Hello all. My name is Peter Midnight. Let’s dive right into this interview questions. But first, a teeny, tiny, bit about me.

I’m 30. I write sci-fi mostly. So, where to begin? The concept of far-reaching conspiracies, high technology and physics fascinate me, so does magic. It’s no surprise then that I’m a fan of shows like Rick And Morty, Star Trek, Battlestar Galactica, (Warehouse 13 and Eureka) (Softer core sci-fi, but still good food for thought) Dark Matter and The Expanse as well as shows like Fringe and Man in the High Castle, (Also, who doesn’t watch Game Of Thrones?)… its a long list, so lets keep it rolling.

Currently, I have a finished work/MS titled Broken Fate – Edge Of Destiny, which focuses on the one person in the middle of all the craziest things in the Broken Fate Universe *(Also there’s a whole universe. A reality where all my stories will take place). But, I’m not here to pitch to anyone or bore the crowd so if you’re interested PM me on FB. BF – EOD is a 60k words MS complete from a-z and edited a bunch of times. Limited open slots for beta readers. Act fast.

Anyway on to my current works and then to the answers you’ve all been waiting for.

At the moment, I’m working on another shorter MS called Broken Fate Ops (Side Stories) which is about the ‘other’ characters in the BFU and gives us a deeper look into how they work and behave when not in the main spotlight of the BF – EOD Original storyline. Think of it as Agents Of Shield I guess. (Never watched it, but I’m guessing it’s not called The Avengers for a reason :P) In Broken Fate Ops – Operation Mountain Ruse, we come across the some of the team at their lowest point. As they question their lives and choices, they are thrust into another impossible situation, however, this is happening at the same time our MC Raven is working out some very important feelings on a very delicate situation. Not the best pitch, but I don’t want to bog down this already-soaked and still highly-absorbent interview 😛 Check out my FB page for pictures, teasers and other information. Plus you could simply contact me if you’d like to soft-join the review group on Google Docs. (Soft-join means there’s no obligation. PM me, check it out, read and review if you like it 🙂 )

And Nooooooooow. For the interview questions.

Q1: What would be your one luxury item (survival is covered) on a desert island?

• A solar-powered tablet with all my favorite tv shows, movies, books, games and of course, porn.

Q2: What inanimate object do you wish you could eliminate from existence?

• All forms of pencil and pen type writing utensils. Why?

• Bruce Wayne: ….So why steal them? (Gems) or in this case, (All manner of writing utensils)
  
  Alfred: Because he thought it was good sport. Because some men aren’t looking for anything logical, like money. They can’t be bought, bullied, reasoned or negotiated with. Some men just want to watch the world burn….

Q3: If your books morphed into an animal which animal would they become?

• In case this interview resurfaces in the future, my answer should probably be a seagull. I wanted to say ‘snake in the grass.’ But seagull will make better and more sense.. In tiiiiime.

Those were the questions and all the time I have for today. 😀 Thanks for reading. If you want more, leave comments where this is posted and bug the blog, to bug me, to come back, for another 😛

Who knows, there might be more crazy questions with even crazier answers 😛

Anyway, before you go, just give me enough time to say thanks to YOU for reading 🙂

http://events.supportindieauthors.com/

It’s difficult being good, because bad girls have all the fun.

Which is probably why I found myself sitting on the pavement outside the Dog and Duck late one Saturday night. I blinked owlishly at the long denim-clad legs that blocked my vision. Came a deep-chested chuckle and I looked up, and then up some more to find myself looking into the amused face of a very tall man with a blond beard. He grinned down at me.
“How’d I get out here?”
“On my back…”
I must have looked disbelieving because he crouched down in front of me.
“Stand up and have a look inside.”

I don’t usually do what people tell me but there was something compelling about the big guy so I heaved myself onto my feet and walked to the pub doorway. Inside it was chaos. There were punches and bottles being thrown, and the floor was a mess of beer and blood. I automatically looked towards my usual table, to see my friends bending over something on the floor. There were tears and snot running down their faces and they seemed unusually distraught.

I felt the big man come stand beside me and his body heat was surprisingly comfortable. I turned my head.
“What’s on the floor?”
He put his hands on my waist and lifted me so I could look down onto the dirty floor in front of the red leatherette banquette.

What I saw all but defied belief. I shook my head, blinked twice, then fisted my eyes and looked again. It didn’t get any better. My friends were standing around a humped pile of clothing and hair, only it was my clothing and my hair. I screwed my head around and looked down on the blond head of the man who held me in the air. I wriggled and he set me down.

He smiled, not entirely kindly.
“Yes that is you in there on the floor. And yes you are dead.”
I considered that for a moment.
“The me in there is dead. But the me out here don’t seem to be in too much trouble. Why’s that? And who are you?”
“Your body is inside. But your spirit is out here.” His smile had the cutting edge of a razor and he ran a hand along the bare skin of my arm. Then he sobered “Who am I? That’s a bit more complicated…”
“Try me…”
He seemed to be struggling for words, but I can be patient so I waited quietly.
“Do you believe in God?”
That seemed to me like an odd question, but it was an odd sort of an evening so I played along.
“Mostly. Sort of.”
“And Angels.”
“You telling me you’re an Angel?”
This time his grin was genuinely amused.
“No. I’m the opposite.”
“Demon then?”
“Sort of. Although we don’t like that word.”
“Okay. What do you like to be called?”
“Dark Angels.”
I was vaguely surprised by how well I was handling this conversation, but I smiled at him anyway.
“You got wings?”
He moved his shoulders and I saw a pair of huge black feathered wings for the briefest of instants before they disappeared.
“Yup.”
“Right. I’m probably hallucinating, but just in case I’m not what do you want with me?”
“You have a choice to make.”
“I do?”
“You do. Mostly when people die there is a clear path to the light or into the dark. But in a very few cases it isn’t clear cut and the deceased gets to make a choice. Gabriel or Lucifer. Good or evil. Heaven or hell.”
He stared deeply into my eyes and whatever he saw there made his grin widen.
“You really are considering, aren’t you?”
I lifted a shoulder.
“I shouldn’t be?”
“No. You should be. But most of he newly dead are in hysterics right about now.”
I snorted.
“So why is it only you here? Shouldn’t there be somebody batting for the other team.”
He jerked his chin and I looked to where a skinny bloke lay unconscious on the deck.
“Who cold cocked him?”
A new voice spoke. Icily. “That’s a very good question.”
My head snapped around as if on elastic and I found my eyes assaulted by a bright whiteness that hurt my teeth it was so shiny.
I put a hand over my eyes. “Sheesh, Angel Wossname, turn the brightness down a tad, you’re blinding me.”
The voice that responded was both patronising and didactic. “Better to be blinded by the servant of God than beguiled by the servant of the Devil.”
For some reason this arrogance got on my nerves.
“Turn it down or bugger off. The choice is yours.”
After a second of affronted silence the white apparition disappeared.
My demon whistled admiringly.
“I’ve never seen that before.”
I shrugged. “It got on my tits. Now. How many lies have you told me?”
“None. So far. Lying to candidates is frowned on.”
“If I go with you, what?”
“You become one of us. A Dark Angel.”
“And if I choose the other path?”
“I don’t know. But you can bet your sweet ass it will be boring…”
I think he was going to say more but I held up a hand for silence.
“Fire and brimstone and eternal torment?”
“Only for murderers and child molesters. They go to The Pit. But that has nothing to do with us.”
I glowered at him.
“You aren’t giving me a lot of confidence. Explain further.”
He looked at me as if reassessing his options. Then he showed his teeth.
“My lord Lucifer wants you. So here’s the deal. There are five places the dead can go. There’s heaven, where you eventually get to be a white angel. There’s the waiting room where you go if you are to be reborn. There’s purgatory where you go to expunge your sins before being reborn. There is hell where you get to be a dark angel. And there’s the pit, where all the torments Lucifer and Gabriel can devise are heaped on your head.”
“This far I’m just about buying it.”
“Good. It’s the unvarnished truth.”
“It is,” the melodious voice came from just behind my right ear. I resisted the temptation to jump and cuss, instead turning my head to look at the new arrival.

He was white and gold and beauty incarnate, and his smile all but melted my heart.

“What Gor neglected to mention was that there hasn’t been a choice for ten of your generations until tonight. Which makes you a very important soul.”

I shrugged.
“Gor. May I see your true form.”
The Dark Angel flowed out of his simulacrum of human skin and stood before me, coal black and naked. He was mighty fine. I stared at them for a long moment before speaking.

“So what you are really asking me to choose between is two sides of the same coin.”

They both beamed at me and Gor went so far as to wink.

I held out my hand to the Dark Angel.
“Take me to your leader…”

© jane jago 2017

You are old so you shouldn’t bedazzle
You should be both faded and frazzled
It shouldn’t be you
With a Harley (brand new)
And a Swarovski Crystal vajazzle

© jane jago 2017

Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV’s review of ‘The Midwich Cuckoos’ by John Wyndham.

One is often asked to do reviews of other aspiring authors literary endeavours and after over a dozen forays into those depths, one has now made it very clear that only books of Outstanding Quality will be reviewed. Everything else appears on one’s annual ‘Did Not Finish’ record – a scroll of shame where many who have thought themselves worthy now lie banished, with a brief sentence to explain their failing.

There you will find people like JK Rowling (‘a puerile effigy of urban fantasy, masquerading as a morality tale, but in drag’) and JRR Tolkien (‘anyone who has to make up their own language to cover their poor literacy skills is truly execrable!’) and Tolstoy (‘the summum-bonum of Russian over-saccharine emotional indulgence.’)

So you may imagine one’s complete consternation when deep in the throes of composition, the door to one’s inner sanctum was thrown open and the vision of loveliness that is Mumsie threw herself on the chaise in the corner of the room. She was breathing heavily and the bluish Gauloise smoke from her nostrils reminded me of some delicate mythical creature.

“Moonie,” she said with some determination evident in her tones, “Moonie you are at best a poor excuse for a son. At worst you are a complete fucking waste of fresh air.” She paused for breath, leaving me hanging on her words like a delicate bushbaby in the darkest woods. Mumsie continued portentously, “I have just come from the pub where I have had to endure the complete embarrassment of hearing other people reading the utter crap you post on those females’ book blog, and pissing themselves laughing. I was tempted to put my foot down and stop it altogether, but if you are going to teach you need to learn.”

She extracted a dogeared paperback from her pocket.

“Read this, you deluded bastard, and perhaps it will give you half an idea what proper science fiction is all about.”

Then she was gone, leaving behind her the aroma of Pernod and cigarette smoke.

One was about to consign the horribly insanitary book to the waste bin when her fiercely moustachioed face reappeared around the panel of the door.

“You better fucking read it Moons. There will be questions.”

And so I read it. From cover to cover.

And I am still none the wiser.

My review of ‘The Midwich Cuckoos’ by John Wyndham

To summarise:  Something happens in a very uninteresting English village. Then some women get pregnant. Then they have some strange children. In the end, things blow up.

The writing is absolutely plain, plain and black. The characters are rendered with such mundane realism as to make them even less interesting than the locality. I did not find myself transported in any way and the necessary immersion in the author’s world never occurred. The dour realism, the lack of magic, and a story whose point passed me by completely, all of these meant that in a normal situation I would have cast aside the shabby little volume after a dozen pages. But Mumsie must be obeyed. So finished it was, and reviewed it is.

All one can say is that if that is a science fiction classic one has no idea why. One reached the end as unimpressed as one was at the beginning.

No stars.

Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV

Join The Adoring Fans of Moonbeam Farquahar Metheringham IV

I am old, I can tell that you fear
The passing of days and of years
But this grasping at youth
Fails to see the real truth
We should make time for pretzels and beer

© jane jago 2017

You are old so you shouldn’t do that

You should only like knitting.

And cats.

It shouldn’t be you

With a brand-new tattoo

Making love on an old yoga mat

© jane jago 2017 *

I walked my brother’s only daughter around the sights, snarling at street corner conmen and would-be pickpockets. The kid just drank everything in open mouthed and adoring every moment. After four leg-weary hours even she was ready for a sit down, and I guided her into Frankie’s Grill.

It’s not the most salubrious joint in town, but the food is good and they know me. I ordered burgers and fries and while we waited I just listened as she babbled. When she suddenly stopped speaking and swallowed as if her mouth had gone unaccountably dry I turned to follow the direction of her eyes.
“Shit,” I said with some feeling, “what’s he doing here?”
“I don’t know. But I wonder if he wants company.”
“Probably. But we ain’t it.”
She regarded me solemnly for a moment then nodded.
“If you say so. Though he sure is pretty.”
He was more than pretty, with the sort of hard-edged handsomeness that turns the knees to water. I laughed.
“Pretty dangerous, kid.”

Right on cue, the server came with our food.
The kid waited a beat. “He a John?”
“He is. Although not one of mine. Now eat your burger before it goes cold.”
The kid applied herself to her plate with a healthy appetite, even managing to finish my fries before she sat back replete.

The man now occupied a booth opposite us, from whence he stared at me with his mesmerisingly blue eyes.
“He looks at you,” the kid remarked, “as if he don’t know whether he wants to fuck you or strangle you.”
“Oh. He wants to do both. Simultaneously.”
The kid looked sick for a minute then firmed her chin.
“Nope. Not my bag,” she gave a nervous half giggle.
“Mine neither. If anybody is getting beaten up I reckon to be doing the beating.”

Then my stalker made a mistake. He turned his gaze from me to the kid, undressing her with his eyes and enjoying the blush that spread from her neck upwards.
“Can you make him stop that?”
“Sure. You just pop to the restroom. I’ll come get you when it’s sorted.”

It wasn’t more than thirty seconds before he came and slid onto the banquette next to me, siting so close I could feel the heat of his lean thigh. He put his big hands on the white tablecloth and I looked at where the black hairs marched across their backs. He spoke first.
“What is it worth to leave the little one alone?”
I didn’t answer, merely turning my head to meet the icy heat of his eyes.
“I asked you a question.” His voice had quite nearly the cut of a whip.
“And I chose not to answer.” I kept my own tones cool and sweetly reasonable. Something I knew would both irritate and excite him in equal measure.
“I will have you,” he groaned. “I will have you bound and naked and at my mercy.”
“I think not.”
“Not even to save the child.”
“You are not interested in her.”
“Maybe not. But I will take her if nothing more challenging is offered.”
I half turned towards him, showing him the white column of my throat. He swallowed and slowly clenched and unclenched his hands.
“Do you want me to call you master?”
“I want more than that. How far are you prepared to go to save the child from the bite of the cat o nine tails?”
“About this far,” I licked my lips and slipped the knife between his third and fourth ribs.
“About this far..”

© jane jago 2017

When considering physical pleasure
There are very few things you can measure
Neither length, sir, nor girth
Is the measure of worth
It’s the way that you use them, my treasure

© jane jago 2017

 

Jane Jago’s latest hard-hitting novel, serialised for you to enjoy!

Afterwards, Rod admitted to Jim that the journey from Glasgow to Castle Ellan seemed like the longest hour of his life. He sat staring into the middle distance, while Sam checked on the contents of the two back packs the man in the jumpsuit placed on the ground at his feet.

“Good enough,” he said. “Now. We need to set up a safe bed. He may still be sleepy. So what we need is somewhere he can be safe while being cuddled. That will be Rod’s job. I’ll need to be able to get to the other side of the kid to monitor him.”

Jumpsuit man looked at him soberly.

“You really are worried aren’t you.”

“I am. And I hope I’m over reacting. But if they’ve had the poor little sod drugged for a day and a half without proper care, he could be getting to the stage where he isn’t breathing easily. Or. Well never mind. Just take it from me that I’m worried.”

“Right. Now I’m worried too. If we pull up those three seats over there that’s where the casualty station is. We can put an inflatable mattress in their place, and anchor it down. We’ve got some big soft duvet sleeping bags. Will that do?”

“Yes. Good enough. I can get around it. Can you get an oxygen line there if necessary?”

“Can do. Is there anything else?”

“Not that I can think of.”

“Right. I’ll make it happen.”

Four big men came forwards removed the seats, then inflated and tied down a mattress, which they padded with three big soft, downy sleeping bags. Then they saluted Sam and went back to their own seats.

“Almost there,” the pilot’s voice came through Sam’s headphones. “ETA five minutes.”

Then the radio guy came through.

“The kid is moving a bit more now. Could be waking up.”

Sam prodded Rod’s arm.

“If your nephew is starting to wake up, you need to be with me. And we have to get to him fast, before they either frighten him or give him another shot of whatever they’ve drugged him with. I don’t want either thing to happen. So…”

Rod dragged himself back from wherever he had been. “Right. I’ve got the plans of the castle on this tablet, and Bill is just here. We reckon upstairs. We go in by this door, and God help anyone who gets in our way. Who is in our party?”

Six brawny men stood up.

“C’mere and fix the plan in your minds. No need to be polite on the way in.”

The men nodded soberly.

“Boomer boys, how long do you need to set your charges?”

“Fifteen minutes. Then we have twenty minutes to get the fuck out of there before she goes up.”

“Right. So. You wait here until we get Bill back to the chopper. Then you go in.”

“You’re on.”

At that moment, the helicopter touched down gently. The doors opened immediately and Sam found himself running alongside Rod and a group of brawny jumpsuit-clad men. They reached a side door, and Rod kicked it open just as a pair of men were trying to close and lock it.

“Upstairs. On the left.”

One of their men stopped to guard the door, while the rest of them pounded up the stairs. The voice in Sam’s ear told him they were nearing the locator. He found himself at the front of the crowd and booted open the door at the head of the stairs. A woman was bending over the figure of a child with  hypodermic syringe in her hand. Sam kicked her. Hard. He felt bones break. She fell down screaming and one of the men in Sam’s wake punched her scientifically on the corner of the jaw. Sam hit the ground at the side of the bed.

“Rod. Get here and talk to William please. I need you to try and wake him up.”

“Billy. Wake up little man. It’s uncle Rod.”

The small boy’s voice was a thread of sound.

“Uncle Rod. Where are you?”

Rod dropped to his knees beside Sam.

“I’m here. Me and my mates have got you safe now. This is doctor Sam. He wants to have a look at you. Is that OK?”

“Yes. Thirsty.”

Sam took a bottle of water from his pack and gently helped William to sit up.

“Drink,” he said as he held the bottle to the lad’s lips. “Gently, little man. There’s plenty. Can I listen to your chest now?”

William nodded.

“Hold him against you Rod.”

Sam put a stethoscope to William’s chest.

“Not bad,” he said. “I’ll just give him a whiff of oxygen. It’ll help. Bill, will you be scared if I put a mask on your face for a minute? It’ll help you breathe better.”

“I won’t be scared,” the child whispered, and Sam put the mask over his mouth and nose.

“Breathe deeply. It will make you feel better.”

“Okay. Let’s get him into the chopper. I’ll carry him. The rest of you will probably need to guard us.”

Rod clapped a hand on Sam’s shoulder.

“Right. Run. We have your back.”

Sam scooped up child and oxygen cylinder.

“Okay Bill, we’re gonna run. Is that OK? I won’t drop you.”

William nodded, and Sam set off down the stairs as fast as he could safely go. Out of the door they went, and across the grass to the waiting helicopter. Sam ran as fast as he could, silently thanking God for all the hours he spent in the gym. As he reached the chopper, the door opened and he handed his burden into the arms of one of the waiting crewmen. He jumped into the machine, hearing gunfire behind him and felt something sting his shoulder.

“Bastards,” he said. “Anybody else hit?”

“Yeah. One.” Rod said.

“Bad?”

“No. Shoulder. Flesh wound.”

“Okay. I’ll have a look after we’ve settled Bill. You come sit with him and hold him so he’s sitting up. And chat to him. I don’t want him going back to sleep yet.”

“Right. I will. But what about you? Are you hit?”

“Sort of. Just a scrape across the biceps. I’ll spray it and shove a plaster on it.”

He suited action to words, before turning his gaze towards the boss of the jumpsuit men.

“Is there any problem with them shooting at the chopper?”

“Nah. It’s armoured. Even the glass. And they don’t seem to have any serious shooters. Mostly sawn offs, a couple of two-twos and a few handguns.”

“Good. I’ll look at your bloke’s shoulder as soon as. Can you get him out of his jumpsuit?”

“Will do.”

Sam turned his attention to the child in Rod’s lap. He grinned down at him and carefully removed the oxygen mask.

“How you doing Billy Boy?”

“I feel awfully sick.”

“I can give you an injection to stop that.”

He saw William’s involuntarily wince.

“What is it little man? Did they hurt you when they injected you with their drugs?”

“Yes. They hurt me a lot.”

Sam stroked his head.

“Well we won’t give you an injection then. I have some pills, though they won’t work quite as well.”

William studied his face for a moment.

“Will you hurt me if you give me an injection?”

“No. I promise I won’t.”

The little boy held his sleeve.

“Then you can give me a shot. I feel so very sick.”

“That’s a boy.”

Sam took a local anaesthetic spray from his bag and lifted the sleeve of William’s T-shirt. What he saw there made him tighten his mouth.

“That arm looks a bit sore. Is the other one the same?”

“Yes.”

Rod hugged the small figure very tightly and his face was stony. Sam managed a grin for William.

“Leg then?’

William nodded and Sam sprayed the small thigh liberally. Then he prepared the anti-nausea shot. Before William had a chance to flinch the injection was done.

The little boy was jubilant.

“I didn’t feel a thing.”

“Good. So will you trust me enough to let me give you a shot of antibiotics? You are very cold and you might have picked up a bug.”

“Yes. You won’t hurt me.”

Sam swallowed around a big lump in his throat then gave his small patient a shot of penicillin.

“Can somebody open my bag?” he said. “There’s a red jumper in the top, and I need it.”

A hand passed him the soft wool and he pulled it over William’s head.

“Arms through. It’s much too big but it will help to warm you. And now, stick your legs inside this sleeping bag. Better?”

William actually managed a little giggle before rubbing his face in the softness of the sweater.

“It smells like my Daddy and it’s as soft as clouds. Can I go sleep now?”

“You can. Cuddle into uncle Rod and keep nice and snuggly.”

William turned into his uncle’s huge chest and gave a small sigh before falling asleep.

“Sam,” Rod said “this jumper is cashmere.”

“And? That child is cold. No contest. Now I’m going to look this gunshot wound before the boomer boys get back.”

Jane Jago