Author Matthew W Harrill's Blog
I’m very humbled to announce that The Eyes Have No Soul has picked up an award!
The novel has been awarded the position of finalist in the Fiction: Horror category of the 2018 International Book Awards, sponsored by American Book Fest.
The Eyes Have No Soul was placed alongside winner, Knuckle Balled by Drew Stepek (Blood Bound Books), Antitheus by G.A. Minton (World Castle Publishing), Eve of Redemption by Tom Mohan (BHC Press), Stage 3 by Ken Stark (Severed Press), and The Last Odinian by Alec Arbogast (Ink Smith Publishing).
For a novel that started off as a series of writing assignments for my mentor David Farland, a story inspired by my son Scott’s diagnosis with type 1 diabetes twelve years ago, it has come a long way. Please feel free to have a look and pick up a copy!
The Eyes Have No Soul
Forensic Analyst Clare Rosser has focused her career on becoming a detective, and solving the mystery of her parents’ murder.
When a series of grisly murders leaves bodies twisted and bereft of fluid in a mummy-like state, one fact becomes apparent: the monster that killed her parents ten years ago has returned.
Fighting the bureaucracy of her own police department, as well as her own prejudices and ailing body, Clare must take matters into her own hands before more suffer the same fate.
The clues are out there. The answers lie within her. But can she find them before it’s too late?
Discounted ARC Stories on Amazon
It’s been a while since I updated this page. I wanted to let you all know I’m still hard at it, working on future tales:
The ARC Legacy
Thornfalcon, book 1 of The ARC Legacy, is having a thorough proof read before a second edit, and hopefully will be available later this year through www.creativia.org . This tale takes up the adventures of ARC twenty years or so after the events in Hellbeast, focussing around the adventures of Madden and Eva’s daughters, Nina and Samantha. Hell is quiet, but all is not well with the world.
Well it’s not untitled really, a few people know it. I have titles for ALL of my works (at least the next five books including this one). Let me say it marks a distinct departure from my normal genre, taking place in Bristol, England in the 1700s. And I am having an absolute blast researching and plotting this one. I am hoping this book will come out some time next year.
There are lots of discounts for my current works over the next few days if there are any you’re missing.
Hellbounce (ARC Chronicles #1) – ebook is 0.99 on Amazon between May 16 and May 18
Hellborne (ARC Chronicles #2) – ebook is FREE on Amazon between May 3rd and May 7th
Hellbeast (ARC Chronicles #3) – ebook is FREE on Amazon between May 6th and May 10th
The Eyes Have No Soul – ebook is 0.99 on Amazon between May 5th and May 7th
If you would like an autographed book I currently have a small stock of ‘Eyes’, and if there is demand, can get hold of the ARC novels too. There is a cost for printing and postage, and any donations you are willing to make beyond that cost will go to www.jdrf.org.uk – who research for a cure to type 1 diabetes. Get in touch with me through the feedback form on my site, or you can find me on Facebook.
I recently had a lot of fun on ‘The Panic Room’ podcast. You can find it here if you fancy a listen.
My new novel, ‘The Eyes Have No Soul’, has been released today on Kindle by Creativia.
An intensely personal project, The Eyes Have No Soul follows the adventures of forensic analyst Clare Rosser. Her parents killer is still at large, and killing again. She attempts to solve the mystery of a series of grisly murders, all the while succumbing to the ravages of a chronic illness.
The Eyes Have No Soul was inspired by my son, who we nearly lost to type 1 Diabetes when he was three years old. You can find out more information about the illness here. It is my intention to donate a portion of any proceeds from this book to The Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation.
You can get the kindle edition here. If you enjoy it, feel free to leave a review.
Excerpt of The Eyes Have No Soul
No matter how hard Clare Rosser tried to escape the house of her birth in the sleepy forest town of Holden, Massachusetts, life kicked her in the guts by drawing her back. It had only been eighteen months. Freedom had been hers at last. Clare, with all her determination and drive, had sworn that she would get out of Dodge. Yet here she was, in her sophomore year, being dragged home in order to mitigate another disaster. She just could not escape.
The trouble was she had no idea exactly what she was returning to this time round. Only hours before, Clare had been watching an old John Wayne flick with her friends and boyfriend. One phone call later, she had hurtled down route 90 from her rented house in Brookline, Boston, to deal with the latest drama. Was Mom ill? Had Dad drunk himself senseless again? Nobody would say.
Clare gazed at her blue-eyed reflection in the rear-view mirror of her Mini Cooper, a car given to her by her parents as a sweet sixteen present, and four years later the only item from them she treasured. Dad had imported the shell and restored the car to perfect working order, painted it red with twin white stripes on the hood and delivered it to her with a bank of blinding headlights attached to the front and a full tank of diesel. Never mind that it was a petrol engine and had to be fully drained and cleaned before she could take it out.
One of many mistakes her dad had made with the best intentions, like the time he had chased off a would-be boyfriend who just wanted to play her a song with his guitar. He wanted his daughter homebound. It only drove her further away. Her cell began to ring from its place on the passenger seat; Clare picked the phone up, wedging it between shoulder and ear. “Hello?”
“Clare? Clare Rosser? Is that you?”
“Yes. This is Clare.”
“Hello dear, it’s Dr. Julian Strange. I am your family —”
“Yes I know perfectly well who you are Julian. What’s going on?” Julian Strange had been the Rosser family physician for as long as Clare could remember. He had dealt with the fallout of her parents’ bouts of alcoholism with good grace, patient and informative. He was professional to the core when Clare had needed a father figure, sometimes impersonal, like he didn’t want to get too close.
“Are you on your way?”
Clare glanced out of the window. In the growing dusk, the woodland of southernmost Holden thrust up like a series of fingers clawing out of the hillside ahead. The police roadblock, comprised of three cars parked at random angles on the nearside of the railway crossing, lay between her and her house beyond. “I’m nearby. Julian, what’s going on?”
There was a pause. “Just… Just get here as soon as you can, Clare.”
“What do you mean ‘get here as soon as you can’?” Clare shouted down the phone in response. “Why can’t you just tell me what’s going on?”
Grab yourself a copy.
Don’t miss out! Grab yourself a copy today!
And if you enjoy it, feel free to leave a review.
The second edition is out. Have a look at the information below and see if it takes your fancy.
Drast, cunning but reckless, is on the hunt for admiration. Tyran, calculating but tactless, is in search of affection. Bound by a friendship thicker than blood, the two brothers have been hardened by their father’s ambitions. Drast and Tyran are forced to set aside their own hopes and dreams during their struggle to fulfill their father’s desire for immortality. Now, the two will face skin-switchers and dragons, ultimately leading to a final clash with Wolos, God of the Dead.
Erzebeth convulsed. Her fur and skin shedding away while she wheeled about on the ground in agony. The bones readjusted and organs reset from beast to human. Where a beast had stood was now the naked figure of Erzebeth. Cuts and scratches patterned her body, but none were fatal.
Tyran had no place for modesty. The Vucari woman, within the privacy of the ice dome, struggled to her feet. Again, her dark eyes met his own, filled with compassion.
“You need to be put down, young Red.” Her voice was calm as her feet crossed in front of one another, closing the distance between them. “Your power is greater than any I have seen before, even from the Anshedar.”
“What?” Tyran said, forehead wrinkled with confusion. He had never heard of the race before, whether beast or otherwise.
“You are like a rabid dog, young Red. You are the perfect companion, loyal, and possibly even loving somewhere deep inside,” Erzebeth bit her lip. Her breasts, barely covered by her dark hair, touched the front of his chest. She halted her feet. “But, you are tainted by a disease that is stronger than the goodness in you. You cannot be left to live in this world, or you will corrupt every living thing around you.”
Tyran tilted his chin, lips parting. His free hand touched her pale skin, as whitish as the ice fortress that veiled this moment.
“You would taint me, young Red.” She stepped up on her tiptoes. “As with the rabid dog, you need to be put down.”
He grabbed her by the back of the neck, and pulled her to him. He kissed her with more force than he had ever kissed any woman.
This woman was not Isolde. This woman was battle hardened, and a warrior. She was not plain.
She grabbed his shoulders and returned the embrace, her tongue touching his lips. Her body was far warmer than his own, as if it were heated by the darkness.
He did not know what he was doing in this moment. It may have likely been the first time that his mind was clear from thought, acting without thinking. Though, in time, he may consider that when his death was nigh, he found that this was something he wanted to do before death found him.
The crashing against the ice pulled him from the moment. Tyran pulled back, moving the Vucari’s hair from her cheek. “You won’t kill me, Erzebeth.”
“No,” she breathed. Her hands fell to his chest. “But, it still needs to be done.”
His brother looked at his hands, now covered by great warm mittens. “Drast?”
“Mm?” Drast grunted, mimicking his brother.
“How are they going to remember us?”
Tyran shrugged his heavy shoulders. “The Stuhia. The Vucari. The world, I suppose.”
“By our apotheosis.”
“Does it always come down to glory?”
Drast snorted. “Yes. If we fail we will not be remembered. It must come to glory.”
Tyran shook his head. “But is what we are doing glorious?”
“We are off to kill a god. How could it not be?”
Tyran stopped and turned. “But if we are wrong. If killing Wolos is somehow an evil act. Or, if we fail and we are remembered because of our tyrant father—”
“Tyran the Tyrant,” Drast interrupted, chittering.
“I am serious. How do we know that we should even be doing what we are planning on doing? How do we know it is right? How do we know we can?”
“Tyran, you are overthinking this. Why do you even care how people will remember you to begin with? It will not matter. We will either succeed, in which case we are allowed to tell whatever tale of our victory we choose, or we fail and are dead and it doesn’t matter. Regardless, people will remember us for the height of our lives, when we faced a god.”
“I want to believe that I did something right for this world before I died.”
The room still whirled from last night. He tried to close his eyes to keep his stomach from doing the same, but closing his eyes actually made it worse. Drast was somewhat surprised that the drink was still affecting him like this. He had been having more than his fill for—he did not know how long. How long ago did Tyran leave? His mind was too foggy to remember. And Walstan was gone, too.
Vaguely, Drast saw that the sky was just turning blue with the rising sun. At least, he was fairly certain it was sunrise. None of the hues of sunset had begun to color the sky.
He turned his head to the entrance into his chambers and pulled himself more upright to lean against the nightstand beside his bed. One of the serving women stood just inside of his room. “What?”
“The Arkhon wishes to speak with you.”
He was not certain what string of curses came from his lips, but the maid blanched and her face grew pink, almost to the color of her hair. The room swirled again while she spoke.
“What?” he asked again.
“I said, Ser Drast, the Arkhon instructed me to remain with you until you came to meet with him.” Her voice quivered.
She was right to fear him. Her voice was fuzzy, just like everything. But, he knew he had not been particularly kind to any of the servants of late. He had managed to avoid his father by effectively frightening the servants. Their fear, combined with late nights, ale, and sleeping until the sun set, had allowed him to avoid talking with anyone who did not enjoy a mug or two.
A few of the servants had initially joined him in drinking. He loosely recalled this maid among them. Ura? Mura? Lura?
“Kura,” he finally muttered. He had been a little too handsy and she had since avoided him like—he could not clearly comprise a simile. Like. Like? Like the moon avoided the sun? Good enough.
“Yes, Kura,” she murmured.
Drast spat at the chamber pot. He was fairly certain he missed. “Well, come on in, Kura.” He belched. “I know how we can pass the time.”
Joshua Robertson was born in Kingman, Kansas on May 23, 1984. A graduate of Norwich High School, Robertson attended Wichita State University where he received his Masters in Social Work with minors in Psychology and Sociology. His bestselling novel, Melkorka, the first in The Kaelandur Series, was released in 2015. Known most for his Thrice Nine Legends Saga, Robertson enjoys an ever-expanding and extremely loyal following of readers. He counts R.A. Salvatore and J.R.R. Tolkien among his literary influences.
J.C. lives in the Midwest with his wife and two dogs. He recently earned his MA in English Literature and is working on his debut novel for his own fantasy world. Despite growing up with Dungeons & Dragons, Lord of the Rings, and a collection of both Dragonlance and Forgotten Realms novels, J.C. has an abiding love of classics and spends his free time reading anything he can get his hands on.
When the perfect job comes up, Charlie doesn’t think twice about taking it. This is the break he’s been looking for and nobody, not even the rest of his team, can persuade him otherwise.
The job means working for an old enemy and crossing the border into London. Both are risky, but Charlie has no idea how high the stakes really are. The team will have to confront their past, each other and a killer who is closer than they realize. But can they all make it out of the city alive?
“We all remember that kid in Piccadilly. That determined look he had on his face as he willed all those people to him. Just using his mind, he pulled them close then blew them all to pieces. It could be anyone. Your neighbour, your friend, your lover. Remain vigilant. Reachers are everywhere.”
Border Lines is the second book in L.E. Fitzpatrick’s Reachers series.
Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N9C0VCJ/
Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01N9C0VCJ/
Amazon AU: https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B01N9C0VCJ/
Amazon DE: https://www.amazon.de/dp/B01N9C0VCJ/
Start with Book One, The Running Game
Rachel’s father called it the running game. Count the exits, calculate the routes, and always be ready to run.
On the surface, Rachel is just an ordinary doctor, but she has a secret. Rachel is a Reacher, wanted by the government and the criminal underworld for her telekinetic powers.
Charlie and his brother John have a reputation for doing the impossible. But after losing his family, Charlie is a broken mess and John is barely keeping him afloat. In desperation, they take a job from a ruthless crime lord, only to discover the girl they are hunting is a Reacher… one of their own kind.
With the help of dangerous and dubious allies, can Rachel turn the game around and save herself?
Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01GIGM1X8/
Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01GIGM1X8/
Amazon AU: https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B01GIGM1X8/
Amazon DE: https://www.amazon.de/dp/B01GIGM1X8/
About the author
L E Fitzpatrick was born in Hull, East Yorkshire, but now lives in West Wales, with her family plus lots of dogs and cats. She manages an office, volunteers as a room steward for the National Trust and also supports independent authors as a proofreader and beta reader. She obviously has no spare time because of this, but if she did it would probably be invested in walking in the countryside and enjoying the peace and quiet.
L E Fitzpatrick published her first series Dark Waters in 2011 and is currently working on her Reacher series.
Jet off on a Flight of Fantastic Fantasy
‘Jet off to New York for the weekend,’ my wife said. ‘Sure,’ I replied. It turned out it was a loaded statement as we had already been booked on a flight from the Mission Terminal at Bath International Airport for a quick hop across the pond on a weekend full of some of the most hilariously dysfunctional characters we had ever had the pleasure to meet.
The pilots were ready to jet off, the crew smiling and attentive. We were ushered to our seats with strict formality by a hostess called Hayley and it was hard not to notice that another, by the name of Melanie, looked visibly nervous. We paid for the premium economy upgrade, and were very glad to have done so. The legroom on the flight was excellent. Easily on a par with Virgin and other major airlines.
However, despite the grinning reassurance of the co-pilot Paul, once we were given a… shall we say… rather fruity and extensive welcome by the Captain Jim, take-off led us to compare to other famous flights…
Jet off with Go Fly, and I suspect that you will find the time passes quickly. The cabin crew made excellent use of the aisle space. It was hard to keep your head still as they dance up and down in a variety of sturdy and yet eye-drawing footwear (I noticed in particular the black leather/red laces combination of the copilot).
Under the command of head hostess Nicola (whose deadpan delivery of the ‘Intimately Beckham’ range had everybody in stitches), the crew kept everybody fed and watered. I had the occasion to move from my seat at one point, just to stretch the legs, and found that actually, everything was not all smiles as the passengers suspected it to be.
Jet full of tension at 35000 feet
Were one to look beyond the surface, there were definitely cracks behind the smiling surface. It was clear as she was moving further up the plane that the hilarious Julia (hoo-lee-ah!) was becoming less and less impressed with passengers talking to her about her Spanish roots, despite her protesting at several different times during the fight that she was in fact Puerto Rican. There was a palpable tension between Ryan and Richard, the former looking at the latter like he wanted to end up next to him with his clothes off.
And then it all turned to chaos
Now this flight gave me cause to look into what is required of a cabin crew, and nowhere in the Cabin Crew Guidelines did i find anything that led me to believe there would be dancing. And yet dancing there was. I found across the aisle Ryan was taking photos with the passengers.
The pilots appeared and got involved, leading a few old ladies to send worried glances toward the swinging cockpit door. Apparently the auto pilot was VERY good. there were a problem with the loos on board though. Jim the pilot and Julia went to take a look and yet despite an extensive amount of time spent in there, couldn’t ease the blockage correctly into the passageway, or something. Must have been a problem with the pipes.
A quiet stay in the big apple
Suffice it to say the crew looked as glad as we were relieved to make it to New York. Not because they weren’t a pleasure to engage with but because I felt that they just needed a break from the cabin fever they clearly were suffering from. I recently flew on Virgin to Florida and right from the outset we were told in no uncertain terms that they were understaffed, and boy did they want us to feel it when they came by. We never once felt like that on this flight. While we were in the city we bumped into a member of the company management and had a discussion about ‘Hurricanes in the Pacific’. It turns out that a Hurricane in the Northwest Pacific is a typhoon and a hurricane in the Northeast! In all honesty I couldn’t wait to jet back, hoping we had the same people seeing us home.
And then there was Hayley
Bonkers. I’m sure this hostess lives in a different world to the rest of humanity. A force of nature, a law unto herself. She bossed the passengers, kept them fed, and could have probably flown the jet should she have wished. She dealt magnificently with a vomiting child (at least the sick bag passed me by without spillage!), cleaned up after herself when spilling wine and had quite an intimate moment with another passenger called George.
I had the fortune (or misfortune for George) to overhear of an incident in New York that involved the two of them. Apparently it didn’t end well but that didn’t matter. The flight back to Bath was an overnighter, and we were all welcomed to breakfast by Hayley’s tale of all of her ex-boyfriends. Never has a member of staff been quite so candid.
Would we jet again with Go Fly?
Two words for you. Hell yes. Even if there were no radiators halfway up the walls. Anybody whose been to the Rondo will understand. There is no question this flight passed The acid Test. I couldn’t breathe for laughing.
Aimi Kuhlke – Nicola
Rachel Bosomworth – Hayley
Sarah Mellowes – Melanie
Jane Morgan – Julia
Matt Knowles – Ryan
Tom Corbishley – Richard
Duncan Mitchell – Jim
Pip Knowles – Paul
The 11th Percent. A series that you didn’t know you didn’t know…. but you should.
So I’m sat here… writing this… and I’m knackered. You see I have something in common with the writer the world will one day call ‘Bestseller T.H. Morris’ but is better known to me by his secret name….Terrick… [Note to self: Not so secret any more]. We love a bit of fitness training. Ok, so we both write horror of one denomination or another too, but the fitness is what matters. A healthy body and a healthy mind go well together see…and it is a necessary evil in The 11th Percent.
THM with his series ‘The 11th Percent’ examines what it means to have a very healthy mind. 11th Percenters have access to extra areas of the mind, allowing them to see things the normal person can not see, do things the normal person can not do…
11th Percenters got skillz….
As our hero, the very unassuming Jonah Rowe, realizes that he is smarter than the average bear, he begins to see a world outside the world of muggles. At first it is all very confusing. He gets into conversations with a myriad of interesting… shall we put it this way… ‘individuals’ and very quickly finds that life as he knew it will never be the same again. It is a classic ‘man goes on a journey’ story, except this time the journey is not necessarily a physical one, but a journey within himself. What is he? Why is he? What can he do with the he that is he?
Well fortunately for us all, Jonah is not alone. He embarks on his quest with a collection of little friends. Bulbasaur… Charmander… Squirtle… Oh! Hang on…. this ISNT the Pokemon Go! addiction group meeting. Jonah Rowe finds that he isn’t alone. Every man has friends. Friends with skills. As it turns out, Jonah’s new friends are VERY skilled.
What can they do? Well each 11th percenter is affiliated with a particular aspect of the mind, or ‘aura’, demonstrated by a particular colour. The extra percent goes a long, long way for these individuals. There are a lot of colours, meaning there are a lot of skills on show. And it’s not only the heroes of the story that have access to powers.
The Bad Guy
Not only is the antagonist in the 11th percent pretty nefarious, he has minions, and they all have powers too. In any good vs evil story it helps to have varying levels of forces on both sides. I am purposefully NOT giving any detailed information away about this series because I honestly believe that you need to read this for yourself. It is a great lesson in watching not only a series evolve but also the talents of the writer behind them too.
The first couple of books finish in what I have jokingly referred to in reviews as the ‘Scooby Doo ending’, which is not in itself a bad thing, but the latter two books exhibit a much more complicated plot and honestly leave you wanting more. Inimicus (book 4) in particular had me gripped, and leaves me awaiting the rest of the series.
Now I’ll be honest here. There was a time not so long ago, where this series would have failed the Acid Test. There was editing that needed addressing and the version of one of the tales that was out was doing the author no credit at all. Fortunately, T.H.Morris is very sincere in his work and willing to listen to advice, and as such the issues were addressed. Never be afraid what you have written. If you do not, even if you write an absolute barnstormer of a book, people might never read it if they don’t like what came before… There is no book that cannot be improved. Ever.
As such, I give you the internet blurb and links for the four books from The 11th Percent as they currently stand. This series passes The Acid Test. What is yet to come could be amazing…
The 11th Percent
Jonah Rowe has an uneventful life. He is always bored, can’t see the point of anything, and just wishes that something in his life would turn out right. He gets his wish in rude fashion; his uneventful life takes a turn for the weird when he discovers that he is an Eleventh Percenter, an ethereal human who can influence and interact with the spirit world. As he discovers more about his true nature, he makes new friends, learns new truths, and juggles his “normal” life with his new life in fellowship with spiritual beings. His survival depends on his successful handling of all three.
Item and Time
Jonah Rowe’s life is going great. His accounting days are behind him, he has a job in a bookstore that he looks forward to each day, and he has more allies than he can count amongst his fellow Eleventh Percenters.
But when a mysterious woman suddenly invades Jonah’s dreams, warning him of danger of a chronological nature, a game of cat-and-mouse ensues that will intertwine their fates.
Who is this mystery woman, and why does she believe that both she and Jonah are in danger?
Will Jonah find all the answers?
Will he be able to protect this woman and himself?
Most importantly, will he be able to do this before time runs out?
The second installment of The 11th Percent Series brings back familiar faces, while also introducing new ones.
A race against time ensues, spirits abound, and enemies appear in the unlikeliest of places as this new breed of ghost story continues!
Jonah thought he had The 11th Percent figured out.
There was more to life than he’d thought, spirits were real, and he had access to ethereal powers. He got that.
But he hadn’t expected this. This was one threat too many. One revelation too many.
He wasn’t prepared for ethereal creatures who threatened the body and the mind.
Jonah is the only thing in the way of the town of Rome being bathed in lifeblood. And the worst part of it is that his survival hinges on his confronting the one thing he never thought he’d have to.
The new breed of ghost story continues in this multilayered book that introduces new allies, unearths old secrets, and presents fresh threats!
“Scius is the obvious enemy. Inimicus is the enemy that you don’t know you don’t know. The one you’d never see coming in a million lifetimes.”
That was what Jonah was told.
And now, he knows Inimicus is in the game. His unseen enemy is prowling through the shadows, making moves that no one can predict or prevent, and armed with a weapon more dangerous than any ethereal blade or staff: anonymity.
Jonah thought he had ventured into uncharted waters before, but the past was nothing compared to this. In the past, the enemies were known. Now, no amount of power can help you fight an enemy that you “don’t know you don’t know.”
In this latest installment in The 11th Percent Series, loyalties will be tested. People will lose sight of what’s truly important. The line between friend and enemy will get blurred. And the question everyone’s mind is also the same one that holds the difference between victory and downfall: Who can you trust?