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Posts tagged “novel

Happy Birthday to the Snow that turned Red


Four years ago today RED SNOW was published and Vivika Widow officially became … Well, Vivika Widow. Anyways, to celebrate the arrival of the first born we are taking a look at how Red Snow developed over the years.


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The short story RED SNOW fairy tale DUST AND DEVOTION is available now!

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The Day I Met my Mummy

It was my thirteenth birthday and I was spending it with my Aunt Lola. She was a quirky old lady who had known me since I was born. She wasn’t really my aunt at all but she had been such a close family friend she earned herself the title. I had come to live with her after an unfortunate accident with a moose and a very high cliff claimed the lives of my parents.

“Well Loopy,” she said. (This was just a nickname she had for me. My real name is Lucy) “I can’t believe you are thirteen years old already.”

Given that I was so accident prone, having broken several bones several times, I was pretty mesmerised that I had reached teenage years too. Aunt Lola always made a big fuss of me on my birthday. She had no children of her own so all of her affection was aimed towards me. She gave the most random and strange gifts each year so now that I was a little older and a little more ready for her antics I couldn’t wait to see what was in store. She put an envelope into my hand and kissed my forehead. “I hope you like this one.”

My hands began to shake. Given my aunt’s fondness for all things odd there was no telling what the envelope contained. Therein could lie the secret to a number of mysteries. It could hold the key to eternal life. It could be a coupon for 10% off at any local clothes store. I tore open the envelope excitedly. A shining slip of paper fell onto my lap. I picked it up allowing the coloured paper to delight the eyes. On that special paper read the words, ‘Special Access to the Museum’. Well it wasn’t the secret to the universe but it was a great idea none the less. I was the strange kid who would rather sit in the corner of the playground reading about battles of old than play with the other children. I would much rather hear what ancient Greek philosophers had to say than my fellow classmates who stood at the edge of the football park picking their noses.

There was no time to lose. I had heard on the radio the week before that the local museum had just opened a new exhibit on Ancient Egypt. I grabbed my shining red rain jacket that was water proof but still light and airy. I pulled on my backpack which had the emblem of several superheroes embroidered on it. Aunt Lola had been complaining of what she called ‘the hardships of older ladies’. I wasn’t sure what exactly this meant but to combat it she had to lie with her feet elevated and a piece of silver on her forehead, counting backwards from one hundred.

I decided to leave the Egypt exhibit to the end. It had been busy when I arrived with business men awing at the new set up and mothers being dragged by their progeny because they thought it looked ‘cool’.

The day began to wind down. The museum emptied itself of the day trippers and quietened. As I walked through the main foyer the rubber soles of my shoes squeaked. I saw the fresh sign that directed the way to Ancient Egypt.

There was a lot of gold around. The walls were covered In hieroglyphs. I couldn’t tell if the curators had actually read the hieroglyphs or if they were merely there to impress the visitors because from what I could read they told of a bathroom disaster somewhere off the banks of the Nile.

As I absorbed all of the knowledge that the exhibit had to offer I heard the doors to the section close. I was the only person around, living at least. The lights dimmed except on the large mummy that was encased at the end of the hall. His face had been preserved all that time in a stern expression. The accompanying information explained that his name was ‘Ahmose’. He had been a fisherman but not a particularly good one. His people saw him as cursed, a jinx if you will. Ahmose was responsible for all the ill fate that befell them. Poor Ahmose. It seems he was accident prone like me. Because he had bumped into a builder, causing him to fall, destroying the temple that was in construction it seems he was now preserved for people of my year to gawk at his stupidity. They took jinxed folk very seriously in those days.

My head was buzzing with all the warmth, knowledge and dusty artefacts that the museum had to offer. I made my way back out to the main hall intent on catching the bus home. I pulled open the door but it was locked. ‘Surely they would check everyone had gone before they locked up,’ I thought. There was a heavy smash. My heart leapt from the steady thud of a tortoise to the gallop of a hare. I could feel a presence looming behind me but I couldn’t bare to look.

‘Argh!’ cried a dusty, throaty voice.

Slowly I did turn. Ahmose was now standing upright for the first time in many years. The paper that gave me special access to the museum slipped from my pocket. Ahmose reached down to pick it up with a crunchy crack of his mid section. He clasped it between the remains of his fingers and held it out to me.

“Leave me alone!” I screamed. “Help!” Surely the museum wasn’t deserted.

“Argh!” Ahmose replied.

With a quiver of my extremities I reached into my pocket and took out my mobile phone which Aunt Lola insisted I carried in case of emergencies. I was pretty sure that being attacked by the undead could very well be considered an emergency.

“Hello?” Aunt Lola answered.

“Help me!” I cried out.

“What’s wrong?” she asked still calmly balancing the silver on her forehead.

“A mummy! Its came to life. I have to get out of here!”

Most people when they tell their aunt something like this they either think they are crazy or attempting a practical joke. Not my aunt. She returned as though it was an everyday occurrence. “Do you like him?” she asked.

“Like him? Its a mummy! He’s going to kill me!”

Aunt Lola groaned. “Oh don’t be so dramatic Loopy. He’s your birthday present. Don’t you like him?”

I stared at Ahomse. He stumbled backwards almost tripping over his own left foot. “Argh!” he groaned again looking at his left leg. “How many people can boast having their own mummy,” continued my aunt.

“Not many,” I agreed.

“Enjoy,” she said and hung up leaving me alone with the dial tone and my mummy.

Ahmose lifted a piece of pottery from the shelving. It slipped from his fingers and smashed on the floor.

My most immediate problem was devising a plan to get out of the museum that looked possibly locked, take my mummy on the bus and get home whilst not getting caught for thieving from the museum.

Next birthday I’ll just ask for clothes?

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Meet Nancy!

She’s a big girl! The heavily armoured tank used by the elite team known as Rogue Battalion. Tank Commander Ewan Freeman aka Bones hates to enter hostile territory without her!


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Taken from the highly anticipated graphic novel series written by Vivika Widow and created by Leo ST Paul.


Well that got out of hand …

Helena to Hangram meme.jpg

We Need to Talk About Tracey

Inmate 415. Name, Campbell. First name, Tracey,” announced the large burly officer with a pride that might have suggested he had apprehended her himself.

The professor looked over the thick, black rim of his spectacles. “Tell me a little about her. In your own words,” he requested as he poised a pen over paper preparing to take notes.

The burly officer knew this particular prisoner well. He had studied her as part of his training.

She’s been in the Monte Fort prison for ten years now. Several of her anatomy classmates had went missing. Her student card was found at the scene of one of the crimes. When she was apprehended she admitted to five more murders. It seems she felt she could improve her chances of getting a better grade in class if she were to take out those who above her.

The professor had been writing vigorously. He stopped for a moment and looked up.

In your experience of speaking with her, does she show any remorse?” he directed this question at the burly officer’s partner.

The petite, blonde haired, female officer offered a quick glance at her partner before answering the professor.

It’s difficult to tell,” she said. “Miss Campbell can be very charming. She has made no secret of what she is capable of. She said that all she ever wanted was to become a doctor. Since there is no chance of that ever happening now she has turned her attention to writing which was another passion. She is taking her frustrations out in fiction now. I’ve read some of her notes. She’s actually quite good…” The blonde officer’s words trailed off at the end when she felt the stern gaze of her partner burn on the side of her face.

From what I have read of her it seems to be a clear case of Narcissistic Personality Disorder. I can’t confirm this until I have examined her myself.”

The officers looked at each other. They shared a similarly nervous expression.

She is up for parole in a few days time. We were hoping you could give us your opinion as to whether or not it is safe to let her go.

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Authors Log: My Silly Little Confessions; Part 4

Its the final stretch. Soon the full completed manuscripts for My Silly Little Confessions will be under the scrutiny of my editor, Emma, for the very first time. Before the final book is released onto the shelves of Barnes and Noble, Amazon and selected other book stores it will be torn apart, changed, battered and beaten until it is agreed that it is as good as it is ever going to get.

What concerns me most in this part of the process is that it is past the point of no return. Every author has their own system and each publishing house has their own methods but for me and my own making major plot changes are long gone. The story will now unfold as I have written it. Sure there will be changes to some dialogue, grammar correction and all the little window dressings that will make the book the finished product but for all intents and purposes there will can’t be any more major changes to the overall plot. YIKES!

That being said its also a very exciting time in the creative process. The emotions that I’m feeling right now are akin to a parent preparing to send their child off to college. I am aware of how dramatic that might sound but I believe there is only one way to approach a book and that is with your whole heart and that means they are treated like my children.

There is still a long road to go from now until January 12th but the major bulk of the task is done.

For those of you who haven’t read the short story ‘Confessions of an Anatomist’ in the ‘Myths and Tales’ Volume 1 collection I am very much looking forward to you meeting Tracey Campbell. For those of you who have read the short and are already familiar with her – you haven’t seen anything yet!

Available January 12th. Preorders Available 20th November.


Click HERE to read the short story that started it all. Confessions of an Anatomist – Part of the Myths and Tales collection.


My Silly Little Confessions – A sneak peek!

My Author On the Go

Joanna Kipling, best selling author of the Fantastical Freedom series, relished being the lime light. She loved being stopped on the street and begged for her signature. She couldn’t understand the glitzy movie types who got angry at being approached by their adoring fans.

What was life without a little lime light to stand under? That was her motto. That was of course until she had a stark raving lunatic murderer after her. She must have missed the memo that would have told her that stealing the idea of an up and coming writer would be enough to turn anyone into a stark raving, lunatic murderer. I know she most definitely missed the memo that would have told her that a girl who was willing to off most of her classmates in order to put herself on the honours board wouldn’t think twice about an author who not only offered her help when she had no intention of doing so but also thrived on the genius ideas of others.

Be that as it may, Joanna must have been faster on the uptake than I gave her credit for. She had commitments to honour, signings, appearances and the likes but she knocked it all on the head and decided to get out of town quickly. She had family in the coastal village of Millefort. She hadn’t spoken to them ever since her first publishing deal. She hadn’t mentioned them to any press or even to any friends. Nancy, who took pride in knowing everything about her author didn’t even know about them.

They were two elderly aunts on her mother’s side. They sent her a Christmas card every year, wishing her success but she didn’t return to them. She was far too busy and far too successful to feel bad about it. Her plan was to turn up unannounced on her the doorstep of the two old women and beg for sanctuary. She grabbed copies of her books. She had to dig through the bag of mail she had stored away under the stairs to check she had their names properly.

‘To Ethel, from your niece Joanna,’ she scribbled on the first. She checked the other one. ‘To Maureen, best wishes, your niece Joanna.’ The books would serves as payment for boarding her for a few days. No one would know where she was. No one would be able to get to her.

The hour was late and she knew her land lord’s agency would be closed. She called and left a message to tell them that she was called out of town for a few months at short notice and was leaving her house vacant. She then called Nancy.

Nancy speaking,” came the gruff voice of the agent. Joanna should have known Nancy would have been working late. She always did because she couldn’t stand the company of her husband.

It’s Jo,” Joanna looked at her watch. She wanted to leave her car behind too so everything would seen in place. She couldn’t risk her bright yellow sports vehicle being followed. She had thirty minutes to reach the train station that would take her fifteen by her reckoning.

What is it Jo?” Nancy prompted after a few moments silence. “I’m busy here.”

I’m going to stay with family for a little while. I don’t think it’s safe for me here and the police won’t do anything about it.”

She heard Nancy groan with impatience. “You know, I always thought actors were drama queen’s but you are outdoing the lot of them.”

That could have been Nancy’s attempt at joke. Her tone was always one of impatience so it was difficult to tell.

I’ll be in touch. Cancel all my appearances for the next couple of months.”

What family are you going to?” asked the agent.

Joanna closed the call without answering. Rain was beginning to lash against the window. She pulled on a heavy coat that hung on the peg by the door since the summer. She clasped a small suitcase on wheels that carried as many of her belongings as she could manage.

The rain and cold slashed at her face. The door click locked behind her as she pulled it closed. She bid farewell to her home, not knowing how long it would be before she returned.

She dragged her suitcase into the night, pleased with herself that she was making an escape. Unbeknownst to her, someone was waiting in the dark. As she trudged towards the train station, they followed her.

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