Ruby Allure's Books

Ruby Allure's Books
Ruby Allure's Books

Saturday, 31 January 2015

CLAN DESTINE - Dead women have vendettas - opening.

Dead women have vendettas.


Ruby Allure

Copyright Ruby Allure



Domestic violence equals a quarter of all recorded violent crime in England and Wales.
            One call per minute to the police is about domestic violence.
            One in four women fall victim to domestic violence in their life time.
            On average a woman is assaulted thirty five times before she calls the police.
            Only thirty five percent of violent incidents are reported.
            Twenty five percent of women experiencing domestic violence are assaulted for the first time  during pregnancy.
            On average two women per week are killed by a partner, or former partner.
            Approximately three quarters of a million women have been raped on at least one occasion since the age of sixteen.
            One in twenty women in England and Wales has been a rape victim.
            One hundred and sixty seven women are raped every day.
            One in five rape attacks are reported to the police.


Eve stood in the shadows waiting. Silence. She refastened her kit bag and watched intently; all her hard work was about to come to fruition. Over the previous weeks she had visited the local bars to learn as much as she could about ‘him’. She knew his brand of cigarette, what, when and where he ate. She knew how and where he lived. She had studied the plans of his house (pulled from the developer’s website). She had accessed all his records. His prison report stated he had a thing for girls aged fifteen and under. He got up at ten and didn’t have a regular job; instead he peddled drugs to teenagers for them to sell to other children at school. That was his way in. He often wore a tracksuit top and combat trousers. No one was close to him; no-one would miss him. He repulsed her!

            Eve stood silently counting her breaths and his paces as he came into her range of vision. Every step he made forwards, she counted one digit back in groups of ten. Finally he came to his house and paused. He pressed the lit cigarette to his lips and fumbled for his keys.

            Eve slowed her breath and silently tapped her index finger against her leg. She reversed silently further into the comfort of the shadow of a nearby tree, that tree stood on the edge of the estate close to the river bank.  Eve switched her modified goggles to enhance the night image. He was now a luminous green. She intended to witness every second of his strategic demise.

Still he fumbled for his keys.

            ‘Come on!’ she mouthed impatiently. Eve caught herself mumbling. What was he waiting for? Did he suspect what was about to happen? How could he? No! Eve glanced over her shoulder; the cold, dark river resembled black oil. She didn’t relish the thought of it. 

            ‘Hurry up!’ she muttered under her breath. He was taking too long. Did he sense something? That same question – same answer – he couldn’t could he? Eve took another deep breath, she had to leave. She had already outstayed her welcome.

            She slowly reversed around the horse chestnut, whose shadow had shielded her. She reached the river bank and paused, looking again over her shoulder; her feet submersed in the dark murk. Eve chewed her lip. The cretin was finally but definitely going inside. She took one more breath and watched the man align his key with the door.  He unsteadily inserted it and turned it in the lock. When the door opened he paused on the threshold – why didn’t he just go in like usual? Had he inhaled the pungent smell of gas?

            Bang! The cigarette blasted backwards, engulfed within a scorching flame blast. The tongue of flame wrapped around him and he was gone. Eve blinked, she could feel the heat even from where she was standing some sixty metres away; a second later she slid into the cool river water, adjusted her breathing canister, a clever little pony bottle permitting fifteen minutes of underwater swimming.

            She plunged deeper into the sluggishly moving river and swam gracefully away without a ripple. She had only about forty metres to get to the other bank and allowed herself to drift down beyond the bridge, well away from what would become a hotspot of activity after the demolition of the monster’s house. There was no trace, there couldn’t be! No witnesses, nothing, just an evil man who got what he deserved.

            As Eve swam through the dark water, she decided to surface to get one last glimpse of her handy work. She turned onto her back and admired the colour of the orange flames erupting into the night. In the stark intensity of flame she could see curls of dense smoke caught on the breeze spiralling into the sky. The translucent watery division protected her while she observed the devastation, her devastation.

            On the other side of the river Eve dragged herself darkly and silently up the bank and sat for a moment. The flames clawed the stars, she was mesmerised. That was her labour, her creation. Eve shifted to standing and made her way to her car. It was parked in a dark, solitary area under a lightening-split oak. She had taken care to select this parking spot to afford her the protection of the dark for her quick change routine. She removed the layer covering her wetsuit, then the wetsuit itself. She then placed the 9mm scuba suit in a sealed container full of fresh water. Hurriedly she threw on a large black jumper and dark tracksuit bottoms. Quickly she stowed the bags and containers quietly on the floor behind the driver’s seat.

            Climbing in behind the wheel, clicking the buckle of her seat belt she turned the key, the hybrid engine purred, engaging drive she drove silently away. Minutes later, so far removed from the scene, she breathed normally and turn on her favourite post-destruction CD, Chopin’s prelude. Humming to herself she set her course for home, the long way for her well-rehearsed exit.

Writing and self-promotion.

Self -promotion in writing is one of the biggest challenges for many authors.
Well it is a case of having to blow your own literary trumpet to a bunch of strangers - commonly known as the audience. Of course there are fans, but the original issue is how do you get the audience to engage, become fans and then buy?

Well for those Indie writers amongst us, Amazon KDP offers self-promotion tools. You can place your books on offer for a limited period or offer a time-limited free download. When I first started out I completely disagreed with the concept of free - especially when I spent years writing books. Why would I do all that writing and give away my book for free? Isn't that just a bunch of 'cheapos' wanting something for free? Well yes it is - however, that free book might be the trigger to turn that 'Cheapo' into a fan. That new 'fan' may well tell other people about your books. Or they may well go back and buy all your books. Or they do nothing. If they do nothing you have not lost anything. The point is that you are making people aware of your existence.

If you have read any of my other posts, you will know that I teach creative writing to evening classes. In these classes the biggest resistance arrives at the end of the course when we talk about editing and then promotion. Most writers want people to do the promotion for them. Yes that is great; however, why pay people to do what you can do for free. If you are a writer then you can write great pieces of promotion material. Isn't that the challenge? Finding ways to engage the audience and get your book / books out there. What most people don't know is that everyone has to deal with the feelings of 'not good enough'. Everyone also has to feel fear. That fear will always be there even when you do what you fear. Common mental churns turn up - what happens if the work does not sell? What happens if it does sell? What happens if I am catapulted into absolute stardom? This type of thinking does not serve a purpose - it is illusions. Nothing ever turns out the way you think it will anyway. Whatever happens you will deal with it. You CAN deal with it. It will provide lessons. Also fear is a good thing. It will never go away but it reveals that you are in touch with your comfort zone. So find where that zone finishes and leap into the unknown - release your book and then hype it. Why not? What is the worse that can happen? You won't sell any or you will sell loads. Who cares? This is all part of the fun of the experience. So suck it up princesses and self-promote. If you don't then who will know you exist? GO FOR IT!!!! YEY!!! 

In order to demonstrate what I am saying and show you how it works: this one is on promotion until Feb 4th and it is Free - yes Free!!!

Write what people want?

Write what people want? Is that the best advice a successful author can give you?
When I first received this advice I had to contain my expression of absolute bewilderment. I also had to conceal an offended chuckle. Really? You go to a literary event and ask what is the best advice you can provide for new authors? Answer: write what people want.

You will have to excuse any expletives that I now write but what the F*!!! If everyone knew what people wanted surely all books would be bestsellers. What's more, not all people want the same thing. Do we really think that some of the most famous authors sat down and thought - what do people want to read? I am sure that J.K. Rowling did not go - hmmm people will want to know about a young boy with a scar on his head. Or Douglas Adams laid thinking - what do people want? - Oh yes they want a Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Their ideas and books came from inspiration. Douglas Adams was travelling, a little wasted and laying in field looking at the sky when he had the title pop into his head. There was none of this - hmmm what do people want?

Now, in contrast to approval seeking, I like to think of my writing as a time and a space in which to explore characters and build stories. My whole approach is not seeking approval from strangers; instead, my writing is about enjoying every moment of creation. It enables me to explore visionary concepts and step into constructed mental landscapes. Maybe this is the anti-thesis of write what people want - I write what I want because it provides mental adventure. I write to sit crying laughing at my own jokes or enjoy taking characters to absolute extremes. If I was writing what I thought people wanted I would spend my whole time focused on seeking writing approval. That would certainly not motivate me. Instead I a compelled to write because it is my passion and I love literary escapades.

Another point that popped into my mind was maybe 'people' don't know what they want to read until it exists. Now there is a paradox - you don't know something is missing until it turns up in your life. Maybe the next book you or I write will be precisely what people want - they just don't know it yet.
My advice is write your passion for you. If people want it good. I would also then ask why I write. Do I write because I desire to be rich or do I write because something within my soul compels me to write, explore and enjoy?


Tuesday, 20 January 2015

Money Farm - Opening chapters

The Money Farm





(on behalf of the author.)


When did you buy into buying?

How did debt become a viable option?



Truth: everyone is connected through money.

What would happen if money ceased to exist overnight?

What would you do?

How would you survive?

Three years from now: at one minute past midnight, on the first day of the year, the financial plague would be activated.

The M.O.N.E.Y. farm digitally sneezed and infected all accounts. Since trillions of dollars-worth of financial digital money messages move around the globe in a day, within three years every account on the planet would be infected. That was the plan. It was just a matter of time before the whole world would recognise the viral symptoms and at that point it would be too late.

With one month until financial detonation, the M.O.N.E.Y. farm withdrew its bridges, sailed its financial platforms to a remote area close to Iceland and waited. All manner of simulated chaos had been anticipated. It was just a matter of waiting for the world to be ready to listen to M.O.N.E.Y. and the new Financial World Order. In the meantime, it continued to self-sufficiently do business as usual, knowing that every financial pillar in the world would collapse. At least, that was what it intended.




Three sentences - the catalyst for complete change.

If money was the root of all evil then what did that make those partaking in the system? Were we all unwittingly evil or was the money concept evil? What was the alternative? Where was the choice?

The principal coughed and shattered my churning thoughts. He turned from his archaic filing cabinet, trudged across the brown leathered room and then plonked down on his worn seat. He studied me for a short while and arranged some official looking papers. He carried the aroma of ‘old man’s musty aftershave’ and lemon.

“Gillian I am going say this as best as I can… I’m sorry but the government funding for your lecturing post has dried up. The paper you wrote on Reactance, Resistance, Reflexivity and Reversal in times of financial and social hardship didn’t go down well… at all… with anyone… on the board.” The principal paused, stared at the papers and sucked his lip through his teeth. He sounded like an emptying plughole. “So… we are going to have let you go.” He shuffled paper, re-aligned silver pens, and peered over his black-rimmed spectacles.

The sound of my clawing nails over leather filled the stagnant atmosphere. The heat of the blush accompanied by stunned silence and gritted teeth was enough. What could I say? He had always reminded me of an elephant seal with glasses. I glared at the ceiling spotlights shining on his heart-shaped bald patch. My fists clenched, my stomach folded and I scrutinized the five stunted hairs traversing his scalp combed from left to right. Thirty-two illuminated specks of dandruff sat in the curve of his pinstriped lapel. Twenty-seven hairs poked from the top of his crisp white shirt. There were two shaving accidents on the left side of his face, one half-healed. I distracted myself with patterns when the reality was that the institution had taken for-granted all my years of hard work. The paper was a warning of what was to come. Were they oblivious or were they caught in the mass persuasion mania? Who actually wanted to face they were the product of their conditioning? Who wanted their life value equated to figures in a bank account? That paper was not written for approval from a board of grey people who talked with haughty taught accents! It was inspired by a vision and evidenced by research. Obviously they did not know about the latter because one could never rationalized inspiration or intuition. That was for mad people.

The sound of a diver’s ventilator filled the atmosphere. My deep breaths were punctured by the aroma of dark wood and lacquer. I could hear my heart pounding in my throat yet I couldn’t say a thing.

He stared. Waiting.

Three sentences had ended an era. My silk-lined rut intended to eject me into the unknown during a time of financial unrest. I stood silently to leave. My throat was fully constricted. What was there to say? They would soon find out that intuition combined with true analysis resulted in unpopular findings. Unfortunately no one wanted to hear or acknowledge what was inevitable. The preservative imbued bread and elaborate digital circuses kept the mass hypnotized, fascinated them with subliminal messaging and towing the indebted line. Time was running out.

Book covers and whether they grab you... via @AmazonUK

The old clichĂ© never judge a book by its cover is a classic. Yet people do. That is a fact. How else are people drawn to what they want? There has to be something to hook you and grab your attention. So with that in mind, I would like to describe the logic behind this little creation. The Money Farm's theme is about conformity and freedom within society and finance. Whether we like it or not we gauge success within our society on 'having' and how much money people appear to generate. That is our society's conditioning. So with that in mind, the sheep mentality is clearly depicted with an image of sheep. Since the book is also about a new way of finance, money is hinted at on the cover. The overlay of money is intended to reveal the wealth content within the story. There were plenty of other suggestions regarding the cover - a picture of greed, a picture of conformity, yet I wanted something a little different: a herd standing out from the herd. Whether it works will be demonstrated by the sales and general feedback.
The thing is everyone has an opinion and everyone would do something different and that is according to them. Quite often I listen to opinions and consider whether what is said is in my best interest. Or is there another agenda? The unfortunate truth is that some people unintentionally and intentionally try to sabotage other people's success. This is all part of the learning on the writer's journey and one which all writers will gradually learn. The worst thing that can happen is that you have a cover that you hate... So speak up when you have the opportunity!!!!

Why I wrote Money Farm

Why I wrote Money Farm.

Life often has plans for us that we are unaware of. That is certainly something it taught me. Had I had my way I would have continued being a travel adventurer and photographer for my whole life. However, being on a ship that almost sunk in Antarctica makes a person consider a more ‘safe’ life. When you look death in the face it forces re-evaluation.

When I completed that contract I returned to England to study a Masters Degree in Media with a specialism in psycho-analysis and character. My timing was immaculate: I arrived just when the media industry was in depression and the digitisation of photography was gaining momentum. With a highly competitive photographic market, and no easy way into media, I took a job temping in finance. I had been an expedition leader and now I was sitting amongst sludgy office types who feared remote places. They talked about dieting whilst eating chocolate. These people were the ‘ants’ in the financial system. They were the stable workers who made everything work. They were not these greedy million dollar bonus types, instead they were lucky to get five hundred pounds bonus and that bonus was their incentive to remain in the most monotonous jobs you could ever imagine. The kind of job that would make most people go mad. Licking a wall five thousand times a day would have been more satisfying!

I was lucky, I was a temp. I could jump around and learn new systems and new roles in a variety of financial establishment. So I took my opportunity. Many times I was bought in for data clean ups, or system defect analysis. Over time I developed quite an insight into systems and since I was creative, I could see systems, patterns and linkages within most things. In the meantime, my huge aspiration was to make films, become famous (to feel egotistically special) and write children’s books. Strangely no opportunity arrived. While I was at University my tutor suggested that I wrote books, so I wrote on a daily basis. I had learned forming habits and persistence would lead to success.

Well my working life was boring and I needed a literary escape so wrote all manner of ‘fun’ stuff for enjoyment. I realised I needed a proper job to support my hobby and I needed stability so I could apply concentrated focus to writing. I then took a role supporting bullion trading pre-Lehman Brothers. There were aspects that were exciting like the physical settlement of gold. I had the opportunity to look at trending and analysis and pay attention to how the gold market followed patterns. It was during this time that the Money Farm title popped into my head. As much as I was enjoying my learning, I resented the fact that I was ‘stuck’ in a financial institution.  I had always been an adventurous butterfly and now I was in a metaphorical jar. My escape resulted in writing out my frustrations. My ridiculous dreams of being a film director had fallen by the wayside and there I was watching the world shifting lumps of metal around for a huge price. It was at the end of 2007 when things started to become interesting. I began to see sudden surges in price and people urgently buying gold. There were tremors and rumour in the market. I raised my concerns to my manager and they were dismissed. The surge in the movement of gold volumes was assumed to be down to an Indian holiday, Diwali. I knew that wasn’t the reason so sought out more evidence. It was then that I realised it was time to leave finance. The fluctuations in the market were pointing at something huge.

Two months later I literally jumped on a cruise ship full of millionaires and billionaires. My rational thinking was that millionaires and billionaires on a ship would remain safe. I was wrong. The richest people on the ship had their money invested in Lehman. I watched the world’s wealthy be rich one day and fly home with nothing the next. It was quite a phenomenon. It was during this time I met a little German billionaire-ess who shared her passion for trading with me. She was unassuming and looked like a granny. She sat me down and taught me her investment system. I realised then, that since I was amongst the worlds’ wealthy, I could learn from them. Strangely this ship went to Antarctica and we were hit by a huge wave which annihilated the front of the ship. This was my sign that once my contract was up I had to return home. All the time I wrote. Even when I was exhausted. I was compelled and what these rich people taught me was belief, circumstance, persistence and attitude led them to where they were. They worked, they suffered but they continued against the odds. It was not an easy road for any of them, other than those who inherited, or the wives who had hunted their men. However, the sacrifice many of the women made of themselves to be with a rich man was an interesting observation in itself.

Once my contract was complete, I returned to England just as the jobs market dried up. I had a year working as a freelance photographer, not knowing where my next payment was coming from. To say I felt unsettled was an understatement. At that time I lived in an area close to Boscombe. This is an area in Bournemouth Dorset, renown for poverty, drug addiction and alcoholism. Boscombe itself is beautiful and I actually love it there; however, I was provided with the time to be amongst those whose life had dealt them very different cards. There was a particular café in Roumelia lane, which has the best coffee and the best lasagne. I would go there and listen to how the recovered addicts returned to wellness. So many of them had been born into absolute poverty and almost had no chance of survival. The stories bemused me. How did some people land in lives that took them to greatness where others took them to self-destruction? A few months before I had heard about wealth, progression and success and now I was listening to people whose parents had locked them in sheds and starved them. Their sense of self-worth was so devoid that it made me so angry. How was life fair?

During that year I returned to a stable job, I worked, wrote and absorbed all I could about society, systems, psychology and psychoanalysis. I mentally hovered up because I had to understand ‘why’. Obviously there was no answer. At the end of that year I had a personal crisis whereby, my relationship combusted, I was made redundant, my grandfather died, I had extreme food poisoning and my back went. It is during these times, when we are forced to stop, that we realise we are chasing our tales. While in my bed, I kept writing as a distraction and an escape. The truth was I needed a stable job, there was no one to support me other than me and all the patterns I was experiencing were coming from me. So in that state I resolved to find the best way to heal myself, would return to finance and I would write a book on money because I had seen all aspects of it. Extreme wealth, extreme poverty and the institutionalised version. So within two weeks I was back working in finance and resolved that I would not leave the financial institutions until I had completed the money book. Also while I was writing this book I ‘had to’ learn everything I could on economics, behavioural finance, persuasion techniques, the psychology of wealth and at the same time I intended to find the best way to physically heal ‘stress symptoms’ so that I could cope without physical collapse. In addition, I taught creative writing evening classes, so that I could be amongst fellow creatives and kept the creative side of me alive. I know that is nuts – but I love watching people learn and grow.

Seven years later – I have worked again in numerous financial companies, I am now a business analyst – a job that I love. I work on the analysis of financial incidents and how we rebuild the system and fix them. It is like being a healer – I look at the illness within the system, the symptoms and find ways to adapt, adjust and stabilise. This provides me with beautiful sense of purpose and contribution.

All the while, I tried to figure out alternatives for the Money Farm. A few years ago, when there were demonstrations against capitalism, I ended up having a chat with some of the leaders of the ‘sit in’ and asked them about alternatives. When they said they did not have an alternative, I wondered how you demonstrate against the system you reside within without moving to something new. That thought haunted me and kept rearing its ghostly head. The strange thing was that to create the book, everything that I learned for self-healing contributed to how I approached the finance. What I learned is that wealth really is a mind-set and a sense of feeling. To feel rich one has to feel it inside. The richest people can feel poor even when they have everything. The focus on the physical healing enabled me insights into the biological system, which I applied to the writings in the book and how I ‘heal’ and track the system. Also, and since I am saying it how it is, originally I had this heady idea of being ‘rich, being successful and world literary domination,’ – this is me being an egotistical dick, however, none of that matters. I have loved the writing and the journey. When I completed Money Farm I was in a state of shock. I had figured out how I was going to solve things and had figured myself out. In truth, I was not going to release it because I felt that I was at a point in my life whereby I write because I love the space and time to digest my thoughts. Why put Money Farm out into the world when you are already content and enjoyed its creation? Well – it was one of those discussions with friends where you get a ‘kick-in’ and they tell you that it is selfish not to share it. Imagine. So Money Farm has been born to digital consumer machine and I genuinely hope it inspires people to see beyond the financial illusions and take the journey into self. That is all I can wish for you – that one can grow, and become the best you and that in itself will be the key to your happinessJ