books make the cut—I’m grateful to make it in. And shadows of the Realm recently made it to #99 overall on Amazon and was number 1 in 3 categories. That was super exciting!

For those who love fantasy, I’ll be at Supanova Melbourne on the 12th-13th of April. I’m so looking forward to going down, seeing all the cosplay and meeting readers. If you do make it, please stop by my table and say hello.

And that’s the wrap-up for the first part of this year. Have a great week and happy reading!



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An Awakening — a Suspenseful, Intense Short Screenplay

I sent my first short screenplay off to a competition, but alas, I didn’t even make the top 10%. After crying into my glass of water, okay, I didn’t really cry, but I might have whined a bit and said f*** a few dozen times, I decided I would share it with the world anyway, because all writers really want, (other than bestsellerdom) is for people to read their work and enjoy it.

Unfortunately I can’t share this screenplay on the big screen, but here it is on a little one. You’ll have to read it rather than watch it, but you can’t have everything ;).

An Awakening was adapted from a short story in Dark Spaces. It is the story of a woman faced with a life-and-death decision, but she hesitates. If your partner was about to die, would you save them, or would you rather go on alone?

For those who like to read screenplays, here it is. I think it would make an awesome music film clip as you don’t really need the words to convey the story. Enjoy watching it in your own mind :).


The sun is shining on an impressive, brick home and landscaped back garden. GRAHAM (70), slender and dressed in a check shirt with the sleeves rolled up, is on his knees on the grass, digging a hole for a small plant in the garden bed while MARIAN (69), dressed immaculately, cuts roses with secateurs. GRAHAM straightens and looks at MARIAN.


Only three weeks, Love, and we’ll be sailing into the sunset. I’m really looking forward to our Fiji cruise.


Me too. It’ll be nice to spend a relaxing two weeks together, away from the housework and grandkids. It’s been awhile since we’ve been on holidays, just the two of us.

MARIAN smiles at her husband.


So, it’s your birthday when we’re away. What would you like?



           Nothing. Don’t bother.

GRAHAM reaches out and holds her hand.


Don’t be like that. I want to get you something. Come on, Love, what would you like?

MARIAN snatches her hand away.


If it’s so important, why did you forget my birthday last year? I don’t want anything. Just forget it.

GRAHAM grunts, falls back to sit on the grass, drops the trowel, grabs his chest and grimaces. MARIAN looks at him, rolls her eyes then turns back to her roses.


(In a strained voice) I think I’m having a heart attack.


How convenient. You’ll do anything to avoid an argument.

GRAHAM collapses the rest of the way to the ground, and MARIAN turns to look at him. She hesitates then rushes to kneel by his side. She taps at his cheek with her fingers.


           Graham. Graham, are you all right?

Graham doesn’t respond. Marian leans over him to listen to his breathing. He is not breathing. She sits up, looks towards the house, looks back at GRAHAM, and then stares into the distance.


A young and smiling GRAHAM and MARIAN, dressed in their wedding clothes, stand at the front of the church holding hands and facing each other. We can see the priest, standing with the bible open, through the gap between them. The pews are filled with well-dressed guests. GRAHAM slides a wedding ring on MARIAN’S finger.


           You may kiss the bride.

GRAHAM and MARIAN kiss. The congregation claps.


Flowers sit in a vase on the bedside table. MARIAN sits up in bed, smiling and holding a swaddled, newborn baby. GRAHAM kisses MARIAN’S forehead and watches as their TWO OTHER CHILDREN (4 AND 6) climb on the bed and do the same. MARIAN AND GRAHAM share a contented look.


The lights are off. GRAHAM sits at a rectangular dining table, which has silver candelabra in the centre with candles flickering. A small group of friends and family watch as a proud MARIAN enters the room, carrying a cake. The cake says “Happy 30th Graham” and is ringed with lit candles. MARIAN places the cake in front of her husband and everyone starts singing “Happy Birthday”. He grabs his wife’s hand and they smile at each other.


MARIAN walks along the hallway to GRAHAM’S office, carrying a paper bag, which holds a packed lunch that she’s made for him. (Close up of hand grabbing the door handle and turning it slowly). MARIAN opens the door.


           Hi, Darling, I’ve brought….

She sees GRAHAM lying on top of his SECRETARY on his desk, passionately kissing her. MARIAN clutches the paper bag tighter with one hand and covers her mouth with her other. She stands there, stunned for a minute as GRAHAM and the SECRETARY scramble off the desk to stand up quickly, adjusting their clothes. GRAHAM takes a step towards MARIAN and opens his mouth to say something, but she turns quickly and runs out. The SECRETARY grabs his arm, but he pushes her off and runs after his wife.


Both bedside lamps are on. The bed is immaculately made. MARIAN is wearing the same clothes from when she took the lunch to the office. MARIAN and GRAHAM stand facing each other next to the end of the bed. GRAHAM is gripping her arms and staring into her eyes.


Please believe me. She means nothing. I love you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It was a big mistake. Say something, Marian. Please.

MARIAN stares at him for a moment then spits in his face. GRAHAM hangs his head and lets go of her arms.


How could you? I’ve devoted my life to you, given up everything. (Whispers to herself) I can’t believe this is happening. (To GRAHAM) You make me sick. Get out.

GRAHAM walks to the door and hesitates as he looks at MARIAN one last time, but she has her back to him. He leaves. MARIAN sits on the bed, takes her wedding ring off, throws it at the wall and cries.


MARIAN sits at the kitchen table with her best friend, BETH (69). MARIAN looks tired and pale. They both cradle a cup of tea in their hands. A plate of biscuits sits ignored in the middle of the round table.


           So, what are you going to do?


I don’t know. If I left, where would I go? I don’t have any skills: I pulled out of the secretarial course when we got married. I have no money. And how would the kids handle it? I just don’t know…. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to do what I want, when I want—not to have to answer to anyone. To be free.


Look, I’m sure this sort of thing happens all the time. You’ll be okay. I don’t think you should make any rash decisions. Maybe just forgive him and get on with it. It’s better than being alone.


Is it?

MARIAN shakes her head.


I don’t know if I can forgive him. God I wish I had the courage to leave.


A “Happy 21st” banner hangs from the wall above framed family snapshots. MARIAN and GRAHAM’S daughter sits at the head of the table. MARIAN, twelve years older than at her husband’s thirtieth birthday, stands and watches her daughter blow out the candles on her birthday cake. GRAHAM, standing next to MARIAN, puts his arm around her shoulder. She flinches, but he keeps his arm there and holds her tighter. Her smile is sad.


A string quartet on a slightly raised stage plays romantic music. Fairy lights hang from trees. A close up of a card on a present on an outdoor table says “Happy 45th Anniversary Marian and Graham”. Dining tables ring the perimeter of the dance-floor where guests sit eating dessert and chatting. MARIAN is in GRAHAM’S arms as they slow dance. She looks lovingly into his eyes and he whispers in her ear.


Thank you for staying with me. I love you. I’ve always loved only you. Are you happy?


           I love you too.


           But are you happy?


           Mmm (pause) I think so.

She places her head on his chest. He looks worried. GRAHAM places his cheek against her hair, closes his eyes and breathes in.


MARIAN blinks and looks down at GRAHAM who is lying on the grass. She stands, slowly (as she is almost seventy). GRAHAM lies in the foreground while we watch MARIAN walk slowly to the back door in the background. She goes inside.


MARIAN reaches the phone, removes her gardening gloves and dials 000.


           Fire, police or ambulance?



MARIAN grips the phone cord with one hand as she waits for someone else to come on the line. The female dispatcher comes on the line and asks MARION who she is, what is her address, and what’s happened.


My husband’s had a heart attack. He’s not breathing. I need an ambulance. Please hurry.


            Do you know how to perform CPR?



The dispatcher explains how to do CPR and suggests MARION perform it until the ambulance arrives. MARION starts crying as she hangs up the phone and walks as fast as she can back to GRAHAM.


Marian kneels down next to GRAHAM and kisses his forehead, her shoulder-length hair falling gently against his face. She sits up, places her hands on his chest and starts chest compressions before breathing into his mouth. She stops briefly, tears on her face.


I’m here, Darling. I forgive you.  Please don’t die. I love you, Graham. Don’t leave me alone.

MARIAN continues CPR and sirens wail in the distance, the sound getting closer. The shot pulls back and high, showing the backyard, MARIAN working on GRAHAM—they look small, isolated and alone. The shot encompasses the street. The ambulance arrives at the front. The shot pulls back further as the ambulance officers get out of the ambulance, and the scene recedes into the


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Doris Does Dall… I mean, a Blog Tour

He, he. It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything, and I’m sorry, although maybe some of you are happy I haven’t been bugging your inbox. My cute little women’s fiction, Close Call, is doing a blog tour. In honour of this tour, I’ve reduced the price from $2.99 to 99 cents — what a BARGAIN! If you check out the tour, you have a chance to win stuff, see some cool meme’s and hear Doris’s awesome advice (and who can afford to pass up advice from the world’s wisest vagina?). Full of innuendo and fun, don’t miss this tour!

Doris jpeg ebook cover

Close Call is the first installment of “A Doris & Jemma Vageventure” series.

Think Bridget Jones Diary and The Vagina Monologues.

Twenty-two-year-old Jemma can’t seem to get her life in order. Her track record with men stinks, she constantly worries about getting fat and ending up a spinster at thirty. And to top it off, she has to be a bridesmaid at her most-hated cousin’s wedding. She feels like her life is over, until Doris decides to help out. Who’s Doris? Doris is Jemma’s vagina and she thinks more of Jemma than her own brain does. Doris is on a mission to save Jemma from herself, but is the task too much for one vagina to handle?

Here are the tour stops:

Random Reviews by Leanne
The Sinner Author
Literary Chanteuse
Photography, Poetry and Indie Authors
Like a Bump on a Blog
Pinky’s Favorite Reads
Ramen Noodle Book Reviews
Our Wolves Den
A Day in Doha
Books & Chocolates
A Book Addict’s Delight
J E Haldeman
Jess Resides Here
Indie Authors You Want to Read
Our New Generation for Reading
Lady Reader’s Bookstuff
WS Momma Readers Nook

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Erica Lucke Dean Suddenly Pops In

Hi, Erica, and welcome to my blog. Congratulations on the release of your new book — Suddenly Sorceress. This is your second book and it has already been getting some awesome reviews, and I love the cover. Was having this one published more or less exciting than publishing your first book? Thanks so much for having me today, Dionne. I love the cover too! I think getting this book published was almost more exciting than To Katie With Love. Not that I don’t adore Katie. I do, but Suddenly Sorceress is my favorite project so far. I mean, it has a witch, a magician, and a goat. What more could anyone ask for? LOL.

Suddenly Sorceress 800 Cover reveal and Promotional


What’s the part your love most about writing a book? I love coming up with the story. It’s like lightning streaking across my consciousness. That sudden jolt of something exciting that delights my senses. The idea is always big and easy for me to capture in my notes … though all those little details do take more work.

What’s the part you hate most about writing a book? I hate having to plan. I prefer to fly by the seat of my pants, but I’ve discovered the project goes more smoothly if I, at least, write out a summary for myself before I jump in. I need to know where I’m going so I don’t get lost along the way.

Are you a plotter or a pantser? I guess, based on my last answer, you can see I’m a pantser at heart, but a plotter out of necessity. I never plot myself so much that I don’t have wiggle room. I just set out the major events and let all the little stuff work itself out as I go.

What’s your main character, Ivie, like, in Suddenly Sorceress? And did you model your character on yourself, a friend, or did you just pull her out of the air? Ivie is your average kindergarten teacher with a quiet, somewhat boring, existence. Well … she was until she ended up with a skunk in her bathroom and a missing fiancé. It doesn’t take her long to realize she’s not who she thought she was. Like most of my characters, Ivie is a lot like me. So was Katie in To Katie With Love, but I like to think of them as two different sides of me. Ivie is a bit more bold and a lot less clumsy.

Did the idea for this book come out of the blue, or is it something you’ve wanted to write for a while? I wanted to write a book about a witch, and a spark of inspiration flew in on its broomstick so I just went with it.

Have you ever wanted to be a witch and punish someone with magical powers? Have I ever! LOL. I was the little girl dressed as a scary witch for Halloween when all her friends were princesses and fairies. I think the idea of turning the “bad” fiancé into a woodland creature might have stemmed from my desire to turn my ex-husband into something once. I never did manage to get that to work. LOL. (LOL!).

Are you writing another book yet, or having a break? I’ve actually just finished a YA Contemporary collaboration with my friend Laura M. Kolar. I had this idea rattling around in my head, but I knew it was something I’d need another perspective for, so she agreed to work with me on it. It’s going to be amazing. We’re at the beta reader stage with it now.

I know you have a menagerie of animals at home. If you could be any animal, what would you be and why? I think I’d want to be a lion or a tiger. They’re fairly high on the food chain, so I wouldn’t have to worry about something else eating me. And I’d still get to eat meat. My husband keeps trying to convince me to go vegetarian, but I’m just not ready to take the plunge.

Finally, would you like to tell us a bit about what type of readers would enjoy your book. Suddenly Sorceress is a paranormal chick lit/romance with heavy doses of humor, sex, and wacky situations. I think anyone who likes to have fun while they fall in love would enjoy it.

The blurb:

PMS can be a real witch.

Ivie McKie isn’t your run-of-the-mill kindergarten teacher. After an encounter with a horny goat, Ivie has a confrontation with her lying, cheating fiancé. She is shocked when the big jerk suddenly transforms into a skunk—the black and white furry variety.

Enlisting the help of her shopaholic friend Chloe and sexy club magician Jackson Blake, Ivie is forced to play a literal game of cat and mouse as she races against the clock to change her ex back before she’s arrested for his murder.

With every new spell, a fresh wave of sexual desire draws Jack further into Ivie’s troubles, along with her panties, the car, the kitchen, and assorted seedy bathrooms.

Ivie soon discovers what every witch worth her spell book knows: There’s nothing worse than a bad case of Post Magical Syndrome.

If you like the sound of the book (and let’s face it, it sounds awesome) here is where you can buy from:

Here are the links where the book is available:


Barnes & Noble



And you can find Erica at Red Adept Publishing. Happy reading!


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Never Say Neigh

Today is a guest post from a humour writer. I would like to introduce you to Mary I. Farr. Thanks for visiting!
Author Mary I. Farr has devoted the past 30 years to exploring the worlds of hope, healing and humor. Today she has merged these life essentials into a wildly funny and gently inspirational book, Never Say Neigh. The book recently won honors in The Paris Book Festival, The Great Midwest Book Festival and the Animals, Animals, Animals Book Festival.
never say neigh
A retired hospital chaplain with plenty of wisdom under her belt and a lifelong passion for horses, Farr chose an unusual writing partner for her award-winning book—her American quarter horse, Noah Vail. Even his name says he has a funny bone of his own.
 “This is a comical horse,” Farr says. “He’s just the kind of character I imagined could ‘talk’ to people about life and its many lessons, but in a welcoming way. I figured why not use him as a humorous spiritual corrective in an often noisy world of gridlock.”
Never Say Neigh encompasses a year on the road with Noah and his partner Madam, sometimes referred to as The Management. Compassion is the order of the day for Noah. He eschews violence, prejudice and polarized politics – all with a generous dose of levity and fun.
“It’s hard to argue with a horse,” Farr says. “Noah, as the book’s narrator, makes the most difficult topics approachable for readers. He also opines on a good deal of human behavior.”
Even Noah’s blogs have won him acclaim as an Erma Bombeck Writer’s Workshop Humor Writer of the Month. And he’s nothing if not a well-rounded author. He keeps an active Twitter account, a Facebook page with more than 101,000 fans, and a blog. Fans can also find him on YouTube.

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A Guest with a Gift for Poetry and Verse—Maureen Flynn

Today I have my friend and poet visiting with a guest post. I first met Maureen at the NSW writers centre when I was there to talk about self-publishing. It’s exciting to see that Maureen has very recently self-published her first book of poetry, and what a gorgeous one it is. Even if poetry isn’t  your favourite thing; if you enjoy well-written prose, you will probably enjoy this – I know I did. Welcome, Maureen!

Why Poetry?

I first started writing poetry in high school; a creative form of self expression that my teacher’s never had to see. I mainly used my words for the force of good; exercising inner teen demons. For example, in Year 10 I wrote a poem about my Autistic brother. It is simple and technically awful and yet somehow… oh so accurate.

My Brother

What was that you said again?

Through innocent eyes I watch you, but

Never stare you in the eye.

It hurts, I tell you, it hurts.

You say ‘Hi,’

I sit and stare, because

What do you mean?

I play games by

Myself. Like Halo on xbox

And Zelda on my computer.

I play my gameboy.

I like my xbox, my computer, my gameboy.

I can understand them, but

Not the expression on your face.

I’ll tell you a secret!

I take tablets and I need lots of help.

I don’t like talking to people I don’t know.

But I like my dog.

Why is Mum so tired, why is sis so stressed?

I don’t know the answer so

I do an equation in my head.

I think I am mumbling.

I don’t like talking much.

What was that you said again?

When I wasn’t angsting experience, I exchanged lines of snarky free verse with my friend at the back of the English classroom. That’s how I ended up with a poem titled ‘Ode to Poetry’ (A response to Ode on a Grecian Urn) in the back of a workbook. My favourite part of the poem, aside from the alliteration of, ‘prattling pedagouge’ is the repetition of, ‘leave this picking apart/to the crows.’ How things change. Now I can’t get enough of literary analysis. The joke really backfired on me, Caringbah High.

As I got more comfortable messing around with free verse, I started to like putting word pictures together, and more and more complex ones too. It seemed to me that you could do so much more in free verse; capture something so raw, so human. Capture something ruined by too much laboured prose. I had very little life experience, but what did that matter? I soon discovered that this is what the movies are for!

I have always been a genre fiction lover. I’d rather not read about messy ordinary lives, thanks. Yet I can’t get enough of human mess at the movies. I have never been able to put my finger on just why I love straight drama on film but not in a book. Specifically, British drama. In high school I set the pattern. I love all of the actors who never get the publicity. It’s my own form of personal torture. I have seen almost every single drama film, good, bad and ugly, of the likes of Ralph Fiennes (always quietly burning over something but what?), Bill Nighy (life’s one big joke), Helena Bonham Carter (beautiful, eccentric and a messy powerhouse), Miranda Richardson (tiny and ripped apart by emotions) and Emily Watson (flinty, but somehow still breakable with those damned disconcerting lamp like eyes).

Something in the power of these actors varied performances spoke to me but I could never put it into words. The more poetry I wrote, the harder it was to string words into analytical sentences. It was so much easier, so much truer somehow, to tell stories, to respond to art with art. It was my way of making sense of the frightening, closed off and dangerous adult world that such actors regularly push us into confronting.

I saw Red Dragon. I didn’t write a review. To be honest, I wouldn’t remember the film today at all if it hadn’t been that I’d written a creative response to Watson’s Reba. I go back through my high school notebooks now, and I remember that the poem came about because of Reba, but the poem is not Reba. Reba was a springboard into a world of disability and judgement. A world that I do know and understand far too well. A world that I did know and understand then.

A Lament 

My wide eyes

Furtive, unseeing glances

Tell you what you already know

Even without the guiding stick.

My voice catches

At the sound of yours.

My mouth can’t take

Your awkward pauses.

Do I seem that desperate

To you?

When I cling and kiss your

Shyness away?

I’ve become so alone.

Shuttered away

Locked up with endless thoughts

Of a good day never to come.

All I want is

Someone to hold me

And say…

Someone to mean it and say…

“It’s all right to be different.

It’s all right

For blind women

To love.”

Yeah, I just want you to say

That just because I cannot see

Doesn’t mean that I can’t strive

For all I long to be.

Because oh how it hurts to be branded

With a label not of your choice

To have had the world take away

Both my sight and my voice.

And all because the universe can’t take


All because the universe takes


Free verse was my curious and secret addiction. I kept writing my short stories and my novels, but I couldn’t stop writing poetry. It was a compulsion. Poetry about my family, about my feelings, about characters in films and books, about love stories and murders. My meta about our cultural stories and products became my hidden art.

And then I got to university and started writing my own poetry stories…

My Heart’s Choir Sings tells the story of a man who loses his fellow creative and partner in tragic circumstances. As he looks at objects that were once hers, he remembers their time together, in all of its pathos and pain and love. It took me two years to write and to get to publication stage. Why? Because I like my poetry to be deceptively simple, full of cultural reference and winding like a labyrinthe. I am a perfectionist, in poetry as with everything else. I want the word choices to be just so; I want you, the reader, to see what I see. I want you to feel and experience the emotional mess that I paint with my words, just as the best actors force you to experience their characters inner tumoil.

Just as drama suits the film medium, so too does poetry. Especially free verse poetry. That first person confessional drags you in, doesn’t let you look away from the impending train wreck. The imagery engages the senses and drowns you in dark and light planes. Emotional failure and carthasis become yours.

Deep down I know, dear readers, that for me, this is why poetry.

heart's choir

Maureen writes young adult speculative fiction novels and short stories and is currently studying to become a teacher. She reviews genre fiction and films, interviews authors and discusses writing at her blog, InkAshlings. She also writes free verse poetry about the human connection. Her verse novella, My Heart’s Choir Sings, is currently on sale for 99c on Smashwords and Amazon.

You can also like the Facebook page.

Otherwise, You can find Maureen at her website or on Goodreads.



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