Carol Naylor's REVIEW it...

  "He who wants a rose must respect the thorn." (Ancient Persian proverb) spoken by the Head of the I.R.G. "I am that thorn. Do not fuck with me."   Such a precarious situation. Middle East volatility and American aggression, protecting their own interests.   Many of the events are based on fact and Cope has created a fast-moving, tense, political thriller that exposes megalomania, corruption and greed on a damning scale with devastating results. No winners, just losers.   The stakes are high. This is about oil in the Gulf. Set towards the end of the war between Iraq and Iran in the 80s the Iraqis were preventing the Iranians from exporting oil and so the latter were being "strangled economically." They needed nothing short of a miracle to survive the war and this is where self-made British tycoon Declan Doyle comes into the picture, a rich successful entrepreneur motivated by greed to make 20 million $ out of a "hair-brained scheme&q

                                                                        courtesy of artifacts at the White Elephant The hands of the clock, silently ticking away, breathing life and spinning like a Catherine wheel, chiming and heralding the onset of a brand new day. The blanket of darkness lifted as day breaks. The sun rises, emblazoned as an orange speck, warming the wintry universe as the clock ticks on. courtesy of www.tapesandpolishes.com Having fun with HAIKU. An end to the day All forms of life hibernate Awaiting the morn. Walking down the street The sun pouring through the cloud Shining rays of light. Frosty and chilly Frozen to the bone we sit And watch the snow fall. The wind howls wildly The rain pours incessantly Driving us home. COPYRIGHT 2013. Permission must be obtained from the author before reproducing any of these verses.  

                                                         courtesy of photobucket.com   There have been two extremely difficult and traumatic periods in life when everything has been bleak and I have felt utter despair: 1981 and 2006 are those two BLACK years.I didn't deal with either of them; I repressed the hurt and anger which psychologists advise is wrong. I was too badly hurt to face not just one, but TWO losses head-on and ran and hid from the hurt and pain that would have destroyed me. The consequences? Years and years later the pain is still there and I know that it will eventually destroy me. They say that love conquers evil but what about pain and suffering like mine? It destroys the human psyche and ultimately, man's spirit. That's how it was with me and that's how it remains.   E'li, E'li, la'ma sa bach tha' ni? My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?   There was no beginning or end to my grief. It was just like a berea

"A Spielbergian radiance" emanates from start to finish. There is one certainty in life and that is we will all die at some point in time. Sorry to be so morbid but somethings we have to accept as inevitable. Hopefully you'll see my point soon. Moggach's novel was published in 2004 as These Foolish Things. It is a cathartic experience for the readers as well as the retirees who seek a different life in their twilight years and their families who come to visit. The Marigold, Bangalore and India prove to be a turning point in their lives rather like Robert Frost's crossroads in The Road Not Taken where the retirees can reflect on their lives, past, present and future. The Marigold may not be the best or the most exotic of final destinations, it is a home for old people where the residents will contemplate their mortality and die peacefully. " A little corner of Britain. An oasis of olde-worlde charm in the hustle and bustle of modern Bangalore."

Walk down the lane my pretty wee lass, Lift up ye' petticoat as ye' plough through the quagmire, And hold on to ye' precious bairn as ye' go pass'.   Hold up ye' staff as ye' traipse thru' the grass, Onwards ye' weary wonderers as ye' near the byre. Walk down the lane my pretty wee lass.   Follow the track that rolls thru' the valley, the mass Of fertile soil, the undulating hills. Try not to tire. And hold on to ye' precious bairn as ye' go pass'.   Ye' wee bairn is deep in slumber as ye' hasten so fas'. The village is burning, the stacks are on fire. Walk down the lane my pretty wee lass.   Wind ye' way doon to the river like an ocean so vast. The village is smouldering, the inferno is dire And hold on to ye' precious bairn as ye' go pass'.   Why do ye' falter my bonny wee lass? Turn back, hie thee away from the funeral pyre. Haste ye' doon the lane

"Oh shit, shit, shit!" He reached for a double whisky to numb his senses, downed that one and reached for another. When Jane phoned him he felt too inebriated to answer or listen to her message on his voicemail. He undressed, then carelessly threw his clothes onto the floor and fell into bed hoping to wake up sober enough to deal with it all. What a mess! Saturday was another chilly day as Dave wrapped up warmly and rushed to King's Cross station. He felt absolutely lousy and regretted the whisky. It hadn't solved his problem or made his life any easier. The dark clouds overhead made him feel tense. He knew that the next few hours would be crucial for his marriage, his own sanity. He did not relish the thought of Jane finding out. Perhaps Sue would excuse herself from the reunion and he would escape from his overburdening sense of guilt? Perhaps, perhaps? He just couldn't face the truth, that was the reality of it. He would be meeting Jane and his daughters

Are all your books based on the supernatural? No. My next novel Deception Unlimited is a switch of genre to suspense/mystery.....not a ghost in sight. None of the characters are exactly as they seem, even the dog!!!!!!! Do you have a favourite book? If so, which one and why? This is difficult to answer. I'm more of a favourite author person. I became hooked on Georgette Heyer's historical romances in my teens. I found the aristocrats' formal manners and glamorous life fascinating especially the time they spent on meaningless trivialities. I still read them from time to time, to relax. Another long-term favourite is Dick Francis and on my ever-changing list is Kate Atkinson, Stuart Macbride, Wendy Cartmell, Phil Rickman.... What made you want to write? I've always been a reader of anything and everything...when I realised that after the final page the stories continued in my head I decided to have a go myself. As my schoolgirl ambition was to illustrate books

She opened the room for her daughters and suggested that they order a light snack and eat in the room then they could watch tv before having an early night. Their murmurings suggested compliance which suited Jane. "I'll give your father a quick ring to see what time he's arriving tomorrow," Jane shouted through the door, fumbling with the key to her own room. When she entered the room Jane was pleasantly surprised to see a spacious room with a four-poster tucked away in the corner. Delightful. Should she ring Dave or open the letter? Perhaps she ought to ring Dave first then she could relax. She searched in her bag for her mobile and reached his voicemail; he was too busy to speak to anyone! Typical.   "Hi Dave, it's Jane. Arrived safely, the hotel is pleasant. I had hoped to have spoken to you but I am sure that you must still be busy working. Poor thing! Ring me back when you get this message and let me know which train you are catching tomorrow."

Anne, Harry and grandson, David.   A year of dread, suffering inevitability Of loss, someone we all treasured. You dad. Husband, father, grandfather, multi-faceted padre. Too harsh a sentence and too little time As fragile egos broke through emotional strain. The truth Dawned, reality, your light fading Shaken and thwarted by insecurities of life. We experienced your suffering, Watched you pitifully declining, slipping away From the endless love of your family.   The hardest part was saying goodbye, God bless, adios. United in our grief, fondness of heart, We will treasure the memories and celebrate your life Of achievement, a wealth of delight.   Newcastle University Graduation. 1976.     Harry Naylor fell asleep on the 21st February 2006 after he lost his battle with cancer.     COPYRIGHT 2013. Permission must be obtained from the author before using this poem. 

Shan is a successful writer of children's horror stories. His first books for adults didn't do particularly well although he acquired an adult following with The City Trilogy and then Lady as he affectionately calls it. The idea for Lady had been conceived in 1999 and was finally published 13 years later! The novel is based around the old film noir movies such as Double Indemnity and H ell's Horizon. The inclusion of a number of ghosts who haunt the protagonist because of his murky past was Shan's personal twist to this popular genre. In exploring the boundaries of a dark supernatural thriller Shan admits that his purpose was "to really mess with the minds of readers." What he does in fact, is to "mess" with the mind of Ed the main character who is forced into questioning what is real and what is unreal. We discover the truth when Ed discovers it but what is fascinating is that we rarely understand the truth. A bit like goalposts that keep cha