Dark Whispers released!

I'm thrilled to announce the arrival of my latest baby, Dark Whispers.

   She is so still, so relaxed, so ready as she lies on the stainless steel, her breathing slow and steady, her gaze unfocused. There is just time for a small whisper, a soft encouragement of hope, before the darkness slides her entirely into his honing hands. He leans over and breathes into her ear, “I’m going to do something very special for you now. Cut it all away and make it neat. And when you wake up, you’re going to be just perfect.”

     Between the anaesthesia and the awakening, are the dark whispers.

   When a patient describes an experience of mental torture and sexual mutilation by a gynaecologist at the private hospital where she works, psychologist Megan Wright decides to investigate. Determined to find out the truth and stop the abuse, but bound to silence by the ethics of confidentiality, Megan must enter the dark mind of a dangerously disturbed man.

Praise for Dark Whispers:

"Read this thriller. It's gripping - so shocking you won't be able to breathe until you get to the end." Mike Nicol (Payback, Killer Country, Black Heart, Of Cops and Robbers)

"A chilling exploration of human vulnerability and cruelty, a terrifying and throughly entertaining read." Amanda Coetzee (Flaming June, Bad Blood, Redemption Song)

Dark Whispers is already available at Protea bookstores throughout South Africa, will be at Exclusive Books and the best Indie book stores within days, and is available in ebook from Kalahari here for a terrific introductory price. If they haven't got it, ask them to order it for you:) (Protea Boekhuis, 2014. ISBN: 978-1-4853-0015-1. Psychological Thriller.)

 Enter the Goodreads Giveaway (link adjacent) to win a free copy (SA only, for now).

Cover Reveal!

Dark Whispers

 I'm so excited to reveal the final cover of my new psychological thriller for adults, Dark Whispers, due out in February! *dances happydance amidst the blood splatters* 

     She is so still, so relaxed, so ready as she lies on the stainless steel, her breathing slow and steady, her gaze unfocused. There is just time for a small whisper, a soft encouragement of hope, before the darkness slides her entirely into his honing hands. He leans over and breathes into her ear, “I’m going to do something very special for you now. Cut it all away and make it neat. And when you wake up, you’re going to be just perfect.”

Between the anaesthesia and the awakening, are the dark whispers.

     When a patient describes an experience of mental torture and sexual mutilation by a gynaecologist at the private hospital where she works, psychologist Megan Wright decides to investigate. Determined to find out the truth and stop the abuse, but bound to silence by the ethics of confidentiality, Megan must enter the dark mind of a dangerously disturbed man.

Praise for Dark Whispers:

"Read this thriller. It's gripping - so shocking you won't be able to breathe until you get to the end." Mike Nicol (Payback, Killer Country, Black Heart, Of Cops and Robbers)

"A chilling exploration of human vulnerability and cruelty, a terrifying and throughly entertaining read." Amanda Coetzee (Flaming June, Bad Blood, Redemption Song)

Sshhh... Cover reveal coming soon!

  Between the anaesthesia and the awakening are the dark whispers.

The real tributes

   This morning, I went to the Houghton, Johannesburg house of Nelson Mandela, to say my personal goodbye to Madiba on the day of his funeral. I set out bright and early at 7am, hoping to get there ahead of the crowds, but the street was already filling up with visitors, each on a private pilgrimage of their own.

   The path to his door and the pavement and road outside his house were overflowing with tributes of love and appreciation and grief. At the back, the candles placed there by the first visitors ten days ago have burned down to wax puddles, and the first flowers are disintegrating after a week in the extremes of the baking African sun and the violent Highveld thunderstorms.

   But more gifts are laid over the old, hour by hour, day by day, person by person. Flowers, teddy bears, poems by children, a bright yellow toy car, letters in every language, signed T-shirts and posters and banners, photographs and mosaic pictures, and ribbons in the colours of the South African flag wound around the trunks of trees.

   But, for me at least, all of these were not the real tribute. The real story had more to do with the accessibility and unifying inclusivity, than with the tangible tributes.

   As I left, an elderly lady on her way to the house stopped to ask me, “Can you just go in?”

   “Yes,” I said.

   “And do you have to go through a security check?”

   “No, nothing like that.”

   We smiled, a silent acknowledgement that even in death, Madiba remains one of the people, as ready to be right in our midst, without barrier or distancing self-importance, as he was to shake any and every hand while he lived. Where else in the world could this happen? This man was a politician, a leader of a country divided by strife, once labelled a terrorist by the ruling regime, and yet anyone can walk up to the end of the pathway to his door to say goodbye.

   And everyone, it seems, does. Scruffy street children and privileged tots in prams, domestic workers and corporate CEOs, black and white and every colour in between, folks old enough to remember the times before apartheid and three born-free boys sharing a posy of chrysanthemums, energetic young joggers, tired uniformed nurses just off the night shift alongside police officers starting theirs, reporters from the first TV news crew of the day, and those who have travelled in from remote Limpopo and Mpumalanga, in cars and on trains and in rattletrap taxis – standing silently, praying, embracing each other, sharing our grief and our hope. To every single of us, Mandela meant, continues to mean, something deeply personal. And yet we each understand that we’re witnessing history, privileged to have shared in these momentous times.

   These were our tributes to Madiba – that we could, and did, come to say goodbye. That we were able – due in no small part to his efforts – to do so together, irrespective of colour or history or belief.

   Resting against the bank of flowers was a letter written on orange paper from an Afrikaans family from Pretoria, thanking Madiba and quoting scripture: “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God.”

Hamba Kahle, Tata Madiba

Our nation, along with the world, mourns the loss of Nelson Mandela even as it celebrates his life and legacy. My daughter wrote a poem during Madiba's protracted illness, and I think it captures our feelings better than anything else I could write.

Journey's End

Stay, Madiba,

Stay.

It's been a long walk to freedom and we need you now,

more than ever.

Please, Madiba,

Please.

We need you to show us the way.

You whose courage never faltered,

never failed.

Fight Madiba!

Fight!

Like you fought for our nation,

for our freedom,

for our future.

Thanks, Madiba,

Thanks.

For your example,

your life,

your love.

Rest, Madiba,

Peace.

Lay down your mantle and we will carry on.

For you are with us now,

and forever.

 By Emily (13)