Candice Fox's Blog

[image error]When former police detective Ted Conkaffey was wrongly accused of abducting 13-year-old Claire Bingley, he hoped the Queensland rainforest town of Crimson Lake would be a good place to disappear. But nowhere is safe from Claire’s devastated father.

Dale Bingley has a brutal revenge plan all worked out – and if Ted doesn’t help find the real abductor, he’ll be its first casualty. 

Meanwhile, in a dark roadside hovel called the Barking Frog Inn, the bodies of two young bartenders lie on the beer-sodden floor. It’s Detective Inspector Pip Sweeney’s first homicide investigation – complicated by the arrival of private detective Amanda Pharrell to ‘assist’ on the case. Amanda’s conviction for murder a decade ago has left her with some odd behavioural traits, top-to-toe tatts – and a keen eye for killers . . .

For Ted and Amanda, the hunt for the truth will draw them into a violent dance with evil. Redemption is certainly on the cards – but it may well cost them their lives . . .

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12.46: Thirteen-year-old Claire Bingley stands alone at a bus stop

12.47: Ted Conkaffey parks his car beside her

12.52: The girl is missing . . .

Six minutes – that’s all it took to ruin Detective Ted Conkaffey’s life. Accused but not convicted of Claire’s abduction, he escapes north, to the steamy, croc-infested wetlands of Crimson Lake.

Amanda Pharrell knows what it’s like to be public enemy number one. Maybe it’s her murderous past that makes her so good as a private investigator, tracking lost souls in the wilderness. Her latest target, missing author Jake Scully, has a life more shrouded in secrets than her own – so she enlists help from the one person in town more hated than she is: Ted Conkaffey.

But the residents of Crimson Lake are watching the pair’s every move. And for Ted, a man already at breaking point, this town is offering no place to hide . . .

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[image error]Sam Blue stands accused of the brutal murders of three young students, their bodies dumped near the Georges River. Only one person believes he is innocent: his sister, Detective Harriet Blue. And she’s determined to prove it.

Except she’s now been banished to the outback town of Last Chance Valley (population 75), where a diary found on the roadside outlines a shocking plan – the massacre of the entire town. And the first death, shortly after Harry’s arrival, suggests the clock is already ticking.

Meanwhile, back in Sydney, a young woman holds the key to crack Sam’s case wide open. 

If only she could escape the madman holding her hostage . . .

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[image error]With her brother under arrest for a series of brutal murders in Sydney, Harry’s chief wants the hot-headed detective kept far from the press. So he assigns her a deadly new case – in the middle of the outback.

Deep in the Western Australian desert, three young people have disappeared from the Bandya Mine. And it’s Harry’s job to track them down.

But still reeling from events back home, and with a secretive new partner at her side, Harry’s not sure who she can trust anymore. 

And, in this unforgiving land, she has no idea how close she is to a whole new kind of danger . . .

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[image error]Harriet Blue, the most single-minded detective since Lindsay Boxer, won’t rest until she stops a savage killer targeting female university students. But new clues point to a more chilling predator than she ever could have imagined.

 

 

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If Detective Frank Bennett tries hard enough, he can sometimes forget that Eden Archer, his partner in the Homicide Department, is also a moonlighting serial killer . . .

Thankfully their latest case is proving a good distraction. Someone is angry at Sydney’s beautiful people – and the results are anything but pretty.

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The Mix – 16/7/2016 : ABC iview
The Mix – 16/7/2016 : ABC iview

The Mix – 16/7/2016 : This week on The Mix: the case of the fake Whiteleys Australias biggest ever art fraud, Dark Mofos mystery bus tour, doing time with crime writers at the pub, and neo-soul act Hiatus Kaiyote gets a light makeover.

Source: iview.abc.net.au/programs/mix/NU1602H026S00

Candice Fox on the twists and turns of crime writing – InDaily
Candice Fox on the twists and turns of crime writing – InDaily

Award-winning Australian crime writer Candice Fox has collaborated with top American author James Patterson on a new crime series, with the first murder mystery released this month.

Source: indaily.com.au/arts-and-culture/books-and-poetry/2016/06/08/candice-fox-on-the-twists-and-turns-of-crime-writing/

Roman: Candice Fox: Hades – CulturMag
Roman: Candice Fox: Hades – CulturMag

Sydney, rabenschwarz – Zwei nationale Krimi-Preise unmittelbar hintereinander: Als bisher einzige australische Autorin kann Candice Fox einen Ned Kelly Award für das beste Debüt und sogleich darauf folgend für den besten Kriminalroman des Jahres vorweisen – für „Hades“ und „Eden“. Die Lorbeeren sind verdient, findet Alf Mayer, der die Autorin in Sydney traf und innerhalb unserer Reihe „crime fiction from down under“ vorstellt. „Hades“ wäre auch eine Wucht, wenn es sich nicht um ein Debüt handeln würde, so aber ist es ein noch erstaunlicheres Buch. Es passiert nicht oft, dass man als abgebrühter Leser von Kriminalliteratur auf eine Stimme trifft, …

Source: culturmag.de/rubriken/buecher/roman-candice-fox-hades/92669

 

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Oh dear God, editing season is upon me once again. Why, why, why? Goddamn it, I hate editing. I HATE IT. It is the worst. The absolute worst. WORST.

I’ve been moping around the streets of my town whining and complaining in the above fashion for a week or so now, as I wait for the first of two annual editing onslaughts to begin. I know exactly how annoying my melancholy over the editorial process sounds, and indeed, I am being melodramatic. But there’s not a lot I get to whinge about in this job that people would understand. While it might be hard to relate to my crisis over a fictional character’s love life or my concern over how my afternoon nap addiction is impacting my word count, people who aren’t writers could probably understand that editing sucks. Twice a year I hand in something I’ve been working on every day for six months and someone sends back a half a dozen typed pages of things wrong with it. There will be parents who have watched their kids pick dejectedly through their carefully constructed dinners. Romantic partners who have watched their loved one’s face fall at the opening of a badly chosen birthday present. No matter how well you write as a writer, I think, there’s no way to interpret an edit other than that – no matter how hard you tried – what you wrote wasn’t perfect. And of course, being a writer and thus an egomaniac, I inevitably take this to mean that not I do is perfect. I’m not perfect. I’ll never be perfect. And I so desperately need to be perfect.

*calls shrink*

There are writers who love editing. I know who you are. I can almost hear you reading this – probably squinting at it, looking for dangling modifiers and the like, snickering pitifully to yourself at how ignorant I am of the satisfaction that comes with improvement (and self-righteously, because you know what a goddamn dangling modifier is – you saw one in the Herald this morning). You call editing ‘polishing’, and you have a collection of expensive red pens. You take pictures of your editing, spread artistically over a hardwood table, cappuccino in the corner of the frame, dusty sepia filter. Hashtag editing, hashtag awesome, hashtag with-each-typo-discover-I-become-more-pure. Well, this is what I have to say to you, editing lovers: You are weird. I don’t understand you. I am unnerved and suspicious of your enthusiasm for this horrible business of raking through work for opportunities for betterment. Hhmph!

Editing is like agreeing to meet with an old boyfriend to sit down over a series of hours and investigate how your relationship might have been better performed. Where did things go wrong? Who was at fault? What wasn’t convincing, and where were feelings felt wrongly or not felt at all?

I don’t want to go back into a book once it’s written. My tight schedule of two books a year means that by the time I’m wrapping up a novel, I’ve been having an emotional affair with the next book in secret for a couple of months. Now, finally, we get to be together. We get to embrace and explore each other after so much quiet yearning. Buttons popping. Hair pulling, gut-wrenching intimacyyyyyy…

Oh wait. Hang on. There’s that other guy – I just need to go deconstruct things with him before I can continue on here. Excuse me. *pulls jeans back on*

Urgh. Fucking editing.

So anyway, here I go, having successfully procrastinated here, constructing this blog post and not beginning the nightmare-monster-horrible-horrible edit of Redemption Point, the second in the Crimson Lake series. Feel free to contribute to my diatribe about editing, or to profess your hopeless devotion to it, in the comments below.

*epic sigh*