Edward Hoornaert's Blog, page 11

Effing Feline, bank robber? #wewriwa

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I, Effing Feline, know that humans often wear face masks these days. (They always did, of course, but nowadays they aren’t for robbing banks.) But the picture below shows that the fashion fad has gone too hissing far!

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Now a word from my sponsor, The Saint of Quarantine Island.

Afraid of the island’s madmen, Janet has been hiding in Billy Seaweed’s floathouse, awaiting the arrival of Kendo Carlisle, the half-Japanese ‘Saint of Gilford Island.’ Immune to the Fireworks virus, Kendo has spent years helping people on the island. She met him the day she learned of husband’s affair and tried half-heartedly to seduce him — so she’s pretty sure he’ll remember her and, hopefully, help her get settled safely on the island.

When a rowboat ties up to the floathouse, she hides behind her dresses in a closet. She picks up the only weapon in sight — a framed portrait from her wedding. Not much of a weapon, eh?

Through the door and the dresses, she heard Billy say, “She’s in there.”

The little traitor.

After several dark, stuffy moments filled with footsteps and heart-pounds, the closet door swung open. Hangers screeched as Billy pulled them aside.

“Here she is!” the boy said.

Janet pushed past him, wedding picture held high. She caught the man by surprise; he made no attempt to dodge. With a shriek, she raised the picture and slammed it onto his head. The canvas tore and the frame lodged around his shoulders like a square, oversized wedding ring.

The head belonged to Kendo Carlisle.

Effing Feline here again. The only way I’ll ever wear a hissing face mask is if humans wear cat masks, such as these!

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Be sure to visit the other great writers in Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday.

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The Saint of Quarantine Island

Maybe you’ve read about viruses that turn people into zombies. But how about a virus that turns people into madmen, some of whom become creative geniuses?

[image error]Spurred by her husband’s infidelity and haunted by abandoned aspirations, a suburban housewife smuggles herself into a wilderness quarantine. By catching the disease, she hopes to write a book that’ll redeem her empty life — and maybe, just maybe, she’ll find love with the man they call the Saint of Gilford Island. She’d once spent a memorable though oddly chaste night with him. Surely he’ll help her build a new life.

But exile on an island of madmen is crueler than any suburban daydream. Instead of a quiet writing retreat, she finds pirates who steal everything but the clothes on her back … an arrogant Cambridge scientist who wants to whisk her away to the London of an alternate Earth … a troubled Indian boy who becomes a surrogate son … a licentious cult leader who kidnaps her.

They’re all periodically insane then sane and back again – and so will she be, if she catches the Fireworks virus. Is writing a book really worth such a risk?

What about true love?

Amazon | Canada | Australia | UK
Apple IBooks
Barnes and Noble
Kobo Books
Smashwords

Make an honest woman of me #mfrwhooks

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[image error]Rescuing Prince Charming is an SFR set in the near future. Native Americans from an alternate Earth have ‘hopped’ their kingdom, Kwadra Island, to our Earth. As the world’s most advanced nation, they’ve offered to help us build our first starship.

But before the ship is finished, someone plants a time bomb in the mechanical deck. Dusty (Desdemona) Johnson knows the unfinished prototype better than most, so she charges on board to search. What she finds is a Kwadran stuck in a tunnel. His first words are “Take off my pants.”

She reached his waist, bent her fingers into claws, and pulled. He edged forward. Between the two of them, his slacks edged downward.

“Leave my underpants on, klootch.”

“I’m a respectable woman, not a klootch.” Hysterical laughter threatened to return. “This is an awkward reach, and we haven’t even been introduced.”

Although she knew all three-hundred-and-ten scientists, technicians, and support staff sequestered in this isolated cavern, his voice wasn’t familiar. This confirmed the rumor that the project was changing leaders, and if the new boss belonged to a different clan, he’d bring his own clan’s security people. That was how the aliens’ alternate Earth worked; it didn’t matter how good you were at your job, only what clan you belonged to.

This guy must be a bomb disposal expert. Who else, besides her, would be fool enough to search for a bomb set to go off in a few minutes?

Grunting, she dragged the pants down to his knees. She tried not to notice that he had great muscle tone and that his butt was wow-level firm.

“After this,” she said, panting, “you’ll have to make an honest woman of me.”

“You are dishonest?”

“I didn’t mean—” Despite the sexy body, this jerk typified alien arrogance. Lack of humor, too. “Look, do you want me to free you or not?”

Be sure to visit the hooks by other fine writers in the Book Hooks blog hop.

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Rescuing Prince Charming
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The ‘travel poster’ for this book

Dusty Johnson, a self-styled ordinary, everyday woman, responds with extraordinary heroism when saboteurs try to bomb the prototype of Earth’s first starship. Although she yearns to return to anonymity, that moment of courage propels her ever deeper into dangers that tear the scabs off her dark secrets — and thrust her into the arms of the unattainable man of her dreams.

Reese Eaglesbrood, an alien prince, yearns to restore his tattered reputation by guiding the starship project to completion, but his fascination with the unassuming heroine threatens to undermine his fragile authority. Shunning Dusty is necessary, yet unthinkable — and when the saboteurs strike again, she is his only ally against Earth’s most elusive enemies.

Amazon
Barnes and Noble
Apple iTunes
Kobo Books
Smashwords

Effing Feline dreams of travel #wewriwa

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I, Effing Feline, want a vacation! I’ve lived in this stupid house all my life. I never go anywhere. Of course, Ed, my pet human,  doesn’t go much of anywhere these days either — but at least he’s daydreaming about a trip.

One of his sons has accepted a new job, which means relocating from Amsterdam to Calgary, which is close to some mountains Ed loves. I don’t care about the mountains, but I do have a dream vacation spot. Where is it? I’ll tell you after this word from my sponsor, The Saint of Quarantine Island.

Janet is in Billy Seaweed’s room. He has given up on directing her movements with his game’s joystick, and now he asks her an important question.

“Are you a female?”

“Yes.”

“A real female, not just another guy dressing up weird?”

Janet frowned at the thought of anyone, let alone a pirate, wearing her clothes, but she kept her tone light, because this boy had been through a lot. “I’m a real female.”

He hunkered down, looking simultaneously scared and intrigued. “P-prove it.” His gaze settled on her breasts.

She folded her arms across her chest. “I don’t have to prove anything to you, young man! I saved your life.” Immediately, she regretted the outburst. He was young, ill and, like her, probably in need of reassurance. 

Here are another seven to finish the scene.

“Okay, I’ll prove it — my way, though, not yours.” Janet cleared her throat and, trying not to feel foolish, started singing in highest soprano range. “Lullaby and good night, with roses bedight. With lilies o’er spread is Billy’s warm bed.”

Billy sank back to the bed, turned on his side, and pulled the blankets over his head.

“Billy,” she said, “I don’t have anywhere to go. May I stay here a few days?”

“Get out of my room,” he said in a muffled voice.

Not out of his house, just his room. That would have to do for an invitation.

Effing Feline here again. My ideal vacation spot is the olive tree I can see out the dining room window. A mess of little lizards climb all over it and they’d be perfect for chasing. Even better, though — there’s a bird feeder hanging from the tree. Yum!

Be sure to visit the other great writers in Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday.

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The Saint of Quarantine Island

[image error]Maybe you’ve read about viruses that turn people into zombies. But how about a virus that turns people into madmen, some of whom become creative geniuses?

Spurred by her husband’s infidelity and haunted by abandoned aspirations, a suburban housewife smuggles herself into a wilderness quarantine. By catching the disease, she hopes to write a book that’ll redeem her empty life — and maybe, just maybe, she’ll find love with the man they call the Saint of Gilford Island. She’d once spent a memorable though oddly chaste night with him. Surely he’ll help her build a new life.

But exile on an island of madmen is crueler than any suburban daydream. Instead of a quiet writing retreat, she finds pirates who steal everything but the clothes on her back … an arrogant Cambridge scientist who wants to whisk her away to the London of an alternate Earth … a troubled Indian boy who becomes a surrogate son … a licentious cult leader who kidnaps her.

They’re all periodically insane then sane and back again – and so will she be, if she catches the Fireworks virus. Is writing a book really worth such a risk?

What about true love?

Amazon | Canada | Australia | UK
Apple IBooks
Barnes and Noble
Kobo Books
Smashwords

Pull down my pants #mfrwhooks

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Rescuing Prince Charming is an SFR set in the near future. Native Americans from an alternate Earth have ‘hopped’ their entire island kingdom to our Earth to escape environmental collapse. They’re now the most advanced nation on Earth, and they’ve offered to help us build our first starship. Desdemona (Dusty) Johnson is a technical writer charged with documenting the mammoth undertaking so it can be duplicated in the future.

But before the ship is finished, someone phones in a tip that there’s a time bomb somewhere in the mechanical deck. Dusty knows the unfinished prototype better than most, so she charges on board to search.

Alone.

Ducking her head because of the low ceiling, she headed toward the engine’s far end. Unexpectedly large equipment had turned a passage into a tunnel just big enough to crawl through; the tunnel led to a closet-sized opening walled with massive wire harnesses. That was where she’d plant a bomb, if she were a saboteur.

She rounded a bank of gauges and saw the tunnel. But a man—or rather, a man’s legs—filled it like a cork in a champagne bottle. Apparently one guard valued duty over death.

Her legs wobbled with relief. “Am I ever glad to see you.”

The tunnel muffled a baritone yelp of surprise. Then: “Take my pants off.”

Dusty blinked. “As pickup lines go, that one’s really bad.”

“An American female,” the guard groaned. “Spirits save me.”

“A Kwadran male with an attitude problem. God save me.”

“My pants are hooked on something, and I can’t reach back to remove them. Pull them down, and hurry. That’s an order.”

“You’re ordering me to strip you?” If she laughed, she’d tumble head-first into hysteria. She held herself to a nervous chuckle, instead.

“I am in no mood for American truculence,” he said impatiently. “I’m staring at an Adidas shoe box jammed between wire harnesses.”

Her chuckle died a gasping death. “The bomb?”

“Pull down my pants!”

“Yes, darling.”

Be sure to visit the hooks by other great writers in the Book Hooks blog hop.

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Rescuing Prince Charming

[image error]Dusty Johnson, a self-styled ordinary, everyday woman, responds with extraordinary heroism when saboteurs try to bomb the prototype of Earth’s first starship. Although she yearns to return to anonymity, that moment of courage propels her ever deeper into dangers that tear the scabs off her dark secrets — and thrust her into the arms of the unattainable man of her dreams.

Reese Eaglesbrood, an alien prince, yearns to restore his tattered reputation by guiding the starship project to completion, but his fascination with the unassuming heroine threatens to undermine his fragile authority. Shunning Dusty izs necessary, yet unthinkable — and when the saboteurs strike again, she is his only ally against Earth’s most elusive enemies.

 

Review of Love Thy Galactic Enemy

Love Thy Galactic Enemy got a great review

from the Reader’s Favorite review site.

“. . . exciting and hard to predict”

“. . . just when I imagined it was going in one direction,

it would take another turn and leave me clueless

and even more curious to unravel the story.”

Here’s the review in its entirety — and read to the end for a great deal

[image error]Minta Streave nurses an attractive and mysterious man back to health while hiding her own secrets. She had worked as a secretary for the spy agents that she later finds out are responsible for her patient’s illness, the civil war between worlds, and the thousands of deaths that followed. She is distraught to be betrayed by her employers who left her at an enemy space station, where she awaits an obsessive cyborg spy that is meant to take her home. To make matters worse, the man she’s nursing and gradually falling for, Finn Shanwing, is a top officer from the enemy’s camp. As strong feelings clash with dirty secrets, Minta must decide to escape with the crazy cyborg or lie with the enemy. Love thy Galactic Enemy by Edward Hoornaert is a thrilling, fast-paced blend of sci-fi and romance.

What’s better than reading a favorite genre? Reading two well-represented favorite genres in one book! Let me clarify this. Edward Hoornaert does not disappoint when it comes to the sci-fi aspect of this book: military-grade implants that enhance speed, trained-killer cyborgs, telepathic abilities, sentient aliens, space travel, and much more. The romance is equally rewarding with the well-timed teasing, sexual tension, and subtle love triangle. Readers should expect explicit sexual content, violent scenes, and profanity. The plot is exciting and hard to predict; just when I imagined it was going in one direction, it would take another turn and leave me clueless and even more curious to unravel the story. For a sensual and mentally stimulating combo, Love thy Galactic Enemy is worth every enigmatic moment.

(Reviewed By Foluso Falaye for Readers’ Favorite)

 

Love Thy Galactic Enemy

“Mystery, mizzets and mayhem populate this lighthearted tale of interstellar espionage and romantic intrigue.”

 —Linnea Sinclair, Rita award winning author of the Dock Five Universe series

“Ed Hoornaert is a marvelous writer: a terrific, engrossing storyteller and a consummate stylist.”

—Robert J. Sawyer, Hugo and Nebula winning author of Quantum Night

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Minta Streave, the naive secretary for a spy team that spread a man-made plague, leaves the planet too late — the team abandons her on the enemy’s space station. She has to fend for herself until she can contact an elusive spy, Watcher, to take her home. To forestall arrest, she nurses a plague victim, a gentle, whimsical man who quotes Lewis Carroll. But to know this enemy is to love him . . .

When Finn Shanwing falls ill, he doesn’t intend to hide that he’s a high-ranking commando. Nor does he intend to fall in love with the secretive nurse who saves his life, but by the time he reveals to Minta that she saved an enemy officer, it’s too late for his heart — or hers. Also too late to escape the wrath of Watcher, half-human, half-machine, and both halves obsessed with her.

Amazon US – Canada – UK – Australia
Barnes and Noble (Nook)
Kobo Books
Smashwords
Apple iBook

Effing Feline is NOT a cannibal! #wewriwa

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I, Effing Feline, have made a horrifying discovery. As a result, I’ll eat nothing except what Ed eats from now on. H was cooking the other day. (He usually cooks; poor Judi!) One ingredient he put in the fry pan was labelled corn syrup. We cats are curious, you know –it’s what killed Uncle Ildephonse — so I read the label. It struck horror into my soul.

Corn syrup is made from corn, not syrup for corn. Raisin bran is made from raisins, not for raisins!

Then I looked the food in my dish. It’s cat food!

More on this horror after this word from my sponsor, The Saint of Quarantine Island.

Janet has finally gotten into Billy’s house, because the door has no lock, which strikes her as uncivilized. When he spots her, he picks up something. Was he about to throw a knife at her?

But instead of throwing the game controller, he held it as though playing, pressing buttons with awkward, frigid movements. He moved the joystick from side to side, guiding a fantasy game piece through imaginary gyrations. When he growled, she realized he expected her to move. She watched the joystick and moved to her left. Then her right. Left, up, down. It was almost fun. When he jerked the joystick to her right too quickly for her to follow, though, she giggled.

Billy scowled. He pressed a button then looked at her. Pressed it again. Looked at her. “You d-didn’t explode.” His teeth were chattering so much he stuttered.

“I’m not very good at exploding.”

Effing Feline here again. I’m on a purring strike until Ed starts feeding me from his own plate. None of this cat food!

Oh no! I had a horrible thought. What if Ed eats cats? What if that’s the reason he’s fattening me up! Help, help, save me!

Be sure to visit the other great writers in Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday.

[image error]

The Saint of Quarantine Island

[image error]Maybe you’ve read about viruses that turn people into zombies. But how about a virus that turns people into madmen, some of whom become creative geniuses?

Spurred by her husband’s infidelity and haunted by abandoned aspirations, a suburban housewife smuggles herself into a wilderness quarantine. By catching the disease, she hopes to write a book that’ll redeem her empty life — and maybe, just maybe, she’ll find love with the man they call the Saint of Gilford Island. She’d once spent a memorable though oddly chaste night with him. Surely he’ll help her build a new life.

But exile on an island of madmen is crueler than any suburban daydream. Instead of a quiet writing retreat, she finds pirates who steal everything but the clothes on her back … an arrogant Cambridge scientist who wants to whisk her away to the London of an alternate Earth … a troubled Indian boy who becomes a surrogate son … a licentious cult leader who kidnaps her.

They’re all periodically insane then sane and back again – and so will she be, if she catches the Fireworks virus. Is writing a book really worth such a risk?

What about true love?

Amazon | Canada | Australia | UK
Apple IBooks
Barnes and Noble
Kobo Books
Smashwords

Wish I were there

Planet Mars reflected in the waters of Lake Superior.

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Now that’s what I call a clear sky!

Hoping it wasn’t the last thing she ever did #mfrwhooks

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Rescuing Prince Charming is an SFR set in the near future. Native Americans from an alternate Earth have ‘hopped’ their entire island kingdom to our Earth to escape environmental collapse. They’re now the most advanced nation on Earth, and they’ve offered to help us build our first starship. Desdemona (Dusty) Johnson is a technical writer charged with documenting the mammoth undertaking so it can be duplicated in the future.

But before the ship is finished, someone phones in a tip that there’s a time bomb somewhere in the mechanical deck. Dusty knows the unfinished prototype better than most, so she charges on board to search.

Alone.

Imagining she was watching a movie heroine who’d never had a second thought in her life, Dusty slipped between a girder and the grease-streaked life support housing. When her skirt survived unscathed, she felt an instant’s relief —

Until she spied a cheap plastic lunch kit. Oh, God. The bomb?

Blood thumped in her ears. Hoping it wasn’t the last thing she ever did, she opened the lid with shaky hands.

Two empty wrappers smelled of fish and chips. No bomb.

She jerked her hand away and pressed it to her chest as though to keep her heart from leaping out to freedom. She’d been plenty brave. She could, in good conscience, leave. Right?

“No,” she moaned.

To reach the second hiding place, she zigzagged to the very back of the mechanical deck and climbed a ladder to the top of Lontreau Engine number one. The alien-designed engine would hop the ship instantaneously across the galaxy — if everything worked perfectly. Its metal casing, as big as a room, hummed and vibrated as though filled with demons impatient to claw her soul to perdition.

Be sure to visit the hooks by other great writers in the Book Hooks blog hop.

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Rescuing Prince Charming

[image error]Dusty Johnson, a self-styled ordinary, everyday woman, responds with extraordinary heroism when saboteurs try to bomb the prototype of Earth’s first starship. Although she yearns to return to anonymity, that moment of courage propels her ever deeper into dangers that tear the scabs off her dark secrets — and thrust her into the arms of the unattainable man of her dreams.

Reese Eaglesbrood, an alien prince, yearns to restore his tattered reputation by guiding the starship project to completion, but his fascination with the unassuming heroine threatens to undermine his fragile authority. Shunning Dusty izs necessary, yet unthinkable — and when the saboteurs strike again, she is his only ally against Earth’s most elusive enemies.

 

Effing Feline likes ice cream #wewriwa

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I, Effing Feline, like ice cream. Any kind of cream, really. Fresh cream, whipped cream, creme brulee. You see, I am a cat of refined taste. Furthermore, I eat ice cream with panache. Or with chocolate syrup. Always, I keep my feline dignity, unlike this puss, who breaks every rule in the “Cats are cool” handbook.

I’ll show you how I eat after this word from my sponsor, The Saint of Quarantine Island.

It turned out Billy Seaweed didn’t need much saving. He stumbled into his floathouse without her help, and when she told him to get out of his wet clothes, he mumbled that he’d fallen in the chuck lots of times and he didn’t need no crazy white chick telling him what to do. She tried to help his fumbling fingers undo his jacket, but he screamed that he didn’t need her help, and he wasn’t going to undress with her around and she should leave.

“But –”

“Get the fuck out!” Spittle flew from his mouth. His face was a mask of rage and something more — madness.

Janet dashed outside. The door slammed behind her loud enough to echo off the cliff behind the house and something shoe-sized hit the door.

“I’m just trying to help, Billy.”

The other shoe hit the door.

Effing Feline here again. This is how I, Effing Feline eat!

I’d be even daintier if Ed would only buy me a catfork.

Be sure to visit the other great writers in Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday.

[image error]

The Saint of Quarantine Island

[image error]Maybe you’ve read about viruses that turn people into zombies. But how about a virus that turns people into madmen, some of whom become creative geniuses?

Spurred by her husband’s infidelity and haunted by abandoned aspirations, a suburban housewife smuggles herself into a wilderness quarantine. By catching the disease, she hopes to write a book that’ll redeem her empty life — and maybe, just maybe, she’ll find love with the man they call the Saint of Gilford Island. She’d once spent a memorable though oddly chaste night with him. Surely he’ll help her build a new life.

But exile on an island of madmen is crueler than any suburban daydream. Instead of a quiet writing retreat, she finds pirates who steal everything but the clothes on her back … an arrogant Cambridge scientist who wants to whisk her away to the London of an alternate Earth … a troubled Indian boy who becomes a surrogate son … a licentious cult leader who kidnaps her.

They’re all periodically insane then sane and back again – and so will she be, if she catches the Fireworks virus. Is writing a book really worth such a risk?

What about true love?

Amazon | Canada | Australia | UK
Apple IBooks
Barnes and Noble
Kobo Books
Smashwords

Even masks need masks

Did you know #1?

Even the Northwest Coast Sun Mask on my wall knows that in these perilous times (in my part of the world, at least), masks are important for everyone.

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Sun Mask knows that he isn’t safe unless everyone wears a mask, so he’s urging Ancestor Mask to wear one too . . . so far without success.

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Shame on you, Ancestor Mask!

 

Did you know #2?

Masks were common in some Western cities during the 1918 flu pandemic and mandatory in San Francisco. There was even a jingle: “Obey the laws, wear the gauze. Protect your jaws from septic paws.”