Jason Halstead's Blog, page 45

There Are Dozens of Reasons You Shouldn't Feed Wild Animals

In spite of those many reasons, April O'Brien perseveres. No, she's not crazy, she's just refusing to live life by anyone's standards except her own. I'd even argue that there's a little bit of wild animal in her. Read below to learn more about this energetic and unstoppable force of nature who calls herself an author. I'd ask you to trust me when I say you won't regret it, but maybe you should try reading this short interview I did with her yourself and make up your own mind.

Tell us about your book or books – share some of your misery with other would-be writers to give them hope.

They say a writer should write about what they know. "Well, been there done that." Give me a topic and I will write about it. It is just something I must do. I believe anyone can learn the logistics of writing, but you either have it, or you don't. A well written book can be edited, but it can not be taught. If you want it, make it happen. You can't take rejection so hard. That is a requirement. Hemmingway was turned down 99 times before someone picked him up. If you want, it is hard work but so rewarding. I have now written six books, published 3 and am working on more. "April was here" is my autobiography and is better than any novel. I have also written in other genres. "It doesn't get dark until midnight" is action adventure; a story of survival in the Alaskan wilderness with a young woman is the heroin. (You can't put this book down.)

"Enter at your own risk" is a psychological thriller that leads you into the mind of a serial killer. It takes you from the beginnings of his rampage to an unforgettable ending.

Why self-publishing?

I didn't know anything about writing, publishing, marketing or anything else.

I was born to do this, had something interesting to say and wanted the world to know. One day, after writing my story, my husband kindly told me that no one would be interested in me because I was not known. So I sat down and wrote two more books within a year and they were so good I just kept going. So the weird thing is I published them first even after wanting my book out there so badly. The only regret I have is not learning more first and not paying the money and having them professionally edited before I published! LOL

What's your greatest fear?

I was born to write. I lived my life so I could write. My fear is that there is no one out there to tell all of this to, but I won't stop until the world knows! My fear is rejection, just like any artist. I taught myself to paint and painted the covers of my books. I write, I make money trees and paint landscapes with people's ashes in the paint. I live in the mountains of Colorado and feed every animal that comes to my door; I guess that is who I am.

What about your target market – your readers. How do you find them and how do you interact / relate with them?

I write in more than one genre and for more than one age group. "Midnight" is loved by both genders from 12 to 90 while "Enter" is definitely an adult novel and "April was here" is such an emotional ride it could be read by teens but is probably more for the 20 and older age group. Women and men both love my books and can find something in each one that leaves them wanting to read another. I have done a few book signings; I loved doing that because I got to interact with my readers. The first time a stranger came to me at a signing and said "I have been waiting for your next book anxiously" I was thrilled and it felt so good. I have joined Independent author's network and I love it. It truly is helping me market my books.

I use social media each day to let people know about my books such as twitter (aprilsworld1) and facebook (April Ma-Lynn O'Brien. I have a web site so people can get to know me and my books Aprilsworld.com and I am still learning how to link all of this together. Marketing takes time and dedication. If you don't believe in your books, no one else will. It isn't easy, I won't lead you to think it is but it is hopefully all worth it in the end. I also got my books to kindle on Amazon. (A MUST.) There is also querying to agents and publishers but be ready for rejection and much waiting. A Query must be PERFECT and I am not perfect so I am still learning and probably will be until I am gone.

What's next for April – anything in process or any ideas nibbling away in the back of your mind?

Always writing, even in my head, my mind won't stop. I have so many ideas and books going, it is hard to keep up with them all, but I am driven by my overactive mind. I am almost finished with a book of short stories that is just fabulous. I am now starting a Y.A. novel that is so full of imagination it will satisfy all who read it. I also have a sequel working to "Enter (at your own risk)" and have a sequel done to my book "April was here." Can't give you all of my ideas yet as they are not copy written.

What advice can you give to other writers trying to be published?

I believe the future is Independent publishing, Kindle, and next, audio books. So start with a hard cover book, something you can hold in your hand and do book signings with, but that is NOT where you will make any money. It is all the other things I already mentioned that will get you where you want to be. I used Author house because they offer a return policy just like a traditional publisher. You can expect to pay anywhere from $500.00 to a few thousand depending on what all you need. From start to finish you can hold your book in your hand as soon as two or three months. You can bypass this process and publish directly to Kindle, but there is nothing like holding a hard copy of your own book!

Finally – share a little dirt. Something that makes you less of a superhero who can balance writing with a busy life. What's your kryptonite?

This is a book in itself, the murder of my only child, my daughter Katrina Michelle. She was 25 when she was shot in the head. My autobiography "April was here" tells many secrets. It ends when I am twenty. It is not about my daughter that is another book. It is so full of unimaginable events it is sometimes hard to believe. I am true to my book and hold nothing back. It is so interesting you can't put it down. Not a dull page in it and very revealing. I don't regret how honest my book is in fact, I believe I lived my life to tell the world! I also believe I wouldn't be who I am today without all of the yesterdays. I try to learn something from these lessons, even the hard ones, how would I know happiness if I hadn't known sadness.

Where can anxious readers find you on the web?

 I am everywhere!

Website: http://aprilsworld.com

Blog: http://aprilsworld.com/blog/

Independent Author Network:  http://bit.ly/pLjWGK,

Twitter: @aprilsworld1,

Facebook: April Ma-Lynn O'Brien,

Email: aprilsworld@msn.com

I am also a member of The women's nest, writers digest and many more.

April O'Brien

A treasure waiting to be found

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Cover Art Research Continued

Wanted, on Amazon

There, you've seen the original cover art for Wanted. This is my most successful book in terms of quantity of sales. Why is that? A couple of reasons – the title has some punch and makes you "want" to know more and the cover art is very striking and powerful. The book blurb, I believe, makes you want to know more as well. Thus a sale is born. Case in point, if you're curious about the book you can click on the image above to check it out on Amazon or the links below to find it on other retailers (Barnes and Noble / Smashwords).

But alas, a cover art change is in the works! It's already done, actually, I just haven't applied it yet. Why change it if it's doing well? I don't own the original image, my former publisher does. Since I have pulled it from their ranks I lost my right to use that image beyond the end of this year. Fortunately, working with Willsin Rowe we've come up with an incredible replacement – one I personally like more than the original.

Why do I like it more? Easy – it has the same powerful elements in it but it also has people. Wanted isn't a story about a city being blown up, it's a story about the characters. Things happen to these characters and they must learn from them and adapt to overcome those things. The grow and become better people – or they become fertilizer for the daisies.

So, without any more delay, here's the new and improved cover. In the interest of obtaining as much accurate research data as possible I'm going to switch it over on November 1st. If you'd like to pick up Wanted before then, click on the image above or below or, for a non-Amazon purchase, check out the links at the bottom.

Wanted, on Amazon

To pick up Wanted for your Nook or various other e-reader / PC try one of these links:

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0053KJ2QU/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=httpwwwboo024-20&linkCode=as2&camp=217145&creative=399373&creativeASIN=B0053KJ2QU

Barnes and Nobles: http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Wanted/Jason-Halstead/e/2940012787965

Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/61275

A Readers Dilemma

I spent some time in the waiting room at the hospital emergency room last night, then later in an actual room in the ER. I brought in my wife's Kindle for something to pass the time and while browsing through the items on it I had a few discoveries. No, not discoveries like some great reads, rather discoveries that alarmed me. I had a hell of a time trying to find something worth reading! On the Kindle screen the cover is too small to see much of it, plus it's black and white. The title was all that stood out. So other than a few searches I conducted I mostly browsed through the top 100 lists. I selected a few that found away to pique my interest and downloaded the samples of them to check them out. That's when epiphany number two struck.

A lot of the books on the Amazon best selling lists suck! Oh sure, there are varying levels of suckage, and in some cases he story was interesting but just not enough to compensate for the errors in flow or the technique (or lack thereof) in which the story was told. I even checked out a story from a Twitter friend of mine and found it to be close, but still a disappointment. How is this happening?!

A lack of control is the answer. Self-publishing is taking the literary world by storm but I can see how the near obsolete publishing companies of old laughed at it initially. It's hard to believe people will accept the quality found within these self-pubbed books compared to what they've grown up on in properly edited print versions. To be fair, some of the problems are conversion issues. Some. The rest…not so much.

And that led me to a moment of controlled anger. Why are these books ranked so highly when mine, which flow far better and have a much more polished look, languish in lower ranks. Am I saying my books are better than these bestselling top 100 lists? Yes, yes I am. Sure, I'm biased, but amongst 11 published titles my lowest review is a 3 and no, I don't have my wife and family posting reviews for me.  If you don't believe me I'll accept that challenge and suggest you try out a couple of my books and compare them to other books in the top 100 list for the same genre. No, not the ones written by the famous NY Times bestselling authors that have been around for years, but the other indie authors out there.

As for how those other guys got on the top lists with only average work, the answer, clearly, is networking. Some of these authors must have people on tap ready to snatch them up in quantities necessary to propel them onto the lists and then, once there, the titles often take care of themselves. My experience with the Kindle proved that the easiest way to buy a book is via the top lists. If it's not on there an author is fighting for table scraps.

No, I don't have a suggestion for people to help them find books in a better way. Well, aside from typing my name into the search box, that is.   Seriously though, I'd advise readers when they find a writer they like to share the word and give them as much of a boost as they can to help them get up there. Without sales we lose heart (and the ability to pay bills), and that means we can't write and publish as much since we'll have to get a real job.

 

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Real Life Character Development

I think just about every one of us, as human beings, has something in common. We love an underdog story. We love to see somebody rise up and overcome adversity. We love to see the Cobra Kai's and evil empires overthrown. More than that, we like to see people succeed when the odds are stacked against them.

The odds, I believe, are stacked against almost each and every one of us. We come out kicking and screaming into a bright and scary world. It's cold, we haven't really eaten anything in nine months, and what's that smell? From there we've only got the good grace of our parents, guardians, or mentors to help us figure out what to do and how to do it.

What defines is isn't what we achieve, but what we overcome. The more you think about it, the more you realize everybody has a story and everybody has roadblocks they have to get past. Even the rich kids have issues (sometimes more, except they can afford a personal therapist).

The funny thing is, in a sad and ironic way, when somebody does break free with something remarkable, there are always several people who become bitter and denounce them for their success. I think we've probably all done it a time or two, I know I have. Perhaps it's justified but how can we truly know without having been in their position?

That's another reason why books are remarkable things. We can read about characters who aren't real, or at least they're not real in the medical sense. We can see them run through a meat grinder and emerge battered, scarred, and improved. Things get worse for them but they dig deep and find a way to climb out of the hole. And when they do our spirits are lifted with theirs. We share their triumphs just as we shared their pains. We've all had times where things seemed bleak and like we had no way to turn, so we can connect with those characters. To see them succeed reminds us that you and I can too, it just takes hard work and the ability to seize an opportunity when it presents itself. Who knew you could learn something about yourself from fiction?

I believe every single word I've written, and I'd go on to share some of my own pitfalls and successes, but I don't want anybody thinking this is about me. Well it is, but not me personally, rather it's about another example I want to share with as many people as I can. It's a fictional example, but it's also about a character that almost every single one of us can identify with.

Her name is Katalina Wimple and she's a cop with a bad attitude. She's a good cop, but she's got a lot of issues and a lot of bitterness in her. She's been abused and heartbroken and if that wasn't enough she keeps putting herself in situations that allow the beatings to continue. Her family life is broken and confused and her love-life is reminiscent of a demolition derby. Yet in spite of all of that – or because of it – she wants to help people so badly she doesn't care what happens to her. If you pointed that out to her she'd probably pull her gun on you though, so don't try it.

And this character, Katalina Wimple, she's as real as they get as far as I'm concerned. She's feisty and someone you just can't live with even though you end up loving her and rooting for her. Trust me, I know, she's been smacking me in the back of the head for months now. Case in point, she just wacked me for saying that about her.

She's featured in my latest book, The Lost Girls, and will also be readily available to be beat up, shot at, and exposed to some truly terrifying events in the near future when I release the next book in that series, Traitor. I will warn you that the genre is confused, mystery / hardboiled detective but I also tossed in a touch of science fiction. Nothing like aliens and robots though, just some near future gadgets and cool tech stuff.

With that in mind I ask you to give this new book of mine a look. It's different than my prior Voidhawk series by far, and it's far from the lawless post apocalypse of Wanted and Ice Princess. It's everyday life for the most part, and I can't begin to tell you how very thrilling and exciting it is to me.

The Lost Grls, a Dark Earth novel by Jason Haltead

The Lost Girls can be found on Amazon, Barnes and Nobles, Smashwords, and other places where e-books are sold.

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Live! The Lost Girls

No, it's not an adult entertainment show in Las Vegas or Amsterdam, it's my latest book I've been working on. Between you and me I think it may be the best one I've ever written. The main character is outstanding – a mixture of incredible strengths and debilitating weaknesses.

But don't take my word for it (or the word of my beta readers who tried it and liked it) – go check it out for yourself! Or if you're the suspicious sort feel free to stop by my webpage and read the sample first.

The Lost Grls, a Dark Earth novel by Jason Haltead

The only thing hotter than the summers in Phoenix is the temper of a police detective who can't figure out why young girls keep disappearing. Katalina Wimple is that detective. Her obsession with the missing girls makes her the best person for the job, but it also serves as a refuge from the problems in her own life.

 Battling her own demons offers coincidences impossible to ignore. Rescuing the missing girls will require Kat figuring out how much coincidence is too much, as well as fighting her desire for what she can't have.

The Lost Girls is a 60,000 word mystery / detective novel with a dose of sci-fi mixed in for flavor

 

Excerpt:

 Panic hit me again, stealing my breath better than a dozen shots from his taser would have. I was going to be imprisoned again and abused. Raped, beaten, whatever. Last time that happened the sick bastard professed love for me and said he only wanted to show me how good it could be. He didn't understand he was forcing me and that I hated it and hated him. This time there'd be no mercy, or no pretense of it. They'd fuck me over and over and in every way they could. I'd be broken and bleeding and still they'd go on. I'd seen cases where that happened, now it was my turn. It was my destiny, I'd dared to think I'd escaped it all those years ago but now it was just going to be that much worse.

"Knock that shit off. I said I ain't going to fuck you. I take my women willing," he said, then slammed the door shut. Through the door I could hear him call me a stupid bitch again.

Somehow, in spite of the situation and the incredible lack of trust I should have had, his words calmed me a little. It was a psychological trick and I knew it. I wasn't any safer but I was panicked and desperate  and willing to believe anything. It was one of the steps towards the condition where a kidnapping victim can actually switch their allegiance over time to their captors. I'd never understood before how that was possible. I knew terror and fear from my youth, but I'd gone the other way, from loving my captor to hating him with every cell in my body. Now I began to understand how somebody could let themselves be tricked into going the other way.

I realized the bag was wet from my tears. I'd been whimpering as I tried to control my sobs. Now I was beginning to regain control, but every move I made just made my body hurt worse than it already did. I focused again and switched my eyes into heat sensing mode. They switched over and I immediately felt a little better. I could see a little bit through the hood. Craning my neck around I could make out my captor climb into the driver's seat.

The van fired up, the engine roaring with the sound of a bio-diesel. I craned my neck around some more but saw little. When we started moving things changed. I could occasionally feel some warmth on my otherwise cold skin. Glancing in that direction rewarded me with an occasional pink glow of residual heat imparted by the sun coming in through the windows. I was sure it was the front windows, a van such as this wouldn't have any rear or side ones.

We drove for what seemed like hours until I thought to call up the HUD in my eyes to display a clock. From that point on thirty minutes passed. Based on my captor's comments about me being heavy and no comments about anything else, I guessed he didn't have a clue about my enhancements.  It gave me hope that I might have a chance to make it out of this. Or if not, at least I'd go down fighting.

The vehicle stopped, eventually, and I was plunged into darkness again. Even the residual heat was fading, which meant we were out of sun. I braced myself just in time. The door beside me opened and rough hands grabbed my ankles. I was yanked across the cold metal, scraping my back and shoulder but not bad enough to cut the skin. The pain helped me take my mind off the unknown, and that kept me from freaking out.

"Nice job Buddy," I heard a new voice say, followed by a harsh laugh. I didn't know if Buddy was his name or a title. "Maybe you never seen a woman naked before but they're supposed to have two tits!"

The others joined in, laughing at the expense of the guy who'd captured me. I couldn't make out how many people there were but it was enough to push the pain away and make my panic flare. It didn't just start to rise either, it hit me full on and made me cry out in the most pitiful and embarrassing way. I even heard myself begging and pleading with them. My voice was so soft and weak, saying things like, "Please don't hurt me! Let me go, I won't tell anyone." And the thing was, I believed if I just begged hard enough they'd let me go and everything would be all right. I just had to let them know they were right. I needed them. Real men, all of them – only real men could make me happy. That was what was wrong with me, wasn't it? If I just accepted it everything would be okay.

"This ain't just some chick I picked up," Buddy said. "This is that blond chick's sister. Said her name's Katy."

"Pictures showed her having a full rack?"

"Stuffed her bra," Buddy said.

"Fuck!" Someone swore, a new voice. "She's no use to us. Kill her and dump her out in the desert."

My breathing changed. I'd been taking in enough breath to beg and plead, but now I started breathing faster. In a few minutes, if I lived that long, I knew I'd start to feel all tingly as I flooded my body with oxygen. If only I could just open my mouth and beg them to use me. I could think, why couldn't I make my lips move?

"Might need her to keep the blond in line," Buddy suggested.

"What the…let me see her." Great, somebody else wanted to check me out. Maybe I was damaged goods but if the other parts worked fine they might still have a use for me. Maybe they thought they could still fix me. That's what all men wanted, to fix me and prove I wasn't broken. That I could appreciate a man. Or men, in this case. If only I'd learned it before none of this would have happened. I deserved it, I suppose. I deserved the harsh lesson. I knew these guys were going to overlook my disfigurement for at least one go round. I had to perform well enough so that my body wouldn't be dumped in the desert. "Holy shit, I know this bitch!"

The voice sounded faintly familiar. My breath caught in my throat as I strained to hear more.

"This bitch tore Jerry's dick off and she ripped out Manny's throat. This bitch is strong!" I knew the voice now, I'd dubbed him Pussylover at the time. He was the one that got away the last time I'd been given another opportunity for a lesson I'd failed to learn.

"Don't look so tough to me," another man said.

"She's fucking heavy for being a midget," Buddy retorted. In any other situation I'd have come unglued at being called a midget. I was short and petite, but I wasn't that short!

Something clicked in the back of my head. Pussylover really was an idiot. He had no idea I'd been upgraded, he just thought I was really strong. And if they didn't know about my enhancements, I had an advantage. Maybe not against four or five of them, or maybe more, but if I could stop them from putting a few larger caliber bullets in me then I might have a chance. But then what? Another time and another place I'd be in the same situation. I'd be a victim again. All women were victims, this was just one more proof of it. This seemed like it might be time for me to stop fighting it and accept it.

"I thought Dusty shot her?" I didn't know who that voice came from.

"He did. She's been shot and blown up, but still she lives." I stiffened. I didn't know who spoke, but I clearly recognized the voice as belonging to a woman. "Remove the hood."

The drawstring was loosened and the hood was yanked off. I stared around, my eyes adjusting instantly to the lights overhead that flooded the receiving dock of the abandoned building I was in. It was similar from the one I'd broke into a couple of weeks back. I had no idea where I was but, given the seven men with New Earth Order gang colors on, I guessed that I was back in the same area. The woman was Tricia Daniels, long red hair flowing and her business style suit tailored to make her look like a few thousand bucks. I'd finally found the head of the snake.

"Boys, this here is Katalina Wimple. She's a detective for VDI that works on special cases," Tricia said. She stared at me the entire time and her next words with delivered with a cold smile directly for me, "You should have gotten that boob job, maybe we could have used you after all."

"She's a cop?" one I hadn't yet heard said. I scanned everybody, flipping rapidly through the different vision modes to check them out. Five of them were carrying pistols, as evidenced by the cooler gun shaped spots on their bodies. The three others I assumed had knives at least, although with Tricia I was clueless. I didn't peg a sexy higher class lady to dirty herself with a firearm. Then again, I wouldn't have figured she'd be caught dead hanging out with the lowlifes that were around her.

"Throw her in with her pretend sister," She commanded. "Let them say their goodbyes."

Buddy picked me up, grunting as he did so, and carried me past the leering others to an opening in the wall. A sliding door covered it, but it was up. He barked for somebody to come help him. I was able to see several doors down the wide hallway. I also detected a faint odor I couldn't quite place. It smelled earthy and musky.

One of the other guys hurried over and fished some old fashioned keys out of a pocket. He tried a couple until he found the one that fit, then opened up the extra wide door. Light flooded into the room, making Skyler gasp and squint at the sudden brightness. I landed heavily on the floor, where the odor was stronger.

"Katy!" She gasped, tipping herself over and rolling and inching her way towards me. She was similarly bound. She didn't stop until her face was next to mine. She kissed me repeatedly, whispering things to me and telling me how glad she was to see me and how scared she was and how she knew we'd be okay now.

I'd be lying if I didn't say being there with her and seeing her still alive didn't lift my spirits. I think fresh tears even rolled down my cheeks but with Skylar there I couldn't tell who's eyes were leaking. I smiled and tried to roll over, without too much success. Just being able to see again had pushed the terrors back. Seeing her relit the fire inside of me fully. Away from the men, with Skylar, I began to remember that I wasn't in a dark basement. I wasn't a prisoner. Well, okay, I was a prisoner, but I wasn't his prisoner.

"I'm not a victim," I whispered.

"What?" She asked me, snapping out of her own psychoses.

"Roll your back up against mine," I said. My story was my story, not hers. I hadn't meant to say it aloud but at least she hadn't understood me. "We've got to get these things off."

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Hidden Evil, by Bob Stewart

No, it's not a review it's a press-release of sorts. Novel Concept Publishing has just released a new book – and this time it's by Bob Stewart.

Novel Concept Publishing, LLC announces the release of HIDDEN EVIL by Bob Stewart.

HIDDEN EVIL is available at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Smashwords.

In an upcoming interview, Bob shared what prompted him to write HIDDEN EVIL…

"Reared in Texas I had heard rumblings of occult power, but generally it was the superstition generated by well-meaning people who want to insure good health, happiness or wealth; a rather benign practice that involves candles, herbs or ritual. It wasn't until People Magazine assigned me to report on the sacrifice/murder of a college student on Spring Break on the South Texas border that I came into contact with the evil side of the occult. I had never heard the words Santeria or Palo Mayombe, until then. As I stood amid a number of fly-covered graves, when I visited the death shack on a desolate rancho in Mexico, I discovered an evil as ancient as any practice during Biblical times. Hidden Evil is my way of drawing attention to this culture flourishing in the halls of the rich and the powerful as well as humble adobe shacks. While it is fiction, many of the incidents and rituals used in the book are based on fact."

The rest of J.E. Taylor's interview with Bob Stewart will be available on Halloween. In the meantime, here's a first look at HIDDEN EVIL:

Hidden Evil, by Bob Stewart

HIDDEN EVIL by Bob Stewart

After a drug-addled teenager turns the annual Battle of Flowers Parade into a bloodbath, Majorette Cindi Neff – photographed blood covered and screaming beside the body of a dead classmate – becomes the media symbol of the tragedy, and the object of cult leader Juan Otero's obsession.

Soon after his burial, the gravesite of Cindi's dead classmate is violated and Deputy Sheriff Nancy Neff, an expert in Afro-Caribbean religions, is called to the scene. Minister Luke Oeding, a representative for the bereaved family, joins Nancy in the investigation into this unimaginable crime.

In a deadly chess match of good versus evil, they plunge into the world of the South Texas drug cult and come face to face with Palo Mayombe, the darkest of the hidden religions. When Cindi Neff is kidnapped, Nancy and Luke race to save her from the clutches of the malevolent cult before she is sacrificed in an Easter Sunday Palo Mayombe ritual.

"Bob Stewart's new novel, HIDDEN EVIL, is ripped directly from today's headlines about drug smuggling on the Texas border. This puts a face to the horrors that we seem to see daily on the evening news. Deeply-disturbed characters, facing what they see as a black future, turn to drugs and the occult and what follows…human sacrifice. It's a tale that begins with a Columbine-style massacre and ends on Easter Sunday in a classic battle between good and evil. I don't read vampire or werewolf novels simply because I don't believe they exist and it's a bit difficult to conjure up any kind of delicious fear by pretend monsters, but these folks are real and quite possibly living on my block… so, yeah… it pushed my fear button. After I read it, I slept with the nightlight on for a week. Get this book. It's truly scary and it's damned fine writing and story-telling." Les Edgerton Author of Hooked, Just Like That, The Bitch, The Rapist and others.

Excerpt from HIDDEN EVIL:

Book One-Chapter One

A mixed blessing. That's how Nancy Neff viewed chaperone duty. Within a few minutes she would join a dozen other band parents, all loaded with water and supplies. But, only one of them would be carrying a gun, tucked away in a fanny bag, under a backpack filled with white shoe polish, Band-Aids, water, and Gatorade.

Her only regret when she volunteered for this duty was that she could not watch Cindi strut her stuff as lead majorette. She felt foolish at the thought. Andy had never seen his daughter twirl a baton or heard the appreciative applause in a packed football stadium, never looked into her emerald green eyes, the same color as his, or taught her how to dance or gave her first date grief.

"She's not going to be allowed to date until she's 45, and then when the ol' boy shows up it'd better be with three tickets," he said one night while feeling the child kick in her bloated belly.

She gave her standard reply. "I'm sure she'll want you to go with them."

This bit of nonsense had become a ritual on the rare nights he was home.

"Better yet. When he shows up I'll be cleaning my service revolver. No. Better yet. I'll get my shotgun and be putting shells in it when she escorts him into the living room to meet me. Maybe I'll be wearing my uniform and badge and pistol."

They laughed at the vivid image of a nervous teen before an armed stern officer of the law before Nancy said, "No. You won't do that."

"Yes I will. Just you wait and see."

On the day Cindi was born, he was denied the joys of parenthood, except for one brief moment, and then he saw only the blue eyes that all babies are born with. Sometimes the guilt overwhelmed her. Why had she been allowed the privilege of the child and Andy had been denied?

The regret was compounded by sixteen years of guilt and longing for what might have been, never for what could be. How could she exist in any other reality? Her love remained in the past. Cindi was all that made life bearable. Cindi was her happiness and her future. She rarely dated, and these men quickly discovered that there was no room for anyone else; just the ghost of the past and the reality of the present.

"You would think after sixteen years I could start over," she muttered aloud, taking the Broadway exit off Interstate 35 near downtown San Antonio. "Maybe even resurrect my life, or what's left of it."

* * * *

Luke Oeding looked around. The Harringtons were late. No surprise there. He came early to hold a place for them so they'd have a good view of their tuba-totting son after they helped the band with last-minute details. Luke claimed a good spot along the curb at an intersection in front of The San Antonio Light, and across the street from the WRW-TV platform.

He breathed in the ambiance of the parade. Cotton candy, hot dogs, sausage on a stick, and fajitas mingled with the sharp odor of spilled beer and body odor. Music, laughter, crying children, and vendors hawking everything from food to fiesta folderol wrapped him in a festive buzz.

Sun sparked golden diamonds off bass horns and baritones and French horns as students paraded down the street in a calliope of colors, red and blue, black and yellow, green and brown, all accented by thousands of freshly polished white shoes.

Again, he looked around for the Harringtons, and checked his watch.

The cool fall morning was already giving way to a sweltering heat that would soon wilt the students in woolen uniforms.

"Mommy, I can't see. That man's in the way."

From the mouth of a child.

"Hush." It was a serious whisper.

Luke turned to look down at a woman holding a tiny child, delicate and blonde. Bittersweet memories washed his soul as he stepped back and gestured toward the space in front of him. "Why don't you step in front of me, then the child can see."

Luke hushed her protest with a raised palm.

"That's one of the privileges in being tall. You can see over everyone."

She hesitated, looking up at him.

"Please. We don't want the child to miss the parade."

"Thank you."

She stepped forward and stood on the lip of the curb in front of the crowd.

"That better?" Luke asked.

"Much. Thank you, again," she said.

The child looked up showing dimples with a grin. "Thank you."

Luke felt his gut clinch and the old familiar demon churn when he locked into her innocent eyes. The shy smile reflected a past he fought daily to forget.

With a sigh he closed his eyes, shoving the past back into its God-forsaken realm. He forced a grin, patted her on the head, then looked up to see the Harringtons across the street. Good, they made it in time to see Ron.

Thankful to refocus, he waved.

Pop… pop … pop…

It sounded like a string of firecrackers: sharp reports out of sync with the rhythmic cadence of marching bands parading through downtown San Antonio.

Luke shook his head. Fireworks were outlawed, but kids loved to break rules.

Pop… pop … pop. The woman grabbed her daughter's hand and began to push backward. He stepped out of her way, offering a smile.

"Don't worry. It's just some…"

Pop! Pop! Pop… pop…pop pop-pop-pop

Luke swiveled to see one of the pops rip open the chest of a hefty police officer directing traffic. He pitched backward to lie sprawled, unmoving.

"Pancho!" Another officer bolted into the intersection only to tumble the last few feet, blood gushing from both legs.

Riding the rising crest of chaos a piercing scream spun Luke back to the fear-stricken woman.

* * * *

Nancy heard the frantic words every lawman fears.

"Officer down! Officer down!" The dispatcher guided everyone within radio range to Broadway and Nogolitas, the staging area for high school bands.

Nancy was only a few blocks away, dressed in her band chaperone's outfit of blue jeans and a new blood-red bowling shirt with the white Rough Rider mascot on the back.

Now she wished she had on her deputy sheriff's uniform as she slammed the accelerator to the floor and toggled the siren.

* * * *

In blind terror, Cindi tripped over a bass drum. She no sooner hit the hot pavement than a fleeing fellow student kicked her in the stomach. Gasping for breath and fighting nausea, she rolled over to push up only to have her hand crunched by another student. She collapsed head down, her cheek sliding along the searing pavement.

Her good hand flew to the raw flesh. What's Bill going to think when he sees my face?

Paralyzed by heaving gasps, her hand throbbing, her face now hamburger meat, Cindi felt strong hands behind her, scooping her upward.

"I've got you Cindi, nothing's going to happen to you," a calm voice whispered in her ears. "God's watching."

She recognized Ron Harrington's distinctive tenor. The husky tuba player used his bulk to block for her as she struggled to stand. Cindi was almost on her feet when she heard the wet smack of lead ripping into flesh. Ron crumpled atop her, shoving her to the pavement; his wounded body now her prison, and her shield.

She could barely breathe from the weight of the big teen as his life-blood oozed out and trickled down her cheek. She spit out the warm, salty taste that dribbled into the corner of her mouth and retched, finding relief in the bitter bile that washed away the coopery taste of human life.

Terror crashed into sensory overload as Cindi struggled to be free of Ron's bulk and to spot the shooter. Splayed face down on the pavement, and trapped beneath more than two hundred pounds of slack weight, she could only move her head to one side, her vision knee-high. Movement caught her eye. Her lungs nearly exploded with fear. In the distance the killer strolled down the street toward her.

Tommy Alexander!

Through the haze of blood-blurred eyes, Cindi watched Tommy spray the retreating red-and-white clad band members with a machinegun. Then, he turned it onto the stunned crowd.

* * * *

The nervous woman's scream morphed into a throaty gurgle. Luke caught her before she fell, swung her up snug against his chest, and started to run. A thin shriek stopped him.

"Mommy! Mommy. You hurt my Mommy." Her voice trilled terror in upper register. He turned to see her standing paralyzed at the sight of him holding her mother like a rag doll.

Luke closed his eyes in disbelief. He forgot the little girl!

"No! No. I didn't hurt her. Come here, honey," he coaxed the child toward him, his rumbling bass barely concealing his fear.

He would not mess up this time. This time no one would die. Gunfire continued in the background, a few bullets slapping too close.

The little girl took a halting step forward before retreating at the horrible sight of her mother hanging limp in his arms.

"Pumpkin." Luke said, then hesitated, the word bittersweet in his mouth. He was stunned that he used the term of endearment. He had not uttered it in years; but, it rolled out easily, subconsciously.

"Pumpkin. You have to come with me," Luke said softly, gingerly stepping toward the child. He saw blood in her platinum hair.

"Does your head hurt?"

She shook it side to side.

"Come." Half command, half plea. "You have to come with me. Your Mommy needs help. We need to take her to the doctor. Right now!"

When the child hesitated, he commanded, "Look at me." When the tearstained gaze met his, he continued. "I have to get your Mommy to the doctor and I can't leave you here. It isn't safe." He relaxed his grip and extended a long finger for the child to grasp. "Hold my hand and I'll get you and your mother to where it's safe."

The child's wide eyes clutched at Luke's heart like a molten vice grip.

"Promise?" she asked.

Luke swallowed deeply. For a moment, he toyed with an assortment of answers. "Yes," he whispered, offering confidence he did not feel. "Yes. I promise."

Despite the pandemonium surrounding them, Luke concentrated on her eyes-silently willing her to take his hand. The crowd surged backward, trampling upon itself, leaving Luke and the child exposed.

Chunks of lead slammed into the street sign only a few inches from Luke. He didn't notice. His deep, bass voice coaxed the child forward as he inched toward her. She took a few tentative steps until she gingerly took his extended finger. Adobe exploded, concrete chunks filled the air, and the child shrieked.

"Don't let go! Look at me."

Rocky shrapnel peppered his face with tiny fragments. Ignoring the blood dripping down his face, Luke began to walk backwards, all the while talking to her. He existed in a false island of quiet amid the chaos of death, living in the narrow confines of the moment.

* * * *

It took only a few seconds for Tommy to empty the automatic weapon. He tossed the machinegun aside, and pulled a pistol. Cindi watched him scurry toward her, leaving more death in his wake. He paused over a moaning musician to deliver a coup de grace. The victim's head dissolved in a spray of pink mist. Two steps and he stood over Ron Harrington, who weakly raised a hand to ward off the pending assassination.

The repercussion from the blast snapped Cindi's head into the pavement. Blood, bone, and tissue puffed into a frothy crimson ball, its residue settling like a filmy blanket over her head and shoulders.

"Why are you doing this?" she moaned. The two had been innocent sweethearts in the fifth grade. Tommy had always been a good friend. Startled at the sound of her voice, she mentally commanded her quivering body to remain still as she held her breath, and went limp. Tommy rolled Ron's body from over her, the dead weight of his meaty arm caught hers, pulling her onto her back before his lifeless body was pushed clear. In a vacuum of terror, she lay prone with her eyes closed – playing dead.

A Flawed Character

I'm days away from releasing a new book. Prolific, aren't I? It's called a backlist, which is stuff that has accumulated over the months and years and I'm just now getting out. The only thing slowing me down is cover art. You see that's that most expensive part for me since I've proven time and again I don't have the talent to create a decent cover on my own. So I get with some talented artists and, working with them, try to come up with an incredible image to covert a would-be reader into a customer. Thing is, it costs money. So, if you'd like to see more of my stuff available sooner then the solution is simple: buy more of my books! Think of it as an investment – the more you put into it, the more it returns in terms of giving you new material to read more frequently.

So back to the new back and character flaws. It's called, "The Lost Girls," and it takes place in my Dark Earth setting. If you've read Dark Earth let me forewarn you – it's extremely different. Dark Earth takes place here and now (ish), with a healthy amount of time spent transported to another earth that is geographically similar but primitive and savage in most other aspects. "The Lost Girls" takes place in the year 2056, after many portals have opened between the Earth and Dark Earth. One of those portals is in Phoenix, which happens to be where Katalina Wimple lives.

Katalina, or Kat as she allows her precious few friends to call her, is a police officer. She works for VDI, Valley Defense Incorporated. The policing services for the greater Phoenix valley have been outsourced to a security firm – a common occurrence among larger and even some smaller cities throughout the United States. Kat is a detective, and one who takes on special cases. She's hard to get along with and extremely independent, which prevents her from working with a partner or even having too much to do with her fellow officers. Kat also has a driving need to save every woman she can, starting with the youngest ones and working up from there. She takes on the harshest of cases: serial rapists, kidnappings, domestic abuse, and anything else that oppresses or hurts a woman or child. In The Lost Girls Kat's trying to stop young women from being abducted and forced into slavery. Secretly she's looking for the reason behind the latest crime to be caused by a man. A man she can manufacture an excuse to punish.

Do they deserve it? Without a doubt. But Kat makes for a poor choice in an avenging angel. Even if she's always underestimated her idea of justice always seems to end up with her getting nearly as much abuse as she dishes out. There's a reason for the abuse, both from her and to her. She's a scarred person, physically and emotionally, and if she wasn't so damn dedicated and good at her job she'd be lucky to have a job doing night security at a strip mall.

I'll probably have a post or two more about Katalina. She's one of my favorite characters because she's so strong and forceful, but so flawed and weak at the same time. She took control of me and demanded I write about her in spite of the plans I had to the contrary.

The Lost Girls will launch this month. Two follow up novels are in process as well, "Traitor" and "Wolfgirl". "Traitor" heads back through the portal to spend time on Dark Earth, exploring how Native American beliefs and mysticisms could have developed without the oppression of Europeans. Hefty does of paranormal there, but nothing like what "Wolfgirl" introduces via a trip to the darker and seedier side of Las Vegas, including the secret portal created for the rich and famous who want to experience a Dark Earth style of Las Vegas – one without rules and regulations.

Biting the Apple

I came downstairs tonight from reading a bedtime story to my kids and was greeted by my wife's surprise announcement, "Steve Jobs died!"

"Woah," says I. Yeah, wordy, I know.

I was surprised, not that he died – he had an incurable cancer – but that it happened so abruptly. Jobs did a wonderful job of mastering the press, so I suppose it's no surprise. Still, I honestly believe Steve Jobs was a modern legend and the world will be remembering him much the same way it does Henry Ford (brilliant, but frequently a real asshole).

I think it's a damn shame that he's gone. The guy was and is an inspiration to entrepreneurs everywhere. I could be wrong, but I expect Apple to suffer greatly now that he's gone. Out of respect for the brilliant tyrant that was Steve Jobs I won't talk smack about his company. I will admit that I'm hoping the new Kindle Fire and Touch models rock even more because of this though!

And look, I'm not even turning this into a self-serving post by encouraging people to go buy my stuff. Even thought I suspect Steve Jobs, of all people, would approve of me trying to turn his news into a marketing tool. He was a crafty son of a gun, after all!

The Slippery Road to Writing Success

Am I successful? Only in moderation. Every month I sell a few more books, which is showing a good trend. I'm years away from making it my primary vocation though. While that may be something I hope makes my co-workers rejoice, it only makes me work harder.

There are other barometers for success though. I'm being asked more and more often to do blog interviews, guest posts, and enter into book giveaways. As a case in point I was just interviewed by Heather Powers at Earth's Book Nook. It was a little different than other interviews I've done, which made it fun for me because I could branch out a little more with my answers. She even asked which of my characters I identified the closest with. Rather than spoil the fun head on over to Earth's Book Nook and read it yourself!

So more sales and more recognition are good things, right? Sure they are, but they're not enough. Of course there's a point where enough is enough and anything beyond that is icing on the cake, but I've got a long ways to go to get there. My mantra is to always push for more. More success at writing, more success in the gym, being a better husband and father, and everything else I can do. Sure, self-help related stuff makes some people uncomfortable, but I argue that those willing to seek change and improvement are the strongest people of all. Right up to the point where they start consulting with psychics and astrologists, that is.

As another tactic at trying to push for more success I've tweaked my prices on my Voidhawk series. The new revised pricing, good as of this very morning, has Voidhawk, Voidhawk The Elder Race and Voidhawk Redemption all priced at only $1.99! I can't even buy a decent cup of coffee that cheap, let alone provide the hours of entertainment found in each book!

Character Driven Books

Years and years ago I had all sorts of appreciation for science fiction and fantasy. I had tons of ideas and things I wanted to do and share with regards to it, but it turned out I had a rough time staying focused. Forget about writing, just narrowing down something so I could write about it was virtually impossible. I managed a few crappy pieces here and there, but that' exactly what they were, crap.

I read something written by R.A. Heinlein that changed all of that. It wasn't one of his books, but a letter to somebody who was a fan of his and wanted to become a writer themselves. I might be wrong, but I think it was Spider Robinson that he was corresponding with. Regardless, what he told him stuck with me and changed the way I started writing. It was about making stories about characters, not about worlds or ideas. Those are just details and plot devices, it's the characters that people want to read about. Characters are what people identify with. If that wasn't the case we'd be happy watching paint dry!

Ever since I've had no problem writing. The trick is creating characters that are flawed and interesting. Characters that need to learn and evolve throughout the course of a book. And, of course, characters I can toss into a meat grinder to force a little extra fun out of them.

My favorite characters are women. Not because I've got any disturbing emotional issues or because I had an awkward relationship with my parents when I was younger. No, I think I prefer writing about female characters because society expects them to be more vulnerable and weak. Anybody who's read any of my books knows that my chicks are never weak. Sure, maybe they have troubled times but who doesn't? By the end they've all become strong characters that generally kick a little proverbial ass along the way.

I can't help it, I like to show that even some of the most troubled and screwed up women out there can find their niche and do some damage. Take Jessie from my books Wanted and Ice Princess as an example. She starts out as a serious mess and has her share of relapses and roadblocks along the way, but life's about fighting, not about giving up. Once she learns that it's only a matter of time until she shows signs of being worthy of the air she's been breathing.

Or there's Katalina, the upcoming star in a soon to be released book called The Lost Girls. She's police detective with a chip on her shoulder and an overstuffed set of luggage full of issues. She's a great female lead, my only problem was trying to keep her self-destructive from doing her in long enough so that she'd have a chance to show just how incredible she really is. The Lost Girls is coming out soon, a few weeks at the outset, so I won't share any spoilers about her or it. Nonetheless, I feel pretty confident it's going to be a great book and I'm very proud of it and her. So proud I wrote two follow up sequels to it before even releasing the first one!

Until then, go check out Wanted and Ice Princess – they're doing great for a writer like me who came out of nowhere and insisted that even an everyday guy like me can put something worth reading out there. Wanted's been floating between the 10,000 and 20,000 rating marks on Amazon, this is a great opportunity to stick it to the man and join the team of the peasant hero, admission is only $.99 on Amazon to pick up a copy of Wanted!

Wanted, on Amazon

Ice Princess, on Amazon