S.B. Knight's Blog

Adventures at Fandom Fest - Day 1

Yes, Fandom Fest was my first experience of both being at a convention and being part of a convention. Upon arriving at the Galt House it didn't take long to recognize the immensity of Fandom Fest. I'm not talking the amount of people, I'm talking the size of the facility and the area in which the convention spread. It took three buildings to contain all the activities going on. After parking (and that was an adventure too) and getting checked in we went to register and receive our "get into everything" wrist bands. I am very thankful to Fandom Fest for allowing my wife and son into the convention for free. Well, if you don't count my time of participating on panels that is but more on that later.




Soon we were walking around. At this time the doors were not open to the public and yet people were everywhere. Some in costume some not but all had a look about them that screamed, 'this is where I belong.' I do have to admit, I liked their confidence. As we navigated the halls and rooms we ended up where we needed to be...the Literary Track. The place that would hold all the panels for authors, yes, this was my little slice of the convention. After meeting the other authors I had just enough time to grab dinner with my family and rush back for the first panel.




When I say first, I mean very first panel for me and first real panel to kick off the weekend for the authors. It was all about writing a series. There were five of us including J.H. Glaze, and M.B. Weston. Oh, as if I wasn't nervous enough, the host handed me the first question to get things going. I survived and actually sounded like I knew what I was talking about. I would say that this panel was a lot of fun and we had a great time talking with the audience. Yes, we had an audience which was a good thing. The panel ran for little more than an hour which, at that time, gave my about twenty five minutes to make it to my next panel which was 'finding the right path to publishing.' I have to be honest, I did not enjoy this panel very much as there were a few publishers who thought their word was final and the debate was over which kind of wrecks the purpose of a panel.




It is 8:00 when the panel is done. Keep in mind, I started driving at 8:00 that morning so I'm running low on energy but we check out the vendor's hall which is massive! Here I have one of the highlights of my weekend. I met Grant Wilson from Ghost Hunters, talked for awhile, and even got his business card with email. Yeah, I sound like a fan because I am a fan. He is a good person and easy to talk too. Heck, he would fit right in with the people I hang out with. I also ran into Stan Lee but that is another post for later on.I'll give you a hint, how many of you can claim that Stan Lee crashed your party?




That's it for day one. Day two was just as insane as Day one.  

FandomFest Here We Come!

Are you ready for fun and excitement? Well this is your weekend! Tomorrow morning I'll be leaving for Louisville Kentucky to hang out and experience the energy of a Fan driven convention for horror, Sci-Fi, games, comics, celebrities...the list is endless! Don't believe me? Check it out for yourself - http://fandomfest.com/en/.



I will be participating in a number of panels this weekend while at the Fest. Here is my schedule, if you are there come by and check it out:



Friday @ 5:30 - Writing a Series

Friday @ 7:00 - Choosing the Right Path

Saturday @ 4:00 - Exploring Horror



I will also have a table set up with lots of swag and copies of my novel. Stop by and enter the contest I'll be running or just say hi.



To celebrate FandomFest I also have a special for all of you. From Friday to Monday you can download for FREE my short story, Game of Straws and SB Knight Novel Sampler. Here are the links....grab your copy before time runs out.



Game of Straws - http://www.amazon.com/Game-of-Straws-ebook/dp/B00D4A396K/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1374805959&sr=1-1&keywords=game+of+straws









SB Knight Novel Sampler (includes the first 3 chapters from each of my novels Born of Blood, Drago's Revenge, and Demathia Rising) - http://www.amazon.com/SBKnight-Novels-Sampler-ebook/dp/B00DLR9NYI/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1374806092&sr=1-1&keywords=sb+knight+novels+sampler




Now, that's not all. I'm also running a contest. Leave a comment on this blog, or The Knight Stalkers blog, or my Fan Page (give a Like to enter a second contest) or Twitter and make sure to tell me if someone referred you to any of my links...I will select a winner and that person plus who referred them will be able to select their prize from a list of prizes. That contest will run until Sunday night (EST).




If you are at FandomFest please come by and visit. If not, please grab a copy and join me on Facebook where I will be posting pictures and videos. This will be a fun weekend.

A New World Awakening Excerpt

The sound of feet slapping on the pavement is a familiar
one; one he has heard every night while on the hunt.
  The small pack he joined a while ago is
running ahead down the darkened street. 
A faint scent of prey lingers but the swirling of the air around the
buildings makes it hard to determine the actual direction.  He is hungry and the odor indicates a meal
that will feed the entire pack if they can get to it first.


Buildings pass as they turn down street after street searching.  The screams of other packs drift on the night
air in the distance.  Images of prey
found filter into his head but they are too far away to respond.  His pack leader has found food on most of
their nightly hunts so he is sure they will feed tonight.  The scent grows strong down one street and
the pack turns.  Adrenaline surges as the
thrill of the hunt takes over.

Several streets later, with the smell of food growing
stronger, he stops.  Grabbing his head
from the overwhelming pain, he sinks to his knees.  A dizzy feeling accompanies the deep ache
making him feel that he is going to fall completely to the ground.  He vaguely hears the sound of his pack
member’s feet stop.  The sense of them,
once strong and providing a sense of assurance, fades and then vanishes
altogether.

Where the hell am I? 
He thinks looking down at pavement below his head and slumped over
body.  How the hell did I get here?  Where is here? 
The last memory he has is of taking the flu shot and feeling like
shit.  He headed to bed and is now
kneeling on some unknown street.  The
only thing that comes to his fuzzy and confused mind is that he must have
sleep-walked in a feverish dream.

A loud shriek penetrates his thoughts and he looks up.  The night is dark but he can make out ghostly
figures running towards him a short distance away.  What the fuck?  He thinks watching them close in
quickly.  More screams issue from four
figures racing his way.  He knows a good
thing when he sees it and this definitely doesn’t fit in that category.  Adrenaline pours into his body and he starts
to rise with the flee portion of the fight or flee response taking hold.

He is only able to bring his arm up in an attempt to ward
off the bodies as the nearest ones leap into the air and slam into him.  The impact knocks him backwards and slams him
to the ground.  He is only vaguely aware
of the growling and snarling above him as his head contacts the hard, paved
surface bringing stars to his eyes.  His
mind is reeling from the confusion but is quickly supplanted with sheer
pain.  He feels more than sees teeth
biting into his face, neck, and arms.  He
recognizes a scream, which erupts over the others, as his own.

Pale, snarling faces, reeking of body odor, are close to
his.  He fights and squirms to get away from
those on top of him and the agony. 
Chunks of flesh are torn from his cheeks and throat.  A part of his mind wonders where this odd,
vivid dream came from.  He has never felt
pain in his dreams before.  Another part
of his mind knows this is not a dream but the confusion of suddenly being in a
foreign place doesn’t allow that thought to filter into his consciousness.  There is only the struggle and intense agony.

He feels another strip of flesh
ripped from his face.  Pain, colored red,
floods his mind.  His vision fades and
then goes dark.  He was right about one
thing, the pack would feed well tonight.

John
O’Brien Biography






John O'Brien is a
former Air Force fighter instructor pilot who transitioned to Special
Operations for the latter part of his career gathering his campaign ribbon for
Desert Storm. Immediately following his military service, John became a
firefighter/EMT with a local department. Along with becoming a firefighter, he
fell into the Information Technology industry starting two large
casinos in Washington as the Information Technology Manager and becoming the
Network Manager for the Washington State Legislature, the Northwest Information
Technology Manager for the Federal Aviation Administration, and the Network
Systems Manager for Hollywood Video.




Currently, John
is writing full-time on the series, A New World. As a former marathon runner,
John lives in the beautiful Pacific Northwest and can now be found kayaking out
in the waters of Puget Sound, mountain biking in the Capital Forest, hiking in
the Olympic Peninsula, or pedaling his road bike along the many scenic roads.




John O’Brien Links




Web Site

http://anewworldseries.com/




Facebook Profile

http://www.facebook.com/JohnWBOBrien




Twitter

http://twitter.com/#!/A_NewWorld




Amazon author page



http://www.amazon.com/John-OBrien/e/B005IDEPP0

I Dare You To Draw A Straw

A little about Game of Straws:



Jack and his friends are ready for a weekend of fun and adventure as they explore his grandfather's plantation home. But this lighthearted journey takes a dark and twisted turn when Melody, Jack's girlfriend, discovers an old wooden box. Once opened, the game begins but who is making the rules and does the winner truly win. In this game there are two outcomes, death and survival....draw your straw if you dare.



The Reviews:



"SB Knight delivers a tight slice of classic horror that will leave you wanting more. Do you want the shortest straw? Do you want to win? You'll have to read about Jack and Melody to find out. I'm not going to spoil it for you. Entertaining read at a price you can't pass up."



"This is an excellent short story by SB Knight. It's pretty fast paced, creepy, and very entertaining. I don't think I'm going to leave any details of the story in this review simply because I don't want to give anything away. I will say that I would love to see this become a series of short stories or possibly turn into a novel. "Game of Straws part 2" anyone? It would be interesting to see what would happen down the road! Well done SB!! This is the 2nd thing I've read by you and the 2nd one I've really enjoyed!"







Get your copy for only $0.99 on Amazon. Your link to the game is right HERE.

Summer of Zombie blog tour

Excerpt from the upcoming novel The Passenger,
by James N. Cook and Joshua Guess.




The trouble
started, as it usually did, with the crack of a rifle.

A
high-powered one by the sound of it, Ethan thought. The bullet smashed into
the operator’s compartment on the u-trac, and if not for the four inches of
ballistic glass between Gus and the rest of the world, his head would have
burst like a melon. As it was, the grizzled engineer barely flinched.

“Looks like we
got company.”

Ethan looked at
Jones to find him grinning broadly. The handsome man’s smile faltered, however,
when more rifles fired and nearly a dozen rounds broke themselves against the
armor of their passenger car. Ethan snatched up his rifle and leapt to his
feet.

“Backs to the
wall!” he shouted.

Delta squad
surged up from the bench and fanned out against the two-inch thick steel walls
standing between them and whoever it was firing on the u-trac. Ethan peered out
the narrow window and looked across the tall grass separating the tracks from
the treeline less than a hundred yards away. As he watched, the branches parted
and swirled, and over a dozen horsemen broke cover and began driving their
mounts hard toward the slow-moving transport. The riders stood up in their
saddles, knees bent with boots locked into stirrups, leveled their mismatched
rifles, and began firing.

“Goddamn, how’d
they know we were coming?”

Ethan turned
his head to look at Jones who stood pressed against the wall beside him. “You
see they have horses, right? Probably a patrol spotted us and then rode back to
get his friends. This shit-heap we’re riding only goes about ten miles an
hour.”

Jones nodded
understanding just as another volley of gunfire peppered the wall.

“Fuck,” Ethan
swore. It was only a matter of time until one of those rounds found its way
through a firing port, and when that happened, the ricochet would rip them to
pieces. Gotta make these assholes back off.

“Jones, get
that SAW up the ladder,” Ethan said. “Schmidt, Holland, Cormier, lay down cover
fire until he can get the hatch open. Fuller, Page, Hicks, cover the other
side. Shoot anything that fucking moves. Smith, make sure Jones doesn’t run out
of ammo.”

Private Smith
stood ashen-faced against the wall, sweating bullets in spite of the cold and
clutching his rifle with trembling hands. Looking at him, Ethan remembered his
own first taste of combat. The lurching in his stomach, the pounding of his
heart, the rasp of his own rapid, panicky breath grating in his ears. There was
only one cure for that ailment, and that was to get into the fight.

“Smith, you
fucking deaf?”

He jerked and
looked at Ethan, the whites of his eyes round and bulging. “Yeah. I mean no. I
mean … I hear you.” He shuffled over to dull metal case mounted against the
wall, flipped the latch, opened it, and took out a green box of belted 5.56mm
NATO ammunition. As he did so, Jones hefted his M-240 Squad Automatic Weapon—or
just SAW, as it was more commonly known—and stepped up the short ladder that
lead to the roof of the passenger car. He turned the handle to unlock it, but
stayed bent beneath the hatch.

“All right,
open fire!” Ethan shouted. He leveled his rifle through the narrow firing port
and began squeezing off rounds. The riders were approaching fast and firing as
quickly as they could. Try as he might, Ethan couldn’t get a good shot at any
of them. Behind him, he heard Justin, Cormier, and Holland open fire as well.

“Got one!”
Holland shouted. As Ethan watched, one of their pursuers slumped over and fell
from his saddle. His boot got caught in the stirrup, and his horse continued to
gallop along, dragging his limp, flailing body along with it. The riders behind
the dead man saw what happened to him, and began to back off. The ones in
front, oblivious to their cohort’s fate, continued their pursuit. One of them
came level with the rear car, reached into a saddlebag behind him, and produced
some kind of improvised explosive. A very large one. Where the hell did he
get that? Ethan couldn’t get the man in his sights, so he shifted his aim
lower and squeezed off a short burst. The man’s mount screamed as several
rounds tore into its lower chest and the thick muscles of its legs. The animal
pitched forward, rolling and thrashing and crushing his hapless rider. As he
fell, the explosive went flying through the air and detonated several yards
behind the u-trac’s rear wheels.

“They’ve got
some kind of fucking grenades!” Ethan shouted. “Isaac, time to earn your
paycheck!”

Jones’ teeth
stood out sharp and white as he smiled. “Hell to the yeah, baby.”

He pushed the
hatch open with one meaty hand, surged up through the opening, and leveled his
SAW.

“WHOOOOO YEAH
MOTHERFUCKER!”

Short, staccato
bursts of fire poured from the heavy weapon, tearing into the approaching
riders and sending them tumbling to the ground in screaming, bloody heaps. Some
of the rounds went low and caught the horses, but there wasn’t much Jones could
do about that. The SAW wasn’t the most accurate weapon in the world.

At the same
time, the squads riding in the other passenger cars finally got it together and
began adding their rifles to the fray. Whatever the raiders had been expecting
when they set out to pursue the u-trac, it hadn’t been hardened soldiers
cutting them to ribbons with a withering hail of hot lead. Panicked, the ones
still alive veered their mounts around and pounded away back toward the cover
of the trees.

“Aw, come on
now. Get back here bitches, you know you LOOOOOVE this shit!”

The big gunner
fired a final burst at the retreating marauders before stepping down and
closing the hatch behind him. Jones’ face glowed with excitement. Ethan shook
his head.

“Nice work,
gentlemen. You too, Smith.”

The young
private was still standing by the ladder clutching his box of ammo. “Me? I
didn’t even do anything.”

Ethan stepped
forward and clapped him on the arm. “Sure you did. I gave you an order and you
followed it. You didn’t freeze up, or panic.” He leaned forward with a
conspiratorial whisper. “You didn’t shit yourself, did you?”

Smith let out a
nervous laugh. “No, I didn’t.”

Ethan stood up
straight and grinned at the younger man. “Then you did just fine. Maybe next
time I’ll even let you do some of the fighting.”

Smith’s smile
grew sickly, then disappeared altogether.

The door at the
far end of the car opened, and Lieutenant Jonas stepped through the narrow
opening, careful not to step into the short length of empty space separating
the command car from Delta’s passenger carriage. “Everyone all right in here?
Anybody hurt?”

“No sir,” Ethan
replied. “We’re all good.” He turned to Smith. “Check the other cars for me,
private. Find out if there are any casualties.”

Smith nodded.
“I’m on it.”

As the private
hustled to the next adjoining car, Jonas stepped closer to Ethan. “Did my eyes
deceive me, or were those raiders on horseback?”

“Yes sir, they
were.”

The lieutenant
ran a hand over the back of his neck, his mouth forming a thin, hard line.
“Well ain’t that just fucking wonderful. How much you want to bet those sons of
bitches are from Hamlet?”

“I’m not a
betting man sir, but I’d say your odds are pretty good.”

“And now they
have bombs.” Jonas shuffled over to a window and planted a hand against the
wall as he stared out. “We’re the first u-trac to come out this way, Thompson.
And now they’ve seen us. I guaran-damn-tee you that by tomorrow these tracks
are going to be lousy with IED’s. Fucking Hamlet. Place is a goddamn den of
thieves, and slavers, and insurgent scum. I’ve got half a mind to radio for
permission to go root those fuckers out.”

Ethan watched
the older man move to the bench and sit down, back straight. He looked
incongruous with just a single bar on his collar. Most of the officers his age
had oak leaves or eagles with wings spread wide. It was easy to forget that
Jonas had spent most of his career in the Army as an enlisted man, working his
way up the through the ranks the hard way. He’d seen more than his share of
combat, and wasn’t afraid to take up arms and get in the thick of things when
the situation required it. Because of this, and his deep understanding of the
needs and concerns of his soldiers—he had been where they were, after all—the
trust and respect he got from his men was absolute. Nevertheless, the idea of
walking blindly into hostile territory, and going off-mission to do it, struck
Ethan as not being the best of ideas.

“What about
Pope? Maybe they could send out a drone to recon the place, find out what we’re
up against. I’m not afraid of a fight sir, but I don’t like the idea of going
in blind. Not if we can help it, at least. There’s no sense in getting
ourselves killed needlessly.”

A less
experienced officer may have bristled at Ethan’s suggestion, if not his tone. Jonas,
however, nodded calmly. He knew good advice when he heard it, and he wasn’t
arrogant enough to think that his experience precluded him from making
mistakes. The Army had NCO’s for a reason, after all.

“You’re right
sergeant, as usual. Still, knowing those fuckers are out there…”

Holland spoke
up, “If you want LT, I can take a couple of guys and go scout it out. See what
I can find. Maybe make some trouble for ‘em.”

Jonas thought
about it for a moment, but shook his head. “No. I appreciate your courage
Holland, but I can’t spare you. Besides, we’re behind schedule as it is, we
can’t afford the delay.”

The door to the
car opened, and Private Smith stepped back through. “No casualties, sir.
Everybody’s okay.”

Jonas stood up.
“Good, good. Any fight you survive is a good one, right men?”

Delta Squad
nodded in agreement, their faces grim as they remembered fights that not all of
them had walked away from. Fights where they had lost friends, men who were so
familiar, who had shared so much terror and hardship, that they were like
family. Brothers, all of them. Private Smith shuffled his feet and remained
silent. He had been assigned to Delta after his predecessor was killed in the
line of duty. He didn’t know the circumstances of the man’s death, but he knew
the other soldiers of First Platoon had taken the loss hard. And none harder
than the men around him.

“You all did
well today,” Jonas said. “That was a good, fast response. Especially you,
Jones, you’re a goddamn nightmare with that SAW.”

The gunner
grinned. “You know what they say, sir. Do what you love and you’ll never work a
day in your life.”

Jonas barked a
short laugh. “Damn right. All right then, looks like we’re squared away.” He
gestured at Ethan. “Staff sergeant, round up the other squad leaders and get
reports from them. Command is going to want to know what we just expended
valuable ammunition on.”

“Yes sir.”

“The rest of
you keep your eyes peeled for trouble. Holland, put that scope of yours to use
and watch our back trail. Those raiders might find their spines and decide to
pay us another visit. If they do, I want warning well ahead of time.”

Holland nodded.
“Want me to get the other DM’s to do the same, sir?”

“No, just you
and Sergeant Kelly for now. Rotate out with the other two in a couple of
hours.”

“Will do.”

Ethan watched
the Lieutenant open the door and step back into the command car. He caught a
glimpse of the cot along the wall, and the chair bolted to the floor in front
of a small desk. Mean accommodations under other circumstances, but standing
there in the bare passenger car, he felt like some character from a Dickens
novel wandering through the cold and staring through a window at Christmas
dinner. The door shut, and the room was lost to his view. He sighed, his
shoulders slumping.

Time to round
up the other squad leaders. Time to write a report.

Goddamn I
hate paperwork.

*****

Hamlet passed
by to the north of the u-trac much the same as any other town.

Ethan watched
the outlines of buildings in the distance as they slowly drifted from left to
right, little more than grey and brown husks against the blue morning haze.
Even from this far away, he could see the empty, yawning holes staring out from
behind shattered windows, the black scorch marks left behind by long ago fires,
and the sharp, stabbing fingers of I-beams, support struts, and shattered
concrete pillars where office complexes and government buildings had once stood
— all collapsed now. All reduced to great, mountainous heaps of forgotten
rubble.

Across the
depressing expanse between the town and the tracks, littered like forgotten
corpses, lay houses, businesses, long-dead industrial facilities, and sagging
structures that seemed to have no identifiable purpose at all. Every visible
wall was crowded with vines and creepers that swarmed over rooftops in choking,
skeletal tangles. Autumn’s chill had turned everything brown and dead, and
blanketed the landscape in an ocean of endless beige beneath a cloudy,
pewter-colored sky. All seemed still out there. Abandoned. Quiet.

Ethan knew
better.

There were eyes
out there. Many eyes, and none of them friendly. They watched the tracks, he
knew. They watched, and they would remember. He would not have been surprised
if word of the brief, bloody firefight had already reached the ears of the
other marauders holed up in that shattered ruin of a town. Nor would it have
surprised him to learn that their plans for retaliation were already in motion.
That was what they did, these marauder bands. They fought. They killed. They
took from others. And if they were attacked, their response was never
proportional, never just an eye for an eye. They were vicious, savage people,
with no regard for anyone’s lives other than their own. Often, they even fought
amongst each other, robbing, raping and stealing.

It was a
well-known fact in the Army that you didn’t go after marauders with half
measures. You didn’t just hit them and hope they would learn their lesson. These
were people who didn’t back down from a fight. Didn’t run away. Didn’t get
intimidated by the occasional strafing run or mortar bombardment. If a platoon
was sent to take down known marauders, it wasn’t just a police action. It
wasn’t just an effort to bring them to heel.

It was total
annihilation.

Kill them all,
root and branch, or die in the attempt. And dying wasn’t outside the realm of
possibility. More than once, entire platoons had limped back to Fort Bragg
decimated and in shambles, most of their men dead or dying of wounds or
infection. Contrary to what all the strategists had predicted, the marauders
were becoming increasingly well-armed. Unexplainably, alarmingly so. They were
determined, these insurgents and raiders, and they were getting better at their
craft. And out there, across that cracked veneer of dead civilization, was an
unknown number of them.

Waiting.
Plotting. 

Ethan stood
near the wall, his face close to the chill, gently blowing air outside, and
stared out the narrow window as the u-trac slowly rattled along. He searched
rooftops for movement, eyes narrowed, jaw constantly working. He searched the
tall grass for the telltale streaks of lighter brown that would indicate
someone having passed through recently. He breathed in deeply through his nose,
trying to catch the acrid odor of wood smoke born on the wind. He listened for
the crack of distant rifles echoing across the low, gently rolling hills. But
mostly he simply watched, gaze unfocused, never letting his eyes rest on one
spot for too long, determined to spot trouble if it was out there. He rested
his head against one thick forearm, and for long into the morning, he watched.



He watched, and
he worried.

Nominated for 2012 RONE Awards! Votes Needed!

Dear S. B. Knight,

Because your book, Born of Blood, received the high review rating of a 4 star or better, it has continued to the second, public voting phase for the 2012, RONE Awards. In this phase the readers will be narrowing down the contestants to 4 - 6 finalists in each genre by choosing the books they love best. 

This is to inform you that your book’s genre is open for voting beginning tomorrow (Friday)! It will only be open for votes for exactly one week, so it is extremely important that you let all your friends and fans know! We would hate to think a superior quality book was lost only because people were unaware of the time limit, so we are including the link for voting so you can pass it along!

http://indtale.com/rone-awards/2012/week-4

The finalists in this round will then be read and judged by a group of professionals in the industry to determine the very best in indie and small published books of 2012. They will then be awarded the prestigious RONE award, itself, at the formal ceremonies,August 9th, at the Golden Nugget Hotel in Las Vegas, Nevada.

As you can tell, we at InD’Tale magazine went to extensive labor to create and present the most credible and prestigious award in the industry today. Our three round system of elimination covers every facet - highly reviewed, loved by fans, and critiqued by qualified judges. No other award system today begins to compare, making the RONE award the very highest of honors bestowed on a book in the publishing industry.

Thank you so much for submitting your wonderful book to InD’Tale magazine and good luck!

Sincerely,

The InD’Tale Magazine staff

SPECIAL SALE FOR MAY!

For the month of May both Born of Blood and Drago's Revenge will be on sale for...

$1.99


Purchase Here



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Don't miss this deal!

The Perfect Writing Spot by Armand Rosamilia

I am a creature of habit, especially when it comes to my writing space. Of course, it has changed many times over the years, but the one constant (besides me, obviously) is the need for someplace I feel comfortable.



Currently, I am sitting in my favorite spot in a little place called Kokomo's Café in Flagler Beach, Florida. The owners are great to talk to, quick with a coffee refill, and they leave me alone when they see I am In The Zone. I feel comfortable, and when I get going nothing distracts me. Not the music, the customers, the talking… I am alone in the place.



It got me wondering about my fellow authors, and where they set up base camp and write. So, me being me, I asked a few of them.



Author Kat Yares (http://www.katyares.com) said she "writes at home, on the couch, laptop in my lap. Why? Because I never go anywhere. Maybe once a month to the store, and maybe once a year to Arizona. I like it that way. I am a hermit and don't want to change."



Jaime Johnesee (http://www.amazon.com/gp/aw/d/B008D2VVXC) uses her dining room table. She says she has an office but for some reason prefers the dining room table. Then she shrugs.



Author Suzi M : (http://www.amazon.com/Suzi-M/e/B003TTLGP2/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_1 ) says: "Depends on exactly what I’m trying to write. I have a few spots around the house (art studio, bedroom, and office) where I do the majority of my writing. If I’m trying to write a pub scene I may go down to the local pub, however. When I was writing the Immortal War Series I lived in Philadelphia, so I spent the majority of my time in coffee shops or the bar downstairs (they have amazing food). When I’m traveling I write on the train. I’ve found having different playlists on iTunes helps to transition from one writing space to another pretty seamlessly."



Todd Brown (http://twbrown.blogspot.com/) adds: "I have my desk set up in the corner of the living room. If I didn't then my family would never see me. Also, I used to have it in my room, but I read a study that said an arrangement like that is actually detrimental to productivity. Me being so OCD, I actually monitored the difference, and sure enough...I get a lot more work done now that I have my desk set up here."



The always reserved Vincent Hobbes (http://www.amazon.com/Khost-ebook/dp/B00AA46MJE/ref=sr_1_1_bnp_1_kin?ie=UTF8&qid=1363636444&sr=8-1&keywords=khost ) says "In my office at home, because it is normally quiet."



And finally, author Billie Sue Mosiman (http://www.amazon.com/MOON-LAKE-ebook/dp/B00B8H4TFQ/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1363280207&sr=1-1&keywords=moon+mosiman) shares: "I write at a desk in my living room using a laptop. I like to be right in the center of the house and family. I trained myself to write while raising my children so I'm used to noise and everyday interruptions. I think a writer can write anywhere and under just about any circumstances once she trains herself to do so."



Interesting in that everyone has their own little special spot they feel comfortable in. I guess that's the point, right? Finding your comfort zone and getting the work done. I hardly write at home anymore, even if the house is empty of kids. Where do you write?


* * * * *


Armand Rosamilia is a New Jersey boy currently living in sunny Florida. He likes slow walks on the beach, banana bread beer, M&M's, and just to be loved. He has a bunch of stories and things for sale, and some of them are even readable.

http://armandrosamilia.com

Blood, Sweat, and Tears....and Death

Demathia Rising

ISBN: 978-1-77127-297-1










Some Family secrets are darker than others....the Rune family secret could destroy the world.


















Mason Rune had a good life—wealthy parents, a college education, and a loving family. All was going well until tragedy struck. In the span of a month, he had suffered the death of his two uncles, his grandfather, and his father. Lost and confused, Mason finds solace in his father’s study. In this sanctuary, his life spirals out of control as he discovers his father’s diary stashed away. What he once believed to be true proves to be false. Trust is lost, and everything is in doubt. This is only the beginning of Mason’s troubles as the Aesir, a secret society, lurks in the shadows waiting for the perfect time to strike. They have but one mission, to release Demathia, a demon of unimaginable power. Once released, Demathia will destroy all who oppose it, enslave humanity, and remake the earth into a realm or pain and anguish. Only one person stands between Demathia, the Aesir, and world domination…Mason Rune.   

​



Mason must discover the truth and accept who he is in order to battle the Aesir and defeat Demathia.




MuseItUp Publishing



Amazon



Amazon UK

Got Paperback?

It is FINALLY here...well, it's been here for a few weeks but still, it is exciting to me. The paperback is special. Why? I made changes just for this release so if you read the eBook you still have something to look forward too. Where can you get it? I'm glad you asked -



Barnes and Noble



MuseItUp Publishing



Amazon (and it is eligible for free super-saver shipping)




Born of Blood, 11 - 5 Star Reviews!