Aug 29, 2016

Blog Blast: Interview and Excerpt from Nicky Peacock

Hello Readers! Another fun day of Book Content for You!
Today I have the pleasure of sharing an interview with Nicky Peacock author of The Battle of the Undead Series and new release Lost in Wonderland, Book #1 in The Twisted and the Brave Series. I also have an excerpt from Lost in Wonderland for you. 

Excerpt is recommended for ages 14+ due to violence and adult situations.
Could you first tell us a little more about yourself?  
I’m an English author based in the UK. I was first published back in 2012, although I’d been trying to get published pretty much all my life. I write urban fantasy, horror and paranormal romance for both YA and adult markets. I’m most interested in writing stories that have a sharp dark edge to them. I grew up in a mid-sized town and didn’t have access to help or mentors for my writing, so I’ve decided to become that person for local writers. I run a busy adult writers’ group and also volunteer to run creative writing workshops for local schools and colleges.

Why did you decide to start writing? What was your inspiration for Battle of the Undead?
I love both vampires and zombie stories, but when I looked around to try and find a book that featured vampires fighting for humans in the zombie apocalypse, I found none. There were plenty that had supernatural creatures together, but none that showed what it would be like if True Blood meet The Walking Dead. So I wrote it.

How did you come up with the plot for Battle of the Undead?  And did you do any research before writing your book?
Vampires tend to be old, and I loved the idea of having sworn enemies having to work together for survival. I included themes of magic VS science as well as having a protagonist that would have to change her ingrained ways to help the vulnerable people around her. I did research on character traits and London, where it’s mainly set. I had the action centred around specific tourist sites that most readers would recognize and be interested in. I’d love to say that I did some zombie research by entering zombie runs, or trying out those live action role play events, but I just don’t have the courage for something like that!

Was there anything really challenging about the writing of this story? Any obstacles you might have run into?
 Not so much with the Battle of the Undead books, but I did with Lost in Wonderland. My protagonist, Mouse, has the fear of being lost, which is my fear. It’s a hard one to explain really to most people, especially with cell phones and satnavs easily available to stop people getting lost, but it can be crippling, no matter how confident and brave you are in other facets of your life. I channeled my thoughts and feelings through her in certain scenes, and it proved to be difficult, but worth it. I think it perhaps gave her a vulnerable vibe that made her more endearing to readers.

What is your favorite part about the writing process? Do you have a special writing spot?
I love plotting and coming up with ideas. I just get frustrated that I don’t have the time to execute all of them – I have to prioritize. I try to write outside my home as there are too many distractions – cleaning, cooking, watching TV. I have a fabulous battery life on my laptop so love going to different pubs, cafes and places of interest in my area. I find that I can concentrate more with the sort of white noise of people around me.

Is there anything about you that would surprise your readers – hobbies, likes, dislikes, etc.?
I’m a bit of a shopaholic and can easily spend every day all day shopping. I prefer tea to coffee and will only eat animals that I think would eat me – if given the chance! I love badminton, but am competitive so can only play with strangers, I’d ruin friendships if I played with friends!

If you could spend time with any author, who would it be and why?
I do spend time with another local author, Jane Issac. She writes adult thrillers and is one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. It’s lovely to spend time with someone who writes; those outside the business tend to have misconceptions about it. Also, being an author can be very lonely, so having a cup of tea with someone navigating those same literary waters can be wonderful.

What are you reading right now? Do you have any book recommendations for the young adult/ new adult reader?
I’ve been reading Mortal Heart by Robin LaFevers. I love her books; they are teen historical fiction with a splash of urban fantasy.  

Lost in Wonderland – The Twisted and the Brave #1 by Nicky Peacock

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About the Book:

Monsters, serial killers, and imaginary friends—being a Wonderlander can be murder... 

Once upon a time, Kayla was lost. Then she found Wonderland, but not the one you know. Run by ex-government agents and funded by an eccentric Silicon Valley billionaire, this Wonderland is the name of a collective of highly trained vigilantes who hunt serial killers. Now Kayla, aka Mouse, works tirelessly alongside her fellow Wonderlanders, Rabbit and Cheshire, baiting dangerous murderers. But even her extensive training hasn’t prepared her for the return of her older brother… 

Shilo has spent most of his life in an insane asylum, convinced his mother was abducted by a sinister Alaskan monster who lures the lost away to feast upon their flesh. And now he’s certain that his sister is in the same monster’s crosshairs. But if Shilo is going to save what’s left of his family, he’ll have to convince his sister that maybe, just maybe, we’re all a little mad.

Before I can scream, he stuffs me in his trunk. It is dark, smelly, and contains an empty plain black plastic bag and a dirty shovel; these are not good signs. I put my hands to the top of the trunk and push. It is locked. I wasn’t getting out till he wanted me to. I resign myself to curl into a ball, the acidic-smelling sweat of his palms still imprinted on my bare, narrow shoulders. I should be listening out for the car engine, hearing when it slows for corners or revs on open roads. I should be testing the resilience of all the sides of the black space around me. I should be doing all the things they tell you to do, but I don’t. I simply stay in my little ball, quiet and patient.

The car bounces up and down and I realize we’re not on the main road anymore. He’s taking me somewhere remote…

We come to a soft stop. The slam of a car door shivers through the metal of the vehicle. I know what is going to happen. It’s so inevitable that it’s almost laughable. Death comes to everyone at some point; what is that saying, “No one can avoid death and taxes.” Funny the things you remember when you’re in danger. I suppose your brain tries to distract you with all sorts of useless crap, anything to keep you from shutting down and freaking the hell out. I grab at my forearm, an almost robotic reaction, feeling down it to check that my tracking chip is still there. The hard edges beneath my skin make me smile. My small, metallic friend never lets me down, never abandons me.

The lid to my dark place is pulled up and I see him. His face is blank. There’s no hint of emotion or even intent other than what can be derived through his actions. His hands are sturdy as he pulls me from the trunk and stands me up before him. Being barely five feet tall, I only stand to his chest. I look down to the ground between us and see the cheapest sneakers in the world, ones probably made by enslaved third-world children. Man this guy is pure evil.

“Don’t worry, girl.” He puts a hand on my cheek and graces me with a twitchy smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. The hand lingers longer than usual polite social circles would allow. My eyes widen. I know that I am one of many girls he has brought here—one of the many that he planned to rape and strangle, then leave used and vacant by the side of the road, a hollow tangle of floppy limbs. How do I know this? Because I know him. I was looking for him. I’m not who, and what, he thinks I am. I’m not a fourteen-year-old girl, scared by the death sentence before her. No, I am something else entirely.

I smack his palm from my cheek and use the momentum to reach over with my other hand to grab his wrist. I position myself in front of him and use his own body weight to pull him down and over my now bent back. He hits the ground so hard he cries out. I keep hold of his arm and twist it around and under. He moves his body, angling it in the same direction in an attempt to ease the tension I’m creating.

“Stop!” he yells, those crappy sneakers frantically pumping to find enough purchase to get him to his feet.

I push harder till I hear the bone snap. He screams, but thanks to the remote location he has taken us to, no one hears him. I let go of his wrist and turn to retrieve the shovel from the trunk. I take a minute to loom over him. He is trying to get up, but the weight and pain of his broken arm is putting him off-balance; funny how fragile the human body actually is, even one that belongs to a sick serial killer.

I raise the shovel and smack it over his knees. He howls and tries to shield himself with his good arm. An arm that is not intact for long, as I turn the shovel and this time use the edge to dig into his flesh. Blood pools on the ground and he begins to crawl. I’m not sure where he’s trying to go. I think his goal is just to get away from me. I walk the few steps to where he’s managed to drag himself to then bring my weapon down hard onto his skull. The splintering sound of bone meeting metal is my cue to get on with the operation. I pull my cell phone from my pink sparkle-covered jeans and dial the only number on it. An automated message greets me. “Off with their heads.” I take a breath and look over at the mangled mess of the serial killer they knew as the Doll Maker. “Here, here,” I say. The call rings off and I know that I have to make my exit now. They will come and clean up the mess. No one will ever know that the Doll Maker was an accountant with really bad shoes, and I mean really bad. It’s not till they’d stopped moving that I see peeling luminous go-faster stripes adorning their sides. Yeesh. The blood splatter does little to hide their ugliness.

I stoop and check for a pulse, finding none. His skin is already clammy and I could swear slightly rubbery, but in truth it is probably just my imagination.

I throw down the shovel and begin the trek back to civilization. The night air is bitter and cruel, so I pull up my lilac hood against it. An unmarked black car zooms past me. They were quick tonight. I rub my hand up my forearm and feel the comfort of my chip. My chip is a constant friend, albeit a chatty one; they will always be able to find me, know where I am, where I’ve been. Not that I’m complaining. I was lost once, when I was very little. And although that fear bubbles in my mind every day, I beat it back with my chip. I’ll never be lost again; or at least that is what my adoptive parents tell me. Wonderland doesn’t lose its operatives.

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