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"If you have the ability to manipulate words, you have a responsibility not to mislead your readers, to speak the truth and not to misinform. This means everything from doing meticulous historical research to presenting a balanced view of events. It can sometimes mean arguing both sides, if both have some claim to truth, whether or not you personally have an opinion. It means not reposting a quotation on Facebook unless you’ve double-checked that it’s accurate and correctly attributed. It may even mean admitting that your grammar and English usage need work – and doing that work to correct the mistakes you’ve been making.
In my opinion, anybody who doesn’t want to accept that responsibility, to do the work it implies, to admit his power to influence people and the onus that rests on his shoulders, has no business writing."
All About Me
Mrs Meyer was born in Phoenixville, PA a long time ago and spent most of her youth in the local library. She now lives in Manchester, UK in a secluded house with thousands of books and a garden that attracts everything from newts to deer. She has a husband, children and grandchildren, and a sense of humor.
Other authors win prizes. Mrs Meyer has a special gene that ensures that if it looks like she's going to win something, they'll cancel the competition. She is still trying to change her heredity.
Despite the lack of awards, though, Mrs Meyer's books are extremely well-written, moving and entertaining, and earn five-star reviews.
My HP Books
Tim Soloff thrives on adrenalin.
He needs it, too. His fiancé broke their engagement. His career is in a coma. He’s got an anti-Semitic boss who gives him the sure-to-fail assignments. (Sometimes he even pulls them off.) This time he has no information, no money, no backup — and everybody’s chasing him. When he joins a pop band as an undercover agent, he discovers there’s a lot more waiting for him than he bargained for — including his own religion.
Henye Meyer’s brilliant thriller may read like a parody but there's not a dull moment between the covers.
"A parody combining every thriller trope you've ever read…Fantastic chases…The bizarre cast of characters with their sarcastic humor…exotic, suspenseful, and hilariously fun." - Reviewer
"This was an action packed thriller. I really enjoyed it!" - Reviewer
Book Excerpt
As Soloff had expected, the bus station was still patrolled. He walked circumspectly toward the train station beside the loch, and sheltered among a few delivery vans in the parking lot while he examined the entrance. Behind him the agents at the bus station left their posts and moved nonchalantly in the same direction. They were intercepted by police officers who appeared out of nowhere to ask probing, pointless questions about their whereabouts at eleven o'clock the night before.
Although Soloff felt some surprise to find that the train station appeared unguarded, he accepted this as yet another one of G-d's little miracles for him, sent a little prayer of gratitude upwards, and joined the short line outside the booking office. Five tense minutes later, he had his ticket.
He was shivering, again, a bad attack, this time.
Even if he had wanted to risk waiting on the platform for his train, he would have reconsidered: only the booking hall was at all protected. The platforms were entirely open to the chilly wind blowing in from Loch Linnhe. Whitecaps dotted the water and a yacht at anchor was jigging up and down. The waiting room would have been warm enough, but he'd have felt like a goldfish in a bowl waiting for the family cat.
He slouched out again into the parking lot and onto the High Street. He considered following the rail spur toward the town piers. Piers always attracted loungers and layabouts. He could blend in there, and maybe there would be a waiting room in the booking office for the tour boats. If they were running this early in the season. And, a further outside chance, if there was a waiting room, maybe they'd let him in.
As he looked around, scanning the street for identifiable pursuers, his eye was caught by the public library.
There was something entirely innocuous about a public library, he thought. Had a public library ever figured in a James Bond novel?
Agents moved confidently through the corridors of power. If they used train stations, it was with assurance, not furtively, but generally they frequented airports, casinos, expensive villas. You didn't find agents in the Fort William public library unless they were incompetent agents like Soloff, he thought. He crossed the street and entered its doors.
