Mark Edwards's Blog, page 13

Want to win a Kindle Fire? Of course you do. Here’s what you need to do: over the coming weeks we will be posting articles on ten websites.

Each of them contains a simple question, the answer to which can be found in the article.

Collect all ten answers and send them to [email protected] - and you’ll stand a pretty good chance of winning!

To make things a bit easier, here are the links to all the articles so far:

1. A Typical Writing Day for Voss and Edwards

2. How to Plot a Thriller

3. Could a Pandemic Really Happen?

4. Our 5 Favourite Killer Virus Books and Films

Like our Facebook page to find the other clues as they posted. And good luck!

We will also send out an email or two with links so to extra sure you don’t miss out, sign up to our email list using the yellow box on the top right.

Good luck.

The Voss and Edwards All Fall Down treasure hunt is go! First prize is a Kindle Fire, with runners-up getting a signed set of All Fall Down and Catch Your Death. You might want to read this post first which explains how it works (opens in a new window).

Please read this post and, at the end, you will find a question. The answer to the question is in this post. Once you’ve got the answer, save it – you’ll need to collect all ten answers from the questions that will be posted over the coming weeks. To make sure you don’t miss any questions, bookmark the how it works page and check it regularly, like our Facebook page where we will be letting you know when new blog posts are up, or enter your email in the yellow box to your right. Good luck!

A Typical Writing Day

Mark writes:

When I was in my twenties and spending every spare minute chasing my dream of being a published author, I had a rose-tinted view of what my life would be like if this dream ever came true. I would rise mid-morning with a mild hangover, spend a few hours dreamily wandering the streets thinking up ideas, perhaps having lunch with my editor or a journalist, before spending a few hours answering fan mail and tinkering with my latest long-awaited masterpiece. In the evening, I would head to the Groucho and have drinks with Kate and Naomi, maybe becoming embroiled in a literary feud with Martin Amis.

The reality is somewhat different. This is a snapshot of what life is really like for Louise and me. For the uninitiated, we co-write thrillers and live hundreds of miles apart, in Wolverhampton and Salisbury – a long way from the Groucho.

6.45 MARK Wakes up with today’s to-do list buzzing in head and toddler crying in next room. Checks how many Twitter followers I’ve gained overnight and Amazon chart positions before going to pick up toddler.

7.15 MARK Gives toddler and five-year-old breakfast and scribble to-do list on the back of a piece of toast: “Write a chapter, update blog, refresh Amazon chart position 78 times, edit chapter plan for new novel, send 14 emails to publisher and agent, make video trailer, update Facebook page, set up competition on Goodreads, HAVE BRILLIANT IDEAS.”

8.15 MARK Has tenth argument with five year old of the morning before finally getting her out of the door and to school.

8.15   LOUISE Wakes up, reads 381 emails and texts from Mark, manages to resist urge to go back to sleep and gets out of bed.

9.00   LOUISE Answers correspondence, then texts Mark:  ‘I am entering the Master’  (running gag; this is what we call the Master document of our work in progress. We think ‘entering the Master’ sounds a bit rude).

9.00 MARK Can’t get into office as it’s full of toys so sits down on sofa to start work on chapter.

9.02 MARK Toddler deposits copy of The Gruffalo on my keyboard and whines until I read it to him.

9.12  LOUISE Text from15 year old daughter ‘I feel really ill.  I want to come home.’  (Not easy since am currently – temporarily – living 85 miles away during the week to spend more time with ailing mother)

9.15 MARK Finishes reading The Gruffalo and resume work on chapter.

9.20 MARK Sends Louise ‘brilliant’ idea for a novel about a girl taking a walk through a deep dark wood.

9.30 MARK Changes nappy while singing along with Mr Tumble.

9.35 MARK Resumes writing chapter

10.15  LOUISE Writes 847 words of the sex scene she’s working on, saves it in the Master in Dropbox, and emails Mark requesting his comments.

10.35   LOUISE  Listens to Popmaster on Radio 2 and scores a respectable 24 points out of 39.  The actual contestant only scores 15.  Louise feels very smug.

10.58 MARK Leaves toddler wailing in living room while he goes to the loo.

11.00 MARK Sends email to Louise with ‘incredible’ idea for new novel about a toddler who accidentally starts World War 3 by hammering on his dad’s laptop and hacking in to the US Government’s computer systems while dad is in the loo.

11.05   LOUISE has a cup of tea and eats one dark chocolate ginger.  Receives another email from daughter:  ‘I’m serious.  I’m really really really ill.’  Feels extremely worried but knows that anything actually serious will warrant a call from the school, so waits….

11.06  LOUISE Eats another dark chocolate ginger and puts a wash on

11.07   LOUISE  Reads the packet of the dark chocolate gingers, sees that they are only 26 calories per portion and a portion comprises THREE dark chocolate gingers, eats nine more.

11.30 MARK goes through Louise’s chapter and leaves comments, asking if that sexual position is actually possible in real life.

12.15  LOUISE Puts on another layer.

12.20  LOUISE Gets so cold she goes to bed for a small nap.

12.30 MARK Puts toddler down for a small nap.

13.30  LOUISE wakes up again, goes to visit her mother in the Home.  There’s an activity going on (a sing-song) so persuades her mother downstairs to join in.  Mum (who has Alzheimer’s) oblivious to the singing and chunters away, much to the irritation of some of the other residents.  They attempt ‘Daisy Daisy’ and at the line ‘I’m half crazy,’ the ancient woman next to her says gloomily, ‘We’re all ‘alf crazy in ‘ere.’

13.37  LOUISE gets back to rented cottage and emails Mark with an idea for a thriller set in an old folks’ home, the murder’s been committed by someone with Alzheimer’s but he can’t remember whether he did it or not.

13.41  MARK Emails Louise saying he’s finished ch.37 and it’s in Dropbox – and he’s pretty sure the Alzheimer’s thriller has already been done.

14.07  LOUISE Knits three rows of her hat. Takes wash out and hangs it up.

14.15 MARK Refreshes Amazon position for 128th time that day and decides that the entire plot of the latest work-in-progress needs to be changed.

14.17 MARK Has panic attack.

14.25 MARK Wakes up toddler and works on plot outline while toddler chases cat around the front room.

14.30 MARK Sends Louise ‘amazing’ idea for a novel in which a feline detective duels with a toddling serial killer.

15.05 MARK Realizes he has forgotten to pick up daughter from school.

16.00 MARK Sits down to work on book and is immediately asked to play Barbies by daughter.

16.16 MARK Sends idea for ‘genre-busting’ novel to Louise about a group of beautiful blonde women who are murdered one by one by a serial killer called Ken.

16.19  LOUISE Emails back saying ‘haven’t we already written that one?’  Rings daughter to check on her health, she is completely fine and dancing on the train home with her mates.

16.30  LOUISE Writes a 1800 word article on the stress of being part of the ‘sandwich generation’ when you have responsibility for both parents and children.

19.00  LOUISE Has a large glass of wine.

19.00 MARK Has a large glass of wine.

20.00 MARK Tries to start literary feud with Martin Amis on Twitter. Remembers that Martin Amis has no idea who he is. Looks at the Groucho’s website and sighs.

Midnight MARK finishes chapter. Checks Amazon ranking while brushing teeth. Collapses.

Question: Which song do the elderly residents of the care home try to sing? 

Save your answer and keep following the treasure hunt until you have all ten answers. This page explains how it works and will be updated with links to all of the posts in the hunt. You can also like our Facebook page to be kept up to date.

All Fall Down is available now from Amazon for just 99p.

We are very excited to announce the Voss & Edwards All Fall Down Treasure Hunt.

First prize: A Kindle Fire – the superb e-reader from Amazon that also allows you to watch movies and TV shows, play games and, of course, read books!

3 runner-up prizes of a signed set of All Fall Down and Catch Your Death

How it works

Starting on Friday 11th January, two blog posts will go up each week for four weeks on crime writing blogs within the community. As well as providing a fascinating insight into Voss and Edwards’ writing relationship, their inspiration for writing All Fall Down, life in a cult and killer viruses, each blog post will contain a clue!

To find the clue, simply read the blog post and answer a question – the answer to which will be in the post itself. Once you have collected all ten answers, send them in to [email protected] along with your name and address, and you’ll be entered into a prize draw to win a brand new Kindle Fire!

Three lucky runners up will win a signed copy of Catch Your Death and All Fall Down. The deadline for entering is 28th February 2013, and the winner will be revealed on 4th March.

Come back on Friday to read the first blog post and get the first clue.

To be notified whenever a new blog post goes live please like our Facebook page.

This page will be updated with a list of blog posts as they go live so you can also bookmark this page and check back regularly.

Remember the first clue will be revealed here on VossandEdwards.com on Friday January 11th.

Happy hunting!

“The Watoto mission is not simply about saving as many orphaned and vulnerable children as possible. It is also about raising them up to become future leaders who will bring sustainable change in their nation.”

Louise writes: Mark and I wrote the first incarnation of Catch Your Death quite a few years ago, and I remember thinking that Watoto would be a good name for a virus, because our fictional outbreak originates in African (Tanzania, to be precise) and, somewhere in the mists of my memory, I had an idea that the word means ‘child’ in Swahili –although I may have misremembered that – and we made it a virus that attacked children first.

Some years later I realized why the word had been in my head.  It was the name of an incredible Ugandan children’s choir, who were coming over to do some charity concerts in the UK (as they did/do annually, which is presumably how the word had already become subliminally lodged in my brain).  They performed at my church, and were utterly life-enhancing, talented and inspirational children, all of them having lost parents.  It was an unforgettable evening.

I felt TERRIBLE for having named a deadly horrible virus after an amazing Kampalan church and children’s ministry!  But at that stage, Catch Your Death was languishing in a virtual bottom drawer, never likely to see the light of day, so I wasn’t overly worried.  Fast forward a few more years, and we had our Kindle experience and subsequent new lease of publishing life.  The virus was still called Watoto, but we didn’t think it would be a problem, since it only got a mention or two in Catch Your Death.

However….it does form the basis of the plot of our new one, All Fall Down.  We debated long and hard about changing the name, but ultimately decided against it.  We agreed that, as long as we explained the real meaning of the word, it could only help raise awareness for an outstandingly good and important charity.   And Watoto really is that.  The range of humanitarian aid they offer has been truly life-changing for thousands of Ugandans, particularly women and children.  They offer trauma rehabilitation for former child soldiers, medical intervention and plastic surgery for victims of violence, torture, warfare and fire.  There are even dedicated childrens’ villages for orphaned and vulnerable children, three so far, and ambitious plans for many more.  At the village in Gulu, by the end of April 2011, 241 children were being cared for by 33 specially trained Watoto ‘mothers’.   This is a purpose-built village that operates not only homes for children and mothers, but also a church, a kindergarten and a primary school, a safe place where the children are taught to believe that they have hope, and a future.  It’s simply amazing.

I have since met people who went out to Uganda to help build one of these houses – talk about charity in action!  They had an incredible time, and came back full of stories about the warmth and love and faith of people under the most difficult and tragic of circumstances.

Sustainability is one of Watoto’s core objectives too – here’s a bit of copy from the relevant page of their website, to give you an idea of the scale of their mission:

Village Development

In addition to the existing three villages, we need to continue building to keep on track with the vision to rescue Africa’s orphaned children. An optimum size village requires 150 acres of land and will care for 1,000 children.

Behind every cluster of homes is an elaborate infrastructure that must be developed before the homes are fit to live in. The requirements include access to water, landscaping, provision of septic systems and a framework for electricity.

Watoto homes are designed to have running water and a bathroom, which are rare in rural Africa. We are also investigating better ways of constructing the villages so they are cost-effective, eco-friendly and sustainable for future development.

Our goal is to create a fund for infrastructural expenditure to ensure that every home is built to last.

Farming (Agricultural and Livestock)

Uganda’s fertile land and climate provides an excellent environment to develop self-sustainability through agricultural and livestock farming. This project will also provide an opportunity to enhance existing and new vocational training programmes by affording employment for the students.

We are pursuing further land for this purpose and for livestock farming.

The farms will provide the children and mothers with opportunities to learn new skills, while at the same time helping the villages become self-sustainable with agricultural, meat, dairy and poultry products.

Any surplus can then be sold to the market.

Production Unit

The production unit is a two-part operation designed to provide training for vocational students in carpentry and metalwork.

The side of the building that is used for the metal work gives the students a chance to learn to make doors, windows, and shutters, while learning how to weld and fabricate.

The other side has a carpentry section where tables, chairs, chalkboards, and cabinets are created.

The students learn a valuable trade and the pieces that they create are used in the villages.

Future projects include:

• Watoto Children’s Hospital

• Surgical Hospital in Gulu, Northern Uganda

• Fish Production

Watoto’s vision is to rescue at least two million children by 2023.  So the least we can do is support this brilliant charity and hope that as a result of us using their name in our book, more people will discover the work they do.  Please do go and check them out:  www.watoto.com.  You can sponsor a child, get a group together to go out there and build a house… or at the very least, buy one of the cool hoodies in their online shop…

All Fall Down, the third Voss and Edwards novel, was published today as an ebook. It’s a significant day for us because this is our first new novel since we were self-published; in fact, because Killing Cupid and Catch Your Death had already been around for a long time before that, All Fall Down is the first new brand book we’ve written in almost a decade.

It might have been nerve-wracking when we sat down to write it – but we didn’t have time to feel nervous. We had a short deadline and very limited time, so we wrote the book at a pace that we think is reflected in the novel itself. (The thing we pride ourselves on most in our books is the pace; the pages should turn themselves.) We still missed the deadline by miles, but it’s a miracle that we managed to write it in around nine months when you consider that we both had full-time jobs, Mark did all his writing on his 30 minute commute and in his lunch break, Louise did hers in a coffee shop between the school run and work, and that between us we had a newborn baby, a mother with Alzheimers, a detached retina and two house moves to deal with.

But here it is at last, our big blockbuster novel, a book that has already been described as “a juggernaut of a thriller… Die Hard meets Outbreak.” We like to think of it as Catch Your Death turned up to eleven.

Here’s a brief alternative ‘blurb’ for All Fall Down:

Kate Maddox, virologist, is living in Oxford with her partner Paul and young son, Jack. She and her research partner, Isaac, are working on a vaccine for the Watoto virus that killed Kate’s parents when she was a child. It’s her life’s work. Then a face from the past turns up: former MI6 agent Jason Harley, who tells Kate that a new strain of Watoto has broken out on an Indian reservation in California. It’s contained, he says, but we need you to come to the States to join a team of scientists who are searching for a cure for this deadly new virus. Kate is conflicted – she doesn’t want to disrupt her son’s life – but then a bomb goes off at an immunology  conference in San Diego, and Isaac is among the dead. And as soon as Kate arrives in the US she learns that the virus is not contained after all…

From that point on, the novel is pure action – as Kate and her fellow scientists race to develop a cure, Paul goes searching for the man he believes is responsible for his brother’s death, and LA is put under quarantine. Meanwhile, our favourite characters in the book – a group of murderous women called the Sisters – are plotting the end of the world and killing anyone who gets in their way. And Kate is their No.1 target.

We hope you enjoy it.

Happy Christmas

Mark and Louise

Buy the Kindle version (UK)

Buy on iTunes (UK)

Buy the Kindle version (US)

Mark writes:

I dreamt of being a published writer for many years – you can read the whole epic saga here – but 2012 was the year it finally happened. Books in shops! Public appearances! Stomach-gnawing anxiety! It all happened. To be honest, these days, with self-publishing a respectable alternative to what is now called traditional publishing, I felt like a writer anyway, especially after all the highs of 2011. But this was the year when I could actually go up to complete strangers in bookshops and implore them to buy my paperback, dodging a few restraining orders along the way… So how was it? On the eve of the digital publication of All Fall Down (only 99p, bargain fans), here are the highlights of an eventful twelve months.

You can’t cuddle an ebook

OK, maybe you can hug a Kindle, but the feeling of actually holding your own book in your hands is just below holding your newborn baby in the scary thrills stakes. And it’s happened three times this year (the books, not the babies, although I have another one of those on the way too).

When Catch Your Death was published in January, I immediately went out hunting for it. My local bookshop looked at me with pity when I asked if they had it in stock (‘My name? It’s J.R. Hartley – I mean, Mark Edwards’) and Waterstones didn’t have it either. I eventually tracked it down to a vast supermarket in Croydon. In my dreams, my first experience of seeing my book in a shop didn’t happen in a supermarket, with my kids moaning that they were bored. (Actually, this became a recurring event as I developed a compulsion to go into every bookshop I passed to see, in my daughter’s words, “if they have daddy’s boring book”.) But it was still a highly exciting moment. And yes, I bought a copy.

It was even more exciting a week after publication when WHSmith travel made Catch Your Death their read of the week, and displayed it prominently in stations and airports across the land. This was more like it!  We also had a fantastic launch party to which over 100 people came, and I made a drunken speech – and Louise made a well-rehearsed, coherent speech – while everybody congratulated us on our choice of venue, mostly because of the naughty nurses (well, we needed a medical theme). The event was amazing. A friend who I hadn’t seen since uni came over from Belfast to attend. Everybody was lovely. This was what it felt like being a published author! (In contrast, the launch for Killing Cupid, in the summer, was me and Louise eating pizza with our editor; still, it was a very nice pizza.)

We soon discovered that most books have a very short shelf life. They land in the shops. They sit there, quietly, like mutts at Battersea Dogs Home, looking at passers-by with pleading eyes. Then a few weeks later they get sent to the glue factory… I mean, back to the warehouse. During our week in the spotlight in WHSmith, I experienced the thrill of seeing someone pick up our book. And then the crushing disappointment of watching her put it back again. I wanted to conduct some on-the-spot market research – ‘What’s wrong with it?’ – but chickened out. I mean, who wants to be accosted by a deranged author at 8.30 in the morning?

It’s time to meet your public

In August, a number of people were accosted by not one but two deranged authors in the Kingston branch of Waterstones as Louise and I did our first public signing. You know when you walk into a bookshop and see an author standing behind a table which is laden with books, a grin on their face and a slightly terrified look in their eye? Well, that was us. As shoppers avoided our table, we were forced to approach likely-looking suspects in the crime and thriller aisles. ‘Would you like to come and talk to us about our book?’ Miraculously, this worked. It was just like being on The Apprentice. Although I think Louise’s team won and I was fired.

Having spent many years thinking public speaking was even more scary than that clown from It, I developed a taste for it in 2012. First up, Louise and I were invited to talk at the Harrogate Crime Festival, alongside Mari Hannah and our editors, on the Success Stories panel. It was very exciting being able to tell our story to lots of aspiring writers and the whole Harrogate Festival was brilliant. We met loads of other lovely crime writers – if I start listing them I will miss someone out and fret about it for days – but one highlight was standing with Stav Sherez, Mark Billingham and Peter James, and Peter said ‘Mark’s a very good writer.” He was talking about me (or was it Mark Billingham? Suddenly I’m having doubts) and it was one of the most thrilling moments of my life. Better than when a crime fiction fan came up to me at the festival, squinted at my name badge and said, ‘Should I have heard of you?’

The Harrogate talk was the first of several – we also did a ‘lunch and learn’ in a restaurant in Teddington, an event at Waterstones in Wolverhampton and spoke at a self-publishing conference. On top of that, I spoke at a terrifyingly busy event about digital publishing, during which I was hugely distracted by the Twitter feed running up the screen to my right on which I could see my name and couldn’t speak for a few minutes; I recorded a podcast with the Sue Cook off of Crimewatch; I did a photoshoot for my local paper and saw my airbrushed face (sans wrinkles) plastered across a whole page. It was all good.

One of the biggest highlights of 2012 was meeting so many cool, kind and all-round-lovely people, most of these relationships starting on Twitter but also spilling over into real life – other authors, bloggers, readers, publishing types… Again, I don’t want to start listing names but we owe a great debt to a number of awesome supportive people and if you’re thinking ‘I wonder if that’s me?’ then it probably is.

And the important stuff…

While the business of books gives me stomach ulcers and a constant tinnitus-like hum of paranoia in my head, the writing itself is still great fun and when I am writing, everything else disappears. It’s the only time that I don’t worry about anything – just what’s on the page.

We finished All Fall Down, which we had started late summer 2011, in the spring and sent it off to our editor with crossed fingers. This was my first experience of being edited and, despite the initial pain of seeing a long list of hugely complex plot points that need changing, I loved it. Most writers really complain about editing but there is something very exciting about feeling part of a team working on making a book as good as it can be.  We had a little hiccup when my eye exploded (well, I had a detached retina) but I managed to work on the last chapters with one eye shut. It was hardly the Diving Bell and the Butterfly (which the paralysed author dictated by blinking) but thanks to the mind-bending eye-pressure drugs I was on it all worked out brilliantly.

Louise and I have spent the last five months working on our new one, Forward Slash. Getting going with this novel was almost as painful as eye surgery (actually, nothing could be as painful as that) but we are almost there with it and very excited about getting it finished and into the hands of readers.

So 2012 was fun. OK, we didn’t sell as many books as EL James. We still feel that we are at the very beginning of our career as writers, but between seeing our books in shops, meeting tons of lovely people and being able to spend a lot of our time making up stories that at least a few people will want to read, it’s been – as Frank Sinatra once sang – a very good year.

Louise writes:

Mark and I have been writing together for over 10 years and we have never had an argument, or any sort of significant disagreement about anything, in our writing or outside of it. (I am SO hoping this doesn’t tempt fate.)

I think we’re both pretty proud of this.  We have an unwritten rule that we never take offence at anything the other one says about our respective chapters in the books – not there is any need to the vast majority of the time, as we have evolved a ‘third’ writing style that is different to our solo styles and on which we agree almost completely.

BUT – there is a but – if there is one thing that we could potentially come to blows about it’s the thorny issue of how much sex, violence and swearing there should be in our books.  To put it in perspective, if I had ever written them solo, there would be little or none since I’m essentially a) squeamish when it comes to violence, b) disapproving of extreme and repeated bad language and c) not a huge fan of anything more than the occasional artistically-necessary sex scene in a novel.  If Mark wrote them solo, I suspect in comparison the narrative would make Tarantino’s scripts look like Mother Theresa writing poetry about fluffy bunnies.

In fairness I’m sure this is a dilemma that many writers wrestle with – how far to go.  It depends on various factors – the sort of books you enjoy as a reader (again, Mark and I have fairly different tastes), the types of relationship you are writing about, and the novel’s themes.

I’m not a complete prude and, somewhat ironically, have been told by all editors I’ve ever worked with that I’m extremely good at writing sex scenes, which is pleasing.  If slightly worrying.  Mark is too, so we tend to split the writing of those between us (NB:  although whenever we give talks, I always claim that Mark writes all the sex and violence, and I write all knitting-related scenes.  This is not strictly true.)  However, he is definitely better at writing violence!  I actually can’t think of a really violent episode in any of our books that he hasn’t written.

As for the swearing, our process around that does make me laugh. Mark uses swearing like punctuation, and I go through his chapters with a red pen, removing a good portion of the f words, and he is completely banned from using the c word!

I’ve thought about it, and there are three main reasons why I feel the way I do about violence and swearing in books.

1) I have a fifteen year old daughter, and don’t want her reading that stuff.  She doesn’t yet, not being a keen reader, but her friends are starting to read our books, and that makes me feel very uncomfortable.

2) As I said before, I don’t really like reading novels with a lot of violence and bad language in them.

3) I’m a practicing Christian, and whilst I accept that since I’m writing thrillers a certain amount of immorality/swearing/sex is expected, again I feel that it’s only acceptable when it either develops characters, moves the plot forward and is not gratuitous.  My heart sinks when our editor writes notes in the margin saying things like ‘OPPORTUNITY FOR SOME SADISM HERE?’  or ‘GOOD PLACE FOR A THREESOME?’  But I’m not writing Mills and Boon, and I need to accept that. Ultimately our goal is to write the fastest-paced most exciting thrillers we are capable of, and sometimes I need to set aside my own personal qualms.  Obviously we can’t write a book about a serial killer without violence in it, and commercial novels without any sex in them are very unpopular with publishers…

A certain recent trilogy involving the colour grey has raised the bar too.  Now we’re debating whether we need a little bondage or other deviant sexual practices.  Mark recently wrote that our psychopath went to a sex shop and purchased some ‘pasties’.  Our agent Sam and I had a very hilarious discussion over lunch about it, when we admitted that neither of us knew what they were except that they probably didn’t involve cheese and onion, and had to Google them. Which was quite an eye opener for us both.

It’s a tricky balance to achieve, though.  Mark’s kids are all too young for him to worry about the ‘unsuitability’ of our books – perhaps in ten years time I’ll be the one letting rip as my daughter will be fully grown up, and he’ll be writing prudish little notes saying ‘MUST WE?’ in the margins!   But in the meantime it’s still a little problematic.  My daughter happened to look at my phone’s internet browser shortly after I’d Googled pasties, and was horrified when she saw the results, as was I at the knowledge that she’d done so.

Still, at least she’ll know what they are if she ever does read the book…

Read this exclusive extract from All Fall Down (available to pre-order now) in which we meet the deadly assassin, Angelica.

Kate Maddox has just been told that a new strain of the Watoto virus has broken out on an Indian Reservation in Caliornia. She has been asked to join a team in the US who are working on a cure. But Kate’s doesn’t want to disrupt her family, especially as she has been told the outbreak is contained, and her research partner, Dr Isaac Larter, is at a conference in San Diego.

Kate is agonising about what to do when she receives news of a devastating event… 

****

Angelica stood in the shadows of an alleyway that ran alongside the Metropolitan Hotel, one of San Diego’s finest, the kind of place where senators and rock stars stayed when they were in town. She reached down and patted a knee-high leather boot, just to double-check, touched her auburn wig to make sure it was still neatly in place, and carefully adjusted her designer backpack. She closed her eyes, briefly clasped the obsidian ankh that hung around her neck, and then she was ready.

She waited until the doorman was occupied with another guest, hailing them a taxi, then drifted in through the revolving doors.

It was cool inside the lobby, but busy, women in suits wheeling miniature cases behind them, businessmen barking into BlackBerrys. She stayed away from the front desk, keeping her eyes downcast whenever she passed someone. Angelica had practised this many times: the art of switching that inner light on and off. Revealing her beauty when she needed to dazzle a room or put somebody under a spell, then dimming it, rendering herself almost invisible. It was all about projection, confidence, attitude. Mousy little people naturally scurried through the world without being noticed. She was able to tap into her inner mouse, or reveal the lioness, at will. She avoided eye contact, wore no perfume, thought no sexual thoughts lest she give off pheromones that attracted attention. She was good at this. That was why she was doing this important job herself. Cindy had already played her part well. But this job was going to require far more skill.

Propped on an easel, a sign confirmed what she been looking for:

INTERNATIONAL CONFERENCE OF IMMUNOLOGY & VIROLOGY, Main Ballroom

A shot of adrenalin raced through her system, but she breathed deeply, staying calm. So many of them here: virologists, academics, doctors, biochemists, representatives of big pharma companies. Most of the top experts in immunology under one roof, from all over the world. She had studied the delegate list in detail and had been thrilled, though not surprised, as it was pre-destined, to see that her two main targets were here.

They would be in there now, enjoying post-conference drinks, chatting with their fellow academics, perhaps discussing a paper they had read, or where to go for dinner. None of them, yet, would have any inkling of what was to come. As she had foreseen, the authorities were keeping the outbreak under wraps. Part of her would love to stride into the room, get their attention by switching on her inner light and tell them what was on its way – not only today but in the future. She would love to witness the panic, the horror. Because, more than anyone else, the people in that room would understand the threat faced by the world.

And they wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it.

But she couldn’t draw attention to herself, couldn’t risk leaving any witnesses who had seen her. She needed to be patient. She took a seat in the lobby, in the shadows near the elevators, and waited.

She only had to wait ten minutes before he appeared: Dr Isaac Larter. He was tall and gangly, balding, the remains of his hair sticking up at crazy angles, with large expressive hands and a grin on his face. He was talking to another man, Japanese perhaps, and they were both laughing as they exited the ballroom. No sign of Dr Maddox. She must be inside. The woman would love to lay eyes on her, see her in the flesh while her flesh was still intact. But she was pleased Larter had come out. It suited her plan perfectly.

For a moment she thought the two men might be heading out together, which would have made things tiresomely complicated, but then Dr Larter lifted a palm to say farewell to the Asian man.

Angelica rose from her seat and followed him towards the elevators, padding silently across the lobby. The elevator doors pinged open as she got there and she stepped in after him. It was just the two of them. More good luck. Not that she believed in luck – everything was going exactly as it was destined.

Larter pulled a BlackBerry from the pocket of his linen jacket and started tapping away on it with his thumb, smiling to himself. Now was the moment for her to step out of her self-imposed shadow and flick the switch that would illuminate this small space. She widened her eyes, licked her lips and pushed out her chest.

‘Dr Larter? It is Dr Larter, isn’t it?’

He looked up from his phone, curious. He swayed a little – he had clearly had a few glasses of something, which was more good news for her. ‘Yes … that’s me. I don’t believe …?’

She stuck out her hand, ensuring she made eye contact as he took her hand in his and shook it. She let the handshake linger for a moment longer than was natural.

‘Sonia Tyler,’ she lied. ‘I’m a huge fan … I mean admirer of your work.’

‘Really?’ Her words had the desired effect. Surprised, but flattered. And she was pleased to see him quickly look her up and down, taking in her beauty. He might be happily married, the thought of an affair or even a dalliance while away from his wife far from his mind, but he was not immune to her charms.

‘Yes. I’m sorry, I hope I’m not embarrassing you.’

He smiled, showing her a mouthful of crooked teeth. Disgusting. ‘Not at all.’

She smiled back, coyly. ‘I’m studying immunology at the University of California and writing my thesis on the attempt to find a vaccine for the Watoto virus. Your work is so important and groundbreaking. Your new research paper has really inspired me. I was very excited when I saw your name on the delegate list, but I had no idea I would actually get to speak with you.’

‘Well …’

She could see how happy the attention and praise made him, but he was lost for words. ‘That’s marvellous.’ He eyed her backpack, no doubt thinking it was full of textbooks. If only he knew the truth.

‘I’m so happy that you came all the way to America for this conference.’ She meant it. This was destiny in action again.

The elevator glided to a halt and the doors opened. ‘Er … this is my floor,’ he said, clearly disappointed that the conversation was about to end.

‘Mine too!’ she exclaimed as if this was the most exciting coincidence of her life.

They walked down the corridor together, Dr Larter awkward, her gushing about how she had been reading about a breakthrough in the UK, where they had discovered that antibodies could pass into cells and fight viruses from within. ‘It’s so exciting. To think we might only be a few years away from cracking the code of how to defeat viruses.’

‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘It might take years of further research but …’

She flung herself forward, as if she had tripped over her own feet, making it look like she had gone down hard on her wrists. Letting out a girlish shriek, she sat up and clutched her left wrist, tears filling her eyes.

He crouched beside her. ‘My goodness. Are you all right?’

She blinked up at him. ‘My wrist … it really hurts. I think I might have broken it.’

‘I’m sure …’

She interrupted him with a cry. ‘Oh, Dr Larter, it really hurts. I need to put some ice on it immediately. I guess if I …’ she moaned ‘… go downstairs they might be able to help me.’

Men were so predictable. The damsel in distress, the beautiful woman in need of help – especially one who had pumped up his ego with praise – there was no way he would leave her to fend for herself.

‘Let me call down for you, get someone to bring up some ice,’ he said.

She nodded pathetically. ‘That would be … so kind. I’ll go into my room and wait.’

‘No, no, come into my room. I’ll call them from there and tell them how urgent it is. Look, here we are.’

He put his arm around her and helped her up, and she made sure to lean into him, to press her warm body against his, so he would feel the swell of her breasts. He produced his keycard and a moment later they were inside. He hurried over to the phone and she reached behind her and locked the door while he wasn’t looking. Then pulled a small pistol from her boot.

As he picked up the phone to call the hotel desk, she said in an urgent tone, ‘Dr Larter.’

He turned and his mouth fell open. She enjoyed seeing the expression on his face: the shock and confusion.

‘Put down the phone,’ she commanded, aiming the gun at his forehead.

‘What are you doing?’

She stepped towards him. ‘Get on the bed,’ she said.

He froze. ‘Miss Tyler,’ he said with a shaking voice. ‘I’m only a scientist … I don’t have any money …’

‘I said, get on the bed. I have no interest in your fucking money.’

He let out a weird noise, like a squeak, and half-turned. She moved quickly, aiming a kick at his back, sending him crashing into the bedside table, the phone and lamp tumbling to the floor. She grabbed him by his jacket and pushed him on to the bed, straddling him and holding the gun to his temple.

‘What do you want?’ he asked, trying to stay calm. But his terror and shock were making him shake.

‘Take off your jacket and shirt,’ she commanded.

‘What?’

Confusion flitted across his face, but he obeyed, pulling off his jacket, then unbuttoning his shirt. It was almost funny. Did he think she wanted his body? He had no idea how much he disgusted her, how nauseous his pale, flabby body made her feel.

‘Now lie on the bed, and don’t move. If you do, I’ll shoot you in the balls. Understand?’

He nodded. There were tears in his eyes. Pathetic, how some people crumbled at the first sign of pressure. It astounded her sometimes how weak most people were. If they had been through what she had experienced in her life, they would end up killing themselves or going insane.

She really hoped he didn’t soil himself. That would be highly inconvenient. She decided she needed to calm him down.

‘I’m not going to hurt you, Dr Larter. So try to relax. Close your eyes, OK?’

He did as she asked, his eyelids flickering like they were resisting his attempts to keep them shut.

She straddled him on the bed, ignoring the smell of alcohol that wafted off him – wondering if, despite his fear, he would grow hard from the feeling of her warm, leather-clad body against his crotch. It had been known to happen. Other men had died with an erection and a smile on their lips. That wasn’t going to be Larter’s fate, though.

She reached behind her and pulled off her backpack, unzipping the front pocket and producing a syringe that she had already prepared with a colourless, odourless liquid. GHB. She took hold of Isaac’s arm and slipped the needle in, injecting the drug directly into a vein before he could pull his arm away.

‘What was that?’ he asked, alarmed, opening his eyes.

She pointed the gun at his face. ‘Close your eyes. It was just something to help you relax. Now, keep quiet.’

She checked her watch. The drug would take effect in fifteen to twenty minutes, leaving Dr Larter intensely drowsy and disorientated. The fact he had already consumed several glasses of alcohol helped. After a while, he stopped trying to open his eyes. He wasn’t unconscious but was relaxed, probably feeling as if he was in a dream. His heart rate would have slowed, and beneath the drowsiness he would be experiencing a mild euphoria. He was in the perfect state for what she needed to do.

‘Don’t go to sleep, Dr Larter,’ she whispered.

A smile appeared on his lips.

‘I need you to sit up, OK?’

Again, he obeyed. ‘Good boy,’ she said. Then she unzipped the main compartment of her backpack.

****

A little while later, Angelica led Isaac out of the room. She had put his shirt and jacket back on, buttoning the jacket across his belly. She held him by the crook of his arm, leading him slowly down the corridor towards the elevator. To anyone who might pass, he would look like a drunk being helped along by, well, she probably looked like a call girl.

They took the elevator back to the ground floor and she walked him over to the ballroom. Isaac barely seemed to register where he was or what was happening. But he was still smiling faintly.

She took him inside. The drinks reception was in full swing, lots of middle-aged men and women standing around in groups of three or four, chatting, pontificating, exchanging views and business cards. She looked around for Kate Maddox, whose photo she had found online, but there was no sign of her. No matter.

She sat Isaac down on a chair near the centre of the room.

A heavyset man standing nearby grinned at them.

‘He’s had too much to drink,’ she said. ‘But he insists he doesn’t want to go to bed … again.’

The man guffawed at that and she winked at him. It didn’t matter that he’d had a very good look at her face.

‘Do you mind keeping an eye on him while I go to the ladies room?’ she asked. ‘I won’t be long.’

‘No problem, sweetcheeks,’ the man said, clearly wondering if he could take a turn at hiring her.

She walked out of the reception and all the way out of the hotel, back out through the revolving doors. Striding briskly away, she covered three blocks until she found her car, the sleek white Maserati, where she had parked it. She brushed aside the two Hispanic men who had stopped to admire it, whistling as they watched her climb inside.

She pulled the cellphone out of her pocket.

While Isaac had been in a semi-conscious state, she had taped three pounds of Semtex around his midriff, then covered it with a bandage. Three pounds of the plastic explosive was enough to destroy a two-storey building. Certainly sufficient to decimate the reception room at the hotel and kill everyone in it.

She thought of Dr Larter, sitting in his chair, the heavyset man probably wondering where she had got to. Larter, in his delirious state, would have no idea that beneath his shirt was the Semtex and a detonator that she could trigger by calling it from her cellphone.

She dialled the magic number now.

And heard the explosion from three blocks away, saw smoke shoot up above the rooftops. She closed her eyes and pictured the flying body parts, the carnage, the balls of flame. She could almost smell it. It made her feel hungry.

Angelica put the car into drive and headed out of the city, thinking about the end of the world.

****

Who is Angelica? Why is she doing this? And can Kate stop the virus before it threatens the entire world? You’ll need to read All Fall Down to find out.

eBook published 20th December 2012

Paperback published 14 February 2013

Buy the Kindle version (UK)

Buy the paperback

Buy on iTunes (UK)

Buy the Kindle version (US)

Mark writes:

A few months ago I wrote a piece about the pain and pleasure of Amazon reviews, about the experience of being reviewed, and how we had been attacked by sock puppets, an image which still amuses me a great deal. When you publish a book, whether you are traditionally published or self published, you have to brace yourself. There are people out there, lurking, like muggers waiting around the corner with baseball bats, or with poison pens poised to tell you exactly what they think of your so-called book.

If you are EL James or Dan Brown you can deal with the barrage of criticism you face by rolling about in £50 notes and cackling (well, that’s what I would do) but what about the rest of us? How can you deal with criticism other than repeating the phrase ‘Haters gonna hate’ to yourself while hugging the cat a little too tightly?

A note for non-writers and prospective reviewers. We writers – with a few notable exceptions – are sensitive souls. Most of us write because an English teacher once praised us so excessively that we spend our entire lives trying to recapture that feeling (like Lisa Simpson begging, ‘Grade me!’ when school is closed). We have overactive imaginations – we wouldn’t be writers otherwise – and when we are not dreaming up plots and characters we might, just might, allow ourselves to drift into a pleasant reverie in which we stand on stage accepting an award for Best Book Ever Ever Ever while saying we could never have imagined this. So if you are thinking of penning a vicious review, because, like, you really hated the ending of our novel, imagine us as a defenceless little kitten. Do you really want to stamp on us with your big reviewing boot? You do? Oh well. Here’s how we will deal with you.

1. Remember, dear writer, you are not alone. Every book, film, album, play or poem ever created has been slagged off by at least one person, so you are in good company. Shakespeare, Dickens, JK Rowling, even Jeffrey Archer – they’ve all had their critics, and not just because the Kindle version costs more than the hardback. So when ‘Book luvver’ from Middlebrough (verified purchase) proclaims that your life’s work is not even worth 20p and that they would give it no stars if they could, remind yourself that somebody once said the same thing about your favourite book.

2. It could be worse.  It could be personal. When you publish a book, you put yourself in the firing line, yes. But it is unlikely that the reviewer will criticise you personally. ‘This books sucks and the author has bad breath and stupid hair.’ Doesn’t happen often. Compare the moaning about how ‘the descriptions of your characters nipples are highly implausible’ with the barrage of loathing that people who appear on TV or who write link bait for the Daily Mail face. Imagine what it’s like being Christopher Maloney or Sally Bercow or that woman who wrote that article about how hard it is being beautiful. She was the most hated person on the planet earlier this year and now I can’t even remember her name. If you are Joey Barton or the girlfriend of a member of One Direction, you spend your whole life being abused and mocked on Twitter. Cher Lloyd even wrote (or at least sang) a song about it. This song, Swagger Jagger, is a good one to listen to when you’ve had a bad review. Sing along:

You can’t stop clicking at me,

Writing ’bout me, tweeting ’bout me,

I can’t stop, it’s what it gone be,

My swagger’s in check

Swagger jagger, swagger jagger

You should get some of your own

Count that money, get your game up

You’re a hater, just let it go

You tell ‘em, Cher!

3. They’re probably a sock puppet. One of the benefits of the Great Sock Puppet Scandal of 2012 – in which it was revealed that naughty authors were writing bad reviews of their rivals’ work, and glowing reviews of their own (which is a bit like chanting ‘I’m the best, I’m the best’ while having sex) – is that now, whenever you get slated on Amazon you can bet your bottom dollar that the reviewer is not a real person but a sock puppet. It’s someone who is jealous of your all-round fabulousness and talent. Even if they have ‘Verified purchase’ next to their review, they probably only bought it as part of a nefarious and desperate scheme to bring you down. On the other hand, none of your five star reviews were written by people you’ve slept with or who gave birth to you. Those are all genuine.

4. All opinion is subjective. This is what publishers say in their rejection letters, on the rare occasions when they write an actual letter and don’t use a standard slip. And it is, of course, true. One man’s meat is another man’s inhumanely butchered beautiful creature with a soul whose blood was spilled so you could write ‘nom nom’ on Facebook. For every person who thinks your book is the most boring thing since cricket (see, it’s subjective) there will be another who read it with sweating palms and a racing heart (maybe they forgot to take their pills again). Now, if everyone, including your mum, says your book is a steaming pile of dung, you could either take the criticism on board and go back to your day job or you could remind yourself that dung is a highly-important substance that helps fertilise the planet and provide a tasty meal for beetles, while proclaiming that you only write for yourself anyway and if anyone else likes it it’s a bonus. You just haven’t had a bonus yet.

5. Go apeshit. Yes, there is an alternative to being all rational and sensible and reminding yourself that it’s subjective, etc. You could seek revenge. That’s right – you could track down the perp, write mean things about them on your blog (“Janine Hesp smells of old socks”), or even go round their house and have it out with them. I mean, it’s easy enough to track people down using Facebook and Google these days. I’m sure that mean reviewer would appreciate the opportunity to discuss why they are wrong, oh so wrong, because they didn’t understand that it was a metaphor. Or you could do a Sharon Osbourne and post them something brown and stinky. Obviously, I don’t recommend this. It’s clearly meant to be a joke, OK? Please ignore point no 5 on this list and do not seek revenge. If I had a lawyer I’m sure that’s what he would tell me to put.

6. If all else fails, repeat after me: ‘Haters gonna hate’. Don’t you feel better already?

All Fall Down, the third novel by Voss and Edwards, is published on 20 December.

The release date for the ebook of All Fall Down has been brought forward to 20th December – and for 7 days it will cost a crazy 99p. That’s less than a cup of tea, you know.  The paperback is still set for 14th February. They are both available on Amazon now.

To keep up-to-date – and for a chance to win the first ever signed copy of the book – you need to like our Facebook page.

All Fall Down is the second in the Kate Maddox series. It works as a standalone novel – you don’t need to have read or even heard of Catch Your Death to enjoy or understand it, but if you liked Catch Your Death you will almost certainly love All Fall Down as it takes all the elements of that book and turns them up to eleven!

Here’s an exclusive ‘blurb’ that tells you a little more than the blurb on the back of the book:

Kate Maddox is working as a virologist at Oxford University, continuing her research into the deadly Watoto virus that killed her parents. Then Agent Jason Harley turns up and tells her that a new strain of Watoto, which is 99% fatal, has broken out on an Indian reservation in California, and they want Kate to fly to the States to join a crack team who are desperately searching for a cure. Harley tells Kate that the outbreak has been contained on the reservation… but then a bomb goes off at an immunology conference killing dozens of scientists, including Kate’s research partner. And the virus is loose…

All Fall Down introduces the scariest set of female ‘baddies’ you will ever encounter. The beautiful but unhinged Angelica and her brutish sidekick, Heather. Why do they want the virus to spread? And why do they want Kate dead?

More details to come soon!

Remember, like our Facebook page for more news and a chance to win an exclusive signed paperback.