J.C. Martin's Blog, page 4

Book Shout-Out: CASSASTORM by Alex J. Cavanaugh

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Ninja Captain Alex’s final book in his Cassa space opera trilogy is out, and he’s called upon his Ninja army to help him Take the World by Storm! At most of his stops, Alex will be answering a question posed to him by the blog owner.

As a proud Ninja minion, I am more than happy to give him free rein of my blog for the day.

***Comment on Alex’s blog this week for a chance to win a Cassa mug, mousepad, magnet, and swag!***

Here’s my question for the Ninja Captain (technically two questions, cause I’m cheeky that way!):

—

How have you characters evolved through your trilogy? How have YOU evolved, as a writer and a person?

Byron has gone from a rebellious young man to a responsible adult to a mature leader. He also decided privacy wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

As a writer, I’ve learned to plan my manuscripts even more before committing the first word to the screen.

And as a person, I’ve learned the power of friendship and support from my blogger buddies and fans. I couldn’t have done this alone.

—

Aww, you’re sweet, Alex!

Now here’s more information about his book, CassaStorm:

CassaStorm

From the Amazon Best Selling series!

A storm gathers across the galaxy…

Commanding the Cassan base on Tgren, Byron thought he’d put the days of battle behind him. As a galaxy-wide war encroaches upon the desert planet, Byron’s ideal life is threatened and he’s caught between the Tgrens and the Cassans.

After enemy ships attack the desert planet, Byron discovers another battle within his own family. The declaration of war between all ten races triggers nightmares in his son, threatening to destroy the boy’s mind.

Meanwhile the ancient alien ship is transmitting a code that might signal the end of all life in the galaxy. And the mysterious probe that almost destroyed Tgren twenty years ago could return. As his world begins to crumble, Byron suspects a connection. The storm is about to break, and Byron is caught in the middle…

Purchase Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble

Book Trailer

About the Author

Alex J. Cavanaugh

Alex J. Cavanaugh has a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree and works in web design and graphics. He is experienced in technical editing and worked with an adult literacy program for several years. A fan of all things science fiction, his interests range from books and movies to music and games. Online he is the Ninja Captain and founder of the Insecure Writer;s Support Group. The author of Amazon bestsellers, CassaStar and CassaFire, he lives in the Carolinas with his wife.

Contact: Blog | Twitter | Goodreads

Don’t forget to stop by Alex’s blog to congratulate him on completing the trilogy and to enter his giveaway!

Source: J.C. Martin, Fighter Writer

My First Product Review! The Snugg iPhone Leather Pouch Case

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Front

So I don’t normally do product reviews on my blog, but since I was approached for this one, I couldn’t say no!

The Snugg provides snazzy cases and other accessories for your tablet, Kindle, or smartphone, and I was invited to review one of their iPhone cases. This one in particular is for the iPhone 4/4s, in PU leather. It is available in three colours: black, brown, and tan. I chose the black one.

Side

The case is nice and compact, adding very little bulk to the phone, as you can see from the side view:

The iPhone goes in the pocket up top, and to take it out, you pull this little magnetic tab down the back of the case:

Back

Taking out the iPhone

All in all, a pretty nifty design, and definitely protects the phone from bumps and scratches — Baby Martin got a hold of it and started using it as a chew toy, and I was surprised to find he left very few teeth marks!

The one drawback is that it can be a bit tricky to extract the phone, as the tab pull can be a bit stiff unless you pull it just right. If your phone was in this case and in your handbag, it could result in some frustrating missed calls. Perhaps the tab will loosen up with further use (I’ve only had mine a week).

All in all, this leather case is something that is slim, fashionable, as well as tough and durable, and for $17.99 is pretty good value for the quality you get.

You can get the case for $17.99 here or £17.99 on their UK site.

For their full range of products, including tablet cases, Kindle cases, cases for other smartphones, as well as a range of other accessories, visit TheSnugg.com or TheSnugg.co.uk.

 

Source: J.C. Martin, Fighter Writer

Book Shout-Out: ROOM OF TEARS by Linda Merlino

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Room of Tears

Out of tragedies come heroes and miracles…

At 9:59 a.m. on September 11, 2001, Diane O’Connor’s life as a firefighter’s wife changes forever, shattering her faith. Four decades later, a note still hangs on her kitchen cabinet in Queens, the paper yellowed with age. Diane knows the scribbled sentences by heart; she’d left them the morning of 9/11 for her husband, Billy.

In the summer of 2041, Diane invites Friar Antonio Ortiz to her home. He is a man destined to become counsel to the first American pope — her son, Peter. Antonio asks no questions and arrives in secret, promising to wait nineteen years before passing Diane’s journal to Peter. Only then will Billy’s story be told, along with answers to Peter’s questions about his father’s last days.

Excerpt

Chapter One

Absorbed, Antonio neglected to notice that Diane had disappeared into the kitchen. He thought to ask her about the two men in the photographs, and when he turned in anticipation of seeing her next to him, he took a step toward where she might be standing. His right foot struck a pair of boots propped upright against the wall. He stumbled and put a hand out to that empty place where he thought she might be, but his face did not meet hers, and instead came within an inch of a firefighter’s helmet, the medallion of its FDNY ladder company polished and gleaming.

On the edge of that moment, trying to regain his balance, each breath he took tightened in his throat. Antonio began to gag. His mind raced. What could be happening? One minute he was looking at photographs and the next his throat was constricting. An acrid odor rose to his nostrils. He shook his head—the same faint smell he’d noticed from before, at the door, but stronger, sharp enough now to sear his soft membranes. My God, he thought and recoiled. Sweat sprang from his face and neck. A heart attack? He clutched his chest. No, not that. His heart was fine except for the galloping beat under his ribcage. Heat emanated from the helmet as if it had just come through an inferno. “My God,” he said aloud. Perhaps a fire burned inside the wall, hot enough to choke him.

About the Author

Linda Merlino

Linda Merlino is the author of  Room of Tears (July 23 2013), Hudson Catalina (2008 – Belly of the Whale & re-release 9/14/12), Swan Boat Souvenir (self-published 2003). She began writing fiction as a young mother on the sidelines of endless soccer practices. Linda wrote anytime any place. A manuscript filled a carton in the back seat of her car. Many years have passed since those early beginnings, but her work continues to be inspired by her children.

The author has a fascination with heroes and writes her fiction to honor ordinary men and women who react unselfishly in extraordinary circumstances. She extends her gratitude to all who keep us safe and free.

Her hometown is outside of Boston. She lived for many years in New York City and more recently calls Connecticut her home.

Contact: Website | Twitter | Facebook

Giveaway!

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Source: J.C. Martin, Fighter Writer

Book Shout-Out: THE RED QUEEN DIES by Frankie Y. Bailey

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The Red Queen Dies
by Frankie Bailey
on Tour August 1 – September 30, 2013

Book Details:

Genre:  Mystery & Detective

Published by: Minotaur Books

Publication Date: Sept 10, 2013

Number of Pages: 304

ISBN: 978-0-312-64175-7 / 978-1-250-03717-6

Purchase Links:

Synopsis:

The first in a new high-concept police procedural series, set in Albany with an Alice in Wonderland theme.

Frankie Bailey introduces readers to a fabulous new protagonist and an Alice in Wonderland-infused crime in this stunning mystery. The year is 2019, and a drug used to treat soldiers for post-traumatic stress disorder, nicknamed “Lullaby,” has hit the streets. Swallowing a little pill erases traumatic memories, but what happens to a criminal trial when the star witness takes a pill and can’t remember the crime? Biracial detective Hannah McCabe faces similar perplexing problems as she attempts to solve the murders of three women, one of whom, a Broadway actress known as “The Red Queen,” has a special interest in the story of Alice in Wonderland. Is the killer somehow reenacting the children’s tale? This smart, tough mystery will appeal to fans of high-concept police procedurals.

Read an excerpt:
Excerpt:DATE: Thursday, 24 October 2019

TIME: 0700 hours

WEATHER TODAY: Mid 90s. Air quality poor. Evening storms.

DISPLAY ON WALL: Wake- up News

“Good morning, everyone. I’m Suzanne Price.

“First, the news from the nation. The federal government says, ‘No hoax, no conspiracy, but still no definitive answers.’

“The administration denies suppressing portions of the commission report on the November 2012 close encounter between NORAD fighter jets and the black boomerang- shaped UFO that appeared over the Mojave Desert, creating worldwide awe and panic before disappearing in a blinding flash of light.

“In Las Vegas, preparations are underway for the now- annual spectacular celebration of that close encounter.

“However, a warning from alien invasion survivalists, who say this seventh anniversary will be the year the spacecraft returns leading an armada. Survivalists plan to retreat to their bunkers on November 2. Gun shop owners report sales of firearms are up, as they are every year as the anniversary approaches.

“Meanwhile, the National Weather Service says another eruption of solar fl ares could cause more communication and power disruptions early next week.

“Forest fi res in both Canada and breakaway nation New France continue to burn out of control, sending smoke southward.

“Scientists taking part in a climate change conference in Philadelphia disagree about the explanation for the significant improvement in the acidity levels of the world’s oceans. ‘It shouldn’t be happening,’ an MIT oceanographer said. ‘Nothing in anyone’s data predicted this turnaround. But I think we can safely rule out divine intervention and UFO babies.’

“Out on the presidential campaign trail, a political firestorm erupts as Republican front- runner Janet Cortez accuses in dependent candidate Howard Miller of ‘rallying angry, frightened people to commit hate crimes.’ During an arena speech yesterday, Miller called on several thousand supporters to ‘reclaim America for Americans’ and ‘restore our way of life.’ Cortez says Miller is ‘morally responsible’ for the attacks that have been escalating since he announced his third- party candidacy.

“Now, here at home . . . a chilling scenario posed by a local crime beat threader. Is there an ‘Albany Ripper’ in our midst?”

“Dammit!” Hannah McCabe jumped back as the grapefruit juice from her overturned glass splashed across the countertop, covering the still- visible display of the nutrition content of her father’s breakfast.

“Bring up the sound,” he said. “I want to hear this.”

“Half a second, Pop. Hands full.” McCabe shoved her holster out of the way and touched clean up before the stream of juice could run off the counter and onto the tile floor.

“. . . Following last night’s Common Council meeting, threader Clarence Redfield interrupted a statement by Detective Wayne Jacoby, the Albany Police Department spokesperson . . .”

In the chief of police’s office, Jacoby struggled to keep his expression neutral as the footage of the press conference and his exchange with Redfield began to roll.

“The Albany Police Department remains hopeful that the Common Council will approve both funding requests. The first to expand GRTYL, our Gang Reduction Through Youth Leadership program, and the second to enhance the surveillance—”

“Detective Jacoby, isn’t it true that the Albany PD is engaged in a cover- up? Isn’t it true that the Albany PD has failed to inform the citizens of this city of what they have a right to know?”

“I know you want to off er your usual observations, Mr. Redfield. But if you will hold your questions until I finish—”

“Isn’t it true that we have a serial killer at work here in Albany, Detective? Isn’t it true that a secret police task force has been created to try to

track down a killer who has been preying on women here in this city?”

“That is . . . no, that is not true, Mr. Redfield. There is no secret task force, nor is there any cover- up. We . . . the Albany PD does not engage in . . .”

From his position by the window, Chief Egan said, “Stammering like a frigging schoolgirl makes it hard to believe you’re telling the truth, Wayne.”

“The little bastard caught me off guard,” Jacoby said, his annoyance getting the better of him.

The others at the table avoided his glance, their gazes focused on the wall where his confrontation with Redfield was continuing.

“So, Detective, you’re telling us that there aren’t two dead women who—”

“I’m telling you, Mr. Redfield, that we have ongoing investigations into two cases involving female victims who—”

“Who were the victims of a serial killer?”

“We have two female homicide victims. Both deaths were drug- induced and both occurred within the past six weeks. On each occasion, we made available to the media, including yourself, information about—”

“But you didn’t release the details that link the two cases. You didn’t tell the media or the citizens of this city that both women were—”

“We do not release the details of ongoing homicide investigations, Mr. Redfield. And you are not aiding these investigations with your grandstanding.”

“My grandstanding? Don’t you think it’s time someone told the women of Albany that the police can’t protect them? That they should stay off the streets after dark, get inside when the fog rolls in, and lock their doors? Shouldn’t someone tell the taxpaying citizens of this city that in spite of all the hype about your Big Brother surveillance system, a killer is still moving like a phantom through the—”

“What the citizens of Albany should know is that the Albany PD is bringing all its resources and those of other law- enforcement agencies to bear to solve these two cases. Veteran detectives are following every lead. And the citywide surveillance system the department has implemented—”

“When it’s working, Detective Jacoby. Isn’t it true that the solar flares have been giving your system problems?”

One of the captains sitting at the conference table in Chief Egan’s office groaned. “Is he just guessing?”

On the wall, Jacoby’s jaw was noticeably clinched.

“As I was about to say, Mr. Redfield, before we began this back- and-forth, the DePloy surveillance system has been effective both in reducing crime and solving the crimes that have occurred. That is the end of this discussion.”

“You mean ‘Shut up or I’m out of here’?”

“Ladies and gentlemen of the press, I am now going to finish the official statement regarding funding. I will only respond to questions on that subject. . . .”

Chief Egan said, “Not one of your better performances, Wayne. You let him rattle you.” He walked over and sat down at the head of the table. “Her Royal Highness, the mayor, was not pleased when she called me last night.”

On the wall, the anchorwoman took over.

“Detective Jacoby then completed his statement about the proposals before the Common Council. When a reporter tried to return to the allegation made by crime beat threader Clarence Redfield that a serial killer is at work in Albany, Detective Jacoby ended the press conference and left the podium.

Mr. Redfield himself declined to respond to questions from reporters about the source of his information. We’ll have more for you on this story as details become available.

“In another matter before the Common Council, a proposed emergency expansion of the existing no masks or face- covering ordinance to include Halloween night. The new ordinance would apply to everyone over eight years of age. The recent outbreak of crimes involving juveniles . . .”

“Now, they’re even trying to take away Halloween,” Angus McCabe said from his place at the kitchen table. “Well? Any truth to it? Do we have ourselves a serial killer on the loose?”

McCabe put her empty juice glass on the shelf inside the dishwasher. “Since when do you consider Clarence Redfield a reliable source, Pop?”

“He ain’t. But I’ve spent more than half my life grilling official mouthpieces, and the way Jacoby was squirming—”

“Jacoby can’t stand Redfield. You know that.” McCabe snagged her thermo jacket from the back of her chair and bent to kiss his forehead. “And you’re retired now, remember?”

“I may be retired, but I’m not dead yet. What’s going on?”

“Got to run, Pop. Have a good day.”

“Have a good day nothing.” He rose to follow her into the hall.

“Hank McCabe, you tell me what’s—”

“Can’t discuss it. I’ll pick us up some dinner on the way home. Chinese okay?”

He scowled at her, his eyes the same electric blue they had always been, the bristling brows gone gray.

“No, Chinese ain’t okay. I’m tired of Chinese. I’ll cook dinner tonight. I’ve got all day to twiddle my thumbs. What else do I have to do but make dinner?”

“I thought you might intend to work on your book. You do have that deadline coming up in a couple of months.”

“Book, hell. There ain’t no book. I’m giving the advance back.”

“If that’s what you want to do,” McCabe said. “On the other hand, you could just sit down and write the book.”

“You try writing a damn book, Ms. Detective.”

“Not my area of expertise. But you’ve done it a few times before. Even won an award or two.”

“This one’s different. Nobody would read it even if I wrote it. And don’t ‘If that’s what you want to do’ me. We were talking about this serial killer that Redfield claims—”

“Sorry, Pop, I really do have to go. I want to get in a few minutes early this morning.”

“Why? What are you—”

She closed the door on his demand that she get herself back there and tell him what was going on. Striding to her car, McCabe tried to ignore the whiff of smoke that she could taste in the back of her throat and the sticky air, which made her want to step back into the shower. The heat was due to break to night. That would clear the air.

And Pop would pull himself out of his funk. He always did.

Of course, the other times, he’d had an office to go to . . . and no restrictions on his alcohol consumption.

“I have every confidence in your ability to get what we need, Mike boy.”

“Right.” Baxter fl ashed his best cocky grin. “You know you can

count on me.”

His caller nodded. “I know I can.” He pointed his finger at Baxter. “Watch your back out there, you hear me?”

He disconnected, his image fading from the screen. Baxter closed his ORB and leaned back on his cream leather sofa.

He stretched his arms over his head, fingers clasped. His gaze fell on the framed photograph on his desk. Himself in dress blues. Graduation day from the Academy.

Baxter grunted, then laughed. “You should have seen this one coming, Mike boy.”

He rubbed his hand across his mouth, whistled. “Well hell.”

Baxter reached for his ORB again. He pulled up a file and began to update his notes.

When he was done, he grabbed his thermo jacket and headed for the door.

His mind on other things, he left the apartment on cooldown and the lights on in the bathroom, but the condo’s environmental system had gone into energy- saver mode by the time he reached the lobby.

In the garage, Baxter paused for his usual morning ritual, admiring the burgundy sheen of his vintage 1967 Mustang convertible.

Then he got into his three- year- old hybrid and headed in to work.

McCabe was stuck in traffic on Central Avenue, waiting for an opening to maneuver around a florist van.

In Albany, double parking had always been considered a civic right. With more traffic each year and the narrow lanes that had been carved out for Zip cars and tri- bikes, Central Avenue in the morning was like it must have been when Albany was a terminus for slaughter houses, with cattle driven along Central Avenue Turnpike.

Stop, start, nose, and try not to trample one another as they moved toward their destinations.

McCabe tilted her head from side to side and shrugged her shoulders. What she needed, yearned for, was a long run. Even with geosimulators, five miles on a machine was never as good as running outside.

McCabe’s attention was caught by a fl ash of color. On the sidewalk in front of Los Amigos, a young black woman in a patchwork summer skirt laughed as an older man, suave and mustachioed, swirled her in a samba move. Still laughing, she disengaged herself and scooped up her straw handbag from the sidewalk. Hand over his heart, the man called out to his impromptu dance partner. Giggling, she went on her way.

Stopped by the traffic light at the intersection, McCabe lowered her window enough to hear the music coming from the open doorway of the restaurant. Before it was Mexican, the place had been Ca rib be an, and before that, Indian. The owners of the hair salon on one side and the discount store on the other had complained about this latest example of ethnic succession. Loud music, spicy smells— in other words, the threat posed by “Mexs” moving into this block as they had others. Some legal, some American citizens, some neither, arriving in Albany in greater numbers during the years when the convention center was going up. Now the resentment was more vocal, the sense of being in competition greater. Even the imagined threat of an interplanetary invasion hadn’t changed that dynamic. Earthlings still distrusted other earthlings. They defended what they thought of as their turf.

Since the UFO, old episodes of Rod Serling’s Twilight Zone had become a cult favorite with teen “space zombies.” According to Pop, the zombies weren’t the only ones who should be watching the series. He

claimed that in the event of another close encounter, Rod Serling had left instructions. Rule number one: Even if the spacecraft looks flashy,

check to make sure it isn’t a balloon from a Thanksgiving Day parade. Rule number two: Even if the lights do start going on and off ,

don’t turn on your neighbors, assuming they must be the aliens. Rule number three: Even if the “visitors” introduce themselves and seem friendly, ask for additional information about how they plan “to serve” mankind before hopping on their spaceship.

Meanwhile, daily life continued on Central Avenue, where Zoe

James, the black female own er of the beauty shop, refused to patronize the Mexican restaurant next door.

At least she and Sung Chang, the Korean- American owner of the discount store, had stopped calling the cops every time the music and dancing overfl owed onto the sidewalk. Of course, the janet cortez para presidente sign now on proud display in Los Amigos’s front window might set them off again. Both James and Chang had signs supporting the current vice president, who was male, black (biracial, actually), and likely to be the Demo cratse nominee.

But according to Pop, the candidate they all needed to be worried about, should be scared to death of, actually, was Howard Miller, that smiling “man of the people.” Howard Miller, who was as smooth as the churned butter from that family- owned farm he boasted about having grown up on.

McCabe stared hard at the traffic light that was supposed to adjust for traffic flow and right now was doing nothing at all. She decided to give it another thirty seconds before she reported a problem.

Howard Miller.

They hadn’t looked at that kind of hate crime because they had two white female victims. But the murder weapon . . . What if one of Miller’s crazy followers . . .

Horns blared.

McCabe was reaching for her ORB when the traffic light flickered and went from red to green.

More horns blared.

Three women, pushing metal shopping carts, had decided to make a last-minute dash across the busy intersection. White with a hint of a tan, clad in light- colored shorts and T-shirts, they were too clean to be homeless.

The women were almost to the other side when a bike messenger zipped around a double- parked produce truck.

The women darted out of his way. He skidded and went down hard. Sunlight sparkled on his blue helmet, but his work- tanned legs were bare and vulnerable.

One of the women looked back, peering over her designer sunglasses. She called out something. Maybe it was “Sorry about that.”

Then she and her fellow scavenger hunters sprinted away in the direction of Washington Park, where Radio KZAC must be holding today’s meet- up.

The taxi driver behind McCabe leaned on his horn. She waved for him to go around her.

She watched the bike messenger get up on wobbly legs. He looked down at his knee and grimaced. But the next moment, he was checking his bike. Then he grabbed for his leather satchel before a car could run over it. Hopping back on his bike, he pedaled off .

A car pulled away from the curb, opening up a spot a few feet away from Cambrini’s Bakery. McCabe shot forward and did a quick parallel park.

She got out and headed toward the intertwined aromas of fresh-baked muffins and black coffee. Maybe the day wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

The line wound back to the door, but it seemed to be moving fast. McCabe glanced at the old- fashioned chalkboard that always had the morning’s “featured muffin.” Not in the mood for pumpkin, she found what she wanted on the menu and sent her order from her ORB to checkout before joining the queue.

“Good morning, sister. Is God blessing you this fine day?”

She turned toward the deep voice and beaming smile of the man in the black New York Yankees baseball cap and the white suit and white shirt, which contrasted with his chocolate brown skin.

“Good morning, Reverend Deke.”

“I said, sister, ‘Is God blessing you this fine day?’ ”

“Yes, thank you, He is,” McCabe said.

“I’m pleased to hear that.”

Reverend Deke went out the door carrying his steaming coffee cup. By high noon, he would be bringing “the message” to any of the office workers who decided to leave the climate- controlled Empire State Plaza complex to patronize the lunch wagons lined up along the street. Some of the workers would pause to listen as Reverend Deke broke into one of the spirituals that he had learned on his Georgia- born grandmother’s knee.

McCabe watched him go, greeting the people he passed.

Ten minutes later, she was jammed in sideways at the counter by

the window, munching on a lemon-blueberry-pecan muffin. Half a day’s supply of antioxidants, and it even tasted like it was made with real sugar.

The police frequency on her ORB lit up. She touched the screen to see the message that Comm Center had sent out to patrol cars.

McCabe swallowed the last bite of her muffin and grabbed her ice coffee container from the counter.

Out of the sidewalk, she spoke into her transmitter. “Dispatch,

Detective McCabe also responding to that call. En route.”

“Copy, McCabe. Will advise,” the dispatcher responded.

Mike Baxter picked up the same dispatch as he was pulling out of the fast- food drive-thru. He shoved his coffee cup into the holder and reached for his siren.

“Dispatch, Detective Baxter also responding.”

“Copy, Baxter. McCabe’s headed that way, too.”

“Thought she would be. This could be our guy.”

“Happy hunting.”

McCabe pulled herself to the top of the fence and paused to look down into the alley. She jumped and landed on the other side, one foot slipping in dog shit. The man she was chasing darted a glance behind him and kept running.

In a half squat, McCabe drew her weapon and fired. Her bola wrapped around the man’s legs. He sprawled forward, entangled in the cords, crashing into moldering cardboard boxes and other garbage.

McCabe ran toward him. He twisted onto his side, trying to sit up and free himself.

“Get these ropes off me, bitch!”

“Stay down,” she said, training the weapon, now set to stun, on the perp’s scrawny torso. “Roll over on your belly.”

He looked up at her face, then at the gun. Either he was convinced she would use it or deterred by the minicam that was attached to the weapon and was recording their encounter. He sagged back to the ground and rolled over.

She stepped to the side, about to order him to raise his arm behind his back so that she could slip on the fi rst handcuff .

“You got him!” Mike Baxter said, running up. He was sweating, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with excitement. “That was great.”

“Cuff him,” McCabe said, trying not to let Baxter see that she was breathing hard.

She was thirty- four to Baxter’s twenty- nine, and, yes, she had outrun him. But she should be in better shape than this. Today’s air-quality reading was no excuse. Baxter snapped the cuffs into place and McCabe retracted her bola.

Baxter hauled the perp to his feet.

“Hey, man, this is police brutality, you hear me?” the perp said.

“I’m gonna sue both of you.”

“That all you got to say?” Baxter said.

“Say? You’re supposed to read me my rights, man.”

“You got it, man,” Baxter said. “You have the right to remain silent.

Anything you say can be used against you . . .” He recited the words with the controlled irony of a cop who had been saying them for several decades. But he looked like a college kid. That was why he had been recruited from patrol to work undercover vice. But word was that he had wanted out of that and played a commendably discrete game of departmental politics, involving his godfather, the assistant chief, to get reassigned.

Sirens screeching, two police cruisers pulled into the alley.

Baxter grinned at McCabe. “Great way to start the day, huh, partner?”

“Absolutely,” she said, scrapping her shoe on the edge of a mildewed cardboard box.

She hoped he realized that the likelihood that this was the guy they were looking for was about zilch.

Author Bio:

FRANKIE Y. BAILEY is an associate professor in the School of Criminal Justice, University at Albany (SUNY). Bailey is the author of mysteries as well as non-fiction titles that explore the intersections of crime, history, and popular culture. Bailey is a Macavity Award-winner and has been nominated for Edgar, Anthony, and Agatha awards. A past executive vice president of Mystery Writers of America and a past president of Sisters in Crime, she is on the Albany Bouchercon 2013 planning committee.

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Source: J.C. Martin, Fighter Writer

INDIGO Tour: Drawing Inspirations from Mythology & Folklore by Fiauna Lund

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Drawing Inspirations from Mythology & Folklore
by Fiauna Lund

What reading is for most people, writing is for me. Writing is an escape, a break from reality. I had a rough childhood. My parents divorced while I was young; there was a lot of unemployment and relocation. I craved two things: stability and escape. Early on I found escape through the stories my mother would read to me and stability through the superstitions taught through folklore.

For me, writing about the fae is a way of answering the what if questions I had as a child and continue to ruminate on from time to time. During college I took a class on mythology and folklore thinking it would be an easy A, a basic exercise in reading and creative writing. I was so wrong. The class was challenging. I found that the study of folklore and mythology is more a lesson on world religions and psychology. Basically what I found out was that all mythology and folklore serves a purpose and usually that purpose is to explain the previously unexplainable. In my writing, specifically Indigo and The Sprightling Diaries before that, I merely asked a what if question and filled in the blanks drawing on the tales others have passed along for centuries.

Children are curious; they crave adventure and information. In my writing I try to entertain my readers, many of them children, and help them view the world and the people around them with open minds and open hearts. How might your view your neighbors, the people in you community differently if you knew the secrets they were hiding? What if your coworker, the one who never speaks, was quiet because she could read minds and was busy listening to your thoughts? What if the neighbor who never came to mow his lawn sported a large pair of iridescent blue wings on his back? What if?

The fae are appealing because they are both endearing and frightening at the same time. As for the banshee written about in Indigo, well on the simplest level the banshee represents death and mystery of our own mortality. That is something all people, even children, can relate to, have wondered about, or find fascinating. The banshee in Indigo for me represents my insecurities. Brits battle to defeat the banshee represents our struggle to free ourselves of doubt, fear, and lack of self-confidence.

About the Author

Fiauna Lund

Fiauna Lund is a grown woman with an overactive imagination, a passion for writing, four children, and the dirty house to prove it.

Reading and writing have always been passions for Fiauna. During her childhood she spent hours exploring the woods of rural western Pennsylvania where she first began creating stories about faeries, pixies, magic, and mystical creatures.

She met her husband, Aaron, while attending Utah State University, and later earned a degree in human services from Columbia College which allowed her to study the uniquely challenged and inspiring people who serve as her collective muse. She now resides in Farmington, Utah. When she’s not reading, writing, or running, she spends her time caring for her four adorable children and one rambunctious dog.

Contact: Website | Blog | Twitter

Indigo

When Brit Kavanagh was a baby her mother disappeared, but not before she gave her daughter wings — sewn into her skin with needle and thread.

Seventeen years later, Brit’s quiet, protected life is turned upside-down when her father dies, leaving her in the care of relatives she hardly knows. Almost from the moment she arrives in her new home, Brit is haunted by the terrifying apparition of a banshee and disaster strikes wherever she goes. From a near-drowning experience to a house fire at a crowded party, no one around her is safe.

Brit is desperate to unravel the mysteries behind her wings and the curse of the banshee before someone else gets hurt. The only person who can help her is Gentry O’Neill, a handsome lifeguard who knows more than he’s telling. With Gentry’s help, Brit must embark on a journey of discovery that will lead her through her mother’s troubled past, her father’s dark secrets, and the horrifying truth of her own existence.

Purchase Links: Amazon | Rhemalda Publishing

Giveaway!

For your chance to win one of 3 e-book copies of INDIGO, fill in the Rafflecopter below. Good luck!

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Source: J.C. Martin, Fighter Writer

Book Shout-Out: PERRY ROAD by Emi Gayle

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Perry Road is Now Available!

Release News! Perry Road, the first in the Revolution Series, by Emi Gayle released September 3, 2013

Reviews!

What are people already saying about Perry Road?

“This one, by far, is Emi’s best. Of anything she’s written.”

— Julie Reece, author, Crux

“I really hope [this] stirs up controversy and changes some youngsters thinking. God knows we could use that today in this society!”

— Terri Rochenski, author, Eye of the Soul

“… this was a total pleasure to read.”

— Kelly Said, author, Tidal Whispers & Make Believe

“… [this] will inspire an extreme diversity of opinion. It kept me involved and interested throughout, and I love novels that make me question my current understanding/viewpoint on life.”

— Amaleen Ison, author, Remember Me

About the Author

I had a really great bio in my head around midnight one night …. right before I fell asleep and it disappeared into the nothingness of unconsciousness. Bummer. So here’s something less well thought out.

I want to be young again, so I’m kinda sorta living it again. At least on paper. You see, I write paranormal romance. Now, that stuff can get really hot, and really gritty and well … mine does. But! My characters are teenagers, 18 and under. Like I was once … and want to be again.

Why would I want to be a teenager again? Geez. Because! If you met the man of your dreams at 14 was engaged to him at 19 and married him at 20, wouldn’t YOU want to do all that over again? Especially if you were still in love with him? I mean, c’mon! It’s love! That’s why I write, too.

You see… just because you pass a certain age doesn’t mean you forget what it was like to be 14, 15, etc. Actually, because I kinda grew up with my husband, we both still feel like the 14 and 17 year old kids we once were. So that’s where I’m coming from. You might think it’s totally lame, but you know what? That’s ok! Maybe you’ll like my other me instead.

 

Excerpt

Which I could be. Don’t want to be. Really, really, really don’t, and staring at Cam in her new clothes without holes, her clean hair cut by a professional and the fact that she’s my friend reminds me why: Flukes are poor. I should know. My mom is one.

The animation keeps going as if it’s really trying for me—not that it can. I drop my P-Comm to my leg just as dark words appear on screen. My heart picks up speed, and a tingly tension takes over.

“Well?” Cam asks.

For some reason, I don’t want her to know. I want to find out by myself if I’m going to get a real life, or if I’m destined to wear hand-me-downs from twenty years ago until I’m ninety. I want to prepare, to plan, to cry if we don’t get to go together, or if I’m not like her.

I’m not, of course—in any way like her. Who am I kidding?

After what seems like hours, but is only seconds, I say, “Nothing.”

“Damn.” She throws her arms up in the air. “Figures. And it’s almost five. So, you know, I gotta go. Mom’s sure I’m going to be chosen to pop out babies, like she is, so she wants to make sure I know how to cook before the fake chefs get ahold of me to ‘teach’ me.” Cam gives me a dramatic eye roll and places a hand to her forehead. “Like, oh, my Oz, Eri, you know? We have people to cook for us for a reason. Duh! If I learn to cook, what job am I going to give someone like your mom, you know? And why would I get picked to be fat and ugly when I look like this?” She bats at her blonde curls.

Wanting to change the subject—to anything but the woes of Cam’s perfect life—I walk to her, give her a hug and a quick pat on the back. “I’ll … call you when I get it, ‘kay?”

“You better. We only have two days to shop for the perfect outfit. Why couldn’t your birthday be October twenty-ninth instead of December?” She snatches up her coat—preparation for the winter blast that will tear into uncovered skin. “And … you’re not a fluke. You will get in the white house, and when January first comes, we’ll be official!” She boogies her way out, hips wiggling. For someone who’s not happy about the prospect of becoming a baby factory, she’s awfully chipper.

I know it’s because she’s waiting to hear my fate. To prove I’m not a fluke. To validate my relevance as her friend—the one girl Cam can give backhanded compliments, and, for that matter, insults all day long, and still walk back in with a smile as if nothing happened.

Cam walks through the hallway and says goodbye to my mom who’s probably still working at her makeshift office in our miniature kitchen—trying, I assume, to avoid the whole days’ events. As much as Cam wants me to not be a fluke, my mom wants me to be one. If I’m like her, nothing will change. Like Cam, I’ll be the same old Erianna, just one day older and as useless as all the other flukes in the world.

The front door opens and closes, and I move to the window. Once Cam disappears from view, and only then, I turn over my P-Comm and touch the one message that sits inside.

The one that says: “Invitation for Erianna Price Keating.”

 

Giveaway!

Running from September 2 – October 10, with a plethora of prizes! Or, if you just can’t wait, below, you can buy it now for just $2.99!

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Source: J.C. Martin, Fighter Writer

Cover Reveal: PERFECTION CHALLENGED by Jade Kerrion

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Perfection Challenged, the thrilling conclusion to Jade Kerrion’s multiple award-winning, bestselling DOUBLE HELIX series, will be released on September 17th and will be available in paperback and all electronic formats. Beta readers have declared Perfection Challenged “the best of the four books…the perfect ending to an amazing series.”

If you’ve never picked up the DOUBLE HELIX series, keep on reading for a special offer on Perfection Unleashed, the book that launched the DOUBLE HELIX series.

PERFECTION CHALLENGED

An alpha empath, Danyael Sabre has survived abominations and super soldiers, terrorists and assassins, but he cannot survive his failing body. He wants only to live out his final days in peace, but life and the woman he loves, the assassin Zara Itani, have other plans for him.

Galahad, the perfect human being created by Pioneer Labs, is branded an international threat, and Danyael is appointed his jury, judge, and executioner. Danyael alone believes that Galahad can be the salvation that the world needs, but is the empath blinded by the fact that Galahad shares his genes, and the hope that there is something of him in Galahad?

In a desperate race against time and his own dying body, Danyael struggles to find fragments of good in the perfect human being, and comes to the wrenching realization that his greatest battle will be a battle for the heart of the man who hates him.

PERFECTION UNLEASHED

Recipient of six literary awards, including first place in Science Fiction, Reader Views Literary Awards 2012 and Gold medal winner in Science Fiction, Readers Favorites 2013.

“Higher octane than Heroes. More heart than X-Men.”

Danyael Sabre spent sixteen years clawing out of the ruins of his childhood and finally has everything he wanted—a career, a home, and a trusted friend. To hold on to them, he keeps his head down and plays by the rules. An alpha empath, he is powerful in a world transformed by the Genetic Revolution, yet his experience has taught him to avoid attention.

When the perfect human being, Galahad, escapes from Pioneer Laboratories, the illusory peace between humans and their derivatives—the in vitros, clones, and mutants—collapses into social upheaval. The abominations, deformed and distorted mirrors of humanity, created unintentionally in Pioneer Lab’s search for perfection, descend upon Washington D.C. The first era of the Genetic Revolution was peaceful. The second is headed for open war.

Although the genetic future of the human race pivots on Galahad, Danyael does not feel compelled to get involved and risk his cover of anonymity, until he finds out that the perfect human being looks just like him.

FOR A LIMITED TIME, E-BOOKS AVAILABLE FOR JUST $0.99 (Discounted from $2.99)

E-books available at Amazon / Amazon UK / J.C. Martin, Fighter Writer

Book Shout-Out: GLORY HOLE by W.A. Rome

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Glory Hole

The sound of a person screaming can be more horrifying than the event that caused the scream in the first place. The sickening murder that had occurred in the dank public toilets of Piccadilly that evening, was merely a precursor to the events that would unfold and terrorize the people of Manchester over the coming months. No scream or cry however, could reflect or overshadow the nightmare invoked by the stranger.

Like a scorpion camouflaged by the sand of the Sahara, he stalks his victims unseen in filth-strewn toilets. As his latest victim pleasures the stranger through a crude hole in the wall, he reaches climax, simultaneously puncturing her throat with a long metallic implement.

Taylor is assigned to solve the case of the Manchester Ripper, but with events also unfolding in the States revealing uncanny similarities, could there be two serial killers at large playing out some perverse game of death? With the aid of her American counterpart – Andrews, Taylor must battle her compunction to drink whilst carrying the burden of an expectant public, to arrest and bring to justice, Manchester’s very own serial killer.

Purchase Link: Amazon

About the Author

Born in Salford, England, before relocating later to Astley in Greater Manchester, Warren Rome started writing from an early age. An avid fan of anything connected to horror and the macabre from eight years old after being introduced to films by Hitchcock and Wes Craven; the works of Dickens, Dahl, Poe and Stephen King were his inspirations to pursue a career in horror literature.

He lives with his girlfriend Holly and their dog Morrison, and enjoys walking around the leafy surroundings, and the luscious fields in Astley. A fanatical football fan and lover of rock music are his other main interests, and evident by the collection of memorabilia he has amassed over the years.

GLORY HOLE is one of many horror novels Warren has written and the first forwarded for publication. He hopes to release his second novel later this year.

Contact: Website | Blog

Source: J.C. Martin, Fighter Writer

Book Shout-Out: THE BEAST by Faye Kellerman

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The Beast
by Faye Kellerman
on Tour August 2013

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery/Thriller

Published by: HarperCollins/William Morrow

Publication Date: August 6, 2013

Number of Pages: 384

ISBN: 9780062121752

Purchase Links:

Synopsis:

Over his years with the LAPD, Peter Decker has handled a number of tough cases and strange killers. Few of his previous assignments compare to his latest case—the most bizarre of his storied career.

When Hobart Penny is found dead in his apartment, the cops think that his pet cat—an adult female tiger—attacked the reclusive elderly billionaire. But it soon becomes clear that the beast that killed the eccentric inventor is all too human. Digging into the victim’s life, Decker and his colleagues, Detectives Marge Dunn and Scott Oliver, discover that Penny was an exceptionally peculiar man with exotic tastes, including kinky sex with call girls.

Following a trail of clues that leads from a wildlife sanctuary in the San Bernardino Mountains to the wild nightlife of Las Vegas, the LAPD detectives are left juggling too many suspects and too few answers. To break open a case involving the two most primal instincts—sex and murder—Decker wrestles with a difficult choice: turning to a man with expert knowledge of both—Chris Donatti, the dangerous man who also happens to be the father of Decker’s foster son Gabriel Whitman, a boy not without his own problems.

As their work and intimate worlds collide, Decker and his wife, Rina, find themselves facing tough questions. It just might be that family crises and work-related responsibilities prove too much for Decker’s career. A confluence of ordeals can stress even the most intact of families. And when all these shocking truths comes out, exactly how well will Decker and Rina cope as well as survive?

Read an excerpt:

THE BEAST by Faye Kellerman from WilliamMorrowBooks

Author Bio:

Faye Kellerman lives with her husband, New York Times bestselling author Jonathan Kellerman, in Los Angeles, California, and Santa Fe, New Mexico.

Catch Up With the Author:
Tour Participants:

Source: J.C. Martin, Fighter Writer

Cover Reveal: INSPIRED by Danielle E. Shipley

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Today is cover reveal day for Danielle E. Shipley’s Inspired. I think this will be a book that will appeal/empathise with writers everywhere.

Inspired

For a muse like Lucianíel, one story’s end is another’s beginning.

In the wake of his author’s sudden death, Luc takes ownership of her surviving creations — four fantastical characters with tales yet to be told — saving them from unwritten lives crumbling around them and giving them a second chance at a literary future.

Luc finds that chance in the unsuspecting mind of Annabelle Iole Gray, a quirky teen with her head in the clouds, nose in a book, and imagination ripe for a brilliant muse’s inspiration.

Or so he hopes.

Neither Luc nor Annabelle, however, realize all they’ve undertaken. Even with a to-write list including accounts of a shape-shifting cat creature, gentle knight-in-training, vigilante skater girl, and a mystery boy smothering in unspoken fear, the most remarkable saga created between author and muse just may turn out to be one stranger than fiction. 

Their own.

Inspired will be released on March 17, 2014.

About the Author

Danielle E. Shipley

Danielle E. Shipley’s first novelettes told the everyday misadventures of wacky kids like herself … Or so she thought. Unbeknownst to them all, half of her characters were actually closeted elves, dwarves, fairies, or some combination thereof. When it all came to light, Danielle did the sensible thing: packed up and moved to Fantasy Land, where daily rent is the low, low price of her heart, soul, blood, sweat, tears, firstborn child, sanity, and words; lots of them. She’s also been known to spend short bursts of time in the real-life Chicago area with the parents who homeschooled her and the two little sisters who keep her humble. When she’s not living the highs and lows of writing young adult novels, she’s probably blogging about it.

Contact: Blog | Facebook | Goodreads

What do YOU think of Danielle’s cover and blurb?

Source: J.C. Martin, Fighter Writer