Wednesday, 27 May 2015

The Self Publishing Podcast



I’m writing this blog post as I listen to the Self Publishing Podcast (SPP), episode #158. In previous posts I’ve talked about online tools that are designed to improve sales. SPP covers that sort of thing on a regular basis. However, it is presented by three self-published authors, so while they discuss the business side of things they also tend to drift into conversations about the craft of writing as well. And in the spirit of this podcast -- which regularly and joyfully indulges in straying off the chosen topic -- here’s a quick diversion:

I consider myself a writer above all things. Thinking like a businessman can hamper my creative side, which is why I haven’t tried to start a publishing business. However, I do think it’s important to have an understanding of the business side of my chosen creative art. I might not want to devote my time to numbers and spreadsheets, but it’s dangerous to be clueless about something that can severely impact your writing. Ignore the numbers for the sake of your words and it won’t be long before you can’t afford to write anymore...

The rest of this blog post can be found over at my wee patch of the HASTAC website. Click here to get there.

Saturday, 9 May 2015

Five Questions -- Steve Cavanagh

Steve Cavanagh was born and raised in Belfast and is a practicing lawyer. He holds a certificate in Advanced Advocacy and lectures on various legal subjects (but really he just likes to tell jokes). He is married with two young children. The Defence, has been chosen as one of Amazon's great debuts for 2015, as part of their Amazon Rising Stars programme. In 2015 Steve received the ACES award for Literature from the Northern Ireland Arts Council. 

Steve writes fast-paced legal thrillers set in New York City featuring series character Eddie Flynn. The Defence is his first novel. 

Find out more at http://stevecavanaghbooks.com/ or follow Steve on Twitter @SSCav



Eddie Flynn, lawyer, con man, drunk. How much of this is autobiographical, Steve? I know you're a lawyer. Two out of three wouldn't be too bad...

Well, while I was at University, and probably for a good few years afterwards, I would've been a man with a powerful thirst. One of my best mates, Mark, is a guy from my QUB Institute of Professional Legal Studies class, and the only reason I know him is because we both liked to turn up to the pub an hour before any social event began so that we could have a few before the crowd arrived. We didn't arrange it or anything, we just happened to be men with similar approaches to an evening's entertainment. I remember somebody once handed me a pint, the glass was soaking and the pint simply slipped right through my fingers. I had my order in for another one before the glass hit the ground. Now I have two small children. The rock and roll days are over. As for con man? There is a certain amount of sleight of hand in any good cross examination. That's where the overlap is between the courtroom and the back alley. Eddie straddles that line precariously.

I noticed that you used US spelling (eg color rather than colour) in the UK edition of your book. What's the craic with that?

Glad you spotted that. It was my editor's suggestion. As the book is in US English anyway with an American narrator, may as well go the whole hog. I think it helps a little with authenticating the American voice that I'm going for. I've noticed it before in John Connolly books and to be honest it's fine with me because it means I don't have as much work to do for US publication.

Ah! The mighty Connolly. It must tickle you that you're likely to be stocked out pretty close to him on the crime fiction shelf. Recommend one of his works, for the uninitiated. Please?

There is so much to recommend, but for the crime fan you simply have to read the Charlie Parker series. You can read them out of sequence, I have a little. But you get a far better experience reading them in order. Start with Every Dead Thing and work your way up. EDT is one of the best crime debuts you'll ever read. And the books just keep getting better. That's rare in series fiction. Yeah, I'm stoked that I get to be on a shelf with one of my heroes.

Your story in Belfast Noir was top notch and it featured an actual Belfastian solicitor. Any plans to set a novel in Belfast?

Yes, a solicitor and a barrister with the story focussed on barrister, Mack. I loved writing that story. It's a weird thing, I wrote The Defence as an escape, primarily for me. I was going through a hard time and I wanted to try writing again. If I had come home from a day's work being a lawyer in Northern Ireland and sat down to write for two or three hours about being a lawyer in Northern Ireland I think I probably would've gone insane. At the time I wanted to escape somewhere else for a few hours, into a different world. After I wrote The Defence I knew I wanted to write another book with Eddie Flynn - I find him very interesting and I can pretty much accomplish everything that I want to do right now, in fiction, using that character. If I ever give up the law, I may write a book set in NI but not at the moment. I have a few ideas, but for now I want to concentrate on Eddie's story.

You know we're pretty sold on The Defence at CSNI. Care to share a tag line for the next instalment?

This is the hard part, I'm terrible at writing blurbs. I can tell you that this next book is currently titled The Plea and, among other things, it looks at international money laundering, the grand jury system, and welcomes back some of the characters from The Defence. In the new book Eddie Flynn has two clients. Two cases. Both very different. One client is innocent and the other is guilty. He can only save one of them. It's an easy choice for most lawyers, but what if the guilty client was Eddie's wife? Will he sacrifice the life of an innocent man to save his wife? He's got 48 hours to decide. But no matter what choice he makes, the only certainty is that at eight o'clock on Saint Patrick's Day Eddie Flynn will die.



Monday, 4 May 2015

Award Season

Last week, Stuart Neville filled me with pride and envy at the same time. Pictured below, you'll find our Stu amongst a murder of Edgar Award shortlisters. All scribes pictured have, of course, earned their place on that list. However, it'd be disingenuous to be less than gobsmacked by the presence of Stephen King in this picture. STEPHEN FECKIN' KING!

L-R: Ian Rankin, Stephen King, Karin Slaughter, Stuart Neville and Wiley Cash


As it turned out, King nabbed the prize for his novel, Mr Mercedes. I'm reading said novel right now. Whether or not I'll enjoy it as much as or more than Neville's The Final Silence remains to be seen. So far, it's pretty good, though. I've looked through the King novels listed at the start of Mr Mercedes. Of the 57 books in the list (includes those written under the Bachman pseudonym, the non-fiction books and the Dark Tower series), I've read 47. I read IT when I was 13 years old and have dipped in and out of his work since then. And enjoyed the vast majority of them. Hence my envy, Mr Neville!

Anyway, I got over that tinge of jealousy and remain proud of the fact that one of the writers that I know and respect has hit this level of recognition. You can consider this the official CSNI message of congratulations to one of the leading lights of the Northern Irish crime fiction scene.

Now, from Stuart Neville to Anthony Quinn.

Anthony Quinn at the launch of The Blood Dimmed Tide earlier this year


I learned today that Quinn has been long-listed for the 2015 Theakstons Old Peculier Crime Novel of the Year. You can see the longlist in its entirety over at the Shotsmag Confidential blog. You'll notice that Lee Feckin' Child (along with other top class scribes with the affectionately given middle name of Feckin') is included on this list. However, Anthony Quinn is the only Northern Irish entrant. This makes me sad and happy at the same time. I'd like to see more names from the NI crime fiction set on the longlist, but I also like the fact that I don't have to split my cheerleading attention on this one.

So, here at CSNI, we (by which I mean me, myself and I) are urging you to vote for Anthony Quinn's Disappeared to make it onto that shortlist.

It's a big feckin' deal.

We (and this time I mean everybody reading this)  can't actually vote until the shortlist is announced, but we can show Anthony our support by making a lot of noise about his achievement. So, if you could share this blog post on social media, look for Anthony on Facebook and Twitter so you can congratulate him, or -- most importantly -- READ THE BOOK, that'd be pretty cool of you.

I read Disappeared a few years ago (I got my hands on the US version which was published long before the UK version) but, despite the fact I highly recommend it, I failed to find the time to write a review. Other people have reviewed it, though. Get Googling, people!


Friday, 24 April 2015

My Wee Curly Bap

To all who read what follows. I've been sitting on this piece for almost three years now, entirely unsure of what to do with it. A lot has changed since then, such as Lola the beagle moving on to a new home. However, Jack's genetic condition remains undiagnosed.

Today is Undiagnosed Children's Day. Here's my wee curly bap at the ripe old age of eight. He's a cool dude.



Here's a little snapshot of Jack:

My Wee Curly Bap
By Gerard Brennan

For the third time in three days I take Jack, my five-year-old son, to Dundrum Castle. Lola, our hyperactive beagle pup, comes along. Jack has been asking me all day about this walk. Pestering me. When he gets an idea into his head it sticks. This is part of what makes him who he is. How he is.
We live close to the castle. It’s a five minute walk on your own. Ten minutes with a five-year-old and a puppy. I tread carefully on the shit-littered lane and I watch Jack’s step. He’s a little clumsy and his eyesight is poor. I’m wearing old shoes and Jack has his Spider-Man wellies on. It wouldn’t be the end of the world to get them dirty but I’d prefer to avoid it. I’m so busy watching Jack’s step, and my own, that I don’t notice right away that Lola has found a dead mouse. It’s not that I’m squeamish, but the state this poor wee rodent is in sends ripples of gooseflesh across my skin. We move on.
Halfway along the lane we meet a neighbour walking her dog. I’m not sure of her name. I don’t pay much attention to the people on our street. It’s not out of aloofness or social anxiety. I just don’t have time to go out of my way to meet them or learn their names. Jack recognises the dog she has with her. It’s a greying Cairn Terrier. A decent wee doggie that mopes about on her front garden most days. My wife told me once that the neighbour rescued the terrier. I’m predisposed to liking her.
The neighbour is friendly and asks a couple of polite questions, makes a fuss about Lola and my son’s curls. She’s nice. After Jack is finished petting her dog he’s done with the encounter and wants to move along. With a parting comment about the unexpected sunshine I follow my wee curly bap along the lane.
Jack finds a puddle and asks my permission to jump in. I give it to him with a nod. He rewards me with a magnificent smile.
Soon we’re on the hill leading up to the castle. Jack’s progress slows. This is the point where I need to encourage him to keep up with Lola who is straining on her lead. She’d be half choked if my wife hadn’t bought that harness. After a few rounds of ‘ready, steady, go!’ we’re at the castle’s car park. We don’t go straight to the keep. In Jack’s mind we have to go by the hiking trail at the far end of the car park that circles the castle grounds. It’s pointless to suggest we go straight to the keep. That would be the wrong way to do it.
We meet another dog owner in the car park. She’s an older lady with dyed blonde hair and the look of money about her. Her dog is an overweight King Charles Cavalier. Its fur is red like the long wavy hair of a traditional Irish cailín. My dog and hers sniff each other and the lady tells me she’s come here from Hillsborough. While we’re talking, another woman shouts something at me. I don’t catch what she’s saying so I tilt my head politely; wait for her to repeat herself. She doesn’t. This woman stares at me for longer than I’m comfortable with. Her hair is cut into a perfect bob. It’s thick and black and reminds me of the helmets worn by the Normans who built Dundrum Castle.
Eventually she says, “You look like that fellah that works at our place. Gary Charles.”
I don’t know what to say to this.
“Gary Charles.”
Should I tell her I don’t know who Gary Charles is? She seems to want me to react in some way. I glance down at Jack to make sure he’s okay. He’s examining this new dog so he’ll be fine for a few more minutes. I look back up and the woman with the black hair is closer, giving me a good up and down investigation.
“He looks like Gary Charles, doesn’t he?” She directs this at the blonde woman from Hillsborough.
“This is Margaret,” she says. “We have her home for the weekend.”
Oh. Margaret is a little bit different, then. Maybe a little bit the same as Jack.
“Even your jeans are like his,” Margaret says. “And the way you walk.”
Margaret bends her knees slightly and does a bit of a bounce. Is that how I walk?
I think of something to say. “Well, I hope Gary Charles is a good-looking man.”
She doesn’t laugh. Maybe she doesn’t really care for Gary Charles’s appearance.
The blonde lady says, “She usually tells people that they look like Christopher Lee.”
“I’m not tall enough, I suppose.”
I get a laugh from the blonde lady. Margaret has moved off. She’s gone to stand by a little black Renault Clio that I assume they arrived in. There’s a white-haired lady and a toddler in there. Jack notices them for the first time and skips over to say hello. The white-haired lady asks him for one of his curls. Jack loses interest in her. All he wants to do is close the car door. Open doors bug him. Nobody objects when he slams it shut. I wish he wouldn’t do that, though. I worry about him catching his fingers. He’s been to the hospital too many times already; broken leg, numerous cuts on his head, planned operations on his eyelids… It’s not fair and I don’t want to add to the list. People think I’m over-protective of him, I know they do, even though they don’t tell me to my face. Well, I can’t help it.
We leave Margaret and the blonde lady and Ruby, the red-haired King Charles, and make it to the hiking trail. Jack wants to run down the makeshift steps. I’d like to put a harness and lead on him. It’s easy to control Lola. With Jack I have to use calm and clear instruction to keep Jack at a sensible pace. I’m not always calm and clear. Jack’s not always sensible.
We get down the steps without any slips or trips. But I can’t relax. Not yet. Jack still needs to navigate a tricky slope in the path. Thick tree roots have broken through the earth in places and there are muddy patches that haven’t been dried out by the sun. And Lola zigzags in front of us so that I have to constantly monitor the position of her lead in relation to Jack’s legs. There is the occasional stretch of smoother ground along the trail and I take those moments to admire the beauty of this spot. Little birds flit by the wild grass, bluebells and nettles. The sun filters through the branches overhead in ghostly strands. I don’t know what kind of trees line the trail. It seems like the sort of thing a man should know about a neighbouring wood. Later on that night I will consult Google and learn that ‘the canopy comprises mature beech with some sycamore and ash, scattered oak and wych elm along the lower edge and a few larch and Scot's pine’.
The trail slopes upwards; I swear it’s a gradient close to sixty degrees. Jack and I need to dig deep to keep pace with Lola. We’re granted a short break when the beagle pup notices a flock of sheep in a field to our right. Jack points at one of the lambs and tells me it’s a baby. I point at another one and tell him it’s the daddy. We bleat at each other and giggle. Lola lifts her front-right leg and her tail straightens out, her hunter instincts manifesting physically. I tug on her lead and she snaps out of it. We continue up the slope, giddy with exertion.
At the top of the climb there is a fence with a two-step stile for trekkers. Jack wants to climb it by himself. I agree to this for the first time but stand with my free hand outstretched, prepared to steady him if he wobbles. His balance is better than I realise. My wee curly bap gets up and over with confidence. I scoop Lola up and scramble over the stile with her under my arm. We turn left and continue towards the castle.
Young voices carry from the castle grounds. A gang of kids are playing on the grass. They have a Frisbee and a football. The man who works as the castle’s caretaker is off to one side of them. He’s brought his son to work judging by the similarity of their features. They’re honing their cricket skills, the son throwing and catching the gentle returns from his father’s cricket bat. A content golden Labrador looks on, his long tongue hanging.
One of the kids recognises us. A boy that lives next door to Jack’s granny. He’s twelve but is big enough to pass for fifteen. I search my memory banks for his name. Ryan. He has blond hair, a friendly face and a country build. Ryan has no trouble remembering my son’s name, nor my dog’s. He may not know mine.
“Hi, Jack,” Ryan says. “How’s Lola?”
Jack smiles at him.
Some of the other kids break off from the pack and approach us. They’re mostly interested in Lola. That’s fine by me, so long as they don’t hold us back too long.
One boy, the same size and shape as Ryan but with brown curls similar to Jack’s, lies down on the grass in front of Lola. He lets her lick his face.
“I love this dog,” Ryan’s friend says.
“Do you have one?” I ask.
“A wee Shih Tzu.”
“They’re nice dogs.”
“This one’s nicer.”
A tall skinny girl with red hair snickers. “You ever see a Shih Tzu crossed with a bulldog? They call it bullshit!”
I’ve heard that one a few times but the kids within earshot laugh like drunken demons. The little rips. I look to the caretaker to share a glance of disapproval that I don’t really feel, but he’s busy with his son, the cricket protégé. Jack points at the castle’s keep and I have to pry Lola away from the gang of rascals.
The kid with the brown curls skips in front of Jack and asks him his name. Jack answers as best he can but I can see the kid can’t decipher my wee curly bap’s underdeveloped speech. I’m about to translate but the older boy shares a smile with Jack and pretends he’s understood him. He holds out his hand.
“Give me five.”
Jack slaps the kid’s palm. My son looks delirious with joy. I clear my throat and usher him towards the keep. He’s reluctant now that he’s connected with the gang in a small way but I’m conscious of the time. We need to get moving. I tell him he’ll be able to come and play with these kids when he’s bigger. The look of hope on his face breaks my heart a little. I pray to God that I’m not lying to my son about this; that he’ll be fit to go and play unsupervised when he’s older.
At the keep Jack understands that we can’t go inside and climb the narrow steps to the top. Not with Lola. Instead, we circle the outside a few times. Jack runs his hand along the stonework and I ask him to stop when I notice the sleeve of his hoodie is getting dirty. I challenge him to a race down the slope of the castle grounds. He tears off before I can say, ‘Ready, steady, go!’

Lola strains on her lead to chase Jack but I pull back and let my wee curly bap win. At the bottom of the grassy bank he has just enough breath left to giggle. We sit on a low stone wall for a minute. Then I get up and put Jack on my shoulders. Even with Lola on her lead, this is the easiest way to go. He’ll drag his heels if I let him walk. Besides, I’m sure it won’t be long until my son won’t let me carry him at all. Until then, I’ll enjoy the feel of his hands on top of my head and the sound of his laughter when I walk in exaggerated bounds. He’s not heavy, but carrying him like this makes me feel so strong.

Thursday, 23 April 2015

HASTAC

Pronounced as haystack...


I've rattled out a few blog posts over at a collaborative scholarly-type site by the name of HASTAC. It's basically a social network to explore the digital world and attempt to harness it for the good of humanities. Synergy, baby.

Anyway, my blog posts might be interest to some of you. It might not. Here's the opening paragraph to the latest blog post. If you want to learn more then click on through to the HASTAC site.

Cheers!

"In my previous post I relayed some information on digital publishing, the emphasis being on the effects that a BookBub ad had on one of my novels. The ad was designed to inform BookBub subscribers that my ebook, FIREPROOF, would be available to download for free direct from Amazon's Kindle site (UK only -- I'll get back to that later). That meant that if you had a Kindle reader of any generation -- or indeed the Kindle app on your phone, tablet or computer -- you could read one of my novels for free. I held off on a follow-up post as I was aware that my publisher, Blasted Heath*, was pursuing a second ad for a second title..."

Click here for the rest.

Wednesday, 22 April 2015

Reading Holiday and a Call for Content

Image nicked from The Guardian

S'up?

Always feels like shouting hello in an empty room when I blog these days. Well not entirely empty. Seana Graham could well be the last remaining reader of this blog. For that, I'm grateful, Seana. However, I'd like to pump some life into this damn thing now. That means new content. I have a few plans, but most of them fall into the self-promotional category. While that's always been an element of CSNI, it's never been the entire point of the blog. I wanted to promote Northern Irish crime fiction. To me, that's crime fiction that has been penned by a Northern Irish native or crime fiction that has been set in Northern Ireland.

Yup, this blog's niche is pretty tiny. It's all I can commit to for now.

Unfortunately, I can't do many more reviews right at this moment. This is mostly down to reading burnout. I have to read for my PhD and I like to keep up with my favourite NI authors. Since the PhD is crime fiction-focussed and most of my favourite NI authors write crime fiction I've carved a small reading niche as well. That's not good for a writer. So I've taken a short reading holiday to allow a little exploration outside the specific subgenres I've spent too much time with.

In no particular order, stand-outs include John Rector's ALREADY GONE and Adam Nevill's THE RITUAL. I'm also quite captivated with the Hugh Howey paperback edition of WOOL (500 pages of which I'm only about a quarter of the way through).

Anyway, until I get over this reading slump, I'd like to extend an invitation to all Northern Irish crime fiction writers (yes, even those previously interviewed) to participate in an interview season of sorts. Five questions that will be written with my knowledge of your work in mind. You can use this to promote a recent book or an upcoming release in any territory. The only rule is that you are easily classified as a Northern Irish crime fiction writer. If you want to slip in under a grandfather rule, chance your arm, but the general guideline is that the writer resides in, hails from or has written (substantially) about Northern Ireland.

Clear enough?

Good. I miss the good ol' days of this blog. Let's see if we can recreate them for a month or two, eh?

Keep 'er lit, folks.

Saturday, 18 April 2015

UNDERCOVER Freebie



Delighted to learn that the good people at Blasted Heath have secured a BookBub ad for UNDERCOVER this coming Monday to promote the Amazon UK giveaway. When they did this for FIREPROOF the results were pretty pleasing. Thousands of people took advantage of the freebie and sixteen of those readers took the time to review it. To put that in perspective, the most recent review before the ad was sixteen months old. Post-giveaway sales increased too (which wouldn't be hard since it was my worst-selling title). All good.

And now, the novel that I think of as my most commercial to date is going to get the same opportunity. This, right now, is the magic moment where I can let my imagination run wild and believe that Monday will be the key moment in my writing career.

It won't be, but it does no harm to dream, does it?

Get your copy of UNDERCOVER here, UK Kindle readers.

Friday, 20 March 2015

Death in Devon - No Alibis

We at No Alibis Bookstore are very pleased to invite you to celebrate the launch of Ian Sansom's latest novel 'Death in Devon', on Thursday 26th March, 7pm, at Established Coffee, Belfast.



Join Ian for the second instalment of his County Guide series, this time taking readers to County Devon.

Swanton Morley, the People’s Professor, sets off for Devon to continue his history of England, The County Guides. Morley’s daughter Miriam and his assistant Stephen Sefton pack up the Lagonda for a trip to the English Riviera.

Morley has been invited to give the Founder’s Day speech at All Souls School in Rousdon. But when the trio arrive they discover that a boy has died in mysterious circumstances. Was it an accident or was it – murder?

We cannot wait to celebrate this event, hope to see you all there!

If you're a Facebooker, stop by the dedicated events page and let the event organisers know that you'll definitely be there. Because you will, right?

Tuesday, 17 March 2015

Fireproof Freebie



So, Blasted Heath have secured a BookBub ad for my novel, FIREPROOF. The ad went out today as part of this week's BookBub newsletter. Interesting timing, this being St Patrick's Day. St Patrick was tasked with spreading Christianity to Ireland's heathen shores. And the rest of the island, like. The protagonist of my book is on a mission for the other guy. It's up to Mike Rocks to spread Satanism 'round these parts.

So, today I'm celebrating Anti-Saint Mike's Day. And the novel in question is free. If you haven't gone out and got yourself so drunk that your own ma' would be ashamed of you, then maybe take a minute to check it out. Probably not for the religiously sensitive, but then, I'm not seeing a whole lot of Christian behaviour going on today, either. Seems more like heathen mischief to me. More power to the revellers.

Contrary wee bastard that I am, if I do have a drink tonight, it'll be a dram of Scotch (though to be totally honest, I've a wild hankering for an Irish coffee).

Happy Booze Day, people.

If you're not signed up to BookBub, you can get Fireproof for free directly from the Kindle store.

Some Amazon links:

UKUS and CA

Unconvinced about the premise? Check out what the master wordsmith, Ken Bruen had to say about it below. If that guy can't convince you, I may as well burn the damn thing. Except it's Fireproof. Tee-hee.

“…Also, I'm in a monogamous relationship, so I don't really agree with orgies."
"Sacrifices and orgies have nothing to do with the religion. All that shit was developed by people who wanted to kill things and shag a lot. That's not what it's all about."
"That right?"
"Yeah. I've been working hard to try and shake that kind of misconception."
"Working as what?"
"A representative of Lucifer. I was s
ent here to build a Satanic Religion."
"Okay. Why did Lucifer think a tattoo parlour was the best place to start?"

“This is just one of the various scintillating hilarious surreal chats in Fireproof, the new novel from the excellent Gerard Brennan.
Phew-oh, GB's début was terrific but this is a huge leap forward, an assured fully-formed artist in total control of his art.
Equally hilarious and jaw-droppingly violent at once.
Reading this novel was a total blast.
Catapults GB to the very first league.
And… you'll never… ever see Cadbury's n' Nestle in quite the same or indeed sane fashion again.
Superb.
Thanks, Gerard, for a wondrous read.”

From Ken Bruen, Shamus award winning author of much genius.

Thursday, 26 February 2015

The BelTel Backs The Defence

Image taken from Belfast Telegraph website.


Janey Mac, sure it's nearly March.

What does that mean?

An end to the shite weather?

Probably not. It's Northern Ireland.

A mega session on St Paddy's Day?

Unlikely. I usually spend the day with the kids, and will do until they don't want me to.

A new book from the Northern Irish crime fiction set?

Actually, yeah. A debut. And there's plenty of buzz surrounding The Defence. For instance, check out this mega feature in that there Belfast Telegraph (first printed in yesterday's edition).

There's also plenty of good word coming from early readers (of which I am one). Two opinions in particular stick out. Both Brian McGilloway and Stuart Neville, CSNI favourites, have this to say:

A full-on thrill-ride that hits the gas on page one and doesn't let up until the end. Steve blends a taut legal thriller with a ticking-clock suspense plot and throws in a great protagonist in the form of Eddie Flynn that readers will want to see again and again. A terrific debut (Stuart Neville)

Like Mickey Haller and Mitch McDeere before him, readers will love lawyer Eddie Flynn, the star of this high-octane, hugely entertaining legal thriller. On the evidence of this blistering debut, we'll be hearing much more of Steve Cavanagh (Brian McGilloway)

I had a little something to say about it too.

So, you interested? If you're geographically able, I highly recommend you get in touch with Dave at No Alibis and book your seat at the launch. It's on the 12th March at 6.30pm.

You'll kick yourself if you miss it.