WordPress!

Hi Blogger followers!

I've not been idle:

between daily pages, blogger, promotion for The Snow Killer and well, life; I've started a Word Press blog!

http://melissaholden.wordpress.com

Come say hi and give me a follow!

I'm currently doing a series about a Doctor Who-loving duck who think she is married to the Doctor (Yeah, I'm not sure where that's going either), and I'm posting daily about my life and any golden-writing I might come up with. 

Don't worry, I haven't abandoned you Blogger. I'm just, testing the water.

If you are missing me that much, why not follow me on Twitter: @melissaholden94, or Like my Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/MelissaHoldenWriter
Or, for those Tumblr fans, find me at: http://melissaholden94.tumblr.com/

Goodnight,


Always keeping you posted:


 Mel 

It's published!

Here it is my amazing blog followers: "The Snow Killer" on Kindle:

http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00GS7YPNC/ref=cm_sw_r_an_am_ap_am_gb?ie=UTF8


It's £4.11 on amazon.co.uk 

UPDATE: The Snow Killer

Be excited my blogger-lovelies, 

I am currently in the midst of Chapter Nine of "The Snow Killer", the thriller/mystery/murder/romance fictional book I have been writing.

Parts One to Five were published on my blogger page, and are available until New Years, or whenever I decide you've had enough of a sneak peak. 

I will be printing said book at the beginning of November 2013, so please feel free to buy a copy. "The Snow Killer" is on sale for £8.99 in paperback. Please Tweet me @melissaholden94 for a copy, or email me @ melissah183@googlemail.com

- Mel. 

The Snow Killer: Update 25/10/2013

Just to let you know....


Hi Blogger,

It's 4AM in England, and I've just finished Chapter Five of "The Snow Killer". I'm currently on 10, 435 word count, and am aiming for a total of 25,000. 

"The Snow Killer" will be removed at the end of November, to to copyright issues, so if you haven't read Draft One, Parts 1-5, then get moving, because they won't be there for long.

Thank you for all your support, 

Mel. 

The Snow Killer: Part Five

This is Post 50 for my blog, what a mile stone. But it is also Part Five on The Snow Killer! Part Five is from Diane Warner's perspective: 

The Snow Killer: Part Five 

Diane walked out the main door of the pub, and headed east to find a taxi. She walked for a few minutes before she saw any sign of a waiting cabby. They always avoid this part of town; don't want pick up any students. I don't blame them. They make so much noise. She waved him down and climbed in. 

"Where to, love? Time'n half 'cause of the snow."

"Yes, it's fine. Westgate Drive. No rush." 

"Yes, ma'am." The cab driver switched the overhead light off and started the engine. Diane sank into the back seat. She had always hated cabs, but she couldn't drive when she'd been drinking, and it was freezing, so there was no point fussing. 

She thought about the boy, the boy with the blonde hair and the cut-glass cheekbones. She closed her eyes and he was there; kissing her; whispering deep, love-filled words into her ear. Danny looked like the boy a little bit. 

"He's gone, stop thinking about him. He isn't going to come back to you. Jerry made sure of that. So, stop thinking about him." She whispered to herself. 

"You alright, love? Bit of boyfriend trouble?"

"Nah, a bit of husband trouble, mate." Diane scolded herself for speaking like that. She hated pretending she was common, but it stopped her feeling superior most of the time, knowing that everyone around her thought she was a common housewife from the estate, instead a posh housewife with a criminal for a husband.

Westgate Drive was certainly not an estate. 23 Westgate Drive, Canterbury. She had lived in Canterbury nearly all her life, in that exact house, for 35 years. Diane loved that house more than anything. 

23 Westgate Drive was the smallest house amongst the 50 houses that surrounded it, because it was sandwiched between two great manor houses. Number 23 was a faded duck-egg blue, with silver woodwork and a dark-stained oak door. Mrs Tabatha Finn died in 1954 and left it for Diane's great uncle, a Mr Roger Tate. When her uncle died of an unsuspected heart attack, Diane's parents inherited the house, who in turn left it to Diane for when she married and started a family. 

Diane met her husband six months before they got married. She had fallen in love with him, with his beautiful violet eyes and the shiny auburn hair. But, like the flame of his mane; Jerry had a temper. 

"I said I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry. Please don't leave me, Bunny." Jerry kissed his young wife, stopping tears in their tracks and tasting the salt of the pain he had caused. He brushed his thumb across the cut on her forehead and whispered at her. "I'm so sorry, Diane. I don't know why I did it. I just felt so angry. I just wanted to hold you."

"All I said was that I was tired. Why did you throw a book at me?" Diane's voice was cold, like Jerry's touch. 

"To teach you a lesson, baby." Jerry's violet eyes darkened as they bore into Diane's white face. He grabbed her hair and jolted her head backwards, so he towered above her. "You never say no to me. Got it? I own you: you are my wife. I know you've been messing around, Di. I won't stand for any wife of mine messing around with some marine on the side. You got it, sweet cheeks?"

The anger filled Diane as she sat in the back of the taxi. Part of her just wanted to scream at the cabby to stop and take her back to the pub; to drown in a pool of tequila and her own tears. But, she couldn't. She never would. 

That boy poor. Poor Jamie. He didn't have to hurt you. I know he says he didn't but I know him. I know what he did you and your pretty face. Carved it off is what he did, I know it. He's such a brute. But I can't go. I can't leave my beautiful house and all of Mamma's things. I need her things to feel safe. 

"I don't know why you're with him, Anne. I see the way he looks at you. It's like you're a dog that he can just kick when it misbehaves. Leave him, Anne. Please, leave him." Sophie begged her eldest daughter, but she knew any promise of Diane's was empty. She had been empty for a long time.

"I will Mamma, I promise. But not yet, we have the Robinsons' twins boys christening on Saturday, and then the social on Tuesday, and-"

"Your social calendar isn't an excuse for what he does to you, Anne. You know that right?" Sophie watched Diane look at her perfectly manicured hands, and simply say: 

"But, Mamma, he can't cope without me. He's not even sure how to put on a cravat. He needs me, Mamma."

"You don't need him. By lord, if your father was still here..."

"Well, he isn't. So, I'm going home to my husband, to cook his dinner and feed the dog."

"Does he kick the dog as much as he kicks you?" 

Diane slammed the taxi door and walked up the drive. She stopped, as always at the post box. A sign of a happier time in their marriage: two blue hand prints on a black box attached to the porch's brick wall. The painted flecked off onto her fingertips. She brushed away the layer of snow covered the top of the post-box, and wiped her hands across the cheap coat. 

Diane took the coat off, and folded it gently into her handbag. She stood at her front door in full business attire, and unlocked the oak door. "Jerry? Are you home? Sorry, I missed dinner..." Diane laughed at her own sarcasm as she shut the heavy door behind her and waved the snow off of her suit jacket. She removed her shoes and placed them in the shoe rack to the left of the door. Walking upstairs, she unfolded the coat and approached a locked cupboard opposite the top of the stairs. She pulled out a set of keys, opened the cupboard and put the coat neatly on a hanger. As she walked towards her bedroom, she heard a woman's voice.  

"Jerry, I hear someone. I think it's your wife. You said she was out of town?" Diane paused outside Jerry's bedroom door, and grinning, knocked on, and then opened the door. 

"Jerry dear, is this one staying for tea, or should I fetch her coat?" 

"Fuck off, Di." Diane exited the room to avoid the pillow Jerry had just flung at the door and headed for her own bedroom. Using the set of keys once more, she unlocked the white panelled door and went inside. 

The room was a pale yellow, decorated with delicate floral ornaments. A beech laminate floor lay beneath a fluffy chocolate-coloured rug, and to the right of the rug sat a small round table, covered with lace, and on top: a canary yellow circular vase donning twelve red roses. Diane looked at the roses and sighed. 

"I suppose I should throw them now he's gone, but they are quite beautiful." As she placed her keys back in her bag, Jerry entered the room. 

"Are you talking to yourself again? Crazy old-"

"And why exactly are you in my doorway, Jerald?"

"To accept your apology for storming in on me and Janine." He shrugged at her.

"I haven't apologised, Jerry."

"Yeah, but ya gonna." Jerry winked and strode across the small room; pushing her against the tall white wardrobe. "You interrupted my big finish, Di. I think you owe me at least that much?"

"Is she still in your bed, Jerry? Did you leave her there to come beat your wife up and then go fuck her?" Diane spat at the gorilla in front of her. 

"You think you're so high and mighty don't ya, Di? I'm gonna bring you down a peg or two." Jerry grasped her neck with his right hand and pushed her back harder. The glass of the wardrobe's mirrored door smashed, and Diane felt the glass bury itself into her shoulder. 

"Get out of here, Jerry, before I get angry." She smirked at him, and looked into the violet eyes that haunted her dreams. "Do you think I care who you sleep with? I don't give a shit. Just make sure they're gone by the time I get home."

"Well, I would, but you're never here. Always out drinking your weight in vodka. Where do you go, eh Di? Kicking it out in the slums with the poor boys? Eh? Got a little bit of a Mrs. Robinson thing going on? Promise them the world? Yeah, I think you do."

"Stop it, Jer." 

"Ouch, did I touch a nerve?" Jerry looked down Diane's body as the blood soaked her crisp white blouse. "Or was it an artery? What was his name, do you remember? James Maccersfield, 26. God, Di. They're getting young, aren't they?"

"Wasn't that Janine from down the market? You know she's 17, right? Cradle robbing was always your style. At least you're consistent, I'll give you that much." Jerry shoved her on to the bed, still holding her neck. 

"Don't you ever shut up, Di? You always make me hurt you. Every time: it's your fault, Diane. You're just as weak as your mother: You're pathetic, the pair of ya." Jerry picked up a photo frame from the bedside cabinet. "I'll tell you one thing though: she was a piece, your dear old Mum. I wouldn't say no to that face." He smashed the frame on the corner of the cabinet, and dragged the picture out of the broken glass. "Not looking so good now is she? Blood on her face and glass through her tits. Looks a lot like you last month, doesn't she, Di?" He bit her cheek and she screamed. The blood ran hot down her face.

You can do this. You know you can do this. It's your home. It's your bedroom. Kick him out. 

Diane kicked her husband in the shins, hard enough for him to recoil in pain. She stood smartly from the bed and straightened her pencil skirt. She picked up Jerry's shirt collar, and pulled him to the bedroom door. "Goodnight, Jerry. That's enough blood for one day". 

And that's Part Five!

Current word count: 5507

The Snow Killer: Part Three

1260 words, so much is said between the lines. Let's see what Danny does next:

The Snow Killer: Part Three

Danny took a swig of his drink and rushed out to follow her, to find she was already gone. He swore under his breath at the snowflakes that landed on his iced skin, and pulled his hood up over his short dirt-blonde hair.

Rush. Rush. Rush.

It’s only snow. It’s not the same snow. Every snowflake is different. They aren’t the same ones.

Danny searched for a lighter in his jacket, before remembering he’d given in to Diane.

Rush. Rush. Rush.

But they could be. They could have seen it all. They know it was my fault.

He turned the corner, bumping into a man in a leather jacket.

“Sorry, you alright, mate?” The man had a strange look on his face.

He knows.

Pump. Pump. Pump.

They know I killed Emily and Mum. They were there.

Rush. Pump.

It was the snows fault. I couldn’t stop the car.

Rush. Pump. Rush. Pump.

I shouldn’t have been driving.

Rush. Rush. Rush. Rush. Rush. Rush. Rush. Rush. Rush.

I couldn’t drive, Mum knew that.

“You need to practise, Danny, otherwise you’ll never pass, and then I’ll have to keep driving you everywhere.”

“Emily will pass before you do.”

“You should have learned when you were seventeen like all the other kids.”

“No, Mum, don’t let me drive.” Danny stopped abruptly and slammed his back against the outer-wall of the block of flats on Spring Lane. “You shouldn’t have let me drive.” Danny began to sob, but stopped when he heard a voice.

“Oh my god, Jen, there’s some beggar crying. Yeah. It’s a guy. I know right. I feel so bad for him, like, ‘cause it’s snowing and everything. I better go, Joe’s picking me up. Piss off, he’s my brother!”

Danny moved to see where the estranged voice was coming from, and realized it was the girl from the pub on the phone. He watched as she put her phone away and moved towards a lamppost. As she leaned against it, she pulled her thin jacket around her, and looked around.

They were at the edge of a council estate, in the middle of the night, and it was snowing.

Hardly a safe place to wait, stupid cow – doesn’t she know anything about Stranger Danger?

Pump. Pump. Pump.

The girl fidgeted in the cold but kept looking up at the sky, as if wondering where the snow comes from.

If she realises I’m here, she’s gonna go nuts.

Danny tried to stand up, but slipped down the wall and crashed into a bin.

“What the fuck was that?” The girl moved in to the light more, and Danny saw just how young she really was. She couldn’t have been more than nineteen.

Emily is nineteen in March.

Danny caught himself before he could think about her again, but his grip on his own mind was weak.

She was so young. So pretty. Everyone loved her.

He looked at the ditzy girl in front of him, and noticed her hair: it shone in the light of the flickering street lamp. She was fair, but not sickly pale, like Danny. When he was younger, his mother was always telling him to go out in the sun and play with the other kids.

“Who’s there? I’m calling the cops if you don’t come out right now!”  Her voice trembled like a crying child. “Now, dammit!” She screeched.

Rush. Rush. Rush.

Danny walked towards her, holding up his hands in surrender.

 “Whoa, OK, I’m coming out. I wasn’t watching you I swear, I just-“

Rush. Rush. Rush.

“Oh my days, it’s you: you’re the creepy bloke from the pub. You’re stalking me!” The girl stepped back.

Rush. Rush. Rush.

“No, No, seriously I’m not. I was just walking home, I swear.” He lowered his arms, and stepped towards her again.

This is beginning to look like a tango. Backwards, forwards. Backwards, forwards.

Rush. Rush. Rush.

Shut the fuck up, will you, so I can go home?

“Well then why were you hiding behind a bin? No sane person stalks anyone. You must be some psycho freak. Stalking girls in the snow.” She tried to stand firm, but her legs buckled beneath her and she fell into the quickly forming bed of snow behind her.

Rush. Rush. Rush.

Not the snow. It’s always the snow.

“Will you shut up about the weather? I’m not fucking stalking you.”

Rush. Rush. Rush.

“Yes you are: an attractive woman out on her own. I rejected you. You thought it would be funny to come and scare me. Well I’m not scared, Freak.” She spat the last word at him.

“Shut up” The words of a petulant child with no anger but his own.

Rush. Rush. Rush.

“Freak. Leave me alone.”  She scrambled back against a wall, and tried to stand up. Danny got closer and closer.

Stop talking.

“HELP! HELP ME HEL-“Danny covered her mouth with his hand.

RUSH. Da. Dum. RUSH. Da. Dum. RUSH. Da. Dum.

“Shut the fuck up. What are you trying to pull? Flirting with men and then accusing them of stalking you. I bet you’re not even old enough to be in a fucking pub.” He gripped her mouth with his palm; his nails digging in to her milk skin.

She’s so beautiful.

RUSH. Da. Dum. RUSH. Da. Dum. RUSH. Da. Dum.

The girl mumbled beneath his hand, and a warm expulsion of breath tickled his skin.

“Stop talking. Do you ever stop talking?”

RUSH. Da. Dum. RUSH. Da. Dum. RUSH. Da. Dum.

The girl tried to scream, which panicked Danny.

“Please stop talking. You talked about the snow. The snow hates me. Please, make it stop, please.” Danny sobbed hysterically. The girl’s eyes widened, and she tried to scream once more.

RUSH. Da. Dum. RUSH. Da. Dum. RUSH. Da. Dum.

Danny jolted his hand in panic, smashing her head against the bricks behind her head.

RUSH. Da. Dum. RUSH. Da. Dum. RUSH. Da. Dum.

She cried out in pain. Every noise she made was mumbled. She couldn’t breathe. There was blood everywhere.

RUSH. Da. Dum. RUSH. Da. Dum. RUSH. Da. Dum.

Danny pulled his hand away from her mouth and frantically tried to bring her back. He pounded his clenched hands against her silvery top.

“Breathe you bitch, fucking breathe.”

RUSH. Da. Dum. RUSH. Da. Dum. RUSH. Da. Dum. RUSH. Da. Dum. RUSH. Da. Dum. RUSH. Da. Dum. RUSH. Da. Dum. RUSH. Da. Dum. RUSH. Da. Dum.

“BREATHE” He grabbed her shoulders and shook her furiously; her head hitting the wall. Slam. Slam. Slam. More blood.

So much blood from such a tiny person.

“Please stop.”

RUSH. Da. Dum. RUSH. Da. Dum. RUSH. Da. Dum.

Danny dropped the girl’s body, and looked around for her bag. He pulled out a pink purse and a silver flip-phone. He fished out her I.D, looking for a name. He found a provisional driver’s licence.

Fuck. She’s sixteen. Oh my god, she’s fucking sixteen.

Tears escaped his eyes, burning as the cold and the wet hit his cheeks.

RUSH. Da. Dum. RUSH. Da. Dum. RUSH. Da. Dum.

“Lily Addams.” He looked from the I.D to the girl. I.D to the girl. I.D to the girl. I.D to the girl.

RUSH. Da. Dum. RUSH. Da. Dum. RUSH. Da. Dum.

Danny dropped the I.D card in the snow.

She looks just like Emily.

Rush. Rush. Rush.

Danny put everything back in the purse, and lay it next to the girl. He placed her blue hands on top of her stomach, and left her to sleep in the snow. 

"Snow Killer" current word count: 2,355 / 40,000 (est finished count)