‘An enticing communication turns Pero Saric’s world upside down. Spurred on by ‘what might have been’, he finds himself drawn back to his hometown of Sarajevo, a city he hasn’t visited since the civil war that ripped the former Yugoslavia apart. Yet by ‘Going Home’, Pero is forced to confront what lies scattered among the ruins…’R
Get ‘Going Home’ by A. P. Grozdanovic on Kindle or Kindle app now!
I’ve just read and reviewed this book on Amazon. It’s definitely worth a look at. My review is below along with a link:
‘This book is excellent! Chris Martin takes you on an inspiring trek through the ups and downs of first writing a book, and then attempting to find a publisher for it. ‘Write to the Bitter End!’ follows several decades of Chris’ adventures in writing, from his early days ‘plotting’ murder mystery plays, through to his whodunit novels focused around a schoolboy detective. The book’s easy, conversational style allows Chris to present informative detail in an engaging, palatable way. The piece is an authentic entry into this market.’
All aboard and batten down the hatches for a murder-mystery of titanic proportions! The luxury cruise liner ‘the Celebration’ is the pride of the ‘Blue Triangle Shipping Line’, yet she’s sailing on choppy waters… and there’s an iceberg-sized scandal looming over the horizon!
‘Who Killed the Ship’s Captain?’ is set in the passenger lounge of the (fictional) ship ‘the Celebration’. It’s 1912, just 3 months after the sinking of the Titanic, and there’s more trouble brewing out to sea. Edward Pearson, the ship’s captain, is becoming increasingly unpopular. Ever since the disastrous voyage of the company’s rival, he’s had a sinking feeling of his own. Pearson’s become distracted, irritable and argumentative. Something’s clearly on his mind, but what? And more importantly, who would want to kill him? Could it be…?
Elizabeth, his frustrated wife?
Cheerful cabin boy, Jack Bailey?
William Earnshaw, Pearson’s ruthless second-in-command?
Catherine Earnshaw, William’s pushy wife?
Ian Jackson, the ship’s doctor with a ‘complicated’ past. Or…
Pamela Davies, the captain’s (overly) personal secretary.
When the ship docks at Southampton, Inspector Peach from Scotland Yard is called in to sift through the flotsam and jetsam of a disastrous voyage. Life on the ocean wave has never been so turbulent… or as deadly!!
‘Who Killed the Ship’s Captain?’ is a one hour ten minute play for 8 actors- 3 male, 3 female, and 2 of either. Although still a comedy, the piece is murderplays’ most reserved, least frivolous, play, making it a popular choice for more ‘senior’ groups or those simply relishing the opportunity to ‘glam-up for a life on the ocean wave’!
Please CONTACT US to request a FREE copy of Act 1 of this play by clicking the link below:
The following is an extract from Going Home, a short story by A.P. Grozdanovic, that is available on Amazon Kindle…
The message had been straight-forward, ‘Zdravo.Prošlo je dugo vremena.’ – Hello. It’s been a long time. That’s how easy it is to connect these days. Someone you haven’t spoken to for decades can come straight into your home and metaphorically shake you by the hand.
Pero Saric had only joined the social network revolution to promote his business. He had been reluctant to take part in the continuing craze for social media. More fearful of the unknown than excited by the possible. But he had been convinced by the staff, who had said it was too easy an opportunity to raise the profile of the elderly care home he owned. He had relented and signed up. If it made the staff of Easy Living Care Home happy, it was okay by him.
Families, friends and God-knows who, had liked or followed the Profile Page within days. The staff, overseeing the pages for him, were pleased with the response. They had advertised the annual fête the Home was hosting and within hours lots of people had committed to attend and contribute items for sale. The pages had cost nothing to set up and they were paying dividends almost immediately.
Up to the day of the fete the staff had been working long hours to get the place ready. Pero had recognised this, filled in where necessary, and let them finish early where possible. He’d try to make it up to the staff at bonus time. But his attention had been taken away from their efforts and the fête itself on that very morning. Having picked his morning coffee and toast up from the kitchen he settled at his desk to plan for the day ahead. He always started with the days physical correspondence, then incoming email. He had now added the social media aspect of the work to this morning routine and as he was going through his online content, he had noticed the message from Selma Sokolovic. He had neither seen nor heard from Selma, the only girlfriend he’d ever really known, in over twenty-five years. She still lived in Sarajevo, the capital of Bosnia Herzegovina, formerly part of the Yugoslav Republic – Pero’s birthplace.
Pero had tried to suppress his feelings for his homeland since the Balkan War of the early nineties. The death and destruction, especially the siege of Sarajevo which lasted from 1992 to 1996, bit into Pero’s heart deeply. He’d watched on the news daily how his countrymen had killed neighbours and seized land. His former country had now split into six independent republics. Never had Europe witnessed so much barbarity since the Second World War.
At first, he didn’t know whether to answer or simply ignore the communication. What on earth could Selma want after all these years? He clicked on her profile. Nothing was hidden. Her photos and friends’ list, some of whom he vaguely recognised, were all visible. His staff had told him that it was important for personal social media sites to maintain a sensible security level. The business page didn’t need the same level of filter as they desired visibility. Selma, it appeared, was a little cavalier with her online activities status. Anyone could open her page and see where she had been and who were her friends.
The weeks passed, and then out of the blue, Pero received another message. Again, it was a simple opening line, but this time in English:
‘How are you?’
Pero still didn’t know whether to respond or not. Over lunch he had mentioned this second message to the staff. To a person, they sat bolt upright.
‘Of course you should respond,’ said Gail.
‘What have you got to lose,’ demanded Jane, crunching through a slice of toast.
He had no response to their enthusiasm. What could he lose? He concluded, absolutely nothing.
The following is an extract from Stalag Britain, a short story by A. P. Grozdanovic, that is available on Amazon Kindle…
’On this historic day, the twenty-six of June 2016, the British electorate has spoken,’ the news anchorman declared, ‘and it’s a definitive rebuff to the Remainers. The UK has turned its back on the Prime Minister and the European project. By a margin of 51.9% to 48.1% Brexit is now a reality. For some analysis on what this means, we’ll go over to Darren Reynolds, our Chief Political Correspondent, in Downing Street. So,’ the anchor momentarily paused in thought, ‘what does this mean?’
The camera cut to the reporter in Downing Street.
‘Put quite simply, Michael, no one knows. We can take a wild guess: market turmoil, factory closures, years of renegotiating trade deals, university funding cuts due to the number of foreign students falling. The list of negatives seems endless.
‘But, of course, some will see this as scare-mongering. They say that this is the beginning of a whole new chapter in the relationship we have with the entire world, not just Europe. One where the British people decide for themselves what they want. From trade to immigration, from law to subsidies. And there are champagne corks popping across the country in celebration at this new opportunity.’
‘And what about the Prime Minister?’
The reporter gave a definitive, ‘He’s toast! The Prime Minister staked his whole political career on a referendum that many new he couldn’t win. Polling shows that not only were the electorate voting to leave the EU, they were also voicing their dissatisfaction with the government and its austerity package. Quite simply, he put himself in a no-win situation.’
The camera cut back to the studio.
‘Do I smell the whiff of resignation?’
The camera returned to Downing Street.
‘It’s more a stench than a whiff, Michael. Some say the Prime Minister won’t last the day.’
The camera cut back to the studio.
‘So that’s it, folks. Once Britain triggers its formal intention to leave the EU the countdown begins. Historic times indeed. Goodbye from us.’
The following is an extract from Aftermath, Extreme Measures 2, a short story by A. P. Grozdanovic, that is available on Amazon Kindle…
Maybe this was the happiest day he’d ever encountered in his whole life. He felt at peace. Maybe it was the last place he would like to see before…
Glenn had learned from watching a plethora of action movies that you don’t pull a trigger. You caress it. You squeeze it gently. Contrary to that advice, at this moment he wanted to pull it hard. Hard in the hope that the bullet would come out of the muzzle so fast, with so much explosive power, that it would rip through George Forester’s head and make a real mess of it.
But first, he wanted to see Forester sweat, and to suffer the reality of the situation they both found themselves in. He needed Forester to understand he had no control over his own fate. And to be fair to his captive, he was in serious distress. As Glenn stood over Forester, the last words he heard Forester bleat out like a frightened child he was were, ‘Glenn, no! Don’t! Please!’
He’d let the girl, Anna, go. How young and naive she was, they all were. He couldn’t have kept her any longer. She’d been beside herself. It wasn’t until she’d left that Glenn realised how much he needed a woman’s touch. He’d forgotten how distant he and Elena had become in those last turbulent months. Of course, before he’d let Anna and John McCarthy go, they’d tried to talk him into giving himself up. But it was too late. The dye had been cast.
And at the precise moment Forester was screaming ‘Please!’ Glenn had made peace with what he had done. He didn’t believe he’d chosen this particular path. It had been forced on him.
Glenn was content.
Glenn could guess what was going to happen next. There would be a police marksman out there somewhere just waiting to pick him off. He’d searched desperately through the setting sun, but failed to get a glimpse of the man who would be his executioner. He’d concluded some time earlier that once he made the move to kill Forester he was more than likely signing his own death warrant.
And now the time had come. A calm descended over him. Despite his earlier inclination, he took the advice and slowly squeezed the trigger…
To read more of Aftermath, Extreme Measures 2 visit: