Nicky Charles is an independent writer/publisher who became an author quite by accident. She always saw herself as a ‘reader not a writer’ and can thank—or blame, depending on the day—her friend/editor and fellow author, Jan Gordon, for the career she now finds herself immersed in.
When she writes, Nicky sees the story unfolding in her head like a movie and tries to include enough detail so that readers can ‘see’ the story just as she does. The sights, sounds, smells and sensations of a scene are almost as important to her as the actual plot.
Nicky lives in Canada and tries to stick to Canadian spelling and punctuation in her work, in support of her country. She has three ‘inside’ cats—all adopted strays—and is an avid supporter of animal shelters, nature conservancy, food banks and a variety of other charities.
When not writing, Nicky enjoys reading – though she often laments that she seldom has time for it any more. Her favourite authors are Elizabeth Peters, S.C. Stephen and Cherise Sinclair. She also enjoys spending time out in nature, gardening, taking day trips and eating dark chocolate.
Contact Nicky at her website: www.nickycharles.com
Nicky’s having a Facebook Cover Reveal party tomorrow, October 22 starting at 10. Grab your coffee and get ready to meet some authors, have fun, enter contests, and win books. See you there!
Here’s what Nicky says about Gwyneth’s Christmas:
In Betrayed: Book Two – The Road to Redemption, a minor character was introduced. Her name was Gwyneth and she was the owner of Club Mystique. She reappeared in for the Good of All and then niggled my muse into writing a Christmas story for her. She’s still not satisfied and it appears that my next novel will need to centre around her if I am to ever get any peace and quiet! — Nicky
Here’s a quick peek…
Gwyneth managed to keep the sneer from her face as she murmured an indistinct reply to the patrons that wished her ‘Merry Christmas’. Fools, she thought as she watched them file out of her establishment singing snatches of carols. Commercial hype, that’s all the day was about.
“Want me to stay and help clean up?” Rudy, the bouncer, came to stand beside her. A wall of muscle, he was, in reality, a gentle giant.
“Thanks for the offer but I’ll take care of it. The place is closed tomorrow and I have nothing to do.”
“No family to celebrate with?” He frowned. “You could spend the day with me and my wife.”
“Rudy.” She folded her arms, brows arched in disbelief.
“Sorry. I forgot you don’t get into holidays and such.” He gave her a repentant grin.
“You’re forgiven. Head home. I’ll lock the place up.”
“Thanks, Gwyn. Have a Merry…er…have a nice night.”
Gwyneth shook her head and shut the door firmly behind the bouncer as he left. After flipping the locks and sliding the deadbolt into place, she paused to look out the window. The streets were almost deserted now. She could see Rudy walking down the sidewalk, his feet leaving footprints in the slushy snow.
Gotta love winter in the city, she thought. The white shit that fell from the sky didn’t stand a hope in hell of surviving the exhaust from a myriad of vehicles. It turned into brown slop the minute it hit the pavement. Whoever wrote about white Christmases obviously didn’t live in Chicago.
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