Hi, my name is D. V. Stone. I am a multi-genre author who also enjoys reading across genres. On this page you'll meet a great group of writers and get an insider's view into their lives and books. I hope you enjoy this special peek and find new and exciting reads.
Who I am Stephen King, no, not THE Stephen King, I am Australian and I write thrillers under the name Stephen B King (which is my real name BTW). I have eleven novels published, all set in my home state of Western Australia, mostly psychological thrillers, showcasing my morbid fascination with serial killers and why they do what they do. My sincere thanks to D.V. Stone for having me here to talk a little about me, my passion, and my latest release, which is called Winter at the Light. I’ve been writing all my life, it seems, starting with my schooldays where my English teacher loved my stories. I progressed to writing poetry and had thirteen published in various anthologies before learning guitar and putting those poems to music. Thus began my musical sojourn and the next few years were a blur of living my life like the famous cliché of sex, drugs, and rock and roll. Of course, eventually I grew up and settled down, but I always yearned to write books until my wife bought me a laptop, and said stop talking about it, and do it, and so I did.
Interests Other than my wife and children, who have all grown up and flown the coup now, as mentioned above, my literary interests lie with serial killers. I think most people share my fascination. Why do some people become monsters, what sets them apart, were they created evil, or did they become that way? I have a series of novels exploring just that called The Deadly Glimpses. All that said, Winter at the Light, my latest book, is not about a serial killer, and the hunt to catch him, it is a romantic thriller set on a remote lighthouse in 1952, where twenty-year-old Molly learns on a lighthouse, there is nowhere to hide.
Network I like to network with other authors, and I offer free advice to people who want to write, but just don’t know how. I think everyone has a story to tell, especially the more elderly among us, and if they don’t write it down, those stories will be lost forever, so if I can help anyone…
Desk My desk is my dining table, not in an office. Writing is a particularly selfish pastime, and as much as I’d like to lock myself away in a room and bang away on a keyboard, I don’t think it would be good for my marriage. I work for a living, but write for a passion, so like most things in life it’s about balance. By having my computer on the dining table in the family/living area of our home, I can hold conversations with my better half, while she has our dog on her lap and watches TV. You know that old saying right? Happy wife, happy life.
Outrageous fact about me. Remember when I said that I thought everyone has a story to tell? Well some stories can’t be told, well, not straight away anyway. When I met the woman who was to become my first wife, she was trying to get away from her ex; a drug dealing biker, well known for violence. On our first date, he burst into her apartment and found me there, and made threats. Later that night, the police pulled his car over and lucky for me they did. Inside were four men, all armed and they were on their way to my home. The next year or more, we lived in hiding. There is a book in that period of my life, especially the eventual confrontation between us, but it can’t be told, not yet.
Window My favorite window is actually double sliding French doors. Through them, from the family room and breakfast bar area, you can see our rear garden, with swimming pool and majestic Gum trees behind it. The trees attract native birds, and in the evening, just before dark, they make a lot of noise to accompany the sun going down. We are blessed with wonderful weather in sunny Western Australia, and the pool gets a lot of use from mid-Spring through to mid-Autumn.
Winter at the Light
Forbes Lighthouse is a dangerous place. Twenty-year-old Molly McLaren agrees to tend the light when her father breaks his leg, so she leaves behind the city and her nursing career. Molly dreads the thought of three months as the sole inhabitant on the tiny island, nineteen nautical miles off the rugged coastline of Augusta in Western Australia.
Molly discovers she enjoys the solitude, and when a massive storm arrives bringing a life raft, Molly risks her life to save the unconscious man inside. On waking, he says he has lost his memory but as Molly nurses him back to health she wonders if he has. When the storm finally clears, Molly has fallen for the man she's nicknamed John, but still has doubts about his honesty.
The real danger arrives with two men who are searching for her mystery man. They want to kill him and anyone else who can identify them, and Molly quickly learns; on a lighthouse, there is nowhere to hide.
Molly reached the rocky shore, where waves as tall as she was crashed at its edge and shot up shards of white foam spray to be flung in her face by the wind. The life raft ducked and dived only a few yards away and was coming closer by the minute. She propped the medical bag between two large boulders, determined to keep it from being washed away in the angry surf, then wondered what she could do next.
The dinghy’s opening in the tent-like awning faced away from her, no doubt acting as a wind tunnel, which helped drive the boat ahead of it, but that meant she still had no idea if anyone was inside or not. She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Hello, is anyone there?” she screamed, trying to be heard above the howling wind, but she feared she wasn’t.
There was nothing, no sound or movement from within, but the boat was coming closer, and she had to decide what she would do when it hit the rocks at her feet. Try to grab it and pull it ashore, I suppose, then look inside the damn thing.
“C’mon little boat, you’ve made it this far, don’t fail me now,” Molly murmured.
The next moment the rounded bow hit a protruding rock, and the wind driving from the rear nearly tipped it end over end. Without a thought for herself, Molly took five steps into the icy cold waves and grabbed the ropes strung along the side. She tried to pull it into safety. “If anyone is in there, get out, I can’t hold this forever,” she screamed, as loudly as she had ever shouted in her life.
Buy link: Amazon: https://amzn.to/3ie7gG2
Thank you for having me here and chatting about Winter at the Light. I hope everyone enjoys Molly’s story and I didn’t bore you too much.
Stephen B King
To Find out more about Stephen and his books and life:
Website: www.stephen-b-king.comook: @
8/12/2020 09:13:03 am
Whoa, that's a crazy story about your first wife!
8/12/2020 09:29:23 am
Wow! I'm glad you and your (now) wife are safe! Enjoyed a peek through your window (figuratively speaking of course LOL!)
8/12/2020 10:16:01 am
Thanks for peering through my window, what a lovely concept, congratulations DV.. Thanks to Jen, Pamela and Charlotte. I feel like I should clarify one thing. My current wife is my second, and the story that can't be told, was with my first wife. Someone needs to pass away before I could write about that era of my life, always a possibility for the type of person I'm referring to. But it would make a great book. You know what they say, sometimes truth is stranger than fiction.
Anna Taylor Sweringen
8/12/2020 12:20:25 pm
Love the view out your window/French doors
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