I recently had a little conversation with Beyond Dead’s not-so-alive character. Have you met Bridget Sway? Read about her thoughts on just how her afterlife really is Beyond Dead.
Hi, my name’s Bridget Sway. Since there’s a pretty good chance you could win a copy of the story of my afterlife if you pop your email in that cool little counter-thing below, I wanted to drop by and tell you why you should enter. Let me begin by introducing myself properly. My name’s Bridget, and the first thing you should know about me is that I’m dead. Yes. Dead. A bus ran me over. I’d just been fired and went home to drown my sorrows in a huge tub of Belgian Chocolate Häagen-Dazs ice cream and re-runs of Dancing on Ice only to find my fiancé in bed with a trollop from his work. Obviously, one tub of ice cream and some dodgy celebrity ice skating wasn’t quite going to be enough to work through that so I left, with the ex-fiancé’s credit card, ready to spend a couple of nights at a swanky hotel ordering room service and getting massages. I was too busy thinking about all of the shoe shops I’d pass on the way to the posh hotel I was fixing to stay at to properly notice that I was crossing a road. Because my head was stuck in shoe heaven I made the fatal error of not looking both ways before crossing. And that’s how I ended up underneath the bus.
I know what you’re thinking. That was the end of that, right? Wrong! It’s not as simple as you die and then you can just, y’know, be dead. Oh, no. You have to go through a place called Afterlife Arrivals. Nightmare. Nooooo, actually “nightmare” does not even begin to cover it. Admittedly, the whole time I was being processed through it I though I was heading back to my body because Charon (yes, the ferryman of the dead is real – he doesn’t use a boat, though) implied that I wasn’t actually dead. How mean is that? I think he did it for an easy afterlife which, having been dead a while now, I can totally get behind.
So, if it wasn’t bad enough that I didn’t get into Heaven (I’m not even sure there is a Heaven right now!), I have to work for the eternity of my, well, eternity. And despite what my handsome, but annoying, parole officer would have me believe, being dead does not negate the need for makeup. Or cleansing. Or underwear. Or pyjamas. Or brand name shampoo. My mam always said as long as your feet are comfy and your hair is right the stuff in between doesn’t matter. Well, let me just say that my parole officer snapped the heels off my favourite (and only) pair of Jimmy Choos and doesn’t understand the concept of leave in condition for coloured hair. Thus, for my feet and my hair, whichever way you slice it, I’m completely lacking.
Just in case you’re thinking “Well, she’s got a job. Why doesn’t she just buy what she needs?” that’s because, and you might want to sit down, I don’t get paid. Let me just repeat that. I. Don’t. Get. Paid. I have to work for eternity and I don’t get paid. Admittedly, I have an okay-ish job. I get to get out and about and see people. Of course they can’t see me. Or talk to me. Unless they’re a medium and let me tell you folks, it’s preferable to just not be seen by mediums – they’re nothing but trouble.
So, basically, I guess what I’m trying to say is be reeeeeeeally good in life because, trust me, you do not want to be dumped on this plane with me. Don’t believe me? Join Jordaina’s mailing list directly and download the free novella where I’ll tell you in detail about Afterlife Arrivals. If that can’t convince you to be good then nothing will … and I’ll see you when you die! So long for now.
Paranormal Cozy Mystery
1st in Series
Print Length: 306 pages
Dead less than twenty-four hours, with a job that doesn’t pay, a fashion disaster for a uniform and more afterlife rules than she can shake a stick at, Bridget Sway thinks it’s as bad as it can get. And then she finds a dead ghost stuffed in her locker. Since the police are desperate to arrest her for murder, Bridget’s new best friend convinces her the only way to save herself from an eternity in prison is to solve the murder themselves. With a handsome parole officer watching her every move, an outlaw ghost befriending her and two persistent mediums demanding her attention, solving the murder is not quite as easy as it sounds. And when “murder” turns into “murders” Bridget needs to solve the case … before she becomes the next dead body stuffed in her locker.
Jordaina Sydney Robinson grew up and, despite many adventures further afield, still lives in the North West of England. For fun she buys notebooks, gets walked by her husky puppy and sings really loudly and really badly while driving her trusty old Seat, Roger. If you want to find out just how bad her singing is then you can visit her official website at www.JordainaSydneyRobinson.com and ask her.