Saturday, September 3, 2016

Welcome to new BWL author David Anderson

David Anderson brings his thriller novel The Beachhead to Books We Love. Welcome David!

BWL: How long have you been writing and in what genres?

DJA: I’ve been writing seriously for about a decade.  I write adult thrillers and now YA thrillers.  I’m particularly interested in updating some classic thriller tropes such as man-on-the-run and the classic heist novel.  The Beachhead might be summed up in the cry, “I am not a number, I am a free man” from the Sixties TV cult series, The Prisoner.

BWL: Where do you get your inspiration?

DJA:  From the books I’ve read throughout my life, and still like to read, and from experience and reflecting upon experience.

BWL: Tell us about your books.

DJA:  Earthly Powers is a novel about old (and new) Nazis and buried treasure on a remote island.  An innocent man is relentlessly hunted in the depths of the forest while his female partner is locked in a race against time to uncover a vital artefact.  I told you I like modernising classic thriller tropes!  

Meaner Things is a heist novel centring on a fiendishly difficult vault robbery.  Unlike, say, the movie Ocean’s Eleven, my heist is ethical, and also feasible (as it’s based on a true crime that succeeded).  I’ve woven in moral quandaries about trust and humanised it with some good old-fashioned romance.
The Beachhead is a ‘prison break’ kind of thriller, again revisiting the man-on-the-run trope which I love so much, and again dwelling on themes of trust/suspicion and the value of teamwork.  

BWL: What about your next book?  Will it be part of a series or a standalone?  Can you give us a taste to whet our appetites?

DJA:  I’m currently working on a sequel to The Beachhead and, simultaneously, an adult thriller provisionally entitled Shadow of a Killer.  The latter will deal with guilt, shame and vengeance, and have my usual fast pace and action.  I try to push myself harder and further with each new project I write.  My aim is that both these new novels will blow my readers’ socks off!

BWL: What are your hobbies and interests?

DJA:  Reading and philosophy.

BWL: What does the future hold for you?

DJA:  Preferably, bestselling author status and several movie contract offers!

Find David at Books We Love here:

and his blog here:

Friday, September 2, 2016



I have to say I don’t really have a favourite place for a vacation, anywhere is good for me as long as there is plenty of sun, and I am waited on hand and foot, and have lots of yummy food.

Because I write historical romance, vacations are usually the honeymoon for my hero and heroine, but not always.

In my novel, Allison’s War, which starts a few months before the commencement of the Great War (1914 – 1918), the vacations are a little different.

The first one belongs to the villain of the piece, Phillip Ashfield, an aristocratic young Englishman, the second one is Allison’s honeymoon, and the third one is Allison’s desperate journey to find her son after Phillip kidnaps him.


Phillip Ashfield uncrossed his cramped legs and stood up to reach into the overhead luggage compartment. What an imposition, having to manhandle his own luggage.

“Good God, man, when you’re in the colonies you have to look after yourself.” He remembered the advice he’d received from Tony, one of his friends from Eton. How true, the Godforsaken bloody backwater.

If his father hadn’t been so ill, he would have refused point blank to come out to Australia. Had his mother not been so distraught about the old man, he would have ignored her entreaties to visit relatives at the back of beyond.

God, it was hot. The temptation to loosen his collar became almost unendurable. He wore the latest summer fashion for 1914, a three-piece suit with a shaped coat that had a vent down the back. His linen, as always, was the finest money could buy. Neither one helped keep him cool in these temperatures.


The zoo proved to be much larger than Allison expected. The monkeys and giraffes were her favorites. Tommy insisted they have a ride on the elephant, and as the animal swayed along, they got a wonderful view.

“This is fun,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I like hearing you laugh; it’s such a happy sound.”

“I never knew we could have such an exciting time. Such places we’ve seen! I have to pinch myself to make sure it’s not a dream,” she said.

His teasing smile faded, and his blue eyes burned fiercely. “I’ll never forget, either.”

The bears lumbered around in a concrete pit, and Tommy leaned so far over the edge she worried about him falling in. He laughed loudly at this fear, and several people turned to look at them.

“Tommy, shh, people are staring.”

“I’ll give them something to really talk about.” Quick as a flash he pulled her close and kissed her, and she felt hot all over.

“Well, really, how could a young woman cheapen herself so?” A prim matron with two school-aged children complained to her male companion. “Those young larrikins think they can do what they like, just because they’re in the army.”

Allison’s embarrassment gave way to anger. “I happen to like my husband kissing me. At least he’s man enough to fight for his country.”


At the railway station, Allison spoke to the stationmaster and told him about Paul being taken by an English relative, and he promised to make arrangements about seeing to the livestock on the farm.

What a dreadful journey. She wanted to scream at the train to go faster, and by the time they pulled into Spencer Street station her hands shook and her head ached. A young man helped her off with Daphne’s pram, and then she found herself alone on a platform swarming with people.

The last time she’d stood here was with Tommy, as Jim bid them farewell. She hadn’t known it at the time, but she would never see her brother again. She shivered in the Melbourne dusk, and it wasn’t from cold. Dear God, why wasn’t one of them spared to help? Why did both of them have to die? She closed her eyes, and the noise of busy people was blocked out, replaced by the muffled sounds of marching feet, as ghostly battalions passed by on their way to immortality.

It was too late to find Phillip now; they had to get somewhere to stay, first. The only place she could think of was the hotel where Tommy had taken her for their honeymoon. It was dark when they reached the hotel, and by the light thrown out from the street lamps, it appeared the same as it had in 1914.

Allison’s War – Blurb

In 1916, on the French battlefields, a dying soldier’s confession has the power to ruin the woman he loves.

Thursday, September 1, 2016

September Blog Comment Giveaway

Win this gift basket in our
September Young Adult
Blog Comment Giveaway

Visit the Books We Love Insider Blog and comment on any September post. Be sure to leave your email address in the comment. Then go to the sidebar and follow the blog either with Google follow or Networked Blogs. One random commenter who meets these requirements will be chosen to win the pictured gift basket plus the Books We Love Young Adult title of their choice at the end of September. Winner will be announced in the October newsletter.
Good luck and Happy September!

Canadian Historical Brides - the Series that celebrates 150 years of Canadian History - Book 1 now in Pre-release

Each of the Canadian Historical Brides novels features a historical event in one of the ten provinces and three territories of Canada. The books, based on actual historical times, combine fact and fiction to show how the brides and grooms, all from diverse backgrounds, join in marriage to create new lives and build a great country.

Wednesday, August 31, 2016

Before dying by Eleanor Stem

White Light of Death

Once I worked in the upstairs offices of a bank, located in the Dallas area. A coworker was an older man who never married. He lived with his sisters and took care of his mother. We will call him Lewis.

One day, Lewis sat down on the chair next to my desk. He asked, “Do you believe in life after death?”

Being quite young, I hadn’t thought too much about it. I shrugged and said, “I guess. Why do you ask?”

Then he proceeded to tell me of his mother’s last day on this earth.

She had been on her deathbed. Lewis’ father was already gone. His parents were young during the Prohibition era and they loved to dance. As Lewis put it, “Every Saturday night, they’d go out and shake a leg.”

He sat on a chair by his mother’s bed. All of sudden, she raised her arms. “You come here and let me help you.”

She faced the other side of the bed and proceeded to attend to someone or something. Lewis asked, “What are you doing, Mama? Who do you see?”

“Oh, I’m just fixin’ this little boy’s collar. He’s dressed like they did at the turn of the century. One side of his collar's tucked under his coat.” She patted what would have been the little boy. “There now, fixed.”

She lay back and closed her eyes. Lewis’ mind wandered, thinking of his youth and his parents.

Mama said, “Do you think they’re in heaven?”

Lewis jerked awake. He must have drifted off. “Who Mama? Who do you see?”

“There, at the end of the bed. The Jacksons are here.”

They were the couple Lewis’ mama and daddy danced with on Saturday nights. Even though it was Prohibition, they’d go honky-tonkin’, kick their feet and swing around.

Lewis couldn’t see who mama saw, but he said, “I’m sure they are. They were good people.”

He no longer allowed his mind to wander, to drift off to sleep. His mama was having hallucinations. As the clock by her bed ticked away the afternoon, a little girl dressed in frills came to her bedside, neighbors from her past, church matrons and friends who had died in France during WW1.

“There are so many crowdin’ in, Lewis. I’m afraid they’ll move the bed.”

Lewis couldn’t see anyone or anything. All he saw was her lace covered chest-of-drawers. The lamp on her bedside table, the clock that ticked away the day.

“They want me to come with them,” she sighed heavily, “and I am tired.” Her voice weakened. “So very tired.”

Later that afternoon, Lewis’ mother passed away.

* * *

I was with my dad when he died. We were in a curtained room in the ER. An oxygen mask covered his face. I stood beside the gurney, my husband off to the side. My dad kept looking at where my husband stood. He pointed over and over, his glassy eyes wide. My husband looked where he pointed but we didn't see anything.

My dad died a few minutes later.

After the hospital’s minister came and gave us condolences, the ER doctor and nurse, who had attended my dad, came in. I asked, “Do you ever see the spirits of those who die?”

Without hesitation, the doctor nodded. “Yes.”

With a great deal of hesitation, the nurse finally nodded and said, “Yes, I have, too.”


A Poodle, a Wedding Anniversary, and a Opossum By Connie Vines

I had an article about the craft of writing written and ready to post.  I decided, instead, to share that post next month. Why? For thos...