Dear Fellow Bloggers,

Would anyone out there be interested in reviewing a book?

I've published my first novel but badly need someone(s) to review it to attract some interest.

I have pasted into this post some info about it to give you an idea of its content but what people want to know is...Is it worth reading? That is where you come in lovely bloggers! I'm currently flogging it for just under 3 quid for e-book format but you, lovely blogger (reviewer?), can have it for absolutely nothing, zilch, zero, nihil.

All I ask is that if you consent to read it then please review it and post it up on your blog (or website), with a link to the lulu.com page given below. Now, I am not asking you to like it if you don't - honest! In fact I would appreciate your honest feedback (ouch! You can look upon it as a mercy killing). The only other thing I ask is that you keep the manuscript for personal use only and do not distribute it please!!

When you've had a look at the info below and if you decide to take part then please e-mail me at

jamie_gregory(at)hotmail(dot)co(dot)uk

I will send you a copy by return. You will need Adobe Acrobat Reader to view it (AA is free to download if you haven't got it already).

When you have posted your review please send me the link so I can read it.

Jamie Gregory – A debut thriller with an occult twist that isn’t cribbed from ‘Holy Blood Holy Grail!’ currently available at Lulu.com and soon on Amazon.com

As the criminal underworld increasingly turns to magic and sorcery so the police must draw on their own expertise in the field of ‘altered states technology’ to fight back.

Story Synopsis

Two charred bodies are found in a burnt out furniture shop and what should have been a routine murder enquiry turns into the first major case for OCIU. When the evidence points to the fire breaking out during a demonic conjuration DCI Amanda Oliver is called in to investigate. What she and her team uncover is a bizarre world of secret societies and ancient alchemical tradition and a conspiracy that leads to the heart of power in the European Union.

Link to Publication*: http://www.lulu.com/content/281441

Thanks

The New Mother With The Glass Eye And The Wooden Tail

This is an old story probably from the 19th Century collected in England and was used to keep children in line. Although it may be see thru to us now somehow the final image is still powerfully scary. See what you think?

Once upon a time there were two children a boy and a girl who were always good and well behaved. Once day they were out playing when they went over the brow of a hill and saw a little girl outside a Romany caravan. The little girl took out a violin and began to play. As she did a little man climbed out of the instrument and danced a jig. The two children were so entranced that they begged the gypsy girl to give them the violin but she said "Oh no, only children who are really naughty can have this violin". The two responded that they could be naughty and they went back home and began to misbehave. They refused to put their toys away and made a terrible mess in the nursery despite their mother's exhortations to clear it up.
The next day they went back and again the little girl played the violin and the little man climbed out of the instrument and danced the jig and again they begged her to give the violin to them. But she laughed when they told her what they had done and she said "Oh that's not very naughty at all! You will have to do better than that!"
So back they went and they screamed the house down and fought with each other and their mother was beside herself what to do. Finally she turned to them with a grave face and said "If you keep on this way I will have to go away and you will get a new mother; one with a glass eye and a wooden tail" But the two children could think about nothing but getting their hands on the violin so they just carried on and back they went to the little girl who again laughed when they told her what they had done. "Oh you must really be very naughty if you want to have my violin."
So back they went and this time they smashed the plates and threw their dinner all round the room. The mother sobbed and pleaded and finally she said "Now I must go away and you must have the new mother." But the two hardly heard what she said so fixed where they on that wonderful violin.
This time they ran back convinced they would not be refused. But when they got to the place the little girl with the violin and the Romany caravan had gone.
Now they remembered what their mother had said about the new mother and they grew terribly afraid to return home. They stayed out all day until early evening when it began to grow dark. Finally they had no option but to return home. As they approached the cottage they could not see any lights on inside, but as they drew nearer they could hear someone, the new mother, rocking in the rocking chair. They stood on tiptoe and peered in to the dark kitchen and saw the firelight glinting off her glass eye and heard the thud, thud, thud of her wooden tail.

(Apologies for the slightly racist implications towards gypsies but the 19th Century Victorians didn't really care about that sort of thing!!).

http://www.lulu.com/content/281441

Albany took me to the Isle of Dogs for this story.

There is a ghost story attached to these cranes. Now the area is the new financial centre near Canary Wharf re-built in the 1980's, however it used to be part of the system of docks in the East of London. These cranes have been left as estate furniture for the newbies but like the stone monoliths, dolmens and barrows they remind us of past incarnations.

Prior to WWII there was a docker by the name of Marney who was one of several crane operators loading the freight on and off ship. There was extra money to be made thieving contraband and selling it on and the rackets were organised in some cases by large gangs. Operators turned a blind eye for a cut and as long as the take was not too large then owners didn't get restless.

Occasionally disputes broke out over the size of the cut and its not clear what exactly happened but Marney got into a fight with another man and ended up dead. His killer hid the body inside one of the freight containers that had emptied its cargo from the Caribbean and was due to return empty the following day. The following morning the empty containers, including the one with Marney's body was loaded on board ship. Then around noon the old pea souper fog descended as it did at that time. It was so thick that no one could work safely so the men were sent home early. The only ones who remained were the security staff, the watchmen. One of them was startled to hear one of the cranes being operated, early evening, and despite the fog he groped his way to find out who it could be. He had to climb up the ladder to enter the cab. When he got there the cab light was on and the machinery was still running but it was empty. So he switched it off and made a note for the following day.

In the morning when the watchman went back to investigate, the fog having lifted, one of the containers as found on the quayside. You've guessed it, it was the one with Marney's body inside. His killer was eventually apprehended, he confessed and was later hanged.

Some have more recently reported seeing a shadow either in one of the cabs or climbing up the ladder. Whether old Marney's ghost will now be laid to rest with the demise of the old docklands remains to be seen.

http://www.lulu.com/content/281441

Albany told me another story about this weeping willow tree. It has a sad history. Apparently during the First World War a young couple, very much in love, were separated when he was drafted, like so many at that time. Unfortunately, their affair was not approved of by her parents and so they had to meet in secret and did so at this spot. When he went away he told her to remember him by visiting the spot every night at twilight until he returned when they would elope together and start a new life. She was faithful to her promise and always went to that spot just as the sun went down. One evening she went as usual and as she stood there she began to hear sobbing. Looking around she tried to find the source of it, but to no avail. She could still hear it above the rustling of the branches in the breeze and again she looked thinking to try to help whoever it was. Finally on a third attempt she realised the sound was coming from the branches themselves. At that moment she knew her lover was not coming back.

Curiously, the same story was told about a woman from the Napoleonic wars and from the English Civil War in the 17th Century. Re-tellings of the same tale or do some places attract certain themes and motifs from human lives?

Even stranger, after Albany told me this tale her mobile rang when she answered it it was a woman crying then it went dead. Even odder was the fact that the ring tone for the call had changed from the usual tune to 'Strangers in the Night'.

http://www.lulu.com/content/281441

Albany liked nothing more than collecting stories from around and about. She told me about this place pictured above. Apparently two kids heard a mobile phone ringing and went down the slope and beyond the gate to investigate. They found a trapdoor and it seemed like the tune was coming from below.

One got scared but the other lifted up the trapdoor and climbed down the ladder into a labyrinth of tunnels that ran beneath. He told his mate above to ring his own mobile phone so that he could keep track of the turns that he would take in search for the source of the ringing mobile. So the adventurer went on his way and each time he took a turn would report it to his friend who made a note of the way he was taking. It seemed that at first he could not make out the direction of the sound but as he grew accustomed to the odd way sounds travelled through the tunnels he began to hear the tone grow louder. The phone would ring and then stop and then ring and then stop but he knew he was getting closer and closer to it.

Suddenly, he told his friend that he was really close just around the corner and he would be ready to re-trace his steps very soon. All of a sudden the one who waited above heard a yelp and “Oh God!” then the phone went dead. He became frantic with worry and yelled down the tunnel and tried to ring his mate’s phone but just kept getting the – ring back later message. Finally he went for help, the police and fire brigade made an extensive search but no trace of the boy could be found.

In the police report when asked what the tune on the ghostly mobile was playing he said he recognised it from one his dead grandfather used to play. His grandfather was fond of old crooning songs and the boy remembered the title – “Who’s sorry now”.

It's just struck midnight here in the UK the traditional time known as the witching hour. Between the hours of midnight and 1 am there is supposed to be an increase in paranormal phenomena. In fact the hours vary, according to the account of the Amityville horror it was 3:15am when the disturbance was at its height. For psychic attack it is recommended between the hours of 2:30am - 5 am. The argument given is that resistance is at its lowest.

In Islamic folklore (and don't quote me on this), the angels are supposed to change their guard every twenty minutes. So if for example you are in the middle of a conversation and suddenly you all go quiet at either twenty past or twenty to or on the hour then it is said that an angel has just passed through the room on changeover duty. This is why conversation just dried up.

Crossroads have always designated an overlap between the worlds that is why so much mythology surrounds them. From Ghede and Baron Samedhi to Odin have connections with them.

The emphasis is on transitional places. That is places that seem to give a feeling of overlap between this world and the next. Such places are repositories of the numinous. Sometimes you just come across them. It might be a place in nature; a waterfall, or grove of trees.

For me, I have found some places in the city of London where this threshold takes place. The juxtaposition of street names like a medieval'Tanners Lane' with huge glass buildings for the financial sector of London, or 11th century churches next to Starbucks creates such a sense of overlap.

Strange things can happen at such liminal places and new liminality arises all the time. I read recently in Fortean Times about a guy who as a child was told to dial a certain odd telephone number from a public phone. When the call was answered it was of a woman who begged for help but she never responded to what was being said to her. In other words it was a recording but why?

Nowerdays digital media provides such liminality, a type of cyber crossroads, see www.aaevp.com for what I mean. Pictures and recordings can be made by you yourself of messages from 'beyond'. What this beyond is exactly is a fascinating question.

The union of opposites is a powerful archetype look out for it!

If you are interested in getting hold of a complete and unabridged copy of the e-book Sorcery Squad the first in the Occult Crimes Investigation Unit series follow the following link.

For a less than mundane read and it's not plagerised from Holy Blood Holy Grail either!

http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=8402781396&rd=1&sspagename=STRK%3AMESE%3AIT&rd=1

..So I’ve been interested in the writings and sorcery of AO Spare (artist and magician), for quite some time. Most know about his magic of sigils but there are other strands to his magic too. One is called ‘atavistic resurgence’. If you imagine consciousness in layers, the top is the bit we are generally aware of and below that the layers go back in time. Not just personal contents but that inherited from our forebears, even before we were human (If you follow Kenneth Grant it even contains extraterrestrial entities too). It also contains the future too that which will come to be. Spare wrote that the resurgence of ancient atavisms is heralded by strong feelings of nostalgia, a yearning for something that is not fully conscious. Such desires he regarded as ‘organic’ and ‘vital’ and magically potent. This last bit particularly fascinated me because ever since I was a child I have had periods of intense nostalgia for times and places that I have never lived in or visited. I could not understand how or why I would feel so strong a yearning for completely strange environments, periods of history or even pictures. I began to wonder if this was memory of past lives, but then there were no memories, no specific details that past life people talk about. The yearning was more general, more vague it did not seem personal to me. So when I read about atavistic resurgence and the nostalgias I felt I knew what Spare was on about.

And I created a sigil to bring on an atavistic resurgence…As is the usual practice once transmitted the intention is forgotten. Shortly after this I developed a fascination with the city of New York. I have actually been to New York and felt very much at home there, but this was different. It was uncanny, a sense that there was something alive but hidden there stories that were waiting to be uncovered. I began coming across pictures of NY and any time it formed the back drop to the many cop programmes on tv I tried to note which streets were being used to make the landscape of the story as real as possible in my mind. Finally, I noticed that this behaviour of mine was nostalgic, at that moment I felt as if there was something powerful half buried that wanted to get out but did not quite have the strength. I was sitting down at the time, reading when this feeling came. So I just stopped reading and cut off the fantasies and just went right into the feeling, down and down….At that point up came an image, it was a sigil, another one, with strange hieroglyphics. Taking a piece of paper and pencil I copied from my mind’s eye. I felt it contained the kernel of the nostalgia, but what its fruit was I just could not fathom. So I just transmitted it, in the usual fashion. A sigil whose intention I had no idea what it was. A pure act of faith towards the nostalgia and whatever it was pointing to. Then I did my best to forget it.

Last week I had an appointment at the dentist but arrived too early, so to I decided to pass some time in a nearby bookshop. I walked through the door turned and there in front of me were a selection of books by an author I had not heard of before. The author is Paul Auster and all the books were set in NYC. The one that caught my eye was entitled New York Trilogy. I felt a powerful wave of nostalgia but held off buying the book, as I knew there was a possibility of getting it from the library which I would be visiting that afternoon. At the library they did not have the trilogy but I picked up another NY tale of Auster’s entitled Oracle Night. The story isn’t important what happened is. As I read the book it all fell into place. The writer was trying to show that nostalgia activates imagination and that imagination shapes reality but it is important not to confuse the two. I realise that this is something we are terrible at! The creationists think that Eden can be found in the Middle East. Some people look for Atlantis at the bottom of the ocean. I knew that my NYC the one I yearned for does not exist on the Eastern seaboard of the U.S. It is in my imagination, every street every building, every inhabitant lives and breathes but you will not find it on any map! This ‘American Dream’ is real and has nothing to do with ‘Little House on the Prairie’ or Vietnam. This ‘imaginary’ NY has the power to inspire and produce all sorts of quirky co-incidences that I haven’t the space to go into (yes, I am aware how long this piece is becoming). But to my mind even more fascinating is that these nostalgias seem to be the universe’s way of making me sit up and take notice, its way of saying “Hello!, I’m alive come out and play!’.