Paragon OS seller on Amazon

Dear Amazon seller Paragon OS.

This is your first Cease and Desist order, Remove my book from your store front or immediate legal action will begin.

I am calling out to all my readers and supports please email Amazon and get this seller taken down.
This is the link I want removed

Please Help me.

Book 1.0 Æther Shadow rev 7

I have just finished the seventh revision of book 1 Æther Shadow and bar the spelling and grammar check and edit this revision will be sent out to the reviewers and bug checks.

So glad that it’s nearly finished as in all honesty, I’m sick of the site of it.
Not because its bad its because I hate to read the same book twice.

I’m eager to move on to the next book, but at this stage there is two that are demanding to be written at the same time.

Warwolf Part 8 – Warwolf

Now we step forward a few years.


“Übergabe” the Hun soldier shouted at me an instant before I ripped open his chest with a massive fur covered claw. I was surrounded by dead Hun soldiers, each one the victim of this wild beast. I turned away from the carnage and made it two steps before I was overcome with tiredness and collapsed into the mud and blood above the English Army trench

I was woken by soldiers shouting “The war is over”

“What happened, did we win?” I asked looking down at my green blood stained uniform.

“The War wolves came and slaughtered every last Hun Soldier.

A poem about the English Language

Some words have different meanings,
and yet they’re spelt the same.
A cricket is an insect,
to play it — it’s a game.

On every hand, in every land,
it’s thoroughly agreed,
the English language to explain
is very hard indeed.

Some people say that you’re a dear,
yet dear is far from cheap.
A jumper is a thing you wear,
yet a jumper has to leap.

It’s very clear, it’s very queer,
and pray who is to blame
for different meanings to some words,
pronounced and spelt, the same?

A little journey is a trip,
a trip is when you fall.
It doesn’t mean you have to dance
whene’er you hold a ball.

Now here’s a thing that puzzles me:
musicians of good taste
will very often form a band —
I’ve one around my waist!

You spin a top, go for a spin,
or spin a yarn may be —
yet every spin’s a different spin,
as you can plainly see.

Now here’s a most peculiar thing —
’twas told me as a joke —
a dumb man wouldn’t speak a word,
yet seized a wheel and spoke.

A door may often be ajar,
but give the door a slam,
and then your nerves receive a jar —
and then there’s jars of jam.

You’ve heard, of course, of traffic jams,
and jams you give your thumbs.
And adders, too, one is a snake,
the other adds up sums.

A policeman is a copper,
it’s a nickname (impolite!)
yet a copper in the kitchen
is an article you light.

On every hand, in every land,
it’s thoroughly agreed —
the English language to explain
is very hard indeed!

Written by Harry Hemsley

Spreading the word (free advertising)

Spreading the word (free advertising)

I am constantly surprised by the support of random strangers. Every time I talk about my work and writing to strangers people go online and look up my book! I must be doing something right as people who do even use Amazon kindle are going online and downloading kindle apps just to download my book to read. but it’s not just that, they are also spreading the word of the book!

I just like to give out a heartfelt thank you to everyone who has taken the time to purchase, read and support me. Thank you everyone!

Please continue to support me and my writer friends all over the world!

Amazons James Purcell Page.

Facbook Community

The Diaries of James Purcell on Shelfari

6 Things You Need To Edit Your Book

Suffolk Scribblings

Scissors Truman Capote

Editing is my favourite part of writing. While I enjoy the free exploration and rush of creativity that comes with writing a first draft, it’s in the edit that I really earn my money. The edit can turn a promising idea into a great idea, can turn lumpen prose into gold. But in order to get the best out of editing, you need six important things.

1 Distance

Have you noticed how much easier it is to spot mistakes or areas for improvement in other people’s books? There’s a good reason for that. As a reader you’re coming to the story fresh, with no insight or foreknowledge of what’s taking place. You can only judge the book by it’s words. With your own book it’s very different. You know everything intimately, not just what is written but the back story, what you are trying to imply and what is left unsaid. You know…

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Davis and the Trail of the Sword Lords

Davis and the Trail of the Sword Lords
From the Diaries of James Purcell
Copyright James Purcell 2012
All rights reserved.

The combination of cold air from the coast mixed with the warm air around the hill Corfe Castle had been built on blanketed the area in fog resulting in the castle being the only visible structure. Not much existed of the old castle except for a few walls that had survived the attempt to blow it up. Davis Swiftblade looked up the path that lead from the surviving keep up to the castle gate, Davis was the latest in the swiftblade household to undertake the trail and was determined to undo the damage to his families reputation caused by his brother when he was discovered to be working with the resistance.

Taking a deep breath, he walked the path to the gate. The sixteen ruling lords were already in the ruins waiting for him and as he entered the gateway a sword flashed out causing him to stumble back out of its way. The sword crashed into the stone beside him and he realised that if he hadn’t ducked, he would have lost his head.

He drew his sword and his first opponent and owner of the sword stepped out from behind the wall to the side of the arch.

“Your the latest Swiftblade to enter the circle? I hope your not a disappointment like your brother was.” His first challanger said in a female voice.

She was small of stature and held her sword in a loose grip that allowed her to spin the sword by its hand guard.

“I hope your going to fight with everything you have otherwise this will be tough on you. This trial is about being the best of the best.” She said continuing to spin the sword, “Are you going to stand there all day or are you going to attack me?”

“Ladies first.” Davis said, bowing towards her.

She reached behind her back and pulled out a knife, “Oh, by the way, I know that your sword is actually two swords, honestly, the truth is that we all know that your sword is two swords. Your little secret was passed around, the minute one of us learnt about it.” She said with a smile. Her sword stops its swing at its apex at the same moment she launched her attack. She held her sword in a two handed grip with the blade pointed up. Just before there swords came together, she rotated it bringing it around in an upward direction. the sword came up under his defences and Davis was barely able to block the strike from hitting him. She pulled her sword back and stepped away ducking as his own sword came at her, aimed at her own neck height.

Guessing that she would try the same move again, he pulled out his own knife that lived in the swords scabbard, and just as she made her move, Davis pressed in with his own attack. His sword swung in an arch that impacted her sword with a jarring ring, but before he could think of pressing on with his attack, her knife shoot out. Davis ducked falling low to the ground, his own knife flashed out deflecting the strike and he rolled around coming back to his feet behind her.

As she turned, someone shouted enough, and she froze as her eye’s focused on Davis’s sword and knife crossed at her throat. She sheathed her weapons, turned on her heal and walked off down the path heading back towards the gate house. “Congratulation on your first win Davis, prove that your better then you traitorous brother.”

The mist that had surrounded the castle ruins had started to lift and as Davis Watch, shadowy objects started to be revealed, and with astonishment he realised he was looking out over a camp that had been set up in the valley below the castle.

The Monster of the Moors.


The Monster of the Moors.

This was supposed to be a project for a magazine but it failed to achieve what I wanted so I’m sharing this in it’s unfinished state.

On he ran, non stop running, earlier in the day he had run through the town killing soldiers who were attacking the town, but he was a wanted man and ran out of the town on a heading to a place he didn’t know.
He was covered in blood, but he couldn’t stop, villages and fields passed by in a blur, but on he ran. The night was drawing in now and even with the full moon above his strength was flagging. As he crested a hill tiredness overtook him and he tripped on a stone and crashed to the ground. He now realised how tired he now was and unable to draw even the smallest ounce of energy to move, he fell asleep, his face against the ground.

* * *

He woke up feeling cold with the early morning sun in his eyes. “Was that just a dream or did that really happen?” he thought to himself as he lifted his weary body into a sitting position, he put his arms through the sleeves and grabbing the edges of his wool travel robe, he pulled it tight around him. He looked at his hands and realised that they were human, how long has it been since he had seen them looking like this escaped in fractured memory, but now he knew why he was cold. He pulled the travel bag close to him and removing the rifle strapped to the top, checked it over with unknown expertise, placed it on the ground before opening the bag, pulled out the lightweight cotton robe that lay folded inside. He steeled him self from the cold and shed the woollen cloak and quickly pulled the cotton cloak on before pulling the woollen one back on. He looked around the ground and found a sword on the ground, he felt a pang of anger and grabbed the sword and strapped it around his waist under the woollen robe. As he reached down to grab his bad and rifle he noticed how badly scared his wrists were and the memory of the dark place where he had been kept in chains came back to him. He closed his eyes and forced the memory away before opening them to see where he was. He stood on top of a hill where very little grew apart from a low layer of broken and wild grass. He could see a few trees scattered around, but they were few and far between. As he looked around, he caught the scent of cooking and looked around. Of in the distance he caught sight of smoke and set off in that direction.
The sun had risen and warmed the air quickly, but he found it hard on his eyes so pulled up his robe hood as he entered the village. It didn’t take him long to find the village inn and taking a look around the village, opened the door and walked it.
“How can I help you fri…” someone started and must have looked around half way through his practiced speech to find him standing there.
“Ale and food!” he called out then made his way over to the bar and sat down on one of the many empty stools.
“Kitchen hasn’t started yet.”
“Have you got anything cold?”
The barman brought over a glass of ale and set it down in from of him. He pulled back his hood revealing his face and grabbing the mug, took a deep drink. “Have you got and meat and bread?” he asked the barman.
The Barman looked as if he had seen the dead risen, “you got any money to pay stranger?”
The stranger looked into the mirror behind the bar and realised how thin and frail he looked. How long has it been since he had seen this face, he couldn’t remember, but the scar down the side of his face stood out proud. He reached into his purse and pulled out a few coins planning them on the bar top, “How much?”
“That will be more than enough!” the barman said before disappearing into the kitchen.
“Do you Hunt, didn’t know members of the church used rifles” One of the other two men sat around the bar asked.
The stranger let out a short bark of a laugh, “I’m not a member of any church or monastery!”
“Yet you carry an expensive looking rifle?”
The stranger put a hand down on the rifle feeling some comfort. “I have lost a lot and this is all I have left.”
“Be a shame if someone took it from you then?”
The stranger scowled, “That won’t be happening.”
The bar man came out and placed a plate of bread, meat and cheese in front of me then shopping up the change walked over to the till.
“Change please barkeep!” the stranger said holding out a thin hand.
The barkeeper groaned and placed some of the coins back on the table. The door to the bar opened and the stranger heard a crowed walk in. “Have you heard of the killing in the villages between here and Bridgwater, They say an army of unknown soldiers has been spreading across the countryside.”
“What’s so interesting about that?” The barman shouted at the crowds leader.
“They also say that a monster has been appearing in the villages as well but killing off the soldiers and leaving the villagers un harmed.”
There was a brief silence that the stranger assumed meant that the group had spied him at the bar. The stranger pulled up his hood covering his face again and emptied the mug of ale and bang it on the bar top, “another please!” he asked and went back to eating.
“Don’t like people to see your face stranger?”
“I like my privacy!” the stranger replied finishing off his meal. The bar keeper brought the last drink over and the stranger drank it then stood up leaving the coins on the bar top. As the stranger turned away from the bar hoisting the bag onto his shoulder, he heard the barkeeper scoop up the coins. He headed across the common room and walked out the door.
Taking a look the small mini village with its timber framed cottages and stream running through the middle from the water mill, the stranger took a deep breath then headed back along the road he had entered the village from and headed back up to the hills. After a few miles he felt a presence behind him and stopped, “Why did you follow me from the village?” he said not turning around.
“That rifle is too good for you, give it to me along with all your money and valuables and I will let you live!”
“That will not be happening any time soon!” the stranger responded.
A blow to the back of the strangers head caused him to stumble forward a few steps, his eyesight blurred, but the damage was already rapidly healing. “You should walk away from me no if you want to live!”
“Were not leaving until we get what we came for stranger!’
The stranger could see red ringing the outside of his vision and could feel the heat of anger growing inside him. “I tried to warn you, if you wish to leave here with your life, leave me now!”
“Gimme your stuff!”
The stranger lowered his bag to the floor and removed the woollen cloak and sword hanging around his waist placing them on the bag. His vision continued to turn red and his turned to look his attacker in the eyes. There were wide with fear and he could see the failure person reflected in their terrified eye.
When he finally came back to his senses, the stranger was surrounded by the body’s of his would be attackers, but he was back in the body he had known for the last few months. There werewolf bent down, picked up the robe and pulled it back on, picked up the sword, refastened it around his waist and then grabbed his bag and set off over the hills.

* * *

He sat there shaking, the only member of the gang to still be alive, the only one to not have approached the stranger. He sat there his drink remain untouched, but getting spilled from the tremors in his hands. The door banged open and a group of soldiers entered causing the survivor to throw his drink over the bar.
“Where looking of this man!” One of the soldiers announced holding open a picture of a man.
“Who is he?” the bar keeper asked.
“This man is also know to travel in a robe, his name is James Purcell and he is wanted for the single handed killing of hundreds of soldiers!”