Rob Thurman's Blog: The Reaver Report, page 3
July 10, 2012
ALL SEEING EYE mini-excerpt (every dog has his day.)
When Jackson has had a bad go of it, he goes to one place he knows is always safe–inside the mind of man’s best friend.
“If I had a bad day, which, now that I ran my own life, was a helluva lot less than the old days, I sat on the floor with Houdini, placed a hand on his broad head, and soaked up endless doggy wonder. A full stomach, a well- chewed toy, a soft couch– through a dog’s eyes, that was a true glory that couldn’t be matched, the only heaven in existence.”
Website Add On – Blog Entries!
Hey Reavers!
The Web Geektress has gathered your feedback on the new site design, and added a section to our cinematic splash page that now includes all the latest blog updates, along with Rob’s social networking buttons.
So basically, when you pull up RobThurman.net, scroll down a bit past the new releases slideshow, and you’ll see in the middle column all of our latest blog headlines…when the contest is underway, I will also make sure we post links on the front page so you can access everything quickly.
I Aim to Please… 
-Jayda
July 6, 2012
ALL SEEING EYE CONTEST
ALL SEEING EYE: Get Ready for Contest Time!
The ALL SEEING EYE contest will commence with a newsletter announcement Monday (if you’re not signed up for the newsletter, better get on that), but for now is a heads-up.
There will be three ways to enter and win as detailed in the newsletter. The prizes will include ten of any of my books–autographed–(one per winner and chosen by the winner–except for translations and anthologies), a tote bag with “Because I’m a Geek Bitch, Baby!’ on the side (because, yes, I am), THREE of the Japanese translations (one per winner, three winners…keep in mind these are NOT manga. They are genuine Japanese translations with manga art covers and three manga art illos (two of which show all the major characters in the book, some including never seen before such as Rafferty, Ishiah, Samuel, Georgina, Promise, Flay.) Also the winner will not be able to choose which they want as I have only one spare of each book. Lovers of all things Japanese will simply have to be surprised (PS if you cannot read Japanese, these books will probably be wasted on you.)
And the last prize, a biggie and for ALL. For all participants who enter the contest, after it’s done, you will be given e-access to my story “Milk and Cookies” from the Charlaine Harris/Toni LP Kelner anthology Wolfsbane and Mistletoe. What do werewolves do for Christmas? More importantly, what do they do to you?
****** REMINDER: if you are buying ALL SEEING EYE (7/31 is the release date) in a bookstore, remember it will be in the mainstream fiction/thrillers, not SF/F. Cross that three feet of carpet to get it! As for the visual treat on the left/above (soon to be seen in Gothic Beauty and Rue Morgue magazines), the carnival in the background and the tattooed hand in the foreground play a large part in the life of our favorite cynical character, Jackson Lee–the real deal psychic who doesn’t believe in the afterlife.
Enjoy! And thanks to all those who help me be able to write in two genres simultaneously as it genuinely does keep my creative pump primed and ready for action (did that sound dirty? It may have. Ah, well, sex sells.)
July 2, 2012
THRILLS, Chills and Kills: ALL SEEING EYE Website Re-Vamp!
Rolling out the ALL SEEING EYE blood-spattered carpet for July, we thought a new “thrillers” site design was a good place to start…
You like?
-Jayda & Rob
June 25, 2012
Win copies of ALL SEEING EYE
Ayelet of Simon & Schuster is posting a giveaway on Goodreads for ARCs (advanced review copies) of ALL SEEING EYE. Go! Win! Get up close and personal with Jackson, the cynical and snarky psychic who doesn’t believe in the afterlife (although unfortunately he might find out the answer on that issue personally and much sooner than he’d like.)
June 13, 2012
BRITISH covers of MADHOUSE & DEATHWISH
Here are the UK covers for MADHOUSE and DEATHWISH (which should be out either by now or sometime in July–check your bookstores. The UK DOUBLETAKE will be released in August. I have many devoted wonderful UK fans who buy the Cal books on Amazon US when they come out here. That is absolutely fantastic fan-love–wanting it the very day it comes out and not wanting to wait until it’s available in Britain, Canada and NZ. But one unfortunate side efffect of that massive love is that everyone has already bought their copy by the time the UK versions are released. The UK publishers are trying to get the series in synch, so hopefully by next year when Cal 8 (SLASHBACK) is released in the US, it will come out at the same time in the UK with the British cover plus larger trade cover size. However, if no one is buying them, well…that’s the publishing world. No sales=no books. This is your chance to get Cal released in your country at the same time as the US release and to support the lovely British publishers who went to bat to make this happen. Please consider buying the UK versions and a huge thanks to those who do!
May 28, 2012
Lisa Shearin’s ALL SPELL BREAKS LOOSE
The brilliant author and all around wonderful person, Lisa Shearin, has a book coming out tomorrow (Tuesday.) Check out that gorgeous art! Her website is www.lisashearin.com if you want a chance for a free book or to roam about and find excerpts from this fun-as-hell series. (And she adopts greyhounds–former racing dogs which puts her on the side of the angels.)
May 9, 2012
Snippets & New Excerpt from ALL SEEING EYE (7/31)
I’ve shown not one or two, but three excerpts for ALL SEEING EYE (check third excerpt for the snark to start)-see front page of website or check blog.
Now to keep the interest going here are a few snippets from the book. Jackson does not snark for free. He expects money or praise–he’s equal opportunity. So…see below:
Jackson’s psychic view on cats:
“I wonder if I brought my Silly cat in…I call her Silly short for Priscilla. I inherited her from my mom who had a huge thing for Elvis. But if I snuck her in, could you tell me what she’s thinking? Or why she pees in my boyfriend’s shoe instead of the litter box?”
She was an Abby clone. It was the only explanation. “I can tell you what she’s thinking right now, no touching necessary,” I drawled. “She’s thinking if she were three times her size bigger, she would eat you.” Funny, yes, and every cat person asked it sooner or later, but funny or not, it was the truth.
Jackson’s psychic view on government employed power-hungry scientists who play with what men ought not know:
I heard Hector blow out a frustrated breath before adding, “Two more sociopaths and one psychopath? Are you positive?”
“Scientists who want to work on a project that could lead to US dominance of the entire world’s intelligence community. That reads like a job application for some kid’s comic book super villain. Did you think you weren’t going to get some bad apples? I’m surprised there are any good apples. Didn’t you have some sort of psychological testing done on the applicants?” Now my jaw was locking up more from the irritation than the pain.
“They are all highly respected in their fields, all with PhDs and some with multiple PhDs.” He sounded defensive. Good. He should.
“Because the men who invented the hydrogen bomb only had their GEDs and look what a great idea for the world that turned out to be,” I snapped back.
Jackson’s highly annoyed view of being shot:
I’d just completed that thought when the things that weren’t my business shot me in the back.
Laying flat in the same red earth the county had buried Boyd in, logic told me I’d fallen. My mind told me that the ground had reared up and smacked me in the face. “Jackson!” Hector’s hand was on my shoulder, squeezing hard.
I coughed and pushed out the words, “Nothing…you…can…do. Go…get…the…dick.”
He hesitated then there was the sound of his feet pounding against the dirt as he ran. I continued to stay flat, both to be less of a target and due to the fact breathing was agony. I didn’t want to imagine what trying to move would be like. The only part of me that disagreed were my fingers that dug into the dirt as the pain crushed my ribs in a massive fist. It ebbed and flowed, the fiery stabbing ache and finally focused on the left side of my back.
“Jackson?” Hector was back. He didn’t sound as if he was waving a flag of victory. I felt his hand below my scapula, his fingers probing. “Okay. I got it. The son of a bitch nailed you right over the heart.”
“The same son of a bitch that I take it got away.” The pain was the same, but I no longer felt as if my lungs had taken the weekend off. Breathing was easier and talking doable. I appreciated that because I had something to say. “I asked you for a bulletproof vest. I felt the bullet fine. I didn’t feel the damn proof in it at all.” I pushed up on my hands and knees and groaned at the spike of pain. “Ah shit. What’s it made out of? Your grandma’s leftover yarn? Christ.”
He hooked his arm under my right one and helped me stagger to my feet before juggling the blob of metal in the palm of his other hand. “It’s a big enough round. Nine millimeter, same as I use. Without the Kevlar it wouldn’t have just hit your heart, it would’ve exploded it.”
“I told you the vest was a better choice for me than a gun.” I winced as I tried to straighten. “But I still think someone at the nursing home crocheted the damn thing. It feels like my rib is broken.”
“I’m sure it is.” There wasn’t much sympathy in the pronouncement. I could’ve used more–a whole lot more. “But a cracked or broken rib is hundred percent better than dead,” he finished matter-of-fact.
“And you didn’t catch the bastard?” I could be wrong. Ghosts could exist. This guy appeared and disappeared at will like one.
“I didn’t even see him and this isn’t a sniper’s bullet by any stretch of the imagination. He had to be close.” Once I could stand semi-upright and take a step without the threat of being shoved in a Notre Dame bell-tower, he let go of my arm.
“I swear, Allgood, if you had been behind me instead of beside me, I’d say you were the shooter. This guy’s goddamn invisible.” I swore out loud and proud with every step I took. I knew…knew I could feel the broken edges of a rib grating against each other.
“You’ve already read me. You know I’m noble and true. Red, white, and blue. Practically Superman I’m so damn heroic, but I couldn’t find a killer if you dropped me on Death Row at a Supermax prison,” he said bitterly.
“I’m lacking in social skills except when it comes to flattering my older female clients, but I have a feeling I should say something here. Something to comfort you in your time of emotional upheaval.” I took one more step, blasphemed against God, his son, and the Virgin Mary as my rib howled again. “Here it is: fuck your emotional upheaval. Be a man for God’s sake. At least your ass wasn’t shot.”
Strangely enough, that did the trick.
May 4, 2012
Pucks Gone Wild!
Pic sent in by Reaver Reba. I don’t know which puck is down on his luck and which precise bodily fluid (although I can guess) he is selling to grocery stores, but for your perusal–and possible intervention if he can be identified–prepare to be scarred for life:
April 24, 2012
Chapter One of Cal Leandros Book 8
It’s a year away, but here’s a teaser to keep your motor revving: a little taste of the first chapter of Cal 8. Half the book is set twelve years ago and half is present day. Twelve years ago Niko was fifteen and Cal eleven (for those confused by the difference in ages–4 years vs 2 years–you’ve forgotten that time runs differently in Tumulus where Cal was lost for 2 days here/2 years there.) In this little snippet, Niko comes home after school and work and Cal fills him in on the news of the day. Enjoy! (And if it inspires fan art…I do love fan art.)
Twelve Years Ago
Niko
“Our neighbor is a serial killer.”
It was that kind of day.
There had been tutoring no-necked football players lacking enough in brain cells that I was surprised they didn’t have calluses on their knuckles from walking on them. It would’ve gone well with their gorilla grunting. Following that had been the food poisoning caused by a casserole brought in by Mrs. Cornelius. The teacher’s lounge had been liberally labeled a biohazard. The color of which is not orange like they tell you, but the bile green of non-stop vomiting. I stood witness to that. I’d gone through three mops.
And now we had a serial killer.
I closed the door behind me and locked it, not because I was immediately on board with the serial killer comment just issued, but we rented in a bad neighborhood. For us, an average neighborhood would be a more truthful way to put it. We’d not lived in better and we’d sometimes lived in worse. This cramped little house with a pronounced lean, no insulation, and cracked windows in east New London, Connecticut was nothing special in one way or the other. When we didn’t stay anyplace longer than five or six months, thanks to our mother’s ‘occupation’, it was all the same. I put my duffle bag containing my school books and janitor uniform by the door and took off my worn, but warm Salvation Army coat to hang from a rusted hook by the door.
With everything in its place I moved to the kitchen table, which wobbled, where my little brother with pencil and paper sat in a chair, which also wobbled. I lightly ruffled his black hair, shaggy in length but with a gloss like silk. Thanks to Cal being a good brother, he let me without complaint.
“Are you doing your homework?” I asked with a little disapproval for him to hear. It was six PM—although I couldn’t make it home at the same time as he did, I made it there before dark. Always.
The homework that he should’ve been done with by now. There was also a pan crusted with burnt Spagetti-Os in the sink, some less scorched fake pasta in spots on the cracked linoleum floor, and a purple handprint, Grape Crush probably, on the door of the groaning refrigerator.Cal was a good brother, but there are all sorts of definitions for good when it came to an eleven year old.
“Yes, Nik. I’m doing my homework. Watching the serial killer made me get behind.” I didn’t have to see his eyes to know they were rolling with the disdain and sarcasm only an eleven year old could manage, and I gave him a gentle swat to the back of the head.
I took the other chair and sat down. “All right. Tell me why our neighbor is a serial killer,” I said with a patience I didn’t have to fake. I listened to Cal when he had something to say. I always listened to him. I had even when he was three and thought a monster lived under the bed, because in our world….
In our world, there was every chance that he wasn’t necessarily wrong.
