Edward Hoornaert's Blog, page 13

The Saint is released from Quarantine, day 1

The Saint of Quarantine Island

My 21st book, The Saint of Quarantine Island, was released July 1. That’s Canada Day, the country’s birthday, and choosing that day was no coincidence. This is my most Canadian novel.

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The Kingcome Queen tied up at a floathouse like Billy Seaweed’s

For those who don’t know me, I moved to Arizona over 30 years ago from a log house in the wilds of the Canadian Rockies. But with one exception (Newborn), none of my science books has a Canadian setting.

Until now. The Saint of Quarantine Island takes place on Gilford Island, where I taught in a one-room school when I was fresh out of university. We had no TV, no radio, no stores. There were no cars or roads. The only way in or out was to hitch a ride with a bush pilot in a tiny float plane.

Because there were only a dozen inhabitants of Echo Bay and Gilford is quite a large island, most of the students traveled to school on a school boat. I used the school boat, The Kingcome Queen, as the Janet Davis’s transportation onto the Gilford Island quarantine. Yes, it really existed.

If you want to learn more about Gilford, including pictures, I have a post about it here.

A snippet

This scene is from Janet Davis’s first day on Gilford Island:

Suddenly, voices sounded from the right, sending the preening seagulls screeching into the air. Janet spun around, as startled as the gulls though she kept herself from screeching.

Remembering the driver’s dire warnings, she hurried as fast as she dared on the rain-slicked walkway until she reached the corner of the house and crouched behind two rusty, greasy metal barrels. Her coat touched a barrel, leaving a dark smear. She brushed ineffectually at the stain then gave up and peeked between the barrels.

The voices were farther away than they’d sounded, so she didn’t think she’d been spotted. A small craft was rounding the cliff at the mouth of the bay. A canoe or skinny rowboat, she guessed.

“Come on, lads,” said a man standing in the bow. “Row!”

Eight paddlers strained. The craft knifed through the choppy water.

“Faster!” The man in the bow stood proudly, like a man o’ war’s figurehead, despite the cold spray that showered him with every wave. He cut an imposing figure, with brown hair cascading from under an Australian digger’s hat.

Then answering shouts arose from Janet’s left. She couldn’t see who it was because she didn’t dare emerge from her hiding place. Her colorful jacket would draw attention like a beacon, and the man in that rowboat looked awfully forbidding.

Forbidding, yet fascinating. She peeked out. His craft went straight for the raft. But why?

Her belongings!

They were thieves, intent on pillaging her belongings. She had no idea what to do about it, which made her feel worse. This sense of imminent violation-of-self was as close as she ever hoped to come to rape.

The oarsmen sprang onto the raft. A short man with wild red hair slipped and fell then fell again as he tried to rise. The thieves tossed her boxes and suitcases willy-nilly into their craft. Each throw landed on her heart like a blow.

“Please,” she whispered from her hiding place, “don’t do this.”

When shouting on the left intensified, she forgot herself enough to peek in that direction. A dozen men were piling into a pair of rowboats at the pier that jutted from the deepest part of the bay. As they rowed toward the raft, the men shook their arms and cursed the thieves. Most of their words were an angry blur, but they repeated one phrase over and over, like a chant:

“You filthy pirates!”

One of the pirates, the redhead who’d slipped, looked in her direction. Swallowing hard, she ducked and rested her head against the barrels. Had the man seen her? Her heart pounded in fear of the unknown.

With a vividness that exceeded any reality, she pictured and heard and even smelled the pirates as they abruptly shoved aside their booty in savage eagerness to seize the real prize—her. She imagined them rowing toward the floathouse, racing the men from Echo Bay—and winning, unfortunately. The huge pirate in the digger’s hat would leap from his still-moving boat to where she cowered. As he loomed over her, laughing cruelly, he held up his right arm. Where his hand should be was only a hook—long, curved and sharp. A sudden beam of sunlight somehow pierced the gloom to glint off the metal. Advancing on her, still laughing, he held up the hook. Reached toward her. Snagged the lapel of her coat then ripped it and all her other clothes away in one devastatingly powerful movement.

Then all the pirates fell on her, pummeling and beating until she was a bloody, dead carcass…

[image error]But though Janet hunkered for several minutes behind the barrels, crying quietly, she heard no outcry directed her way. Lots of shouting, yes, and thumping as her things were carelessly dropped. But nothing about her.

Her imagination was too darned powerful sometimes.

Again came a cry of pirates. Why wasn’t someone calling nine-one-one?

She pulled her cell phone from her pocket, but of course it showed NO SERVICE.

“Oh, God,” Janet whispered. Again, she rested her back against a barrel, not caring if she got dirty.

She peeked around the barrels. The Echo Bayers wouldn’t reach the raft in time to save her belongings from the pirates. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to ignore fear that made her shiver.

A gigantic laugh boomed across the water. The pirate’s laugh, surely, the huge, dramatic pirate captain in a digger’s hat. He alone was big enough for such a larger-than-life laugh. Stifling a moan, Janet searched for somewhere to run, but there was nowhere. Fear filled her mouth with salty cotton. The pirates would surely wonder where the owner of the baggage had disappeared to, and when they did—

“Got it all, lads. Now row!”

Heart pounding, Janet peered out. The pirates left the raft just before the first rowboat from Echo Bay arrived. The pirate craft shot away, a greyhound to the Echo Bayers’ dachshunds. The big man standing in the bow looked back, gave another booming laugh then made a florid, mocking bow to his pursuers.

Tears slipped from Janet’s eyes. She wished she were invisible. Wished she were home, safe, warm and dry. She couldn’t stop chewing at her lip, and her bottom was damp from sitting on these drizzle-soaked planks. Now it would be the Echo Bayers turn to wonder about and search for the owner of the baggage. What if she were to stand and call out to them? Would that be safe?

Just as she started to rise, a burst of swearing came from the raft. She ducked back down. Her head throbbed from tension, but no mere painkiller could fix what ailed her.

The Blurb:

Spurred by her husband’s infidelity and haunted by abandoned aspirations, Janet, 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, find love with the man they call the Saint of Gilford Island. She’d once spent a memorable, though 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, Janet finds pirates who steal everything but the clothes on her back … an arrogant Cambridge scientist who wants to take her 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 . . . creating a legacy . . . worth such a risk?

What about true love?

[image error]In honor of release week, the Saint of Quarantine Island is available for the special the pre-sale price of $2.99. Soon, though, it will revert to full price, so don’t wait. Order it now.

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


And here’s Effing Feline’s 50% off coupon code for any of Ed’s books (not include The Saint of Quarantine Island) at his bookstore: NIGRZSBT1H. Isn’t he a great cat?

The Saint is released from Quarantine, day 0

As of today,

July 1, 2020…
The Saint is live
Long live the Saint!

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?

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The Blurb:

Spurred by her husband’s infidelity and haunted by abandoned aspirations, Janet, 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, find love with the man they call the Saint of Gilford Island. She’d once spent a memorable, though 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, Janet finds pirates who steal everything but the clothes on her back … an arrogant Cambridge scientist who wants to take her 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 . . . creating a legacy . . . worth such a risk?

What about true love?

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Part love story and part adventure tale, The Saint of Quarantine Island is told against a backdrop of the relationship between madness and creativity. It will make you think . . . and make you cry.

In honor of release week, the special pre-sale price of $2.99. Soon, though, it will revert to full price, so don’t wait. Order it now.

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



And here’s Effing Feline’s 50% off coupon code for any of Ed’s books (not include The Saint of Quarantine Island) at his bookstore: NIGRZSBT1H. Isn’t he a great cat?

Nudging the orca for you #mfrwhooks

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In these snippets from my sci fi rom, Alien Contact for Kid Sisters, Quinn is the antihero, a petty crook and conman masquerading as a Royal Guardian. He has led Marianne Harmon, the queen’s sister, to an old, abandoned town from before his people ‘hopped’ to our Earth.

Marianne and eleven-year-old Delfina (Elfy) use one of town’s automated tailors to get clothes appropriate for their long hike. They’re speaking the Kwdran’s language, with Marianne understands . . . but not necessarily the slang. We’re in Quinn’s POV.

He’d seen these same clothes on hundreds of young Kwadran women: navy blue, knee-length skirt and white long-sleeve blouse of ultra-soft twag cotton, with a butt-length cape for warmth. He’d never seen them on Marianne Harmon, though. She looked even better than before. Now, she seemed attainable.

“Captain Charleyjohn likes the way you look, Aunt Marianne.” Delfina twirled. “Do you like my jumper, too?”

“Beautiful, kid.”

“You didn’t even look.”

“You’re the dashiest viva who ever strutted these halls,” he told Marianne.

Elfy giggled.

Marianne narrowed her eyes. “Dashiest viva . . . is that another insult, like klootch?”

“Why do you even ask that? I’m an officer and a gentleman.”

“Officer, yes. Gentleman . . . ?”

Elfy giggled louder. “Dashiest means ‘most beautiful’ in street slang. I told you he nudges the orca for you.”

When Marianne’s brow wrinkled in a suspicious frown, he expected her to ask what nudging the orca meant. Apparently, though, she knew it meant having a crush, because she asked, “Is dashiest a word you’d use to describe a klootch?”

Quinn said, “No,” at the same moment Elfy said, “Maybe.” He stared down at the girl, who met his gaze saucily.

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

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Just one more day!

SFR Station is trying to spread the word for authors who sell directly from their websites. They’re sponsoring a 30% off sale, which includes my own Love Thy Galactic Enemy. See all the books here.

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Alien Contact for Kid Sisters

Fleeing murderous rebels, the queen’s sister finds a hero to save her.

Or is he kidnapping her, instead?

[image error]Marianne is sick of being just the kid sister of the famous queen of Kwadra Island. Although she daydreams about being a warrior, when rebels bomb the royal ball she’s shunted to one of the many tunnels that honeycomb Kwadra, where she awaits a captain of the valiant Royal Guardians.

Quinn, a scam artist fleeing the police, dons the uniform of a Royal Guardian killed by a tunnel collapse. When Marianne mistakes him for her bodyguard, Quinn can’t decide whether to save the feisty maiden, fall in love with her—or kidnap her. With bloodthirsty rebels pursuing them and a treasure map in his pocket, what will he choose?

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

A Saintly Quotation #6

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from The Saint of Quarantine Island by Edward Hoornaert

The Saint of Quarantine Island escapes from its pre-sale quarantine on July 1, 2020. Until then, it’s available at a special reduced price. Don’t wait — the price will be rising once the book goes live.

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

A Saintly Quotation #5

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from The Saint of Gilford Island by Edward Hoornaert

The Saint of Quarantine Island escapes from its pre-sale quarantine on July 1, 2020. Until then, it’s available at a special reduced price. Don’t wait — the price will be rising once the book goes live.

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

A Saintly Quotation #4

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from The Saint of Quarantine Island by Edward Hoornaert

The Saint of Quarantine Island escapes from its pre-sale quarantine on July 1, 2020. Until then, it’s available at a special reduced price. Don’t wait — the price will be rising once the book goes live.

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

Effing Feline is sick #wewriwa

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I, Effing Feline, am sick of quarantine. Oh sure, ‘quarantine’ isn’t what they call it these days, but a rose by any other name, etc. I yearn to romp in the grass, chase the birds that tantalize me, catch some of the lizards that scurry across the patio just out of reach. But I can’t, I can’t!

Grumble grumble, hiss hiss. More on my heartrending dilemma following this word from my sponsor, The Saint of Quarantine Island.

After seeing Billy Seaweed leap off a cliff, our heroine, Janet Davis, tries to explain her reasons for paying the boat driver to smuggle her into the quarantine.

“And I’ve failed not just at writing, but, well, at everything.” Her shoulders rose and fell as she sighed. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’m not a huge failure, just a mediocre one.” She cocked her head to one side. “Does that mean I’m a failure even at failure? Anyway, I’m not a spectacular beauty anymore . . . ”

Embarrassment tugged at her as she realized she was pausing to give him time to disagree. Compliments about her looks had declined over the years, but never disappeared; she’d thought she was fine with that, even welcomed being more than a pretty face — but right now, a compliment would feel fabulous.

He said nothing, just stared at her. Oh, well.

Effing Feline here again. Oh, how I wish the family wasn’t quarantining — though that wouldn’t really help me. I’m a blinking house cat serving a life sentence without parole. Hiss!

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

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The Saint of Quarantine Island

I finally have a blurb I’m happy with. Check it out!

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, Janet, 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, find love with the man they call the Saint of Gilford Island. She’d once spent a memorable, though 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, Janet finds pirates who steal everything but the clothes on her back … an arrogant Cambridge scientist who wants to take her 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 a book worth such a risk?

What about true love?

The Saint of Quarantine Island escapes from its pre-sale quarantine on July 1, 2020. Until then, it’s available at a special reduced price. Don’t wait — the price will be rising as surely as Billy Seaweed’s mania.

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

A Saintly Quotation #3

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from The Saint of Quarantine Island by Edward Hoornaert

The Saint of Quarantine Island escapes from its pre-sale quarantine on July 1, 2020. Until then, it’s available at a special reduced price. Don’t wait — the price will be rising once the book goes live.

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

A Saintly Quotation #2

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from The Saint of Quarantine Island, a novel by Edward Hoornaert that’ll be released July 1.

The Saint of Quarantine Island escapes from its pre-sale quarantine on July 1, 2020. Until then, it’s available at a special reduced price. Don’t wait — the price will be rising once the book goes live.

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

How to get a ransom note to the king #mfrwhooks

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In these snippets from my sci fi rom, Alien Contact for Kid Sisters, the ‘hero’ is Quinn, a petty crook and conman masquerading as a Royal Guardian. He has led Marianne Harmon, the queen’s sister, to an old, abandoned town from before his people ‘hopped’ to our earth.

Marianne and eleven-year-old Elfy use one of town’s automated tailors to get clothes appropriate for their long hike.

“You ladies went wild with the tailor, I see.” For himself, Quinn carried only a change of shirt and underwear, static-folded to fit in his back pockets. They each had twenty times as much stuff. Females!

Elfy dismissed him with a haughty glance. “Carry my bag for me, Charleyjohn.” Getting out of pajamas seemed to have reminded her she was royalty. Not that she’d ever really forgotten.

“What am I, your slave?”

“I’ll take it,” Marianne said.

“You shouldn’t have to lug both of them.” He grabbed Elfy’s bag and slung it over his shoulder.

Marianne smiled at him. “Thank you, Quinn.”

As they headed toward the hotel, he realized Marianne had duped him into doing exactly what the brat wanted. That was toes over nose. He was the one who duped people, not the one who got duped.

Marianne had manipulated him. The kid treated him like a servant. And the more he thought about it, the king was sure to treat him like a a kidnapper. Because of a pretty face—and feet, and dress, and especially legs — he’d forgotten the cardinal rule of a loner’s life: Look out for yourself first, and then help someone else. Maybe.

If he was going to be treated like a kidnapper, why not do it? If he played this right, Marianne would never need to know. He could continue to enjoy this delirious flirtation and then simply disappear from her life.

Instead of taking her to the surface, he would lead her to La Petite Place, a remote, deserted kwayviva [underground town]. For all he knew there was a full-blown revolution up there, with fighting in the streets. She’d be safer down here, wouldn’t she?

And if he could figure out how to get a ransom note to the king, and if some money happened to come his way . . . well, heroes deserved a reward, didn’t they?

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

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This month, SFR Station is trying to spread the word for authors who sell direct. They’re sponsoring a 30% off sale, including my own Love Thy Galactic Enemy. See all the books here.

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Alien Contact for Kid Sisters

Fleeing murderous rebels, the queen’s sister finds a hero to save her.

Or is he kidnapping her, instead?

[image error]Marianne is sick of being just the kid sister of the famous queen of Kwadra Island. Although she daydreams about being a warrior, when rebels bomb the royal ball she’s shunted to one of the many tunnels that honeycomb Kwadra, where she awaits a captain of the valiant Royal Guardians.

Quinn, a scam artist fleeing the police, dons the uniform of a Royal Guardian killed by a tunnel collapse. When Marianne mistakes him for her bodyguard, Quinn can’t decide whether to save the feisty maiden, fall in love with her—or kidnap her. With bloodthirsty rebels pursuing them and a treasure map in his pocket, what will he choose?