Jennifer Colgan's Blog, page 14
June 12, 2011
Happy Release Day, JB Lynn!
Today my good friend and fellow Killer Chick, JB Lynn is launching her first Carina Press release. Her book is scary, smart and full of suspense - if you want an exciting read that'll leave you afraid to sleep with the lights off, check out...
The First Victim by JB Lynn
Fifteen years ago, Emily Wright barely escaped from a serial killer dubbed the Baby Doll Strangler. She wants nothing to do with the small town she grew up in, but when her father is hospitalized she reluctantly returns home to care for her teenage sister.
When a friend of her sister is killed and left in front of Emily's house, Emily begins to relive the nightmare she endured long ago. Soon she realizes that her sister too is in danger from the killer – and the only person who can help is the man Emily left behind: Deputy Bailey O'Neil. Together, Emily and Bailey must discover the killer's identity before he claims his next victim…
[image error]
"Does your palm itch? Emily?"
Engrossed in paperwork, it took Emily Wright a moment to realize that her assistant, Ruth, was talking to her. She looked up at the older woman as Ruth placed a cup of coffee beside Emily's telephone. It was only then she realized that she'd been rubbing her left thumb across her right hand.
"Does your palm itch?"
Emily nodded. "Thanks for the coffee."
Ruth beamed. "That's good news. It means you're going to come into money." Her unspoken message was that it boded well for the presentation Marisol, Emily's business partner, was probably making at this very moment. All nine of the advertising firm's employees were eagerly waiting to hear whether they'd landed their biggest client ever.
"Do you really believe in those old superstitions, Ruth?"
"They can't hurt. Can I get you anything else?"
"No. This is great. Thanks." Watching her newest employee, a woman old enough to be her mother, leave her office, Emily secretly hoped she was right.
She looked down at her palm. The scar that stretched across it had faded over time and was now nothing more than a thin raised line. No doubt there were a hundred doctors in Manhattan who could remove the physical reminder of what she'd suffered, but to her the scar tissue was a talisman of sorts, proof that hope could triumph over evil.
She'd learned an invaluable lesson the day she'd earned this scar. She'd learned that she was capable of more than she'd ever imagined, that help came from the most unexpected places and to never give up. Those lessons had served her well, which was how she found herself a co-owner of a Manhattan ad agency, waiting to hear whether they'd landed their first national account.
Feeling the distant rumblings of a tension headache, she rubbed at her temples, and then made a grab for her coffee cup. She needed caffeine!
Her cell phone buzzed. Hoping that it was Marisol calling with good news, she snatched it out of her purse. An icy tingle of fear ran down her spine when she recognized the area code. Home.
It rang three more times before she took a deep breath and answered.
"Hello?"
"You've got to come home, Em." Bailey O'Neil, her childhood friend and teenage crush who still made semi-regular appearances in her dreams, didn't offer a greeting, ask how she was or even identify himself. Not that he needed to. Even though it had been close to fifteen years since they'd had regular conversations, she'd recognized Bailey's voice immediately.
It transported her from behind her desk to a dock on a lake's shore. In that instant it was easier to believe she was a confused fourteen-year-old girl rather than a driven, thirty-one-year-old businesswoman.
"There's been an accident."
He'd called and said the same exact thing two years earlier, but that had been a lie. Her mother had overdosed, and no one would ever convince Emily it had been an accident.
With Marisol, who was not only her business partner but her best friend, in tow for moral support, Emily had returned to Lakeside Acres, Pennsylvania for the funeral, choosing to stay at The Garden Gate Bed and Breakfast rather than the house she'd called home as a child. She hadn't been back since, not even to see Laurie.
"Em?" Bailey still used the shortened version of her name, just like he had when they were kids. It almost sounded too familiar, since it suggested that they knew each other well. That was another lie. "Em? Did you hear me? I said you've got to come home."
"I heard you. How'd you get this number?"
Ignoring her question, Bailey told her, "There's been an accident. Your father's been hurt. It's pretty bad. They're not sure he's going to make it."
"So?"
She heard Bailey's sharp intake of breath. He probably thought she was a stone-cold bitch. So be it. She'd decided long ago that she didn't have to explain or justify her relationship, or lack of relationship, with her dear old dad. If Bailey O'Neil didn't approve of her reaction, that was his problem.
Bailey, though, didn't miss a beat. "Laurie needs you."
Try as she might, Emily didn't hear any judgment or condemnation in his tone, only a genuine concern for her younger sister. Doing her best to ignore the twinge of guilt she felt for not immediately inquiring about her only sibling, Emily asked, "Is she hurt? What happened?"
"Your father was out on his boat. I don't have the details yet. Laurie wasn't involved, but she's scared, Em. She needs someone. She needs you."
Emily's gaze settled on two tiny framed photographs perched on the corner of her desk. They'd been taken more than two years earlier when Laurie was thirteen. She and her sister had crammed into one of those tiny booths at a mall, made a bunch of silly faces and ended up with a strip of four, slightly grainy, black-and-white photographs. They'd torn the strip in half, each taking two of the pictures. Besides the funeral, it was the last time she'd seen her sister. Their father had seen to that.
"Em?"
"Okay. I'll be there in a few hours."
"Swear?"
An image of Bailey solemnly staring at her popped into her mind, not this adult version of Bailey who was just doing his job, but the boy she'd played freeze tag with.
"Em? Swear?"
"I swear." She severed the connection.
You can learn more about JB and her books at:
Killer Chicks
Website
Follow her on Twitter
The First Victim by JB Lynn
Fifteen years ago, Emily Wright barely escaped from a serial killer dubbed the Baby Doll Strangler. She wants nothing to do with the small town she grew up in, but when her father is hospitalized she reluctantly returns home to care for her teenage sister.
When a friend of her sister is killed and left in front of Emily's house, Emily begins to relive the nightmare she endured long ago. Soon she realizes that her sister too is in danger from the killer – and the only person who can help is the man Emily left behind: Deputy Bailey O'Neil. Together, Emily and Bailey must discover the killer's identity before he claims his next victim…
[image error]
"Does your palm itch? Emily?"
Engrossed in paperwork, it took Emily Wright a moment to realize that her assistant, Ruth, was talking to her. She looked up at the older woman as Ruth placed a cup of coffee beside Emily's telephone. It was only then she realized that she'd been rubbing her left thumb across her right hand.
"Does your palm itch?"
Emily nodded. "Thanks for the coffee."
Ruth beamed. "That's good news. It means you're going to come into money." Her unspoken message was that it boded well for the presentation Marisol, Emily's business partner, was probably making at this very moment. All nine of the advertising firm's employees were eagerly waiting to hear whether they'd landed their biggest client ever.
"Do you really believe in those old superstitions, Ruth?"
"They can't hurt. Can I get you anything else?"
"No. This is great. Thanks." Watching her newest employee, a woman old enough to be her mother, leave her office, Emily secretly hoped she was right.
She looked down at her palm. The scar that stretched across it had faded over time and was now nothing more than a thin raised line. No doubt there were a hundred doctors in Manhattan who could remove the physical reminder of what she'd suffered, but to her the scar tissue was a talisman of sorts, proof that hope could triumph over evil.
She'd learned an invaluable lesson the day she'd earned this scar. She'd learned that she was capable of more than she'd ever imagined, that help came from the most unexpected places and to never give up. Those lessons had served her well, which was how she found herself a co-owner of a Manhattan ad agency, waiting to hear whether they'd landed their first national account.
Feeling the distant rumblings of a tension headache, she rubbed at her temples, and then made a grab for her coffee cup. She needed caffeine!
Her cell phone buzzed. Hoping that it was Marisol calling with good news, she snatched it out of her purse. An icy tingle of fear ran down her spine when she recognized the area code. Home.
It rang three more times before she took a deep breath and answered.
"Hello?"
"You've got to come home, Em." Bailey O'Neil, her childhood friend and teenage crush who still made semi-regular appearances in her dreams, didn't offer a greeting, ask how she was or even identify himself. Not that he needed to. Even though it had been close to fifteen years since they'd had regular conversations, she'd recognized Bailey's voice immediately.
It transported her from behind her desk to a dock on a lake's shore. In that instant it was easier to believe she was a confused fourteen-year-old girl rather than a driven, thirty-one-year-old businesswoman.
"There's been an accident."
He'd called and said the same exact thing two years earlier, but that had been a lie. Her mother had overdosed, and no one would ever convince Emily it had been an accident.
With Marisol, who was not only her business partner but her best friend, in tow for moral support, Emily had returned to Lakeside Acres, Pennsylvania for the funeral, choosing to stay at The Garden Gate Bed and Breakfast rather than the house she'd called home as a child. She hadn't been back since, not even to see Laurie.
"Em?" Bailey still used the shortened version of her name, just like he had when they were kids. It almost sounded too familiar, since it suggested that they knew each other well. That was another lie. "Em? Did you hear me? I said you've got to come home."
"I heard you. How'd you get this number?"
Ignoring her question, Bailey told her, "There's been an accident. Your father's been hurt. It's pretty bad. They're not sure he's going to make it."
"So?"
She heard Bailey's sharp intake of breath. He probably thought she was a stone-cold bitch. So be it. She'd decided long ago that she didn't have to explain or justify her relationship, or lack of relationship, with her dear old dad. If Bailey O'Neil didn't approve of her reaction, that was his problem.
Bailey, though, didn't miss a beat. "Laurie needs you."
Try as she might, Emily didn't hear any judgment or condemnation in his tone, only a genuine concern for her younger sister. Doing her best to ignore the twinge of guilt she felt for not immediately inquiring about her only sibling, Emily asked, "Is she hurt? What happened?"
"Your father was out on his boat. I don't have the details yet. Laurie wasn't involved, but she's scared, Em. She needs someone. She needs you."
Emily's gaze settled on two tiny framed photographs perched on the corner of her desk. They'd been taken more than two years earlier when Laurie was thirteen. She and her sister had crammed into one of those tiny booths at a mall, made a bunch of silly faces and ended up with a strip of four, slightly grainy, black-and-white photographs. They'd torn the strip in half, each taking two of the pictures. Besides the funeral, it was the last time she'd seen her sister. Their father had seen to that.
"Em?"
"Okay. I'll be there in a few hours."
"Swear?"
An image of Bailey solemnly staring at her popped into her mind, not this adult version of Bailey who was just doing his job, but the boy she'd played freeze tag with.
"Em? Swear?"
"I swear." She severed the connection.
You can learn more about JB and her books at:
Killer Chicks
Website
Follow her on Twitter
June 8, 2011
Here comes trouble!
Right now his name is Rio, but he'll be getting a new name once he comes to live with us. My good friend "R", the troublemaker, has a mess of kittens and she offered us one...well, actually two, but this little guy won me over the minute I saw him. He's got one black ear and one white ear and he looks like a Dalmatian.
How could I say no?
June 1, 2011
Now what?
I'm over at Killer Chicks today talking about my process - what happens after THE END.
May 28, 2011
Hovering
In between working on edits of my soon-to-be-released sci-fi novella and working on an erotica novel, I've spent much of my week haunting the Amazon Kindle Erotica Bestseller list where Hunter's Moon and Hunter's Mate have been hovering in the Top 100.
A screen cap from 5/23 [click on the picture for a larger view]
and a screen cap from 5/27.
I'm thrilled to say my self-pub experiment is working out well, so you'll be seeing more from me available through Smashwords and Amazon.com in the coming months.
Stay tuned for news about my upcoming releases...
A screen cap from 5/23 [click on the picture for a larger view]
and a screen cap from 5/27.
I'm thrilled to say my self-pub experiment is working out well, so you'll be seeing more from me available through Smashwords and Amazon.com in the coming months.
Stay tuned for news about my upcoming releases...
May 22, 2011
I'm still here, are you?
At around 6:00 PM local time yesterday, the sky darkened with ominous clouds. Rain began to fall steadily, and after about twenty minutes...
...it let up and the sun came out again.
So much for the much publicized coming of the Rapture and the beginning of the end of the world. How many failed doomsday predictions do we really need before people actually figure it out?
While the media probably made this 2nd spectacularly failed attempt of a televangelist to predict Judgment Day into a much bigger deal than it needed to be, the amount of people who supposedly bought into the reworked calculations of 89-year-old millionaire preacher Harold Camping speaks to a pretty sad state of affairs.
While it's very, very easy to poke fun at these people, some of whom dumped their life savings into billboards and religious tracts in a last ditch effort to save a few extra souls before zero hour, I can't help but feel sympathy. To anticipate the violent end of life on Earth with any kind of glee or excitement, to me, identifies someone who is deeply troubled and desperately disappointed with their lives.
Today, I have no doubt these people woke with a sense of foolish disappointment. How hard must it be too look people in the eye after you spent your last weeks saying goodbye and telling them how sad you would be to leave them behind when you ascended to heaven? How hard it must be to carry on living a life that's clearly so dismal you can't wait for it to end.
While the 'true believers' hoped that their endgame proselytizing would lead people to examine their own beliefs and make the 'right' choices that would save their souls, I hope this latest prophet-for-profit debacle will lead some people to re-examine their need to hope for the end of everything and find a more positive way to spend their time.
If reality doesn't make you happy, at least give fiction a try.
...it let up and the sun came out again.
So much for the much publicized coming of the Rapture and the beginning of the end of the world. How many failed doomsday predictions do we really need before people actually figure it out?
While the media probably made this 2nd spectacularly failed attempt of a televangelist to predict Judgment Day into a much bigger deal than it needed to be, the amount of people who supposedly bought into the reworked calculations of 89-year-old millionaire preacher Harold Camping speaks to a pretty sad state of affairs.
While it's very, very easy to poke fun at these people, some of whom dumped their life savings into billboards and religious tracts in a last ditch effort to save a few extra souls before zero hour, I can't help but feel sympathy. To anticipate the violent end of life on Earth with any kind of glee or excitement, to me, identifies someone who is deeply troubled and desperately disappointed with their lives.
Today, I have no doubt these people woke with a sense of foolish disappointment. How hard must it be too look people in the eye after you spent your last weeks saying goodbye and telling them how sad you would be to leave them behind when you ascended to heaven? How hard it must be to carry on living a life that's clearly so dismal you can't wait for it to end.
While the 'true believers' hoped that their endgame proselytizing would lead people to examine their own beliefs and make the 'right' choices that would save their souls, I hope this latest prophet-for-profit debacle will lead some people to re-examine their need to hope for the end of everything and find a more positive way to spend their time.
If reality doesn't make you happy, at least give fiction a try.
May 20, 2011
Crime and punishment
My co-blogger JB Lynn and I are talking about the season finale of CASTLE over at Killer Chicks today. Come give us your verdict.
May 17, 2011
Genre Hopping
Hop on over to Killer Chicks and talk to me about genres and how many it's okay for a writer to have.
May 14, 2011
One week left
So, in case you haven't heard, Judgement Day is coming. Next Saturday, May 21st will be the beginning of the end.
On October 21, 2011 the world will end. So you'd better stock up on your ebooks now. Otherwise you might not be able to get any, you know, after the world ends. That would suck, not being able to read, especially if there's nothing else to do. With the world being all...you know...gone and all.
If you missed any of the last times the world was supposed to end, you can read about them here:
http://www.religioustolerance.org/end_wrl2.htm
On October 21, 2011 the world will end. So you'd better stock up on your ebooks now. Otherwise you might not be able to get any, you know, after the world ends. That would suck, not being able to read, especially if there's nothing else to do. With the world being all...you know...gone and all.
If you missed any of the last times the world was supposed to end, you can read about them here:
http://www.religioustolerance.org/end_wrl2.htm
May 9, 2011
They wonder why
Welcome to my rant for the day.
One of my jobs for today was to set up a bunch of doctor's appointments - all the yearly checkups are due, pediatrician, dentists, eye doctors, orthodondist etc. So I dutifully made a list of six doctors and their phone numbers, got out my calendar and sat down with the phone to try and arrange dates that don't conflict with school, work, other appointments, vacations, etc.
Out of six phone calls, I was able to reach one office and actually make an appointment for my daughter and myself at the eye doctor. Everyone else had an excuse:
computers are down
office is closed today
office is closed this morning
too swamped to make appointments at this time
constant busy signal
It's ridiculous. You'd think since doctors are so deeply entrenched in the idea of having patients show up constantly and pay them money that they'd actually make sure someone was available to answer the phone and make appointments on a Monday morning.
If was just for me, I wouldn't even bother calling back, but as a Mom, I've got to keep my kids medical records current and make sure they're up to date with checkups. Sigh. You'd think they'd be a little more anxious to get people into the offices.
/rant, now back to our regularly scheduled blog
One of my jobs for today was to set up a bunch of doctor's appointments - all the yearly checkups are due, pediatrician, dentists, eye doctors, orthodondist etc. So I dutifully made a list of six doctors and their phone numbers, got out my calendar and sat down with the phone to try and arrange dates that don't conflict with school, work, other appointments, vacations, etc.
Out of six phone calls, I was able to reach one office and actually make an appointment for my daughter and myself at the eye doctor. Everyone else had an excuse:
computers are down
office is closed today
office is closed this morning
too swamped to make appointments at this time
constant busy signal
It's ridiculous. You'd think since doctors are so deeply entrenched in the idea of having patients show up constantly and pay them money that they'd actually make sure someone was available to answer the phone and make appointments on a Monday morning.
If was just for me, I wouldn't even bother calling back, but as a Mom, I've got to keep my kids medical records current and make sure they're up to date with checkups. Sigh. You'd think they'd be a little more anxious to get people into the offices.
/rant, now back to our regularly scheduled blog
May 5, 2011
What's your weakness?
I'm over at Killer Chicks again, collecting data for national security purposes. Come spill your secrets to me.
Jennifer Colgan's Blog
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![[image error]](http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Y7I0X8YV0tM/TfO70_8VipI/AAAAAAAAAG8/BBjMgxTWg78/s1600/TheFirstVictim%2Bcover%2Bsmall.jpg){kind=link}