If you haven't read Frank McCourt's 'Angela's Ashes' then you are missing out on a literary tour-de-force.

It conjures up a time in Limerick, Ireland, when poverty was rife and the workhouse was full. It was a time my parents knew well. It was a time of 'No Irish need apply' in the UK for jobs of any kind and a time in Limerick of violence, religion and wild passion.

Frank McCourt caught the atmosphere perfectly, evoking the clamour, bustle, energy and despair of a city typical in Ireland at that time.

It is the city where I was first given life by parents who could barely read and write. But I was soon swept over the Irish Sea in my mother's arms to a new life in England where conditions were just as bad for the poor but which was a country of great wealth and prestige and opportunity if you prepared to stick the prejudice and ridicule.

So it was a strange experience to return to Limerick albeit courtesy of Google maps. I haven't been back there in person for many years.

But I've been doing some basic plotting for a new Mike Delaney thriller as a follow up to 'The Immortality Plot' and for some reason set the story in the US and then over to Ireland. It must have been a subconscious decision to set the climax of the action in Limerick. It could have been Dublin, Waterford, Galway or anywhere. So I needed to remember the geography, the distances, the street layout and in so doing saw the street where my mother grew up and where I spent some formative years when I returned there as a child.

The old 'corporation' type houses are now painted like new pins and the city itself has grown and expanded.

Google maps is an invaluable tool, I discovered, for a writer to get close to a location. I needed to check out the positioning of King John's Castle and track back to a point where a sniper would be in sight of a target.

In the end it was a good choice of location because it is a city fixed in my memory and in a mental time zone; a compartment of my psyche that still evokes an inexpressible emotion that is hard to define but which will never leave me.

So Mike Delaney will tangle with a truly terrifying adversary who follows him from the US to Ireland. I will say no more except that the provisional title is 'Good Girl Bad Girl'.

When I sat down to write 'The Immortality Plot' I was determined to create a thriller hero wth a difference. The original title of the book was 'Old Habits Die Hard' and I am still attached to that title. I think I'll use it for a follow up thriller.

I had a pretty impressive roster of heroes to inspire me: Jack Reacher, Jason Bourne, Jack Keller, Father Brown (who, you may ask? Do some research).

I suppose I modelled a part of his personality and background on my own and then went into overdrive with the rest. He is Irish-American, I am Anglo-Irish. We are both six feet five inches but he is a lot younger and fitter than me. He has a hankering after spiritual truths, metaphysical experiences and he is a consummate killer. I conform to the first part of the description. But Mike Delaney is now a reluctant killer. He was trained in the US army, then went undercover for the Hong Kong Police. Later,  his HKP buddy Bob Messenger started a website called confess-confess to give ordinary people a voice and a chance to redress the imbalances of their lives when faced with faceless criminals.

One aspect I overlooked or just wasn't aware of came up in one of the Amazon reviews. It said that Mike Delaney stood out because he wasn't frightened to embrace the feminine side of his nature.

That threw me a little until I thought about it. I discovered that this too was an aspect of my own nature transposed to my alter ego.

And I realise as I embark on a new Mike Delaney thriller tentatively titled 'Good Girl Bad Girl' that it is a vitally important element to retain in order to build the Mike Delaney character and world view into mainstream and hopefully successful book series.

Below I am pasting the latest Amazon review, not the one with the feminine point but still extremely gratifying.

Mike Delaney was a hard, take no prisoners type of guy - until his wife was murdered and their baby died with her. He had been nearly murdered in China while working as a cop; worked before that for a group that didn't have a name and survived but Maria's murder? That did him in. He left their house for a monastery high in the California hills, where he meditated, practiced Tai Chi and other arts until time came he had to do something else. Find the murderer of his wife.

She had been a journalist with a home office he didn't intrude on but, after the fire he had sense enough to move what was left of her computer and files somewhere else until the investigation was done. Until the public's mind was distracted by the next big thing - The Priest. He took lovely young women, made them confess on tape to a myriad of sins and then put the tape in their mouths and killed them. His newest offerings had a cross cut into their backs.

All clues and other disappearances somehow lead to a charity funder called LifeForce International but how? Mike risks everything to find out and, at the end, the surprise is his. You have to read this thriller! It never stops surprising and making you think you've got the answer when, in fact, you've got no clue at all!

 I owe everyone who hits on this site a debt of gratitude. 

As an indie author I need you more than you need me. That's not a squirmy attempt at being humble, it's a genuine respect and immense liking for everyone who has ever read a word that I have written - and that includes blogs and books and (for some of you who are brave enough) listened to my music.

When I say I need you, I don't just mean please go out and buy my books even though I would love you to do so, of course. I know you'll enjoy my work whether you like hard hitting thrillers in the vein of Lee Child or Harlan Coben or you are into YA fantasy in the style of Philip Pullman or Philip Reeve.

No, I mean I would like to gather a few good a trustworthy readers who have a genuine interest in the kind of books I write whether they have read any or just stumbled across this site in error or by some arcane good fortune.

I would like people to give me their critical opinion on my books especially when I have finished a new one or have revised another. I just want to make contact on a semi-regular basis. Your opportunity to do so lies at the end of this post in the 'Contact' section.

For example, a major publisher has shown interest in my YA fantasy 'The Kingdoms Of TIme And Space'. Some others as well as some agents have turned it down based on the usual pitch and three chapters some just dissing it without a second glance while others felt 'it wasn't right for them'.

But this publisher has me in a tizzy. Simplify the proposition was her advice. She said: there are some fantastically imaginative and wonderful elements in this book and a terrific protagonist but you need to simplify it.

The book is simple in the same way as 'Lord Of The Rings' is simple. But yet there are complex sub-texts and ideas and concepts that are mind blowing (just like LOTR). A book like this can have a straightforward narrative while challenging readers with some really heavy-duty scientific and magical and mystical overtones.

This publisher's simple request URGING me to to produce (I assume) a simpler pitch that she can show to marketing people I take to be, if not a green light, then perhaps and amber one.

So, I have revised the entire book and revised the short pitch and the long pitch.

I would LOVE you to comment if you are interested. It really does help. Every writer needs a sounding board or two. Unfortunately, I have no one to bounce books or drafts against to get some feedback. I have a wonderful family but they don't read the kind of books I write.

So, if you would like to become a chosen reader let me know and let's have some contact. I will certainly send you books and drafts free-of-charge in return for your feedback.

Meanwhile, let's stand up for the indie writer and the indie reader. It's us against the establishment. Please tweet and Facebook this post to your own contacts.

I'd LOVE to hear from you.

Her untimely death (cause not known at time of writing) managed to make me stop and think. One of those 'what's it all about?' moments.

It's probably exactly the same anytime a well-known figure you admire passes away. I cite James Dean, Freddie Mercury, Amy Winehouse, River Phoenix and Heath Ledger and John F Kennedy as examples. Such is the way icons and legends are created. 

But my writer's curiousity was piqued sufficiently to ask (for me at least) some interesting questions. The reason the good (and the not so good) died young may have been down to their own demons and life karma – or even some celestial roulette wheel that clicked into a blank space directed by some unseen finger of fate.

A thought struck me forcibly. This iconography (in its current and broadest sense of the term) is essentially a Western phenomenon with some notable exceptions. I am sure the same emotional reaction erupted recently for a Bollywood star whose name escapes me. And Benazir Bhutto is another exceptional name that comes to mind.

But, are there equivalent outbusts of collective grief and fan mourning in other, non-Western societies? I ask because I don't know. Please comment if you do.

For instance, are there Mongolian, Iranian, tribal African, Maori, Inuit or Saudi Arabian equivalents. I mention these societies and cultures purely at random. I discount state organised grieving for the likes of North Korea's Kim Jong 11 and also wonder if the early demise of Vladimir Putin would result in icon-making outbursts of genuine emotional grief in modern Russia?

Heroic characters in fiction, the meat and drink of a popular novelist's trade, can also convince readers and fans that these characters are real enough to warrant similar collective mourning. I think of Sherlock Holmes and Moriarty as prime examples.

This is powerful ammunition for a writer. I would love nothing more than for fan status to bless Mike Delaney, my charismatic and unusual Irish American protagonist in 'The Immortality Plot' or the nerdy 15-year old Morgan Lane in 'The Kingdoms Of Time And Space'.

Of course, I am incredibly humbled by the thousands of readers who have developed emotional ties to these characters judging by my email postbag. 

It means I must be doing something right.

I am tempted to say 'I Will Always Love You' but fear it may be misinterpreted. But, the sentiment says it all.

But if you scan through the posts in many reader forums, the bloodsuckers with the looks of an Angelina Jolie or a Johnny Depp are still attracting hosts of readers (mainly female). These paranormal romantic vampires tend to be extensions of Mills & Boon type heroes and heroines – square jawed, sensitive, rakish, seductive and so on. Not like ‘real’ vampires at all.

Some time back I read that true vampires in the mould of Vlad The Impaler and other ‘families’ in certain parts of Eastern Europe where the vampire myths originated were actually suffering from a form of congenital haemophilia – which would explain a lot if true.

Today’s fictional vampire has become an iconic stereotype, albeit a hugely successful one as series such as ‘Twilight’ proves beyond a shadow of a doubt. But, are publishers becoming disenchanted with the fangs and the undead? If not, just what is the attraction? Have there ever been any disgustingly ugly, dissolute, savage and brutal vampire heroes and heroines in popular fiction?

Or are the undead only seductively attractive because they perform an esoteric form of rape – sucking the life blood in an agony of pleasurable excitement.

It was also the early days of the Edinburgh Festival when the pubs closed early and you couldn't get a drink for love nor money after about ten o'clock.

I had co-written an ambitious Celtic rock-opera called 'Pucka-Ri' (English translation: Goat King). I was playing in various bands but had teamed with my old oppo, Mick Flynn, to write the music and the songs and the 'Libretto'.

We found a producer/director, teamed up with a small theatre group, hired a ten-piece rock band, a brilliant jazz singer, Maggie Nichols and assorted acrobats, jugglers, goats, dogs. 

'Pucka-Ri' needed a lead actor to play the part of 'One Man' in this Celtic ring cycle that sees him descend into the Celtic underworld, undergo a form of redemption, copulate with 'Midwinter Child' and be reborn as man and spirit in pure harmony with the world and the Gods.

Enter a young Pierce Brosnan. We rehearsed at the Oval House theatre where he kept his pants on before transferring to Edinburgh where 'Pucka-Ri' became one of the hits of the Fringe. 'One Man' was accompanied by a goat (a real one), but it turned out to be a nanny so Pierce had to milk her every night.

HIs first entrance was stone butt naked leading the goat in through the audience. He spent a long time giving the audience a good eyeful before the script had the good sense to cover up his dangly bits. This was well before 'Hair' or the liberated theatre of nudity that followed and, I can tell you, a naked Pierce Brosnan holding a goat on a leash caused gasps of astonishment and admiration.

And no, I am not going to fall into the trap of blabbing about the size of his organ. That would be a step too far and very uncool.

When the Festival was over I gave Pierce a lift back down to London in my beat up old van. There was little to suggest what he might become. I was certainly a fan of James Bond books but never in a million years could I see him playing that part although he did have genuine charisma and was clearly ambitious.

It would nice to think that I modelled my protagonist in 'The Immortality Plot', Mike Delaney, on the Pierce I knew briefly but I didn't. I can't imagine the former US government assassin, Hong Police enforcer and esoteric monk with blistering martial art skills striding naked through an audience with or without a goat.

It's really funny how some memories, however far distant they may be, have the power to resonate throughout your life.

Maybe not as 'in your face' traumatic recollections that keep you awake at night but in more subtle ways that are hard to define until you really practice some serious self-analysis. That’s when you realize that things that are happening to you today may have in some mystically hidden way been influenced by past events; events that were completely out of your control. I call it The Memory Matrix. 

It’s like there is a personal shadow force stalking all of us lurking in the deep recesses of our minds and souls.

Maybe you feel the same.

When I played in folk-rock bands for a living, long before I wrote thrillers and YA fantasy, I remember messing around with ouija boards and other esoteric or spiritual pursuits. I suppose I was like a lot of people, desperate to discover if there was more to existence than just one lifetime and eventual death. 

This led to a great deal of research into metaphysical matters as well as science – but that is another story.

I recall being in Edinburgh with a girlfriend staying in the apartment of a school friend of hers. The two girls were insistent on having a ouija board session so I was outvoted (although secretly enthusiastic).

Sometime before this I'd come to the conclusion that I could influence the movements of the glass (not by pushing and cheating) but by mentally sending out streams of thought messages. I could even close my eyes and do it.

On this occasion I was wrong.

We attracted a 'presence' that I can only describe as terrifying. She told us her name was Mary Tyler and she claimed to have been a witch who had been murdered near Cardiff in Wales in the seventeenth century. The glass whizzed around the board and the language was mediaeval. I have never heard such foul and vile outbursts and it takes a lot to shock me. She claimed, amongst a litany of other things, she was wedded to the Devil. I will spare you the unprintable dialogue. Even though the glass was ‘spelling’ this diatribe it felt as if we could hear her voice.

I pulled my hand away but the girls continued. Something told me this just wasn’t a good idea but the two girls were utterly transfixed, almost hypnotized.

For reasons I cannot explain I picked up my guitar and began to play an old folk ballad from the seventeenth century called 'High Germany’ (about a girl who dresses a man and follows her lover to war).

This proved to be some sort of catalyst, as if this (presumed) spirit form could actually hear me. There may be some other explanation to do with auditory impulses impacting on some kind of spiritual membrane (I’ve always retained an open mind about the rich tapestry of spiritual beliefs) but when this sort of thing is happening there isn’t much time for logical discussion.

The song seemed to heighten the presence of Mary Tyler who declared that she had possessed the body of the other girl. The effect was shocking and instantaneous. She shook and she wailed and she cried, unable to remove her finger from the glass (which was hurtling around almost to the point of shattering).

I stopped playing and pushed the table, board and glass over. The girl who was ‘possessed’ was having hysterics and it took a long time and a few tranquilisers to calm her down.

‘That was all your fault,” my girlfriend said to me later.

“How come?”

“If you hadn’t sung that weird song none of this would have happened.”

I thought about arguing but then what was the point?

I was never able to understand her strange logic and I thought better of trying at that moment.

I am certain that those type of recollections influenced me years later when writing books such as ‘The Immortality Plot’, ‘Bodyswitch’ or ‘The Kingdoms Of Time And Space’.

And, that was not the last time I was to come into contact with Mary Tyler – but that’s yet another story.

All I say to myself was: ‘Thanks for the memory’.

PS: Diverging: What's the most memorarble  book you have read on Kindle?