Liza Roach rated it 5 of 5 stars

I loved this book! All the stories were great and the twists were so out there. But the best we’re definitely ‘”Voices of the Soul” by Rene Folsom and “Suburban Zombie” by Anthony Lance. Whoa!

Claire Thake rated it 5 of 5 stars

A brilliant anthology separated into 11 short stories. I don’t want to ruin the surprise of any of the stories so has instead written by opinions of them all individually not giving the stories away.

Suburban Zombie – Anthony Lance
This really made me giggle! A very well written, alternative view on zombie life! A very interesting short read.

S. Policar rated it 4 of 5 stars

Since this is an Anthology This review will be slightly different. As Anthologies are a comprised of more than story, it would do the book as a whole a great injustice to review and rate the book as such. This review I image will be quite lengthy as I’m going to break down and review each individual story within this book’s covers…

5) Suburban Zombie by Anthony Lance

I’ve read my share of zombie stories. None are as creative as this one is. This is the funniest story I’ve read yet. The fact of a bunch of zombie women sitting around talking about health risks made me laugh until my ribs hurt!
Now before anyone starts complaining about the use of Mormons being the “zombies” in this parody.. You really need to evaluate. There is no other religious sect that could have been put in that role. Every non Mormon at one point or another has been hounded by a Mormon or a two. They don’t care when you tell them you aren’t interested in what they say, they come back numerous times until you’re scared to leave your house.
I applaud this Author for being brave enough to take something we all think and twisting it into this hysterical story… Even if he thinks those of us that aren’t zombies are just brainless zombies.
5 of 5

Natalie‘s rated it 5 of 5 stars

Paranormal Anthology With A Twist
Edited And Compiled By Cynthia Shepp & Rene Folsom

*Suburban Zombie by Anthony Lance*

This is definitely not your every day, typical kind of zombie story. First time ever….but I will not be revealing anything about it. Why you ask?
It needs to be read by the reader in order to fully appreciate the humour. Anthony had me laughing out loud and enjoying every word of his imagination.
Kudos to you Anthony Lance. What a unique read with some very gory and laughable details.

Julia rated it 4 of 5 stars

Suburban Zombie – I thought this was funny and original. I liked all the dark humour.

Patricia Shull rated it 4 of 5 stars

This was actually a really good book. The stories in here centre around some sort of disaster, crises or murderer and they have a twist that you don’t expect. The story I probably most enjoyed was Suburban Zombie. Everyone in the story is a zombie. They live their lives like a normal everyday person. But one day they are attacked by none other than Mormons. When bitten by a Mormon, you become a normal human wearing nice dress clothes and carrying a bible. I laughed so hard when I read this one. Like seriously? Mormons? Some of the stories are mediocre at best but still very good reads.

Terri Kinckner rated it 5 of 5 stars

Suburban Zombie, by Anthony Lance

Neighbours Ted, Dave and their respective families are zombies. They live in a picture-perfect neighbourhood in zombie suburbia. As the mothers in the neighbourhood drop their children off at school and discuss crumbed brains among themselves, they don’t realize they are being followed. The neighbourhood is being invaded by…

The twist in this story is very ironic and hilarious. I loved the banter between the characters, and laughed out loud quite a few times while reading it. I will never think of zombies the same way after reading this!

Ashley rated it 5 of 5 stars

I enjoyed this book more than the Apocalypse one! These stories were more along the storyline I enjoy. But, they were both great and had wonderful authors! I loved the first story in this one. I read all of the books in the Soul Seers series! Rene Folsum is a great author! My other favorite was Suburban Zombie! By the title I was a little unsure but it was fantastic! Hilarious and I loved it! Anthony Lance hit a home run on that story! This was a great collection of stories and would highly recommend you read it!


Murder half baked



Her life-flame had fizzled to barely an ember; who would have thought that it would be so difficult to extinguish? The stubborn old bat. Her eyes had all but failed her, her hips were shot and much of the time she was bed ridden.

Even with enough poisonous chemicals in her system to clean an Olympic pool Muriel Baker held on to life with tenacity. It was not her will to live or her faith that dragged her through each day; it was pure pigheadedness.

For six months Muriel had been in and out of Balmain hospital. Twice the hospital staff had detected high levels of chemicals, but both times these were attributed to one of the long list of medication that rattled inside her as though she were a gumball machine. Both times the hospital staff simply changed the tablets. It never occurred to them that she was deliberately being poisoned.

It all began the first day of the local County fair. The cakes looked glorious. Some were elaborately designed with thick blue-grey icing and row upon row of small, perfect roses on their sides. But these were not the cakes that interested Ethel Odlum. Her eyes were fixed upon seven small, uninteresting slabs of fruitcake, some only two inches high. These were some of the finest cakes ever baked and Ethel’s cake was the most remarkable cake she had ever prepared. All year she had worked tirelessly to improve her recipe and she truly believed this would be her year; this would be the year that she beat her Great Aunty Muriel’s cake for the first time. Surely she, a chemist for all of her life, could rise above a recipe that had been created in the 1800’s. Yes, it was rumored that Muriel’s famous fruitcake recipe had been handed down through over five generations.

But there before Ethel’s eyes, perched at an odd angle, sat a red rosette for second place. As if to mock her, just beside her cake was Muriel’s cake, as it had been at so many shows in the past, adorned by a royal blue ribbon indicating first place. It was at that precise moment, that Ethel, with a taste of bile in the back of her throat, cooked up the plan to acquire Muriel’s precious recipe. She would poison the old cow. Protocol dictated that Muriel must pass the recipe on to someone within the family. Ethel guessed that Eve, Muriel’s long suffering Great Granddaughter would get it. As Muriel’s health had deteriorated Eve had loyally tended to her. If she didn’t leave the recipe to Eve then Ethel was the next in line. Yes, the recipe would be hers. Eve had no taste for baking, if she didn’t give the recipe to Ethel she would part with it for a small price at most.

The day came when Muriel’s suffering finally ended. Her weak heart simply stopped in the middle of the night. The pomp and ceremony of her service would have been elaborate for a Catholic Cardinal, but the enormous church was virtually empty. The service delivered to empty pews, for a cranky old woman who had no friends, it was farcical. Four or five people milled around for the service and then only Eve stayed to mourn the old lady’s death. On the day of the reading of the Will only Eve and Ethel turned up. As suspected, what few possessions Muriel had acquired during her Spartan life were left to Eve. And that was it. The book was closed and the solicitor went to leave. “What about the cake? The recipe, where’s the recipe?” As a gesture of good will the solicitor sat down and took Ethel through each of the itemized possessions, there was no recipe. “The stubborn old bat.” Ethel screeched. Muriel had taken the recipe to her grave, it lay buried under a marble epitaph, so elaborate it could have been the decoration on top of a wedding cake.

The hand that rocks the cradle

We found an eel.
The creek was only twenty feet into the woods. Just off of a rarely used track that followed the pipeline, a four-foot circular pipe that ran for miles. As we followed the creek we discovered a small pond with a two-foot long eel in it. The more attention we paid it the deeper under a small rock ledge the eel hid.
As we walked out of the woods and made our way back along the pipeline we came across a group of boys about our age on pushbikes. “We just found a eel.” “How big was it?” “Where ‘bouts.” “Come on, show us.” “Show us.”
We took them down the barely marked track to the creek, then following the creek we made our way to the pond. The eel had come out of hiding and was calmly swimming around in its small fish bowl. Its mouth sucking in water like it had just run a marathon.
The other group of kids stood on top of the hill overlooking the pond as we showed them the eel. The leader of the other group said. “Lets throw rocks at it.” “Why?” I asked. He didn’t answer before throwing a rock the size of a brick into the pond. Everyone began throwing these rocks into the pond until the water was muddy.
The rocks were a mixture of soil and rubble that you could break up in your hands. We all stood around waiting for the water to clear to see if the eel had survived. I put my head down close to the water to see if I could see any signs of life.
A rock twice the size of the one thrown at the eel hit me on the top of my head. Surprisingly it didn’t hurt. The rock exploded and crumbled onto my shoulders and down my back. I felt the hot blood run down my head and face. “What ya do that for?” I think he said something about it being an accident.
I can still see that little boy’s face. The sneer that ran across his lips and turned into a smirk. At the time I believed it was an accident, even though my friends said it wasn’t. But now as an adult I can see that face as vividly as though it had happened yesterday. He meant to do it, in fact he took great pleasure in the blood that gushed from my head and saturated the top half of my t-shirt. By the time I got home I looked like Carrie.
I can’t help but wonder if this nasty little man with a taste for inflicting pain went on to be a serial killer; because it’s the face of a serial killer that I see in my memory.

What a mess.


One of the greatest criticisms of my first book I SPIDER is that it’s a bit ‘all over the place’. I think it actually enhances the story because the story is written as the ramblings of a mad man.
Unfortunately, my second book is shaping up to be just as ‘all over the place’ and is structurally a lot more complicated. I’m about 40,000 words in and after vomiting all of my initial thoughts out it’s time to try and create some structure.
It’s a fairly simple structure, I have a Protagonist and an Antagonist and I see their stories running simultaneously (a chapter of the good guy then a chapter of the bad guy). Using this method I will probably compare their lives; good guy looks after mother when she’s sick, bad guy kills mother with a tyre iron.
But then the whole thing starts to get complicated. I have a character that disappears from the book about half way through and then reappears in the climax or the third act. So in the middle of the crescendo and while I’ve got the reader dying to find out what happens next I’m going to tell a whole bunch of back story about what the character that disappeared has been up to.
Even this would be pretty easy if I had written the book chronologically, but I have this terrible habit of putting a character in a situation, lets say a cabin, and while they are in the cabin I tell part of the back story of the cabin. So even the bits that I’m chopping up are in bits.
Above is a photo of the book cut into chapters, a Protagonist pile and an Antagonist pile. Also there’s a photo of two sets of cards each one representing a chapter in the book. I’m going to change the order of the chapters and then I’ll start filling in the holes in the story.
Wish me luck.

“THE MAGICIAN” a taste of the Andromache Jones Mysteries. A review.


One of my favourite bloggers is SAMMIWITCH. A real life Witch who talks about… well, Witchy stuff. Apart from being a Witch and a very nice person Sammi is also the author of a series of books called the ANDROMACHE JONES MYSTERIES.
THE MAGICIAN is a short introduction into the world of Andromache Jones, a modern day ‘Renaissance woman’ who uses witchcraft, ingenuity and courage to help solve crimes.
I thoroughly enjoyed reading THE MAGICIAN. It’s light, fun and at the same time has a sense of impending doom that really drives the book along. I was there with the heroin every step of the way as she raced against time. Loved the location, the small town I could see in my head reminded me of the rural areas they shot the TV series ‘The Saint, Simon Templar’.
I think you can download a free copy of THE MAGICIAN Here. I’m looking forward to the rest in the series. Without giving too much away I think I can say that the next time Andromache Jones meets the Magician it won’t be for a friendly game of chess.
Thanks for the read SAMMIWITCH.

Stink bomb

An Excerpt from MARKED (a work in progress)

stink bomb

“Hey Jake.” It was Lucas. “Hey Jake, come here.” Whispered Lucas. “What does he want me to do this time for f#@k sake?” Jake thought. Jake waited for a second or two for Lucas to come to him but it became clear that wasn’t going to happen. He walked over to Lucas and was lead around the corner where Ox was waiting with a cheeky grin on his face. Lucas opened his hands and there was a small paper package with the words STINK BOMB in red lightning bolt type and a drawing of a kid holding his nose as stink lines rose up from a small explosion on the ground. Here were two big tough burley grown men standing holding a stink bomb and giggling like little children. It was brilliant. Jake had been walking around with the weight of the world on his shoulders for months; immersed in death. The smile spread across his face like a mid summer bush fire. “We’re going to let it off in the toilets.” Lucas said with a glint in his eye. This was the first time he had seen Lucas like this. He was like a big kid and Jake liked him, no loved him for it. “It’s gunna be brilliant.” Ox said. “You can also get FART SPRAY and LIQUID ASS.” Ox said snickering like a ten year old. Jake had never seen a fart bomb before, even as a child. It was like he was getting a second chance to relive some small piece of his childhood. The three men giggled their way upstairs trying not to laugh when they passed other police officers. The captain gave them a look from his small office and Lucas gave him a little wave. This was obviously out of the ordinary and made the captain uncomfortable because he returned to his paperwork as fast as he could.
Jake held the door of the toilet block open while Ox and Lucas read the instructions. Lucas did something to the yellow paper satchel, Jake didn’t see, and then using only the tips of his fingers he threw in gingerly onto the floor of the bathroom and closed the door quickly. The three men stood snickering under their breath waiting for something to happen. It didn’t take long for their curiosity to get the better of them. Ox opened the door and peeped in. He opened the door a little wider so the other two men could look inside. They all watched as the paper package slowly inflated with hydrogen sulphide, or rotten egg gas. But nothing was happening. The bag was now swollen like a ball but nothing was happening. A uniformed constable walked by to see the three detectives standing at the toilet door peering in. She barely raised an eyebrow; it was as if this sort of thing happened every day.
Ox eventually broke the stalemate and tiptoes into the toilets. Jake’s snickering had now turned to chuckling if not outright laughing. This was the funniest thing he had seen in years. Here was this giant of a man, OX, tiptoeing like a ballerina over to a kids stink bomb. He gently touched it with his foot. The stink bomb wobbled a bit but nothing. Getting braver he kicked it perhaps two inches, again it wobbled. Lucas and Jake were bent over laughing. It was so ridiculous. They could all be fired for this one stupid act. But it so didn’t matter to Jake; this was the most fun he had experienced since joining the force.
Ox kicked it again, a little further this time. The stink bomb was now completely round and it rolled around the floor of the toilet from the kick. Ox had to give it one last kick. “POP” the bomb made a sad almost pathetic sound as it exploded but wet brown liquid spurted all over the walls of the toilet block and all over Ox. Jake fell to the ground he was laughing so much and Lucas was having difficulty breathing. The only one who wasn’t laughing was Ox who had a disgusted look on his face that made the other men laugh even harder. By now a couple of the uniformed police had walked over but soon left when they saw it was just a couple of detectives being assholes. Ox quickly washed off the splatters he had on his face while Lucas picked the broken bomb up and put it into the bin. The toilets stunk really fowl and so did Ox, but he had started to see the funny side and had joined in laughing with the other two.
Jake began to gag from the rancid smell so he never really saw how much damage they had done to the toilet. The brown liquid had splattered all the way up to the ceiling. The three men walked away innocently as though nothing had happened. Ox took the rest of the day off to go home and change and Lucas and Jake sat innocently at their respective desks waiting for someone to say something about the mess they had created. But no one ever did. The splatters on the roof were still there six months after the boys had let the fart bomb off. The only thing that had changed was that Jake’s contempt for Lucas disappeared overnight and a new friendship was born. They were now a team and a good team at that. They would join together with Lucas’s experience and Jake’s tireless youth to catch one of the most notorious serial killers of all time.

Only their mother can tell them apart.

So one of these fellows wrote about interesting ways of killing people. The other killed a person.
One was a creative powerhouse who penned the freshest horror stories to ever be written. The other is partly to blame for the assassination attempts on Martin Luther King, JFK and Ronald Reagan.
What is the difference between an author of evil doing and an author of evil doing?
As I did with my last book I’ve once again found myself asking the question, “Does this book need to be written?”
My first book was about a kind man who, suffering from mental illness committed murderer.
The book I’m writing at the moment is completely different, the murderer is emotionless, manipulative and evil. The book is as much about the effects of his hideous actions on other people as it is about the lack of effect they have on him.
Do you think that books like this should be written?
One man is Edgar Allen Poe, the other is John Wilkes Booth.

Bads to the bone

Excerpt from MARKED, a work in progress.
“I think it’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” Said Karl.
“You’re so cute.” Said Bads. “I hope my Dad thinks the same thing, he hasn’t seen it yet. I was a bit drunk, I think. I feel terrible today.”
As he rubbed oil into the slightly raised welts of the new tattoo Karl was more aroused than he had ever been in his life.
“Did it hurt?” Karl asked.
At that Bads turned to look at Karl and staring her right in the face was the large lump in his trousers.
Without thinking Bads started to laugh hysterically, she even pointed at his erection. Karl dropped the jar of oil and ran off. Bads, realizing how rude she’d been called out to Karl, trying to call him back, “It’s all right Karl it’s all right.” But it was too late.
Only two days after that Barbara Adams disappeared, it was Halloween. The local rumor was that she had run away with one of her many boyfriends but Barbara or Bads was never seen again.

Creating a monster

I’m about half way through my next book and my antagonist (my bad guy) is a New York Fashion Designer, a former student of the famous Parson’s School of Design. His name is Karl, and in primary school he was tormented with the nicknames ‘Karloff’, ‘Boris Karloff’ and eventually ‘Boris’. Karl calls his Fashion label KARLOFF and with a “Beauty and the Beast”, theme he does well.
I like to have photographs in my novels, in the same way they appear in biography’s and autobiography’s. It gives the story a new layer of credibility.
Here’s a rough mock-up I put together for Karl’s office. I might have to change the name of his fashion label to BORIS or KARL-OFF, but I like KARLOFF more, and as far as I can tell there isn’t a fashion label called KARLOFF. (There is a Vodka). I love the idea of the Perfume bottle that looks like a monster, I’ll probably need to change that too.
The fashion was inspired by the great Oleg Cassini, who had a lot to do with dressing Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis and Marilyn Monroe. Heda Hopper commented on his pencil mustache so he sent her a telegram, “…I’ll shave mine if you shave yours.”
I wrote my first sex scene yesterday, and I don’t mind admitting that it was difficult. Being a gentleman, it’s not a subject that you spend a lot of time talking about. Is it a ‘penis’, is it an ‘erection’ or is it ‘his throbbing manhood’. So the Karloff office design was really just a distraction from giving a knob a name.