Kimberly Kinrade's Blog, page 26

Death by Destiny Sneak Peek Chpt 2&3

[image error]Read Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Darkness breathes. Fills its lungs with sulfur and death. Stretches its ephemeral body to its fullest, reveling in its impending move to form. It could feel the strength of fear and hopelessness inflaming its seed, growing its power, birthing its spirit into nightmare's flesh. It was only a matter of time  before it would be at full power, able to devour and consume all that stands in its way.

Images of helpless beings fill its mind. It laughs. Their fire will be quenched. They will be devoured before ever knowing of their own powers. They will die weak and useless, just as they lived.

Flames rise around it, nourished by the thoughts of the soulless.

For the first time in eons, it feels the diminishing vibration of the worlds, creating a path for its destruction to be born. It would wait. It would grow. And then, it would feed.

She was still too strong. It still too weak. But it would gather strength in the fears of the weak.

And it would save her for last.

Chapter 3

The stench of death was heavy in the air as Kian O'Riley made his way through the crowd of spectators, cops and reporters huddled in the dark alley. There wasn't a large crowd at 4 a.m. Still, the less publicity this particular case received the better.

Kian towered over the crowd, his 6'6" frame held an authority he didn't always feel, but at least it got people out of his way. He ran his hand through his thick brown hair in frustration. This morning he'd found a few grey hairs. At 25-years-old this job was already aging him.

He shivered, though it was a relatively warm August night. Warm for Washington that was. He zipped his leather jacket, running a hand over his S&W 40. Not that he'd need it. Just made him feel better knowing it was there.

"Detective, over here," a young rookie cop waved. Kian couldn't remember his name. He was forgetting a lot of stuff lately. He'd be worried, if he had time for that sort of thing. Fortunately, he didn't.

"What've we got?" Kian asked, knowing the answer. The body was already covered. Didn't matter. He could sense what happened. The pain and agony this victim had endured before death. He could sense it, he just couldn't stop it.

What a crock! What's the point of knowing things others didn't if it didn't make a damn bit of difference?

Usually his 'instincts' lead to a higher arrest and conviction rate, thus his unusually fast rise in the ranks. This case was the exception, and was quickly becoming the albatross around his neck, and a pain in the ass to boot. He was sure he could think of a few more overused figures of speech if pushed. Oh yeah, this case pushed all his buttons too. He almost grinned at his own stupid sense of humor, almost.

"Looks like the 'Bar Hopper' struck again," the young cop said. Kian glanced at his uniform. 'Kendell' was his name. Now he remembered. John Kendell.

"Don't call him that," Kian snapped, narrowing his blue eyes at the cop. He hated that name. That's the only connection any of the victims had. They had recently been to a bar. The press of course had jumped all over it.

"Sorry," Kendell said as he walked away muttering under his breath.

Kian stopped him, his face hard and angry. The pounding music from the bar in the background was grating his nerves. Weren't they supposed to be closed by now?

"Get that bar to shut off that damn music and hold everyone for questioning," he barked before returning his attention to the girl, err…body, in front of him. Best not think of her as a person. He'd never sleep. Not that he did much of that anyways.

Kian knew he had a reputation for the weird, and that he seemed unapproachable by most. He didn't care. He got the job done. Usually. He seemed to be amending a lot of his self-reflective statements lately. That probably had some meaning. He didn't care.

Sighing, he prepared himself for what he knew was coming. The black tarp taunted him as he slowly pulled it up, revealing the body lying motionless underneath.

"Tell me what you've got so far," Kian said to the Medical Examiner who had arrived before him.

"Female. Late 20s. Died somewhere between 2 and 3 a.m. No visual signs of attack. Won't know more 'til I get her on my table. But, you know as well as I do what I'm going to find," Dr. Sheraton said bitterly. He was as frustrated by this as the rest of the department.

Kian nodded. He did indeed know. All organs would be healthy. No major health conditions, no trauma, no drugs, no obvious or even subtle signs of death. Just alcohol. But not enough to cause this. The victims, all five of them, now six, just stopped living. There was no explanation. At least none that medical science could propose. Kian had his suspicions, but knew he couldn't voice them.

He looked at the victim. An average looking girl with dull brown hair and uneven features. No one who would stand out. Lying there she looked almost asleep. Except for the rigid stillness of her body, the utter paleness of her skin, and the scent. Oh yes, the scent. It's the first thing they noticed.

The body had not decomposed. No time. But it smelled as if it had been left in the humid forest for weeks, decaying and rotting. Like death, which most people didn't realize smelled like a combination of sweat, piss, shit and body odor. Sometimes decaying flesh.

It's probably a good thing most people don't know that.

And there was one other detail that had not been released to the press and was being treated as a closely guarded secret, mostly because the rest of the department had no logical explanation for what was happening and therefore didn't want to talk about it. Whenever a victim was found, all the natural life form around the victim (plants, trees, flowers, grass) was dead. Not naturally dead, but withered instantly. Even the alleys in Washington had their share of nature.

Kian covered the latest victim, fighting the familiar headache this case inevitably brought him. A breeze raised the plastic, floating a sweet scent of perfume to his nose. He frowned and looked more closely at the body. Leaning down he inhaled deeply, preparing himself for the onslaught of stench he'd come to expect. He could see other cops looking at him quizzically. Let them think what they want.

Closing his eyes, he waited for the olfactory attack. None came. Just a sweet, light smell. A normal girl smell. That didn't make sense. Why would the crime scene stink of death if the victim smelled so…so alive? He made a note to include this in his report. Not that it would make a difference. He was sure it wouldn't.  But it might help him figure out what was doing this.

His partner, Detective Sal Bruns, ambled over, his large belly hanging over his belt.

"Nice of you to join us," Kian muttered with some disdain.

"Sure thing," Bruns replied lightly, as if he was doing the department some huge favor by doing his freaking job.

Kian sighed and filled him in on what he knew.

"So, super cop, what 'er yer extra senses tellin' ya about this? Is it a monster? The boogeyman? Maybe a demon?"

Bruns' wisecracks were so old that Kian didn't even flinch. Though inside he was thinking through the possibilities. Was this a demon? Or some kind of otherworldly monster? He had some suspicions, but he hoped he was wrong. Because if he was right, these victims suffered more than even he realized. If he was right, they'd had their souls ripped right out of them. And if he was right, there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

As senior partner, he sent Bruns into the bar to conduct the interviews while he examined the parameters of the crime scene, looking for anything new that might give them a fighting chance against this monster.

After several minutes of searching, he was about to give up when something caught his eye. A large black feather stuck in a dead bush near the girl's body. He searched his memory, trying to recall any other feathers found at the scene. He couldn't remember, though he was sure none had been entered into evidence. He'd gone through those evidence boxes so many times he had it all memorized. Still, his gut told him this was significant, and he never ignored his gut.

Taking out an evidence bag and slipping a glove onto one of his hands he plucked the feather out of the brown, dead leaves and dropped it into the bag. He examined it, looking for any reasons this feather would stand out. Nothing visible presented itself, but he did feel something 'off' about it. On instinct, he sniffed the bag and nearly gagged. The scent of decay and death was stronger than ever. He knew the smell of death well, and this feather reeked of it.

Hmmm…this might finally be a clue I could use. Now to get it to the lab to determine what kind of bird it came from.

With the smallest seed of hope, Kian released the body to the ME's office and headed back to the station to write up his report. He also needed to get to his computer to check on something. He had a thought building in the back of his mind but he needed to do some research before he could be sure. A ball of fear formed in his gut, confirming viscerally what his mind argued against. He would try to prove himself wrong. He had to. Kian would not accept defeat, and if he was right, that's exactly what it would be.

Death by Destiny Sneak Peek & COVER

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Kick ass cover by Sarah E. Melville AKA Genius Extraordinaire

She was born to power — power that could destroy worlds.

He was born to stop her, whatever the cost.

They didn't plan to fall in love. Will it save them … or lead to their foretold destruction?

18-year-old martial arts champion Corinne Driscol knows what it's like to suffer. In a world void of magic, she feels a power deep inside her that she can't access. Trying only leads to pain and depression. When her childhood cat magically appears in the woods outside her house after a near-fatal run in with a supernatural serial killer, Corinne is set on a path of secrets, lies and danger. But what she finds isn't what she expected.

* * *

Kian O'Riley has his hands full. As lead detective for the worst case he's ever seen, Kian must stop a serial killer whose true nature is known only to him. He doesn't have time for love.

But Kian knew he'd met his match when he met Corinne. He also knew he'd met his destiny. The son of an Irish Fay, Kian was born and raised to do one thing, find the person who'd been prophesied to destroy all of humanity … find her, and stop her at all costs. Falling in love with her wasn't part of the deal.

Now, the closer Corinne gets to unlocking her own power, the closer Kian gets to making an unbearable choice that could forever alter the future of his world. Will he stop the evil that is tearing apart the fabric of our world? And will he have to destroy the woman he loves in order to fulfill his destiny?

Chapter 1

The earth was cold and damp under my bare feet. Trees whipped around me in a cacophony of sounds as the wind tore at their branches. I shivered, wearing only an old t-shirt and boxer shorts.

Death stalked me. Terror filled my veins. I tripped on my own feet and landed on my knees. My heart beat frantically, like a hummingbird on speed. Clammy hands gripping each other did little to still my shaking body.

I couldn't breathe. Something moved towards me, but I was paralyzed. Every fighter's instinct I had ever learned was gone in that moment. I was as defenseless as a child. Master Song would have been so ashamed.

An ice cold breath slithered down the back of my neck like a Cobra's tongue. The chill went bone deep and I shivered, terrified. A menacing black crow landed on the branch in front of me, its beady eyes tearing into my soul. I tried to run, but I was stuck. My vision went red. Awash in blood. I could taste the salty copper on my tongue. I gagged soundlessly, dying inside.

Without warning, agonizing pain sent alarms throughout my body, alerting each and every nerve ending I possessed that something horrible was happening. My insides were torn out of me. Claws dug into my heart, my lungs, into my very marrow. I was dying.

Then he appeared. His presence always a whispering comfort in my darkest nights. Never had I been more desperate to feel him near me.

Warmth flooded into me, slowly replacing the pain.

I inhaled deeply, grateful for the newfound ability to breathe.

"Corinne." His voice travelled on the wind, caressing me.

"I'm sending you help. Hold on, Corinne. Just hold on. Be strong."He sounded worried. Unlike himself. His strong voice carrying itself into the black hole that had formed in my chest. Bringing light. Sewing together the jagged seams that were ripping open.

I knew this was a dream, but I also knew I would die soon if I didn't do as he said.

He was just a vision of light. Translucent, like he was projecting himself from very far away. Sometimes we met in his world. It was in those dreams that I felt safe and at home for the first time in my life. I craved the memories of being with him, being there, more than anything. False memories. Memories created by my shattered mind.

But I would take this hellish nightmare if it meant I could have a moment with him.

He spoke again.

"Wake up now! Wake up and you will see an old friend who can help you. You must keep the key on you at all times. It will protect you. Wake up Corinne. NOW!"

It was like being dropped out of a second story window. The sense of falling. The jolt. When I woke up I expected to feel the downy comfort of my bed and pillows. I did NOT expect to still be living my nightmare, trapped in the forest in the middle of the night wearing only my pajamas. My long white-blonde hair loose down my back and whipping around me in the wind. I hugged myself and shivered, the cold all too real without the fog of sleep to cloak me. My meager clothing doing nothing to shelter my pale skin.

Waking had changed nothing. I was still under attack by some unseen force. I still couldn't move. My terror escalated as I realized I really was going to die. And I didn't even know how or why.

Then I saw something out of the corner of my eye.

A large orange cat.

But not just any cat. My cat. Mothball. Missing in action for over two years now. Death by coyote, we'd presumed. But apparently not.

Mothball threw himself into me, knocking me over.

An old friend…could this be the help my dream man promised?

I could still feel the fear snaking its way into me, stealing away my soul.

I longed to be back in my dream, where at least I would still have him.

Mothball meowed, reminding me I wasn't alone on this plane either. A stray moon beam caused something in his mouth to glint. He dropped his treasure into my hand and pawed at me. It was a necklace.

On a silver chain hung a heavy symbol that looked ancient and like nothing I had ever seen before. It reminded me of mutated cross between hieroglyphs and Asian symbols, if you only had a vague idea of what those might look like. The metal was thick and had a liquid quality to it, like melted silver. It was hot to the touch, and sent a shock through my body.

Heat moved over my skin, like fire caressing me. I expected to feel burned, but instead felt a coolness seeping into me, causing my body to become jellylike. I had the fleeting thought that this must be what a Morphine overdose felt like.

The crow shifted and glared at me with menacing intention.

My breathing became labored and I struggled not to panic. I searched frantically for a spot in my mind that wasn't racing. No such luck.

I screamed as my chest tore open. I tried to let go of the necklace but my fist was locked around it, unmovable. My ribs cracked into tiny pieces, piercing my lungs in the process. I was sure I would die if I couldn't let go of the necklace. I began to lose consciousness just as my body split in two. Then nothing.

Was I awake or dreaming? I didn't know. The pain was gone, but I wasn't in the forest anymore. I was floating through rainbows of lights amidst a jet black sky. The lights entered me, riding through my veins like a drug until my body disappeared.

I was an expansion of all that was, is and will ever be. I was an expression of eternity. Freedom and power coursed through every aspect of my being. Power without pain. Joy without the shadows of depression. My heart soared. My soul breathed in the stillness of the night and rejoiced in the beauty.

The crow shot through my vision, attacking my face. Shards of colored light broke through me and surrounded the crow, pushing it away.

I felt something. Pain. My body was back, and I fell back to earth, heavy and lethargic.

When I opened my eyes I was struck by how dull and lifeless everything looked. My body, a body I had carefully trained to be lean, fast and skilled, felt like a lump of lead. My head was spinning with conflicting images and thoughts. I took a few deep breathes to steady myself and tried to sit up.

Mothball was next to me, claws raking against my leg.

The crow was gone. I slipped the necklace around my neck, feeling the pressure of its power build in me.

I looked around and realized for the first time that I was in the woods outside my house. I had been walking in my sleep.

I was about to chalk the whole experience up to my overactive imagination when I noticed the plant life around me. It was all dead. I was sitting in the center of a circle of death, the smell of which was carried on the wind by a single black feather left on a withered branch.

My body was limp with spent adrenaline as I pulled myself off the ground and freed my body of excess twigs and dirt. Mothball stood there as guard, occasionally looking at me quizzically.

"We have a few problems," I told the cat.

"One, you just appeared out of nowhere after my fictitious dream man said he would send me help. Two, something just tried to kill me. And three, this necklace is brimming with magic."

I walked back to my house, Mothball keeping pace beside me.

"I need answers." I looked at him. "I don't suppose you came back as a talking cat? 'Cuz that would be really helpful right about now."

He meowed loudly.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

I snuck back into my house as quietly as possible so as not to wake my aunt. My knee was starting to heal of its cut, but needed to be cleaned out before I went to bed. What had just happened to me? I needed help.

Grabbing my cell phone, I checked the time. 3 a.m. Barry would kill me if I didn't at least text him about this.

My hands shook as I texted. I was still in some shock, I knew.

BARRY, CALL ME ASAP. URGENT.

Two seconds later my phone buzzed.

Did you just get back from a hot date that you had to gush about? Cuz I'm ALL over that girlfriend!

Despite everything that had just gone down, I had to laugh. If anyone could pull me out of a funk it was Barry. Witty, charming, a great dresser, and excellent taste in men. Barry was the perfect best friend.

"No, no date. Unless you count dream boat. He showed up again, only you are not going to believe what happened."

~~~

I'll Have a Love, Ghost and Fear Martini a guest post by Jeff Bennington

[image error]Are you one of those people who insist upon keeping the food on your plate separate? Does it gross you out if your gravy oozes over into the green beans?

If so, you might also be the type of person who has strict guidelines in your literary genres of interest. For example, you might be a straight-laced romance reader, or a high-intensity horror blood bather.

On the other hand, some folks enjoy double dipping, splashing their ham in the glazing, potatoes and cranberry sauce! I'll admit it. I'm a dunker. I dunk my cookies and doughnuts deep into my milk, until my fingers bleed that beautiful milky white juice all over the place.

I dip my turkey into the gravy and swirl it through the stuffing, hoping it'll grab a few spicy chunks of stuffing along the way, and I mix my genres.

That's right, I like variety when it's served together.

When it comes to writing novels, I think I'd get bored if my books headed down a one-way street. I like action. I like drama. I like romance. I like Horror and I love the supernatural. What I don't like, is choosing one genre over the other.

In my opinion, a good story can and should encompass multiple genres, just like a good meal serves a main dish with multiple sides that accentuate and compliment the overall flavor.

Honestly, I don't understand why the publishing industry has such hard-core genre barriers. Well, I take that back.

The answer is likely simplicity and because broad genre categorizations make their work easier; not to mention the fact that folks like to know what they're reading. But is that really what readers want? I hope not, because I don't write like that. I write multi-genre fiction, a full course meal served on a single plate.

I like mixing my food and I like mixing my genres. People and life are not one-dimensional. Why should my writing be that way?

I think you can create extra depth to a story if your zombie is in love with a beautiful Zombie-assassin and decides to put an end to all human snacking and mutilations, if it means he can win the love of that chick with the zombie-zapping lazer.

It's an ideal scenario, adding conflict in ways that maybe you hadn't thought of. Think of it…Horror and romance…Suspense and fantasy…dark fiction and Christian fiction…Chick-lit and true crime…ohhhh it sounds soo good! Absolutely yummy!

My latest book, REUNION, is much the same.

The main dish is definitely a thriller, but the sides include a simmering sample of the supernatural, a tangy touch of romance, and a scoop of horror as frightening as House on Haunted Hill. Some have enjoyed the originality.

Some have commented that the characters seem vividly real. I think it's just a matter or breaking a rule…the "What genre is this rule."

I wasn't thinking about the genre when I started writing REUNION; I was thinking about the story. I didn't want to waste time running through a market analysis of my readership. I just wanted to write. Maybe I should've honed the story to align with one of the sizzling hot genres so as to get a bigger piece of the market share.

But I guess I don't think like that. Call me non-business savvy. I don't care. Sometimes the story should be born the way a first love develops, pure, unadulterated and honest. Don't confuse that with lack of editing. REUNION was twice edited and finally proofed by bestselling author, Scott Nicholson's proofer, Neal Hock, a great book polisher.

The point is, a good martini isn't made from pure Vodka…that would be too hard and bland. A good martini is made with a strong base, but with splashes of fruit and Triple Sec and ice and salt. In my opinion, a good thriller should have other genres like a slice of cherry-red horror floating on top, a splash of romance for flavor and a dash of paranormal sprinkled around the edges!

~~~~

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As a bonus, I'll donate a copy of my short story, The Rumblin', to anyone who visits this blog until Aug, 2nd. Here's a smashwords coupon code to get a copy of that short story…it's perfect for camping season…CODE: GL29P

-Jeff Bennington[image error]

Author of REUNION

Print: http://www.amazon.com/REUNION-Jeff-Bennington/dp/0615450865/ref=tmm_pap_title_0

Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/Reunion-ebook/dp/B004S7AR0E

Nook: http://search.barnesandnoble.com/REUNION/Jeff-Bennington/e/2940012369024

The Writing Bomb: http://thewritingbomb.blogspot.com/

The Greatest Dogs for The Greatest People

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Fletcher, an award winning Royal Fletcher

By Kimberly Kinrade

There are many reasons a dog is man's best friend. Anyone who has a loving dog companion can attest to this truth even without the overwhelming scientific research to back this up.

In one study, people with pets report being consistently happier than those without. In BBC news, a well-known scientist has done numerous studies showing that people with dogs are physically and emotionally healthier than their pup-less peers.

But what is the best breed to get for the perfect balance of companionship, longevity, health (for the dog and human!) and ease of raising?

There are many great choices. Some people choose pure breeds for the assurance of certain personality traits. However, those dogs often have been so inbred that major genetic problems begin to arise.

A mut can be a fine choice, with fewer health problems, but also fewer guarantees about the personality of your new furry friend.

The answer? A designer breed, specifically tailored for health and personality.

In a small town in the Pacific Northwest, a woman with a deep love of animals has created such a breed. The Royal Frenchel.

Using four breeds of dogs, predominantly French Bull Dog and Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, the Royal Frenchel is the perfect companion for anyone.

Eight years ago, Anahata Graceland wanted to create a service dog for her daughter. She wanted a dog that would be small enough to lift easily and travel well, while also being easy to train and a loving support.

She already had a deep love for the French Bull Dog and King Charles Spaniel, but saw major genetic flaws in both breeds that made them less than ideal as service dogs. So she had an idea

Through a careful breeding process using healthy AKC dames and sires, she created the first line of Royal Frenchels. These dogs have incredible health while also retaining the great personality and affection that made those breeds so desirable.

"I knew my whole my life I would create a dog breed," says Graceland. "When I was about five years old, I remember sitting on a back porch swing knowing  I was going to do this.  And my whole life I always wondered when I would do the dog breed thing."

"When Sachi got sick,  she needed a service dog that would help her, without the dense weight, and that would live a long time without a lot of expense. And a dog that didn't need a ton of exercise and that really health with no vet bills or hefty dog bills. I went to get her a Cavaliar King Charles Spaniel. The moment the dog came to the house, I instantly knew the four breeds together that would become the Royal Frenchel line.

" For the first three years, they weren't sold. They were given to people to track their health and history. Then, because of the number of requests for them, a friend of mine who owned a kennel started Royal Frenchels. "

Now, these great dogs are available to people all over the world from their simple start in the greater Seattle, Washington.

The testimonials of those who take home a Royal Frenchel speak to the unique attributes of this fun, loving breed.

"Fletcher's been an incredible dog. He's a great little companion. So much fun. I just can't

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A happy Fletcher

think of anything negative about him. He will listen and function on leash. We live in the city and we can take him pretty much anywhere off leash and he sticks to the side walk. He's just a great dog," says Scott Cussimano about his two-year-old award winning Royal Frenchel during a phone interview.

"I didn't know much about the breed, but I saw a picture in the paper and I just decided on a rainy day to check him out. Prior to doing so I did look at another 15 different litters. I didn't have my head set on getting a dog but when I saw that littler I thought this is probably as good as it gets."

Cussimano now takes Fletcher everywhere with him. They hike and run and hang out at coffee shops, he says.  "I've probably been asked what kind of breed he is about 1,000 times. He's kind of like a little celebrity here!"

Cussimano's experience is not unique. Royal Frenchels naturally attract attention when out on the town. Whether it's their distinctive looks (the ears can be up or down, tails long or short with small stocky bodies), or their incredible personalities, Royal Frenchels definitely stand out, according to their human companions.

"If you get a Royal, you don't want to take him with you if you gotta be somewhere in a hurry, because people see him and they can't stop looking!" says Jerry Andrew of his Royal Frenchel Sir Walter Raleigh, 2 years old.

"What's fun is to take them into the street markets . Oh my goodness, he just causes a riot when he goes into town. When he was a puppy there would be 20 people gathered around him taking his picture."

Andrew says he got Sir Walter as a companion for his Frenchie, Bella. They get along great and they both snuggle up in bed with him at night. He says he noticed that Sir Walter does not have the breathing problems Bella has. "The good thing about the development of this breed, they are getting the good qualities of both of the breeds, but none of the bad problems."

Though Andrew claims he is usually shy, his Royal Frenchel has brought him out of his shell and helped him to socialize more.

And this is just a small snapshot into the love people have for their Royal Frenchels and the special breeding process that makes them so unique. You can experience more testimonials and learn more about the breed on the website at RoyalFrenchel.com.

Dogs have always been man's best friend. Now man is showing true friendship to their dog companions by breeding in a healthier, more responsible way to create these truly great dogs for great people.

Kimberly Kinrade is a an author and freelance writer and can be found at http://KimberlyKinrade.com

Magic supplements to cure all ails!

[image error]If you're like me, you are easily distracted, sometimes moody and would… oh wait, I got a tweet hold on..

What was I saying? Oh yeah, we all could use a bit of focus, right? And many of us rush to the latest greatest supplement to fix us. But how many of us are truly knowledgeable about where these products come from, how they are made, how much it takes to be effective, etc?

Here's a great article from Lifarre on Rhodiola Rosea, a fantastic supplement that won't do diddly if you're not getting the right kind in the right dose. I enjoy learning about where my money goes! How bout you?

Also check out my latest post on Lifarre while you're there, Love and Dogs in Heat, and LIKE! For extra brownie points, sign up for FREE to this awesome women's network and leave a comment that I sent you here Let's help women connect to other women and share about life, love, relationships, our bodies and more!

Rent-A-Kid ~~ Chapter 2

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Chapter 1

Chapter 2

No matter how many times I've been drugged, I still wake up in a slight panic. My body has no sense of how long it's been. My subconscious mind has been shut out. It's the worst part of any assignment, the waking up.

Then I saw Mary in the bed next to mine. And I took back my previous declaration. Waking up to Mary was definitely worse. The curtain had been pulled back, and she was sneering at me. "Well, look who finally woke up. Took you long enough. So, did the little princess finally get her work done? Looks like someone had some trouble. Is Higgins' pet getting lazy?"

"What do you want, Mary?" I was sick of her games, but ignoring her would only inspire her to greater taunts.

"Nothing. Just waiting on the good doctor like you."

I reluctantly slipped into her mind. It was like being stuck in the poisonous trap of a viper. "Thinks she's so great. Not that great. Not even as pretty as everyone thinks. Tits too small. And look at that black eye. Looks like she finally screwed up. Hope she gets what's coming to her. She's just a goody two-shoes. Little priss." Well, nothing new there. Did she ever have any other kind of thought? Past experience suggested no.

I raised myself on the bed cautiously, but no IVs or wires were attached to me, and I didn't feel overly dizzy, though my eyes were still pretty swollen. I took in the hospital room with fake flowers in artificially bright colors on the table by the window. A futile attempt to cheer up the dreary grey walls and fluorescently lit room.

"Ah, Sam, Mary, you're both awake. Good." Dr. Sato's voice was soft and lilting with a faded Japanese accent that became more pronounced when she was nervous. "How you feeling?"

"Fine, just a bit of a headache." Probably brought on by my roommate. Well, and the black eye. I kept these thoughts to myself as I stretched my arms and moved my neck around to get out the kinks. I could usually tell how long I'd been out by how gross the inside of my mouth felt. This time, around ten hours.

"And you, Mary?"

She crossed her long legs seductively and purred. "I feel wonderful." Who the hell was she trying to impress in here? Her power allowed her to bend men's will to hers. But only men. Women didn't usually take to her so well. Go figure.

She seriously epitomized every Class A Bitch in high school ever written. Tall, blond, beautiful and an absolute nightmare to be around. Her slinky silver gown showed off more than it covered.

Dr. Sato took my blood pressure, checked my temperature and examined my eyes and cheek. "You bruised. Bone hurts, but you be better soon. Just no jumping."

She was nervous today.

On reflex, I slipped into her mind, but once again was unable to decipher her particular Japanese dialect. I knew a lot of languages, but there are only so many hours in a day to learn everything. Japan has so many dialects that are so distinct; the people don't always understand each other.

I promised myself for the millionth time to learn her language. It was uncomfortable being around someone whose mind I couldn't read. It felt like the loss of a sense I had grown to depend on.

"You can go now. Headmaster Higgins is expecting you. If you get dizzy or have any troubles with eye, come back. And you take it easy until eye sees better."

I nodded. Time for my debriefing. I was anxious to get away from Mary's pouty lips and prying eyes but not so anxious to confront Higgins after my recent disregard for protocol.

My backpack sat on the chair by the fake flowers. I hopped off the bed, grabbed it, and walked through the long corridors to the exit, not bothering to say goodbye to Mary. I would have to be careful to curtail my tendency to jumping places, I thought wryly as I paused to sign out at the front desk.

A movement caught the corner of my eye.

A boy, about my age, tall and muscular, was unconscious on a stretcher. I only caught a glimpse through the electric doors to the surgical area, but something about him made me pause. His messy blonde hair had flecks of red in it. Dried blood. There was a gash on his head. As the doors closed his eyes flashed open and held mine for one long moment.

"Help me."

The mental message sent me staggering back in its ferocity. I experienced an urgent compulsion to respond. To do as he asked, though I had no idea how or why.

Then it faded as I felt him lose consciousness. My mind cleared and whatever had grabbed hold of me was gone.

"Are you ok?" Missy, the front desk secretary looked worried. "Should I call the doctor?"

"No, I'm fine. I just, head's still hurting, you know." She did know. Her eyes were sympathetic. I'd always liked her, though I knew nothing about her except that she was an attractive, plump woman who baked us cookies from time to time and liked to keep her blond hair in a messy bun.

"Missy, who was that boy they were wheeling in? He looked hurt, but I don't recognize him." Rent-A-Kid was a big estate, but there weren't that many of us kids. We all knew each other, at least by sight. This boy was not a regular.

Missy looked nervous and avoided my eyes—something a lot of people did unintentionally, likely thinking that it would keep me from reading their minds.

"She shouldn't have seen that. Hope she doesn't say anything. I could get in trouble. Don't want her to get in trouble either, sweet girl."

"Oh, don't worry about him love. Now you'd better be going, Headmaster Higgins doesn't like to be kept waiting."

"Of course.  Have a good day, Missy."

She looked relieved that I didn't pester her with anymore questions. "You too, Sam."

It was a bright day, and the sun blinded me when I stepped outside the double glass doors. I pulled my sunglasses out of my backpack and enjoyed the warmth on my skin as I walked the winding trails through campus.

As I neared the main offices, a group of kids ran by me in gym uniforms. One petite girl fell out of line to throw herself into a hug.

"Lucy!" I laughed and hugged her back just as fiercely.

"Where have you been, chica? And what the hell happened to your face?!"

Lucy was stunning, even in gym clothes, with her long, dark, Spanish hair pulled back in a tight pony and her smooth brown skin glowing in the sunlight.

"Lucy, let's go!" Luke, her twin brother, waved at me as he called his sister. He was taller than Lucy, but similar in many ways. The dark eyes and hair. Spanish features that made them so distinctive. They were falling behind their class. "Hey Sam, meet us tonight, 'k?"

"Sure thing" I called and pushed Lucy away. "Go, I'll see you later. I have to get to the office."

"Ok fine, but I want details."

She ran off, her pony swinging down her back. Technically, we weren't supposed to share the details of our assignments with anyone, not even other paranormals. But Luke, Lucy and I had been best friends since we could remember, and we found ways around the rules from time to time.

There was a lot to love about my life. I lived on a beautiful estate, green and well maintained with rich buildings full of personality and character. It was like living on the set of the movie "X-Men". We were like those kids, living in that place. Only it wasn't some nice millionaire who trained us to do good that kept us here. We didn't really know who was behind this organization. We didn't even know what the real name was. Rent-A-Kid was our name for it. But we assumed it had some name, after all "that place where paranormal kids are rented out to the highest bidder" was a bit of a mouth full.

The headmaster was leaning over papers when his secretary ushered me to his office.

She closed the door, and I settled into one of the chairs in front of his desk, taking off my sunglasses reluctantly. I knew my face would further condemn my actions. After a moment he finally looked up.

"Ah Sam. You look wretched. How are you feeling?"

Not the opening I was expecting. "Bit of a headache. I'll be ok." I placed my report on his desk. He already had the oral briefing, but this was standard procedure.

He flipped through it quickly, then shuffled the papers he was working on and placed them neatly in his filing drawer.

Everything in his plush office was meticulous, from the always clean and empty trash can to the perfectly placed pens and pencils. The entire office was bathed in deep mahoganies and browns that matched the dark man with the expensive suit who sat looking at me from behind the oversized desk. Higgins was an imposing man. Tall, well-built, and in his 50s, with graying temples that added to his image. I didn't love the man, but we got along well enough.

"You know that stunt you pulled could have gotten this entire organization in trouble," he said.

"I know. And I wish I could say I'm sorry, but you don't know what he was thinking. What Beaumont was going to do to that girl. And other girls. Honestly, this is the biggest creep I've ever met. I had to make sure he didn't get away."

"Look Sam, you've always been one of our best. Never making trouble. This is your first problem, so I'm going to let it slide. But this is a once in a lifetime freebie. Any more trouble and I won't be so nice."

"I know."

"Good. Well, I have some exciting news for you."

I perked up.

"You been accepted into Sarah Lawrence College." He pulled out an official looking letter and handed it to me.

"What last name did I get? How did you create an identity for me?"

I checked the letter. "Dear Sam Smith, It is our pleasure to inform you that you have been accepted to the undergraduate visual art program at Sarah Lawrence College…"

"Smith? That was the best you could do?" I laughed, clutching the letter that represented my future. We didn't come with last names, those were given on assignment. But we were promised, once we turned eighteen, that we could go anywhere and do anything, fully funded by Rent-A-Kid. This letter was a dream come true.

"It's a good name. Doesn't draw too much attention. Very common. All the things you want when you finally enter that life."

"It's fine, I'll take it. Thank you Headmaster Higgins."

"You're welcome Sam. You deserve it. You've been one of our best and brightest students. We will be sad to see you go. That reminds me," he pulled out another file, "this job just came in, and I think you'd be perfect for it."

He handed me the brief. I flipped through it. Infiltrate a prep school clique of famous rich kids and get dirt on their parents. Oh God. I so did not want this job.

"But I just got back! And you promised that was my last assignment before I left. I have to pack and complete my studies. I want to spend time with my friends."

"You have a few weeks before you need to leave. It shouldn't take you long, and it will give you some extra cash for your new life. I'm throwing in a $10,000 bonus if you complete this assignment without any problems."

That sold me. Mostly. Not that I could turn down a job, but Higgins always tried to make sure we were willing participants.

"Ok, I'll do it."

He smiled, but didn't look in the least bit surprised.

It wasn't that I didn't like assignments, but they were exhausting and using my mind reading that much gave me headaches. My last one just cleared. Fortunately Lucy and Luke turned eighteen a few months after me and would be joining me in New York. We had our whole lives planned, starting with an apartment and college.

He took out an envelope and handed it to me. Cash for my last job.

"There's $500. Don't spend it all in one place. The rest has been deposited into your bank account."

Right. Almost all my money went into a savings I would get access to when I left. I was a very wealthy teenager, when you considered that each job brought in five to ten thousand dollars and I had gone on a few assignments every month since I was twelve.

"Go ahead and take today off. You can start getting caught up tomorrow."

I nodded gratefully and shoved the money and folder with my next assignment into my backpack. I paused, trying to decide if I should ask Higgins about the boy I saw. But Missy's thoughts stopped me. I didn't know why he was such a secret, but I didn't want to get her in trouble.

On my way out, I slipped into Higgins' mind to see if anything relevant popped up.

"Must keep her busy. Time is running out. So much to do. Hope this works. Boy very useful. Good genes. Best yet."

Hmmm…what did he mean? Keep me busy? Sure, time was running out for me here, but what did he hope would work? And what about the boy's genes? Was he talking about my boy?

I shoved those thoughts aside. Mystery boy was not my boy, and I had no intention of getting into any trouble my last few months here. Higgins was right. I needed to play it straight and do my job. I thought about the Sarah Lawrence acceptance letter. So much was nearly in my grasp. I wasn't going to blow it all worrying about some strange boy.

So I put my sunglasses back on and focused my thoughts on more pressing concerns. Like food.

It was a beautiful day out, and while I was looking forward to relaxing in my room, my stomach had other plans. I headed to The Hub, the local name for the center of our little town on campus, and picked a seat outside my favorite cafe.

I already had my sketch pad and charcoal pencils out when the waitress came to take my order.

Tina was one of the regulars who worked here. An older woman with a slight shuffle to her walk, she always smelled of peppermint and cigarettes. She had a short pixie cut with her hair dyed black.

"Hey Sam, you want the regular?"

I nodded and went back to my sketchpad. I had been drawing for as long as I could remember. I could reproduce nearly anything in great detail.

When Tina brought me my Chai Latte and chocolate crepe, I was already immersed in a detailed charcoal sketch of The Hub. Students I knew in passing were represented in stark lines, while I filled in the buildings and shrubbery that framed the main sidewalk through the center.

There were charged fences around the perimeter and guards to make sure we didn't leave. But we had everything we needed on the property. A cafeteria, little shops, clothing stores, fast food joints and even a movie theater. Our whole lives were here, so they created an entire town for us.

No one had cars. We all learned to drive, and had chances to practice in a special section of school, but we walked or biked everywhere on campus. There were beautiful bike paths spread throughout the grounds and the sidewalks were guided to their destinations with well placed bushes, flowers and trees.

It was perfect. Too perfect. Like living in a magazine. I tried to capture that manicured perfection in my work, often using lacquer later to give it a high gloss look.

When the smell of the crepe became too much, I set aside my art and enjoyed the burst of sweet chocolate filling and the delicious blend of spices as I sipped my tea. My fuzzy mouth finally felt normal by the time I was done with my treat. I paid for my order and walked back to my room, ready to unpack, shower and find my friends.

Rent-A-Kid ~~ Chapter 1

*This is a rough draft. There may be typos. You have been warned.*
Missed the Prologue? Go here to read it 1st…

~*~ Chapter 1 ~*~

"Sam, you coming?"

I could hear Tommy yell for me. I tried to ignore him. I had a job to do, and getting attached to my target's kid wasn't part of that job.

Tommy was six and as cute as you can imagine. Probably cuter. Big brown eyes, blond hair and a cherub face you wanted to pinch.

He was the sweetest little kid too. Must have gotten it from his mom, cuz his dad is a whole other story.

Tommy idolized me. He thought I was the niece of his dad's friend, come to visit. What he didn't know was that "friend" was trying to destroy his dad's business so he could pick up the pieces and steal all the clients. I didn't know all the details, just that it involved a LOT of money!

My job was to find Mr. Beaumont's weakness and make sure my 'uncle' had all the ammo he needed to bury him. Yeah, I know, not exactly typical 17-year-old pastime, but what can I say? It's the price of being "special."

Fortunately, this ammo didn't need to be business related.

Unfortunately, the dirt I got on Mr. Beaumont was VERY dirty. I'd have to gouge out my third eye to recover from this assignment.

"Be there in a sec Tommy," I hollered across the house as I re-focused my inner hearing to the locked room my target thought he was safe in.

"Mmmm tomorrow night. Yes. She will be young. Only ten. Fresh. Never touched. The things I will do to her. Touching that innocent flesh…I can't wait to…"

Ok, that was as far as I was willing to go with that mind-reading experience. My stomach clenched with the unfinished thoughts of this perv running through my mind. At least this assignment I could help take down a truly awful man, even if greed was the primary motivator. Most of the time I felt dirty after an assignment, knowing I had destroyed lives or compromised the safety of innocent people just to satisfy the lust of someone rich and powerful. And lust comes in so many forms, trust me!

But I felt good about this take down. Though my high was tempered by the knowledge that Tommy was another victim in all this. He would lose his dad, his home, his whole way of life. I just hoped that Mrs. Beaumont has the sense to care well for her son when this all blew up. Cuz it was gonna be a big bang and there would be causalities in the street.

I'd seen in his mind where and when this meeting was taking place. I knew his contacts and past sins. I was about to become his judge, jury and executioner. All with one conversation.

I walked into the main foyer and saw Tommy playing on the floor with his toy truck.

"Vroom Vroom, watch this Sam," he said as he crashed the truck into the leg of a very expensive table.

The clicking of equally expensive high heels foretold the arrival of his mom.

"Tommy dear, no slamming toys into the furniture. Why don't you go in your room and play?"

"But Sam is in here. I want to play with Sam." Ahh the whine. Even sweet Tommy was not immune to this trait. I wondered how parents lived through these years. I would go deaf and likely throw all the toys out the window after the first whiny plea.

"Actually Tommy, I'm looking for my uncle. Have either of you seen him?"

Mrs. Beaumont (who according to her husband's thoughts, was a dead fish in bed and therefore the cause of his perversions…yeah right…) looked relieved that my presence would no longer be an argument point for the boy.

"Yes, I saw him on his cell by the pool just a few minutes ago. He's probably still there."

I thanked her, gave Tommy a quick hug, and excused myself to the backyard.

This level of wealth didn't impress me the way it might some. My dorms were very high class. We lived well there with the best of everything. One thing I gotta say for them, they didn't cut costs in raising and training us. I suspected this was largely due to the fact that you had to be rich to rent one of us, and if we all lived in slums, we'd have no idea how to act when we came into homes like these. As it was, I never had to worry about knowing which fork to use. I was well-trained. And I never gawked. So I fit in wherever I was sent.

Still, I couldn't help but appreciative their custom pool.  It looked more fitting for a resort than a backyard, with slides in different sizes and shapes, and rock formations and plant life strategically placed to give the whole space a tropical feel. A few fruity drinks with umbrellas and you'd never know you were in Utah. (That's in the United States for those who aren't from around here. My assignments take me all over the world, so it's good to be specific.) Apparently, while there are a lot of millionaires in places like California and the East Coast, there were equal numbers spattered all over the country, in places you just wouldn't think are that exciting. Like Utah.

I found our client standing under a transplanted Palm Tree having a seemingly urgent conversation with someone in hushed tones. Hmmm…wonder what's got money bags so riled?

When he saw me he ended the conversation quickly and slipped his iPhone into his pocket. I sooo wanted an iPhone of my very own, but we weren't allowed that kind of technology, for obvious reasons. They grudgingly allowed us computers with internet, but it was heavily regulated and monitored. We couldn't so much as move the mouse without someone knowing. I was looking forward to turning 18 very soon and gaining some much anticipated freedom.

In fact, this would be my last job. On the other side of this lay the promised land of regular work, college at Sarah Lawrence in New York, and best of all, a reunion with my real family. I was told they wanted me to grow up in a place where my gifts were appreciated and nourished, that at such a young age, in regular society, I would've suffered at the hands of those who didn't understand.

I guess that made sense. Except for the part where I was rented out to do seriously dirty work and couldn't even meet anyone from the outside. Maybe my parents didn't know this part, and they thought I was at some fancy boarding school. I had so many questions for them when we finally did meet. I could barely contain my excitement enough to finish this job.

But it was almost over. Just one more step and I'd be on a plane back to my dorms to pack up.

"What is it Sam? Have you learned anything?" I really hope she's not reading my mind right now. How can I get her to stop? lalalala I hope this plan works and I get rid of this ass. Does my wife know about Lisa? It only happened once, no need to tell her. Am I getting fat? Maybe I should hit the gym harder when this is all over. Sam is hot. I wonder…such long silky brown hair, clear skin, bright blue eyes…no she's just a kid. Shit is she listening to me?

Sadly, these were not original thoughts. Can you imagine knowing what everyone thinks of you? Hearing men of all ages think about your body like you are some stripper at a club? Growing up with knowledge of every person's most intimate desires? It's not as fun as you might think.

"I have what you need." I proceeded to tell him exactly when and where to catch his guy red handed.

"You are going to stop him from hurting that girl aren't you?" I asked, suddenly worried that this wasn't going as I'd hoped.

"Yes of course, I'm as outraged as you. Honestly I had no idea he had this kind of secret. I assumed we'd catch him at something more benign, like money laundering or tax evasion." Disgusting bastard. No idea he was so foul. Still, if I get video and pictures, I can black mail him forever. That would be better than just getting him arrested right? More money and control for me. I could hire someone…

"NO!" I screamed, alarmed at the directions his thoughts were taking. "You can't let him hurt that girl and get away to do it again to someone else. You HAVE to stop him."

"Look girl, you stay out of my head. I didn't pay you to spy on my thoughts, you hear me." Suddenly I realized the danger I was putting myself in, but I didn't care.

"You're not paying ME at all. You're paying the people who keep me trapped in their ivory tower, so I really don't care about your money. I do care about that little girl, and all the other little girls he might hurt. So you are going to make sure he is arrested and found guilty, or your wife will get a mysterious note exposing your secret with Lisa."

I'd never crossed the line like this before, and there were plenty of times that I wanted to. But never has it been this bad. I had seen what this man was planning, and I couldn't let it happen. Regardless of the consequences to myself.

His face turned bright red and he looked about ready to explode.

Might as well add some fuel to the growing fire.

"And you should definitely consider hitting the gym. You're getting love handles and your wife isn't finding it too sexy."

I walked away before he could respond. Most people had no idea how far away I could be and still scan thoughts. Despite all the testing they do at the dorms, I tried to keep the full extent of my abilities a secret. If they knew what I could really do, they would be much more careful around me. But I wanted to know the truth of where I was. The best way to do that was to let them underestimate me.

I spent the rest of the day spying on thoughts until I was sure Mr. Beaumont would pay for his crimes. By the next morning everything was in place, and a limo came to take me to the airport.

Normally, I looked forward to leaving jobs. Especially my last job. But it was bittersweet, knowing I was going to be leaving Tommy as well.

He clung to me as we said goodbye. In a move that broke more rules than I could count, I slipped into his pocket a picture of the two of us from a county fair we'd gone to the week before. I was never supposed to leave any evidence behind of my presence. I avoided cameras and photos. Removed surveillance before I left. Erased anything with my image on it. But I was giving Tommy no one in the outside world had. A memory.

"No matter what, remember that I love you! If you ever get scared, just close your eyes and meet me in that special room we made together in our minds. Remember?"

"Yes, Sam. I remember." His voice was small and sad.

"I'll always be able to hear you and you'll know I'm there, ok?" And it was true. I memorized his mental frequency and I would be checking up on him. Maybe once I was out on my own I could find a way to help him if he needed.

I kissed him on the cheek and got into the limo, slinging my backpack on the seat next to me.

A phone rang. I answered it, knowing who it was ahead of time.

"You broke protocol," the voice on the other end said to me.

"Yes, I had to," I replied without remorse.

"You'd better hope this doesn't get out of our control, Sam. Otherwise your retirement plans might be affected." The threat hung thick in the air, and while it did make me worry, I didn't regret my choices.

"Everything will be fine," I said. And I believed it. For the first time in a long time I truly felt that it was all going to be ok.

I had never been so wrong.

Magic Dish Water

Check out my guest post Magic Dish Water on Lyn Midnight Against the Odds and find out how I create magic in the everyday moments!

Stuck on writing? Get back to creative. a guest post by Jennifer Daiker

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If you give a writer an idea...

We all start writing with the same passion anyone starts with on a new project. Getting excited is half the fun.

We start out writing what we feel. The energy is strong and the excitement grows the more we write. It's when we attempt to write that dream novel sometimes we get stuck.

This is when it's time to get back to creative. A scene not working? Characters fighting to follow directions? I find it's time to switch tactics. Before you run for the hills you need to get back to the fun.

I'm going to share a secret with you. I use children books as ideas and then apply it to writing. It's a way to  release the creativity I knew I had.

So here is my rendition of If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, titled If You Give a Writer an Idea.

If You Give a Writer an Idea.

They're going to ask for a pen.

When you give them a pen, they'll probably ask you for a sheet of paper.

When they have the pen and paper, they'll ask about the characters.

They'll want tons of details, more about the main character, villain, and all the major plot points.

When they begin the story, they'll get stuck.

They'll ask for some help.

When they receive help, they'll begin again.

They'll work through Chapter One and revise some of their ideas.

Once the chapter is completed, they'll move to chapter two.

Half way through they'll become hungry & tired and ask for a snack & nap.

They'll grab a small plate and grab a brownie, make themselves a glass of milk and crawl into bed.

They'll want a story to fall asleep to, they'll read whatever is on top of the TBR pile.

When they begin to read, they realize they aren't as tired as they thought. They'll want to get to work again.

Climbing out of bed, they walk back to the computer. Continuing each chapter. When they finish they'll want to tell the world and treat themselves.

They log onto blogger and sign in, telling the world (also jumping from twitter to facebook) that they completed yet another novel, and now will celebrate with a glass of chardonay (pick your poison).

They'll look back at their manuscript, as proud as can be.

They'll grab the glass of wine and remember the good times they had while writing the story.

They'll see the pen and paper, and when they see the pen and paper chances are they'll ask for a new idea.

Ten Tweets

Stuck on writing? Get back to creative! Check out this post by @jenunedited
Pen, paper, Imagination – If you Give a Writer an Idea. Check out this post by @jenunedited
Are you a writer? Check out this post by @jenunedited on the life of a writer.
Wine and whistle while you work (yes a play on words) check out this post by @jenunedited
Drink, snack, chat – Writer necessities! Check out this post by @jenunedited
One idea is never good enough. Get to writing! Check this post out by @jenunedited
How to get back to writing (by being silly)! Check out this post by @jenunedited
Chapters don't write themselves. Cookies don't eat themselves. What Chapters & cookies have in common. Check out this post by @jenunedited
Getting your writing back by breaking through writers block with fun! Check out this post by @jenunedited
Past excitement, near annoyance? Check out how to get your creative on. A post by @jenunedited

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Jennifer Daiker, isn't she adorable?

I is: 25, a girl, blonde, quirky, and original (I think). I am also thinking in this pose (see quirky & original)

I like to write: Adult Chick Lits.

I like to read: Everything underneath the sun (literally, reading outside is the best). Genres: Fantasy, Romance, Horror, anything that tickles my fancy.

I have addictions: Jelly Belly's, sour candies, cupcakes, and sparkles

To reach the chaos: you can find me at Unedited on Twitter or via email at jenniferdaiker(at)gmail(dot)com

Real Publishing Numbers…How do you make millions as a writer?

[image error]How do you make money in publishing? What is the best publishing option for you?

I recently read a post by author Nathan Bransford,  Amanda Hocking and the 99-cent Kindle Millionaires, where he talks about the numbers.

What really is happening in the publishing world and who's making the real money?

He made some good points about why eBooks are priced higher for traditional publishers (hint: it's not the cost of paper, it's the overhead, which is the same regardless of distribution…), how print books are still big sellers and how traditionally published authors are still the biggest money makers.

"It's not as exciting a story to remember that traditionally published franchise James Patterson made $70 million between June '09 and June '10, but it's still worth keeping in perspective."

That's quite a perspective!

He doesn't appear to be anti-selfpub or anti-Big6. He's just putting some thoughts out there.

I appreciate that.

However, I do have some thoughts on this myself.#shocking #Iknow

One, there aren't any examples of NEW traditionally published authors who are getting great contracts now! You hear about the authors who are turning down contracts to go indie. (J. A. Konrath)

You hear about successful indie authors who take a sign big contracts. (Amanda Hocking)

But where are the Stephenie Meyer stories? I'm not seeing 'em. So I'm wondering how viable the traditional path is for unpublished authors. See what I mean?

Publishers are hurting. Revenues are going down. Bookstores are closing. Yeah, the James Patterson's of the world are rolling in the dough, but what about the rest of us? (Please contradict me on this, if you have examples of unheard of never-before-published-authors who are CURRENTLY getting big contracts and making big sales!)

This article also points out that paper books still make up the majority of sales, even as ebooks are on the rise. Ok yeah, I've never argued that paper books are obsolete. But most indie authors I know DO publish a paperback version for those who like to hold real books.

Right now CreateSpace & Lightning Source are the big hitters in Publishing on Demand (POD) for indie authors. CreateSpace does paperback and Lighnting Source offers both paperback and hardcover if you want all options.

So how is this a detraction for indie authors? So many articles speak of indies like they only [image error]sell eBooks. I have both paperback and eBook versions of my book "Bits of You & Pieces of Me" and my YA fantasy books will likely have a hardcover option as well.

If you want to make the argument that indie authors aren't seen in brick and mortar bookstores, I would argue that most authors (even traditionally published authors) aren't seen in brick and mortar bookstores. Have you been to one of those lately? It's like a ghost town. Very depressing. Most of them are going out of business.

And not because of the indie movement. Likely because I can get anything I want online. I can find things easier by genre, read excerpts and get it delivered instantly or very quickly. Last time I tried to find a new book at a real bookstore, I left empty handed.

So I'd say getting into an actual bookstore, while nice for the ego, isn't great for the pocketbook. Especially when the bookstore takes 50% or so of the profits! YIKES!

And finally, this post fails to break down the true numbers regarding the percentage of eBooks vs. paper books being sold. I recently read a very compelling article (which I cannot find at the moment) that showed the real numbers. Certain genres sell MUCH higher in eBook than paperback, and vice versa.

Fiction does better in eBook than non-fiction. In fact, people buy MOST of their non-fiction in book form. So if you write in that genre, make sure it's available in at least paperback. This is especially true in self-help books and reference books.

Fiction does well in eBook format. Especially romance. If you write romance, you're gold in the ebook world. But John Locke writes thrillers and was the first Kindle millionaire to sell over 1 million ebooks. He even wrote a book telling everyone how to do what he did.

"How I Sold 1 Million eBooks in 5 Months." I just bought it. I'll let you know how it is after I read it.

When you smoosh all these numbers together, you get a very skewed picture of what really is selling in what format!

What do you think? Do you read more eBooks or paperbooks? Do you buy more books online or at stores? Inquiring minds want to know!