I’m very pleased to welcome Nicky to the blog today. Nicky’s new release is Lost in Wonderland….
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.
(14+ due to violence and adult situations)
Add on Goodreads
I guess I’ve always been a storyteller, not in a ‘liar liar pants on fire’ kind of way, although I do work in advertising! When I was little, kids would crowd around me in the playground and I’d tell them tales of blood soaked horror filled with vampires, werewolves, ghosts and more. Yes, most would consider me a disturbed child, but my playmates couldn’t help themselves, they’d huddle around me every break time like an ancient tribe feeding off the fear; and that’s how I learned that horror stories hold a certain power, no matter what some might say, everyone is addicted to a good scare, especially if it is somewhat rooted safely in unrealistic beings… or are they unrealistic?
Writing was really a natural progression for me. So far I’ve had 35 short stories included in anthologies produced by publishers all over the world; my latest was included in Little Brown Book Group’s Mammoth Book of Jack the Ripper Stories. I have two YA series with the publishers, Evernight Teen: Battle of the Undead and The Twisted and The Brave.
Tell us a little about yourself, Nicky. What do you like to do when not writing?
I’m an English author based in the UK and have two YA book series out through the publishers, Evernight Teen. I started my writing career in the short story market and gained over 30 publishing credits before I sold my first novel. I write horrors, urban fantasy and paranormal romance, but do enjoy a good genre mash-up so tend to be open about what I write. As long as it has a sharp, dark edge to it, I’m happy!
My two YA series are with Evernight Teen. Battle of the Undead is vampires VS zombies urban fantasy and The Twisted and the Brave are supernatural thriller twists on classic children’s books.
When I’m not writing, I’m avoiding exercise, spending far too much time with friends in pubs and shopping for clothes and nail polish. I also read, a lot!
Where did the idea for Lost in Wonderland come from?
It was initially inspired by Alice in Wonderland’s 150th anniversary last year. I wanted to write a book that honored the themes, such as growing up, madness and being lost, without just transposing the whole story into another genre – I combined this thought with another about a vigilante group who hunt serial killers and Lost in Wonderland was born. I’m currently working on new books in this series based on other classic children’s books. The next book is The Assassin of Oz.
Do you have a favourite character from the book?
I feel the most connection with Mouse. She has my humour and also my biggest fear…getting lost. She loves shoes and is pretty heroic, although I’m not sure she is going about things in the right way.
Do you use any particular techniques when developing a story?
I don’t know how my imagination does what it does. I tend to have a ‘what if’ thought and then my mind rolls it round and round till it gets bigger and bigger, like a literary snowball. I always try to get down the most exciting scenes first and then plot through. I’m always open to the story as it evolves and I work on it. But the main plot should be pretty firm to ensure your prose doesn’t meander around pointlessly.
Can you remember the first book that made an impression?
It was Lost Souls by Poppy Z Brite. She can make the most grotesque things sound beautiful. Wonderfully written and such a great take on vampires.
If you could meet any author, past or present, who would it be?
Charlaine Harris, I loved her Sookie Stackhouse books but was bitterly disappointed at how the series ended. I’d like to ask her what happened and plead with her to write an alternate ending.
If you couldn’t be an author what would be your ideal career?
A teacher. It would be a great way to funnel my love of writing and literature to the next generation.
What can’t you live without?
My laptop. I use it to write and watch Netflix. I also have all my music on it. If my house were on fire, I’d get my laptop out first, then alert my family! LOL.
If you won the lottery what would be the first thing on your list?
A holiday. I’ve not been on one for over 15 years! I’d love to go to New Orleans for Mardi Gras, Mexico for the Day of the Dead and Venice for the festival. First Class all the way for me, my friends and family.
What do you fear the most? (Sorry, you did mention that above)
My biggest fear is being lost. It always has been, more so when I’m driving than on foot, though. I even hate it when there are diversions on the road. I get all sweaty and shaky. I’m okay if someone is with me, but alone I just can’t deal with it. If I won the lottery, I’d also get a chauffeur driven car!
Nicky’s social media links:
Excerpt from Lost in Wonderland
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.