Friday, 16 January 2015


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Kerry J. Donovan

Kerry was born in Dublin. He spent most of his life in the UK, and now lives in Brittany with his wife of thirty-seven years. He has three children and three grandchildren, all of whom live in England and all of whom think he’s nice (strange the way that works out). An absentee granddad, Kerry praises the advent of video conferencing.

I former lives, Kerry has been a furniture designer/cabinet maker, a research scientist, a house restorer, and now spends all.most of his time writing crime thrillers and what he likes to call adventure yarns. He recently topped the Amazon UK bestseller genre list for his paranormal thriller, The Transition of Johnny Swift.

There are currently two book in his DCI Jones Casebook series and a new addition is due out in the New Year.

Who is my greatest fictional or TV hero?

When I was fourteen, way back in the time before mobile phones, home computers, and the Interweb, a new headmaster took control of our school. He came in with all sorts of radical ideas, one of which was insisting that every pupil visited the library at least once a week. Not only that, but we had to take out a book and read it too.

In our own time.

Over and above our normal school homework.

I mean the cheek of the man.

What self-respecting fourteen-year-old boy wants to spend his free time reading when there are footballs to kick and a cricket bats to wield? Not me, that’s for sure.

Thought I was being so smart by choosing the smallest book in the place—blue of cover and well thumbed. I didn’t even read the title, just plucked it from the shelf, and walked it to the librarian’s desk. She stamped it and I took to the desk. Boy was I miffed when I opened the book to find the tiniest text I’d ever seen. Seventy years old and written by some old fossil called Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. It’s title? Sherlock Holmes - Selected Short Stories.

Read that book cover to cover in about a week. I was blown away by the writing style and the scope of the characters. The stories were a little dated and a tad naive, but wonderful nonetheless. The Sign of Four, The Hound of the Baskervilles, The Speckled Band, all were classics of the criminologists’ art.

I still have the book, bought for 15p at the end of the term. It hasn’t left my side ever since. Need a magnifying glass these days to read the font, but I take it out occasionally to remind myself what a good detective story is all about. That little blue book is one of the reasons I write crime fiction.

A recent BBC series, Sherlock, has ‘rebooted’ Holmes and Watson into a modern setting. It is a testament to Doyle’s writing class that his lead characters, first written well over a century ago, stand the test of time.

This is stunning fiction, trend setting. If only I could write something that extraordinary.

The Transition of Johnny Swift
by Kerry J. Donovan

The Transition of Johnny Swift is a psychological thriller in 96,000 words, set in present-day England.

Racing driver, “Fiery” Frank Brazier has a problem. He keeps seeing a grey figure he calls Shadow-man. The silent Shadow-man appears in times of stress, but things are worsening. Frank would seek medical help, but racing drivers aren’t supposed to feel fear, and how would his sponsors react?

The novel opens at the start of the final race of the season. Frank is only one win away from sealing the F2500 Championship and earning a place on a Formula 1 team for next season. When Frank’s blood pumps hard and adrenaline heightens his senses, he sees Shadow-man again, sitting on the nosecone of his car, brooding, still, and silent.

Frank survives a front tyre blowout, wins the race, and is offered a contract with the best team in the Formula 1 Series. The next day, he accompanies his sister, Paula, to London by train, but a senseless act of vandalism results in an horrific rail crash.

When he wakes in hospital three days later, with eyes bandaged, bones broken, and head aching, Frank hears two words that throw him into a world of terror and confusion.

Save her!”

When the doctors remove his eye bandages, Frank sees the owner of the voice—Shadow-man, who repeats the words, “Save her.”

“Save who?”


The DCI Jones Casebook: Ellis Flynn
by Kerry J. Donovan

An empathetic detective and his Swedish-born colleague hunt for the abductors of a teenage schoolgirl—a police procedural set in England and France.

When their daughter fails to return from school, Hollie Jardine’s parents are terrified. Is she a runaway, or the victim of something more sinister?

Veteran Detective, David Jones, head of the Midlands Police, is tasked to find her. His team soon discovers a link to convicted sex-offender, Ellis Flynn, whom Jones suspects of grooming the naive teenager. A difficult case is made more personal when Jones sees a photo of the missing girl, Hollie Jardine. She is the spitting image of his God-daughter! Jones can't separate the two in his head.

With Hollie's chances of survival fading, Jones and his Swedish-born colleague Alexandra Olganski, risk their careers and their lives when they ignore protocol to follow Flynn’s trail across the Channel into France. What they discover in an idyllic backwater will stretch Jones' detection skills to the limit, and Alex's loyalty to heartbreak.

As he closes in on the abductor, Jones faces an impossible decision - give himself up or the girl dies—do nothing and the girl dies.


Book blurb
Title: You Own Me
Author: Mary Catherine Gebhard
Genre: New Adult, Psychological Romance

“I’ll love you until you break my heart. I’ll give you the broken pieces of my heart as an offering to you, because you own it. Whole, shattered, alive, or dead; you own my heart no matter what condition it’s in. I’ll stay with you until you figure out how to feel. I’ll stay with you even if you never do.”

This is a story about happiness, and how it doesn't simply happen because you fall in love.

Lennox is on the run from her ex-boyfriend. She had to drop everything, tell no one, and move to a new town, alone. She expected to be lonely, she expected to be afraid, but she never expected to meet a man named Vic who drove her crazy with lust and anger and called her “Lenny.” If it’s at all possible, Vic is more twisted than the man she ran away from.

She should ignore him, but they’re drawn to each other like magnets. Lennox ran from from Seattle to Santa Barbara to get away from violence, to create a new life, and to be something simple. Instead she’s found herself wrapped up in great friends and an epic love. This new life is the opposite of everything she wants, but it might just be everything she needs. 


Author Bio

Mary Catherine Gebhard bites off more than she can chew and sometimes calls herself Eva Natsumi. She's lived in Salt Lake City, Utah her entire life, but occasionally goes on vacation from reality. Don’t worry, she sends postcards.


Book Excerpts
Excerpt 1
“Hee hee.”
I turned over in bed and put the pillow over my head. Whoever was playing in the hallways at—I glanced at my clock—two in the morning, needed a serious tongue-lashing. But I wasn’t going to give it to them. I was going to fall asleep, hopefully. It had been a long ass day. The night kept stretching on like rubber about to snap. I wanted sleep but it just wouldn’t come.
“One, two, buckle my shoe. Three, four, shut the door.”
I sat up, glaring at my door. The voices were getting closer. They were creepy and waif like. Like a child’s voice carried far from home through the fog. I hugged my knees, waiting for another installment of the rhyme.
“Five, six, pick up sticks.”
The children, if you could call them that, were definitely getting closer. If I was an angry, old woman (like I should be) I would have gone out and told them to quit it with the ruckus. Instead, I was a paranoid girl who curled up in her bed reliving the past.
“Seven, eight, lay them straight. Nine, ten, kill them again.”
My eyes shot wide open at the last verse. Had I heard that correctly? The creepy Stephen King children on the other side of my door had said “kill them again.”
“This isn’t happening,” I muttered to myself, over and over again, until it became a mantra. When I was younger, before the medication, all I had was myself. I had a song I would sing to myself until the sun came up and everything bad had gone away. I was older now, I was supposed to be over this shit. I’m a semi-functioning member of society, dammit.
I coiled every bit of courage I had inside me and stood off my bed. I was going to go investigate. The way to deal with these ghosts is to get rational. What’s the worst that could happen?
Death. Destruction. The words popped in to my head warrantlessly. That’s it though. I’m not afraid of death or inscrutable destruction. These ghosts in my head prey on fear. Fear is all they have. Terror.
Still, knowing all of that and rationalizing it as I did, I was scared as I opened the door. I opened the door and the hallway light assaulted me.
“Hee hee.”
I jumped back, looking for the children.
“One, two, buckle my shoe.”
What the hell? The voices were on a loop. I looked around for whoever was speaking. I stepped further in to the hall when my foot stepped on something hard and edgy. Beneath my bare sole was a black box. I lifted it up to examine it.
“Three, four…” A tape recorder. The box spoke once more before I smashed it against the wall.
This was too fucking much. Dean had placed a recording of a terrifying children outside of my door. A threat, no less. Dean knew my history with mental illness and was using it against me.
Brilliant, evil, cocksucker.
What kind of game was he playing? And how many lives did I have left?