Margo Bond Collins's Blog, page 166
September 11, 2013
Cover and Book Trailer Reveal: The Holdout, by Laurel Osterkamp
Contemporary-New Adult-Romantic Comedy
http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18372181-the-holdout
ABOUT THE HOLDOUT
Release date: September 12th 2013
Publisher: PMI Books
Robin wanted to win The Holdout, a cutthroat reality TV show, so she gave it her all, challenge after challenge. Then she fell for Grant, with his irresistible eyes and heartbreaking life story.
But Grant was only using Robin as they competed for a million dollars. Once home, Robin wants to hide from the humiliation as episodes of The Holdout are aired, and she worries her family was right all along; she’s not a survivor.
Yet she could surprise everyone, and have the last laugh.
Besides, Robin now has jury duty. And as she forges ahead, confronting her demons about bravery, justice, and romance, Robin will come to decide which is more important: the courage to stand alone, or the strength to love again.
Laurel Osterkamp’s award winning novels have been hailed as funny, intelligent, snarky and poignant. She is the author of four novels and two novellas, including the November Surprise series, which, like The Holdout, features the Bricker family. Laurel was recently on a federal jury, and she loves watching Survivor.
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Book Trailer
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Rafflecopter Giveaway
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Laurel Osterkamp is the Award Winning Author of several novels including Following My Toes, November Surprise, and Starring in the Movie of My Life. Along with writing, she teaches, and maintains relationships. Laurel also loves boots, chocolate, her family, and her liberal opinions.
http://www.laurelosterkamp.com
laurelosterkamp.blogspot.com
September 10, 2013
Spotlight On: Render (a Recompense Novel)
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Excerpt
Please enjoy this fun, playful excerpt from Render by Stephanie Fleshman. Then read on to learn how you can win huge prizes as part of this blog tour, including a Kindle Fire, $550 in Amazon gift cards, and 5 autographed copies of the book.
Render: An Excerpt
I spin around and pull her to me, sighing as her arms lock around my neck. I lower my face to her hair, turning it into the curve of her neck to breathe her in.
Her body molds to mine, lithe and boneless, and my arms swallow her as I tighten my hold. It softens all the hard points, the tension I’d been holding onto, smoothing the muscles in my shoulders and back.
“You have great problem-solving skills, by the way,” I tell her softly in her ear.
Keeping her arms around me, she leans back against the wall to look at me, a baffled expression on her face, whether in relation to the compliment or the unexpected direction in conversation, I don’t know.
“Do I?” Her voice lifts in a flirtatious pitch.
“Mmm. It’s why I asked you out,” I tease. “You solved most of my problems just by agreeing.” Looking back, I realize just how true this is, though I doubt she’ll take me seriously.
Her lips curl in an obliging smile, and her eyes say it all, disbelieving in their beauty, corroborating what I already knew. But she’s still smiling, and I alone am responsible for that.
She curls her hand around the side of my neck, and I feel her thumb glide over the scar behind my earlobe, one I incurred at fourteen, when Lukas slammed my head into the bathroom mirror. Then I broke his collarbone. Both of us ended up in the emergency room that morning, an incident that resulted in our father leaving for work a half hour later. It’s always quieter when our father is home.
“How are you doing?” she asks, looking up to search my eyes.
I slide my hands from the small of her back to her waist, as my gaze sweeps from shoulder to shoulder. I can already feel the ground of normalcy beneath me, her presence holding the pieces of my life together, when it seems everything can come apart at any moment. “Good now that you’re here.”
This seems to make her both happy and sad. A look of gloom passes over her face even as a small smile touches her lips. Then her eyes trail down the front of my body, taking in my suit jacket and pants. “You look like a lawyer,” she comments. “Straight from the courtroom.”
I can’t remember a time when she’s ever seen me in a suit. The closest is the tux I wore to her senior prom two months ago, which is not much different than what I wear now.
“It suits you.”
I raise my eyebrows in doubt. “What? Looking like a lawyer?”
“Not just a lawyer. You look…professional.” Then, with a full smile, she adds, “I like it.”
“Ah,” I say, mirroring her smile as I grasp her meaning. “I like that you’re my biggest fan.”
Her teeth shine bright against her tan skin. She drops her arms to her sides, and I lace my fingers through hers. She smells of honeysuckle, vanilla, and lavender all at once, with soft underlying notes I can’t name, a scent that swirls inside me, tantalizing every cell in my body.
I lean forward, canting my head slightly to fit my lips to hers. I have to fight to keep the rhythm slow, to savor every second. But when her mouth opens, urgency builds within me, and I press farther. Too soon, though, she’s pulling away, leaving my blood pumping in a hot stream and my heart pounding against my chest. I place a hand on the wall behind her and lean forward, closing the narrow space she’s put between us.
“I wasn’t finished,” I say.
I’m already tilting my head to kiss her again when she stops me with one word. “Wait.”
“Wait?” I mutter against her lips.
I feel her palms on my chest, easing me back. It’s hard to concentrate on anything but touching her, but I slowly resign myself to the conversation that is apparently inevitable, when my only instinct is to kiss her. I straighten and meet her eyes, which does nothing to tame my thoughts.
“I got your note,” she says.
When I started mowing Mrs. Whitney’s lawn, Elizabeth gave me a key, so I could let myself in when they weren’t home. In the beginning, I would leave Raya notes on her dresser, not knowing at the time that she’d actually keep them. When she showed me every note I’d ever written her, my first instinct was to laugh, because it seemed senseless. But then I saw how impressed she was and felt empowered that I could make her so happy. She probably has a shoebox full of notes by now.
I back her against the wall until we’re touching from hips to shoulders. Her eyes, as warm and green as summer leaves, meet mine. She’s looking at me as if I did something amazing, but just in case, I ask, “Is that all? Or is there something else you want to add, because I’d really like to kiss you right now?”
Her eyes dip momentarily to my mouth. “I was going to thank you for the note, but you distracted me.”
“You don’t need words for that.”
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As part of this special promotional extravaganza sponsored by Novel Publicity, Render, the debut YA Paranormal novel by Stephanie Fleshman, is on sale for just 99 cents! What’s more, by purchasing this fantastic book at an incredibly low price, you can enter to win many awesome prizes.
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About Render: A betrayal born of blood. A curse for a gift. A love worth saving… Seventeen-year-old Raya Whitney thought she knew Koldan–until a sudden turn of events threatens both their lives. Get it on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or iTunes.
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About the Author
Stephanie Fleshman graduated with a degree in psychology and has family throughout the United States as well as in Thessaloniki and Athens, Greece. Visit Stephanie on her website, Twitter, Facebook, or GoodReads.
September 9, 2013
Home World, by Bonnie Milani – Review and Excerpt
Sci-Fi – Romance
Date Published: 9/15/2013
Amid the ruins of a post-apocalyptic Waikiki, Jezekiah Van Buren thinks he’s found a way to restore Earth – Home World to the other worlds of the human Commonwealth – to her lost glory.
Ingenious even by the standards of the genetically enhanced Great Family Van Buren, Jezekiah has achieved the impossible: he has arranged a treaty that will convert Earth’s ancient enemies, the Lupans, to her most powerful allies. Not only will the treaty terms make Earth rich again, it will let him escape the Ring that condemns him to be Earth’s next ruler. Best of all, the treaty leaves him free to marry Keiko Yakamoto, the Samuari-trained woman he loves. Everything’s set. All Jezekiah has to do is convince his xenophobic sister to accept the Lupan’s alpha warlord in marriage. Before, that is, the assassin she’s put on his tail succeeds in killing him. Or the interstellar crime ring called Ho Tong succeed in raising another rebellion. Or before his ruling relatives on competing worlds manage to execute him for treason.
But Jezekiah was bred for politics and trained to rule. He’s got it all under control. Until his Lupan warlord-partner reaches Earth. And suddenly these two most powerful men find themselves in love with the same woman. A woman who just may be the most deadly assassin of them all.
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Review
I’m going to be honest here. When I picked up Home World, I didn’t have high hopes for the book. The premise sounded interesting enough, but I’m a cranky old lady when it comes to science fiction. I want the worlds to be fully fleshed out and the characters to pull me in. I feared that Home World was going to be another we-screwed-up-the-world dystopian fiction with cardboard characters going through the motions to prove how crappy humans really are.
Wow, was I ever wrong.
Home World rocks.
By the end of the first few pages, I was totally hooked. Milani’s characters are real people, driven by real (and sometimes conflicting) desires in a lush world – and surrounding universe – that I fully believed. Jezekiah Van Buren’s backstory is skillfully woven into the text and rings true. His family members (oh! his family members!) are fascinating in their own right; they’re not just foils for Jezekiah. Even the things about the protagonist that I didn’t like seemed realistic—for example, his pleasure at thinking that Keiko is a virgin early in the novel exasperated me, but it wasn’t implausible.
I found myself wrapped up in an enthralling, steamy story of political and personal intrigue that kept me guessing from one moment to the next. I’m not going to give away any more of the novel; you need to find out for yourself.
I don’t often give out five-star reviews—my many years of teaching writing to college students have left me with a clear sense of the fact that writing can almost always be improved with a tweak here, a shift there. That’s why I always include a score in my reviews; I think a 6/10 conveys something very different from a 4-star review. But Home World is definitely an A-level book. If you like science fiction, you’ll like this book.
Seriously, y’all.
Read it.
Score: 9.5/10
5 stars
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Excerpt
ARRIVAL
I
The Protector’s shuttle dropped into atmosphere above the North American mainland. It raced its sonic boom west across the steel blue waters of the Pacific until the green ridges of the Hawaiian Islands rose from the horizon like broken dragon teeth. Within the quiet luxury of the Protector’s private cabin, Jezekiah Van Buren leaned forward for a better view. Even this far out, he recognized the misty outlines of Maui and Kauai to the north of the island chain. To the south, he made out the Big Island, Hawaii itself. And Oahu, dead ahead, its outline etched in his heart.
Home. After three years of living the myth out on the galactic rim, he’d almost convinced himself that Home World was all a fantasy. Now, the beauty of the reality surprised him. Though not half as much, as the thrill he felt just in being here. The shuttle banked north, following the island chain to the space port up on Niihau. Jezekiah twisted in his seat to keep Oahu in sight as long as possible. Foolish to welcome the sight of home. There was nothing for him on Earth: no hope, no freedom – just Mother’s duty and Letticia’s hatred. He did not want to be here. Yet his body felt the islands’ call and his soul sang with joy. Sensors woven into the fabric of the seat picked up the telltale changes in his body’s chem signals that betrayed his eagerness and fed them to ShipMind. The shuttle upped screen magnification instantly. Squinting, he glimpsed the sunlit sparkle on Pearl Harbor before it vanished behind the gray-green coast.
“You sure your sister ain’t going to knife me, Milord?” The worried voice of the pretty boy wearing Jezekiah’s clothes broke his reverie.
Milord. The very title sounded like a death knell. He’d managed to forget, these past couple of years, that he was condemned to be the future Lord High Protector of Earth. Jezekiah rose, put on a smile to disguise the loathing in the thought, and scrounged memory for the boy’s name. He came up blank. “Quite. Unless you open your mouth and let her hear that accent.” Simple cosmetics let the crewman – ah, Roy, that was the name – fake the fiery red hair and impossibly blue eyes of the Great Family Van Buren, but the sweat sheening his skin was real fear. Admirable bravery, nonetheless, for a Sprite. SpriteType was gene coded for beauty, not courage. He pulled Roy’s collar straighter, smoothed the silken drape of his double’s blouse to show the flame-orchid crest emblazoned on it to better effect. No point telling the boy now that little sister Letticia was not really the reason they were trading places. “Just do the smile and nod. That’s all anybody’s expecting.”
Which was as well, since their disguises consisted of nothing more than hair dye and contact lenses. He could have had the ship’s surgeon do a thorough job, of course, But that would have made the switch official. Made it part of the ship’s records, got it posted to NetMind. Odds were too great Letticia would be monitoring ship’s records, looking for any hint he was planning something exotic. He had no desire to gift dear little Letticia a heads up on this switch. He was too eager to reach the Manor alive.
Jezekiah circled his stand-in, checking for any glaring flaws. The resemblance wouldn’t pass more than a casual glance: the boy was a bit younger than his own twenty-three years, a bit narrower in the shoulders. Still, the lad bore himself well, and had a SpriteType’s instinctive flair. He swept his jittering doppelganger a formal salaam. “You are perfection personified, Milord.”
“Yuh-huh. Scuttlebutt’s putting odds on blood, it is. ‘T’ain’t bettin’ in my favor, neither, they ain’t.”
“The bet’s on my blood, not yours.”
“Yuh-huh. Less’n your sister gets eager.” Roy’s eyes searched his, seeking reassurance. “So why’s she want to kill you anyway?”
It was a better question than the boy should be asking. The engineered characteristics that went into the SpriteType gene pack were designed to produce happy-go-lucky personalities in exquisitely beautiful bodies, not deep thinkers. But Type coding only guaranteed looks and talents, not luck. A Sprite who’d been forced to live by his wits the way this one had learned to think about things like surviving the night. He knew how that felt. Rather too well, in fact. But those were not memories he could afford at the moment. Or ever, if he had a choice.
“Wish I knew,” was all he said. It was the simple, wholehearted truth. Letticia didn’t want the Ring. Never had. Nor was she supposed to know anything about her part in the treaty he had worked out. Of course, with Letticia ‘wasn’t supposed to’ didn’t mean much. He pretended his sudden shudder was due to the cool air. Still, Kip Marsden would have alerted him had Letticia pried into his node too far; even Lush – no, better learn to think of his baby sister as Letticia – had never outwitted Kip. Yet. So Letticia shouldn’t have any reason to want to kill him. Yet she had most certainly spent a goodly part of the past few months trying. That was one of the main reasons he was coming home in such a hurry – he wanted this treaty ratified before that damned assassin of hers got lucky. The other reason was on Den Lupus, preparing his alternatives. If this treaty failed, Strongarm would take the Van Buren Commonwealth down with it.
He couldn’t afford to worry that possibility right now. Jezekiah straightened the Sprite’s shoulders, tugged the trousers to a sharper crease. “Doesn’t matter for you, in any case. You will be under the protection of the Protector’s own Sec chief. No one is going to risk attacking you.” He hoped.
He stood back, considered the effect. Not bad at all, for a joy toy who’d been gracing a petty officer’s bed this morning. It would do for distance work, and Kip Marsden would make sure the KnowNet cams kept their distance. Past that – Mother was clued. And on Earth that was all that mattered.
Which bent the odds of making it to the Manor alive in his favor. Assuming, of course, that Letticia hadn’t got clever while he’d been gone. Assuming that she hadn’t clued her assassin to anticipate precisely such a diversion. He forced the odds on that out of mind. Still, if the last few attempts were any indication, her hired killer would get quite close enough to recognize the substitution. Ideally, just not in time to find Jezekiah in the crew line.
Jezekiah dropped back onto the shuttle’s seat. The tendril of ShipMind woven into the soft leather read his measure, molded the cushions to him. He’d lost the habit of luxury these past two years; now, he allowed himself a moment simply to luxuriate in its enveloping comfort. He’d lost his edge in the Family games, too, though. That was the real worry. The little voice at the back of his mind recognized the bitter tinge in the thought. He hadn’t lost his edge, it murmured. He’d blunted it, deliberately and with enthusiasm. The thought of what Mother would say if he were fool enough to share that particular truth made him grin.
“’T’ain’t funny from my end, it ain’t.” Roy jammed hands on hips and scowled. “I still got time to back out of this, I do.”
Not really, Jezekiah thought, but there was no point in telling the boy so. Maybe he should drug the poor sot after all. Would not do at all if the fellow ran screaming for shelter when he met Letticia’s hatred at face range. He decided against it. Mother was clued; terror and Kip Marsden would handle the rest.
“Sorry.” He put his working smile on, watched the lad relax at its false re-assurance. “I was just thinking what a lucky sot you are. You will be my personal guest, remember. You get to sleep VIP, eat VIP, even screw VIP if you want. It struck me funny that you should worry.”
There, that put the dreamy look back in the lad’s eyes. He really was a lucky sot; his dreams were simple. Jezekiah felt a sudden pulse in the energy field encircling his Ring finger and tamped the jealousy down. He’d need to find gloves. Thick ones: the energy field that was the Heir’s Ring lit its yellow diamond shell from within. The result wrapped a cold, golden star around his finger. In a crewman’s line, it would stand out like a system buoy. Or an assassin’s beacon, in this case.
So, then. One more item on the to-do list. For these last few minutes, though, he was still free. If he played his hand right, he’d be back off Earth in a week. Without the Ring this time. Without the threat of the Protectorship hanging over his head. Free, once and for all and forever.
He upped the screens’ magnification again, shifted focus to Oahu. The tiny colored flecks he’d seen before bloomed into sails where windsurfers rode the breakers. Beyond them, Diamond Head’s blunt cone loomed over the curve of white sand that was Waikiki. The familiar blackened skeletons of ancient towers broke the jungle along the shoreline, a long, dark thread binding the Manor to his Family’s history.
“Scrat me,” said an awestruck whisper at his shoulder. “Those Home World stories really are true, they are.” Roy had peered out with him, sham dignity forgotten. “Always thought the legends were sawyered, I did.” The boy’s lips and eyes formed matching o’s of wonder. Decidedly not an acceptable Van Buren expression.
“Some of them are. But not Hawaii. There’s no need to lie about Hawaii.” Which tidbit was itself a lie. Still… no point ruining the lad’s fantasy. He’d make a fine bit of free PR once he was back out on the rim. And Makers knew – he corrected the Lupan expression – God knew ‘free’ was all Earth could afford these days.
The shuttle banked lightly, angling toward the great public port on tiny Niihau. Docking at three minutes, Milord, ShipMind announced. After two years holding his own on the rim, the title jarred. The reception party is assembled.
The muscles between his own shoulder blades tightened with the words. Jezekiah rose, shook his crewman’s coverall loose. He touched knuckles to forehead, crewman style, pinched color into the lad’s cheek. “Smile. You’re on.”
He felt the old, cold calculations settle in behind his eyes. His pulse steadied, the old half-smile formed of itself. So, then. He was home.
* * *
Earlier Van Buren Protectors had carved Earth’s deep space port out of Niihau’s broken volcano. Port facilities were carved into the inside curve of the mountain itself, creating a stone pueblo that overlooked the magnificent bay. Shambling along in the sweating crew line, Jezekiah risked a casual check back at the shuttle. Mother’s personal ship nestled on the Protector’s private landing pad, sleek and slim as a baroque pearl against the sapphire sea. Beyond it, a TransitLine cruise ship was freshly docked at the tip of the curve. The line of disembarking tourists snagged where it snaked behind the glittering dignitaries swarming Mother’s dock. Fathers from the full dozen worlds of the Van Buren Commonwealth worlds lifted children onto their shoulders to catch a live-eye glimpse of a Van Buren prince. The children, less concerned with princes than pleasure, squealed in delight and played catch-as-catch-can with the KnowNet cams whisking past.
Nice touch, that cruise ship. Gave him a flood of tourists to blend into. Had to be Mother’s work: it would take Van Buren level clearance to permit a hoi polloi liner to dock while one of the Family was on the field. Odd though, for Mother – she hadn’t allowed the rank and file within weapon range since the Tong rebellion.
“Aw, damn me, they lied, they did!” The woman ahead of Jezekiah wobbled to a stop. She had the massive build and albino complexion of the deep space mining clans. Explanation enough for her troubles. In a pinch, a ship-bred miner could survive a good fifteen minutes in full vacuum. In weather they were defenseless. Already her skin was reddening in the Hawaiian sun.
And yet… there was wonder in her eyes. Glancing down the queue Jezekiah saw that wonder reflected in a hundred faces. He’d seen it in a thousand tourist vids, some of them his own propaganda. The difference was that this time he felt it himself. This time he, too, felt every cell in his body thrill to the feel of Earth. He felt the pull, the sense that this place was right, that this was where he belonged. Genetic manipulation had adapted humanity to survive the physical demands of other worlds. But even the most radically engineered Types, even polymorphic LupanType, were still fundamentally human. Earth was home world, and every cell in every body on that dock knew it.
The wonder still shone in the miner’s eyes when her knees gave out. She dropped straight, nearly taking Jezekiah with her.
“Where you popper?” Jezekiah asked, using crew pidgin. Clansmen normally packed small, pop-up umbrellas to protect their skins from planetside suns. The umbrellas also prevented ship bred miners from attacks of psychotic agoraphobia at the sight of open sky, but no one with a sense of self-preservation reminded them of that.
“No thought t’need it. It’s Paradise they said.” She breathed deep, nearly choked on air wet and heavy with the scents of ocean salt and metal tang. “It’s lie, they did.”
“No lie. Just summer.” Jezekiah looked up as an airborne Sec cam buzzed the line. It slowed as it reached him, and he felt his skin tingle as it ran bioscan check on him.
“No screens, either – scrat that thing!” The miner woman swung her duffle bag wide off her shoulder, making the Sec cam bounce in its wake.
“Good shot.” The cam zoomed off, apparently satisfied. Still, he’d been spotted, no question. So, then. He could expect to find Kip Marsden waiting for him the other side of customs. Which couldn’t be soon enough. Damn, it was hot out here. “Need hand?” he asked as the miner doubled over her duffle, wheezing.
“It’s no groundhog dainty can be carryin’ me.” Her words were stronger than her voice.
“Lender, only,” Jezekiah said. He offered her his free arm, bracing himself so the weight she put on it wouldn’t stagger him. Truth was, it felt good to simply be himself, do simple, honest work. Good to be able to speak from his heart, for himself. Likely the last time he’d dare such honesty, he thought, and his little voice chided him for the resentment.
Besides, he’d forgotten himself just how sticky hot Hawaii’s weather really was. The crew’s customs line snaked along the unshielded section of the dock, leaving the off-world hands to either exult or fry in the Hawaiian sun while they inched toward the bureaucrats manning the crew customs booths.
A hundred feet or so ahead a trio of towering pylons flanked Niihau Port’s customs terminal. Open scanner booths filled the space between the pylons’ stone bases. Tourist scans, those. Their section of the dock was weather shielded. Paying visitors were sheltered from the unpleasant inconvenience of real weather. Mother wasn’t about to disappoint the chow line. For once, Jezekiah caught himself resenting the fact.
“Damme, worse’n scrattin’ Streiker, it is.” The miner wheezed, leaned on him hard.
“T’ain’t, either.” Jezekiah drew breath to chuckle at the defensiveness in his tone, wound up choking on a gush of hot, wet air instead. “Chance, at least, on Home World.”
“Fuh. Maybe.” On Streiker, parents careless enough to birth a natural were sterilized. The baby itself was simply thrown out onto the blue Streikern ice.
She eyed him speculatively, sudden curious. “You Home World local, I bet. Maker, maybe, I bet.”
“Half true.” Alone of all the worlds of the Commonwealth, only Earth still produced true, genetically unmodified human beings. Only on Earth, on Home World, could one still find completely natural humans, those astonishingly unpredictable people untouched by genetic engineering whose looks and talents and traits were determined by luck rather than a pre-packaged Type code. Only Home World still housed Makers. Made for improbable FunNet romances on the rim and unenviable living conditions on Earth. Among the Lupans, Makers ranked one step below God Himself.
“Got hard body check coming, you do, yeah?” The miner’s voice called Jezekiah’s attention back to the line.
“Yeah.” Dark memories tried to well up. He shoved them down. Not in time.
The miner straightened, though the motion cost her, and laid a kindly hand on his shoulder. “Give for take – tell ‘em you miner clan, you want. Jump you in my own self, you want.” She managed a leer in compliment and gold-capped teeth flashed in the sun.
“Thanks, but can’t.” It was no mean offer. She might be nothing more than hired crew on Earth, but she had the rank to grant him status within her own clan. He pried her fingers from his shoulder enough to kiss their tips. “Got family waiting other side.” That half of said family was trying to kill him wasn’t her worry.
“Your call.” She wheezed in earnest. Bad sign; humidity out here would rot her lungs if she stayed unsheltered too long.
Craning to see past the curve of the line, Jezekiah ran his gaze past the dark uniforms of the crew and customs folk, looking for Kip Marsden’s broad figure. He caught the recurrent flash of reflected sunlight from the transit shuttle station at the terminal exit. But no sign of Kip Marsden. A flicker of fresh worry tickled his gut. That Sec cam had already registered his biopat. Plugged into NetMind as he was, Kip would have pinpointed his location on the instant. Ought to be a whole Sec team strolling the dock by now. So where was he?
Damn and damn again. He had a whole new problem, if Kip didn’t show. Crew customs might not be as comfortable as the tourists’, but its scanners were just as efficient. He almost wished for a moment he truly was an Earth-born natural. Then he could stride through bioscan with impunity – without a Type’s genetic ID code, the man-made interstellar brain that was NetMind could not ‘see’ him. As it was, even the most cursory scan would spot his biopat in a heartbeat. At which point bureaucratic hell would break lose. Which was precisely the kind of ruckus his would-be killer would be looking for.
Something pale near the booth’s pylon caught his eye. A man in a light suit, broad-brimmed hat pushed back on his white-blond hair, shouldered through the in-coming queue. He was tall enough to seem slender, but his lazy sneer made a burly deckhand change his mind about shoving back.
Aryans. Jezekiah let the miner’s weight bow him a bit lower. Trouble by definition. Ugly trouble if Mother had the Aryans looking for him instead of Kip Marsden. AryanType was hard-coded suspicious, and Mother’s interrogators were trained to indulge the trait. The Aryan ran his cold, blue gaze across the nearest crew folk without interest, then settled his back against a pylon, pulling his broad-brimmed hat low against the sun. Watching.
Interesting, his little voice murmured. The Aryan carried no scanner. Despite the heat Jezekiah shivered. The fellow looked vaguely familiar, though he couldn’t put a name to the face. Could only mean he was attached to the Manor staff. It also meant the fellow would know him. He’d certainly be easy enough to spot. Even an eyeball scrutiny would recognize him under the hair dye and contacts, if someone knew who to look for. The Aryan was obviously looking. Looking eyeball only, keeping it out of Net. Easy enough to vanish him, too, out of Net.
So, then. Little sister Letticia had learned to hedge her bets. Be easy enough to spin a tale for the Aryans, send them looking for an imposter. Might not even have needed a cover story. A simple order would suffice; Aryans would carry out any Van Buren order that didn’t directly threaten Mother. Letticia could have him picked off out here and cry ooops later. Quite a nice idea, actually, his little voice noted. Warranted remembering. Assuming, of course, he survived it.
For a moment, he considered simply pulling off his gloves. Let the Heir’s Ring proclaim his identity. That was the easy way out, the path of perks and privileges. The path he’d vowed to escape. He left the gloves on.
Beside him, the miner doubled over, gasping, her face a dangerous shade of red. Jezekiah wrapped her arm over his shoulder, half-dragged her to the shade of the port wall. Helped that the move put the crew queue between himself and the Aryan.
Jezekiah lowered her to a squat, eased her head down to her knees. No question that she needed a medic. Stretching, he spotted the medics’ Helping Hand sign just beyond the crew customs booth and nearly whooped with delight. The medics’ booth ran straight through the mountain wall to open out on the terminal passage. Once inside he could simply catch a tour car to the Manor.
He squeezed the miner’s shoulder gently. “Stay put. I’m going to send help.” Head down, he eased toward the customs booth, trailing a hand along the rock face like a spacer who’d yet to find his groundhog legs. Keeping the queue between himself and the Aryan, Jezekiah stumbled toward the ‘authorized staff’ door at the back of the customs booth.
“Good try, monk. Get back in line.” A customs agent blocked his way with a scrawny arm. The man’s features had the humorless set of a NumbersType whose parents were either too poor or too cheap to pay for anything more than the most basic gene pack.
“Need water,” Jezekiah croaked. Hot as it was he didn’t even have to fake it.
“Yeah, sure. You and every other monkey trying to dodge scan.” The agent moved to shove him back.
Jezekiah locked the agent’s hand on his shoulder. He leaned forward and put heart and soul into preliminary retching noises.
“Gobbing monkey! Get over there!” The agent dodged aside, shoved him hard and fast toward the Helping Hand counter. “Just make sure you check yourself through here afterward!”
Hand clamped over his mouth, Jezekiah waved a bleary assent.
It was already crowded inside the station, and raucous. Crew folk provided the crowd, jump suited men and women huddled arms-on-knees in the chairs lining the walls. The ruckus came from a group of bejeweled Pandari merchants whose retainers were demanding personal heaters at the top of their collective and impressive lungs.
The humans who had settled Pandar world had been gene-coded to survive the mummifying aridity and UV radiation of Pandar’s blue-white sun. Even within the protection of the terminal’s weather screens, this lot needed breathing filters to survive Hawaii’s humid air. They huddled together in a brilliant clump, embroidered collars pulled up around their ears, nictating membranes flickering in distress across their eyes. The metallic threads on their robes raised rainbow reflections on their blue-black skin that matched the enameled patterns of their breathing filters.
A harried medic shoved a teardrop container of water into Jezekiah’s hand in passing, and Jezekiah let himself sag against the wall, cradling its moist coolness against his face. The coolness revived the cold little voice at the back of his mind, reminded him he needed to get out of here.
After he kept his promise. He was past the Aryan’s line of sight here. Already ID’d, too: every doorway in every public building had bioscanners built into it. The medical staff might be too busy to monitor scan, but SecNet would have fed his reading straight into Kip Marsden’s link. Even if not – he could slip his hand into any sync link in the terminal, and the resources of the planet were his. He didn’t need to run any more. At least, not yet.
Jezekiah worked his way over to an open bin of water teardrops behind the staff counter near the terminal side door. He filched an armload of teardrops from the bin, eyeballed the terminal passage for his escape route while he shoved them into a Helping Hand carryall. Fifty feet beyond the station, the terminal arched open onto a fern studded stone plaza. Through the exit arch, he could see the sunlit flash of departing transit cars. He hoisted the carryall higher on his shoulder. All he needed now was to collar a medic and he’d be on one of those cars.
Odd, though. Still no sign of Kip. He ran a quick scan down the terminal passage as he turned back toward the dockside of the station. No Kip – but he glimpsed a different figure lounging against a comm kiosk, watching the other tourists trudge past with professional indifference. He’d half-seen that figure on half a dozen worlds between here and Den Lupus, felt that presence in his gut.
So, then. So much for keeping his word. No hope of keeping his promise now, nor time to mourn the loss. He closed his eyes against the upswell of shame. No choice, his little voice urged. He needed to be out of here before the assassin spotted him. Dead, he was no good to anyone.
Jezekiah bumped into one of the Pandari retainers. He used a bowed apology to put the woman’s voluminous robes between himself and the assassin’s line of sight. Realized with a shock of relief that the jeweled pattern of her robes marked her as a medic. Stifling a grin, he shocked her to silence with a hand clamped around her shoulders. He had her steered half-way to the dockside door before her nictating membranes stopped flickering enough for her to actually take note of him.
“No questions.” Jezekiah used his formal voice, tone calculated to demand obedience. “A Van Buren operative needs your aid. You’ll find her squatting against the wall by the crew line. Treat her well.” Jezekiah shoved the carryall of water into the medic’s hands. He clasped the retainer’s shoulder, added a meaningful smile. “The Protector will reward you. Now go.”
Eyes still flickering, the medic swung the carryall over her bejeweled shoulder and strode outside.
So, then. He’d kept the dirt out of his soul a few minutes longer. Elbowing his way back to the water bin, Jezekiah filled another carryall. He swung it over his shoulder and strode out of the Helping Hand booth’s terminal door and into the trudging mass of tourists. With luck, the assassin would take him for one of the station hands assigned to keep newcomers lubricated until their transportation arrived.
Only his luck didn’t hold. He made the mistake of looking back just before he reached the exit. Down the corridor, the assassin looked up, looked his way. And smiled a feline, predatory smile.
Damn! Jezekiah’s mouth went dry. Only chance now was to reach the next transit car before the assassin got within range. There were a couple of still-empty cars at the stop. Around him, the crowd of tourists slowed as they hit the hot, humid wall of Hawaiian air. He shifted the carryall higher on his shoulder and picked up his pace. If he beat the tourists, he could commandeer the car before the assassin caught up.
Something hard hit him hard in the chest. Jezekiah slammed the carryall around into it, his pulse jumping.
“Hei, you!” A short young woman in a red sarong glared up at him from beneath a skewed plumeria wreath. She took in his crewman’s coverall and changed the glare to a smile of patently false welcome.
Joy toys, he thought. “Sorry,” he muttered, and moved to skip past.
“You wan’ gul? Show you good time, eh?” She was barely shoulder height on him, but she shifted with him to block his path.
“Later.”
Her smile widened, though not enough to touch her eyes. Clearly this was a girl who did not enjoy her work. Odd, then, that her stable master hadn’t used Seed on her – but no, not odd, not on Earth. Grandfather Ho didn’t distribute Venus Seed on Earth. Mother’d seen to that. He brushed past her and kept walking.
“Eh, wha’ kine spacer no wan’ gul?” She back tracked with him. “You stay come. Give good time, eh?” She was a tasty little piece, some primal section of his mind noted. Buxom but willow-hipped and lithe. With clear brown skin that bespoke fresh air and sunshine rather than a Seed sot’s haggard, driven lust.
“No money.” He said it sharper this time, and louder. He put his free hand out, palm up in peace sign, and brushed past her again. Behind him, he could hear a flock of tourists gaining ground, aiming for the nearest transit car.
“No hu-hu. You pay later.” She skipped ahead to block him again, giving him a view down her cleavage that tickled his groin.
Damned determined little piece. Or desperate. He refused to let himself consider the kind of penalty she must face for failure. “Later.” He didn’t need to fake the desperation in his own voice. He lengthened his stride to jogging pace.
The joy toy jogged backward with him. She wasn’t even sweating, he noticed with envy. “Heia, you don’ like gul?” Her gaze took on a narrow-eyed assessment – tinged, he noted, with relief. “You wan’ boy, eh? You come. Got lots pretty boy.”
“No!”
She skipped into his path, nearly tripping him. Sidelong, he saw her throw a glance past his shoulder. He followed her line of sight to a trio of groundskeepers with the boulder builds of Samoans. Even in this sun, only one of them – an ambulatory mountain with a gleaming, black mole at corner of his jaw – wore a broad rimmed straw hat. They were watching the exchange with interest. And ambling closer.
Damn and damn again! The exchange had cost him precious moments. The tourists flocked past to engulf the transit car. Jezekiah swore softly. The only other empty car sat at the end of the plaza, far enough off to discourage most travelers. He shifted the carryall to the other shoulder, forcing the girl to skip out of its way.
Behind him the Samoans had spread out across the path. Their broad figures blocked his view of the terminal. Which was as well, since they also blocked the assassin’s sight of him. He’d have been relieved, had mole face not been grinning so broadly. The sight stirred memories that he refused to awake.
It took him two steps before the realization struck home. He glanced back again, mouth suddenly dry. Not a mole on that Samoan. It was a tracker stud, one of a pair that would be embedded in temple and jaw. The mark of a Registered killer. That explained the hat.
So, then. He was being herded.
He lengthened his stride abruptly. Swearing, the joy toy grabbed his arm. No invite this time. Her grip was hard as a man’s. Whirling, Jezekiah swung the carryall hard at the girl’s head.
She dodged, stepped in under it to jab her fingers into Jezekiah’s wrist. His arm went numb. She yanked the sack out of his hand, smacked the carryall into his midriff hard enough to double him around it. He heard the water slosh near his ears. Then her knee caught him between the eyes and the world went black.
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About the Author
Bonnie Milani
Bonnie has taken what might be called the sandwich approach to writing. She started writing early, winning state-wide writing contests in grammar school, publishing an environmental fairy tale under the aegis of the NJ Board of Education in college. After earning her M.A. in Communication at Stanford, Bonnie freelanced feature articles for East Coast newspapers and regional magazines, from Mankind and Peninsula to Science Digest as well as how to articles for the late & much lamented fanzine Speculations. She stopped writing completely after marriage while building a pair of businesses with her husband. It was only with the successive deaths of each member of her family that she reclaimed her love of story-telling. Home World is the result.
Today, Bonnie lives with her husband of thirty-six years in Los Angeles. She is still a full-time benefits broker, specializing in employee benefits for entrepreneurs and micro-businesses.
Website: http://www.homeworldthenovel.com
bonnie.milani@yahoo.com
September 8, 2013
Blog Tour: Blue Moon Chronicles, by Bryant Golden
About The Author:
Bryant Golden started writing “Blue Moon Chronicles, Book I” when he was twelve years old and sick at home. The story and the genre changed significantly in the seven years it took to finish, hopefully for the better, but the title and the themes never changed. Born and raised in Los Angeles, California, he originally settled his characters into fantasy worlds with magic and creatures to abandon life in the city. When he was rewriting the story for the final time he realized that the story needs to be personal for it to matter, to the writer and to readers, so he created new characters and settled the story into a fictional but realistic world.
Genre: Fiction/Action & Adventure/Young Adult
Publisher: Self-published with CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform.
Released June 4, 2013.
Book Description:
It’s been a century since the Civil War split the continent into two provinces, Sanctum and Alexandria, and now another war is on the horizon: the Continent War. The end of this war means the end of one of the provinces. This is the story of Ian Hirst as he finds himself in the fray and fights to defend his province and loved ones. Isaiah, a young boy from the newest locale in Sanctum, struggles to learn what it means to grow up and become “a proper man” in the middle of it all.
Excerpt #2, “Abigail”:
Isaiah followed Abigail’s lead, more because he’s curious than worried. She hummed quietly to herself. He doesn’t mind, he enjoys the tune—it feels familiar somehow.
Abigail reached for his hand. “C’mon, mister,” she said. Isaiah nodded and followed, suddenly feeling a strange sadness, followed by immediate frustration.
“Abigail? Can I ask where we’re going?”
“I’m walking you home, mister,” she said.
“But home is that way,” said Isaiah, pointing back at the way they came.
“No it isn’t,” she said, holding his hand tighter.
“Abigail, what do you want with me?”
She looked back at him and sighed. “I’ve already told you twice, mister.”
“Abigail, we’re friends, right?” he asked with a smile.
Abigail jumped and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Yes, we’re friends,” she said, hugging him tightly.
“Then tell me where we’re going. Where we’re really going,” said Isaiah, struggling to push her off.
Abigail smiled. “I’ve never had a friend before,” she said. She reached for Isaiah’s hand again and led him deeper into the dungeons. The two walked in silence for a few more minutes and Isaiah sighed.
“You didn’t tell me where we’re going, Abigail.”
She let go of his hand and walked into an old cell. “C’mon, sit down,” she smiled. He sighed again and followed her inside. She closed the cell behind him. Blindly following a strange girl into a prison cell in an old dungeon is probably not one of his smartest moves, but he’s a capable young man.
He can fight off a little girl. Not that he wants to, but he can.
“Welcome home, mister,” she whispered as if she thought they were being followed.
“This is your grave, kid,” a deep, heavy voice echoed in his head.
“Wait, Abigail… Did you hear that?” he asked. She doesn’t seem bothered by the voice. It must only be in his head.
Is he losing his mind?
Abigail walked up to him and held his hand once more. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked, resting her hand on his cheek.
Isaiah shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“Well, it looks like you hit your head pretty hard,” said Abigail, pointing at the dry blood on Isaiah’s face. He didn’t feel any pain. He didn’t feel the blood.
“What’s going on, Abigail?” asked Isaiah, a flood of light filling the dungeon cell.
His vision blurred and when he regained his senses he found himself chained to the wall. “Abigail?” he said.
“Can you please shut up?” said a man in the cell next to his. He was a dirty, unhealthy looking man with a lot of hair and a large beard, his gray eyes barely visible behind it all.
“Where are we?” asked Isaiah.
“Where do you think? You’re a prisoner now. We’re in the Alexandria dungeons. You were fading in and out of consciousness for a few days, it looks like you were hit pretty hard,” said the man, leaning against the prison bars that separated them.
“A few days?” asked Isaiah. “How many?”
“Well, I’ve had three meals since you got here so…you’ve been here for a week, more or less. You’ve been mumbling on about some ‘Abigail’ and it’s been pretty horrible listening to it. I even threw a few pebbles at you to try and shut you up.”
Isaiah looked down and noticed a small pile of pebbles at his feet.
“A few pebbles?” he said.
“A few pebbles a day, yeah.”
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September 7, 2013
Review: Soul in Present Condition by Mary E. Merrell
The Real Estate Paranormal Mystery Series
By Mary E. Merrell
Publisher: Morningglory
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Review
In book three of the Real Estate Paranormal Mystery series, real estate agent Rosemary Fernandes faces a number of daunting tasks: she must serve her vampire master Marcus; lay to rest Benny, a ghost with a dangerous history; arrange the sale of a house to Marcus’ maker Lucila; and work to keep her day job going. In addition, she is trying to maintain her connection to her boyfriend Frank and show properties to an elderly Hispanic couple whose son may or may not actually be willing to buy the home he’s promised them.
This third book draws fairly heavily on the first two installments of the series — readers unfamiliar with Rosemary might want to start with House Haunting and Curve Appeal in order to keep up with all of the characters’ histories. However, even those readers who haven’t encountered Rosemary before will be charmed by the way Merrell weaves together the threads of the story; the author gives enough back-story to explain most (if not all) of the connections. The characters are, for the most part, nicely rounded, and the plot comes to a satisfying conclusion.
The text itself is occasionally marred by the sorts of errors that can jar a reader out of the world the author builds and that a careful proofreading should have caught (“their” in place of “they’re,” for example), along with a narrative tendency to over-explain information previously given in dialogue. However, Merrell’s entertaining take on what happens when the daytime world of real estate collides with the nighttime world of vampires is enough to make up for these kinds of problems — this is another enjoyable entry in an engaging series.
Score: 8/10 (4 stars)
~Margo Bond Collins
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Book One: House Haunting
Rosemary Fernandes is a divorced, naïve woman, determined to make it in the tough world of real estate. Keith Laumer is a ghost, eager to leave his earthly haunt. As a real estate agent and a womanizer in life, Keith is the perfect partner to teach Rosemary the ins and outs of the real estate business, and he’s perfectly willing to teach her anything else she wants to know.
Frank Perez is a tough guy tattoo artist with ah-so-wide shoulders, and a chest Rosemary can’t wait to get her hands on. He thinks she’s a tease, jerking him around with this ghost story. And it won’t bother the ghost if the tattoo artist just disappears.
Can there be a love triangle between a goodie two-shoes, a tough guy, and a ghost? And how long will Rosemary remain naïve and alive when her less-than-subtle sleuthing drops her and her friends into a sinister years-old plot?
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Book Two: Curve Appeal
Vampires are creatures of legend.
That’s what real estate agent Rosemary Fernandes thought until the day she started hearing them…the voices of lost souls. When Rosemary encounters the ghost of a murdered stripper, she feels compelled to help, but what happens when the ghost’s secret brings Rosemary to the attention of a serial killer?
The dead are drawn to Rosemary like magnets, but must it attract all the kooks as well? Marcus Lyon’s thinks he’s a vampire, and he wants Rosemary to be his personal assistant, his human servant. Rosemary ignores his crazy proposition until Marcus gives her an offer she can’t refuse. Can she work her business, run errands for the vampire and help the lost souls while staying ahead of a killer out for revenge?
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Book Three: Soul in Present Condition
Divorced. Check. Ghost Whisperer. Check. Human Servant. Check. Great. Check.
Real estate agent Rosemary Fernandes never expected to inherit the ability to communicate with spirits, and she certainly didn’t expect her gift to attract the undead as well. Now Rosemary finds herself ghost whisperer to the lost souls stuck at their haunts and human servant to a gorgeous but aloof vampire Marcus Lyons.
Benito Cruz died with a dangerous secret, a secret that connects the ghost to Rosemary. Can Rosemary send the spirit to his final resting place before his past catches up with them, and can she convince the vampire helping spirits like Benito is her destiny?
When real estate and the supernatural come together it is murder.
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About the Author
Mary E. Merrell writes Paranormal Mysteries and Young Adult Urban Fantasy. She has worked many jobs, but always had stories in her head. It wasn’t until she went into real estate and walked into that old, vacant home that The Real Estate Paranormal Mystery Series came to life. Fortunately, nothing spooky happened at the furniture store, or the first book might have been, “The Haunted Sofa.”
Mary E. Merrell’s plots are smooth and slightly dark, and her characters sinfully sweet. Try a little guilty pleasure with House Haunting, the first book in The Real Estate Paranormal Mystery Series. One reviewer called it “A good start to a new series.”
Her Young Adult series, Affinity, is also humorous but deals with very real life themes. A reviewer said, “Love it. So different. A fun read.”
Mary E. Merrell lives in the Central Valley of California with her husband, two dogs, and five cats. She has two grown sons. When she’s not writing, she’s gardening or playing soccer.
Links
Twitter: @MaryMerrell7
Website: Mary E. Merrell
September 6, 2013
Sneak Preview: Worth the Fight, by Vi Keeland
Title: Worth the Fight
Author: Vi Keeland
Age Group & Genre: Adult Contemporary Romance
Expected release: October 3, 2013
It didn’t matter that the ref called it a clean hit. Nico Hunter would never be the same.
Elle has a good life. A job she loves, a great apartment, and the guy she’s been dating for more than two years is a catch and a half. But it’s boring…and she strives to keep it that way. Too many emotions are dangerous. Her own past is living proof of what can happen when you lose control.
Then Nico walks into Elle’s office and everything changes…for both of them. But what can the tattooed, hard-bodied MMA fighter and the beautiful and always steady attorney have in common? A lot more than they bargained for.
*Standalone, HEA
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Dream Cast
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Worth the Fight
Excerpts: Meet Elle & Nico
Elle on Nico
I’ve never seen a body like his so close before. It just doesn’t seem real. Both of his arms are covered in tattoos, it looks like he’s wearing colorful sleeves, only he has no shirt on. They intertwine and wrap around his bulging biceps and I get the urge to trace a path from the first splat of ink to the last with my tongue. My body’s reaction to him is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. These aren’t feelings that I’m used to, they seem to come out of nowhere and are uncontrollable.
One side of his lip curls up slightly, as though he is amused at my staring. He hands me a glass of wine without asking if I want one and I take it because I need it to calm my nerves. I’m here staring at this bigger than life man, and suddenly I’m speechless. The wine can’t seep into my bloodstream quick enough. Half the glass is gone in one long, unladylike gulp.
“Thirsty?” I look up at him and find a glimmer of amusement in Nico’s eyes, mixed with something else. I think he knows I’m trying to calm myself and I fidget in my seat on the couch as he stands there looking so unaffected.
Nico on Elle
I’m up at five a.m. every morning. Well, every morning except today. I slept like shit, my body a mass of pent-up frustration. I kept my word all night. Even though all I wanted to do was pick her up, carry her into my bedroom, and ram myself into her to claim her as mine. Then she kissed me. I know I could have taken it further after that kiss. But I don’t want one night with Elle. I want more. I have no idea why, but I do. A lot fucking more.
By the time I drove back home last night, I’d gotten myself under control. I’d reasoned with my hard-on until it finally saw my way. Who knew you could reason with a fucking hard-on. I guess I never tried. I just took care of it, did what it wanted me to.
But then I walked into my loft and I smelled her. And all reasoning went out the window. I couldn’t sleep with a steel pipe in my pants, so I took a cold shower. It didn’t help. Then I was wide awake with a hard-on. I tossed and turned with a picture of Elle smiling at me in my head. Taunting me for being such a sap.
About the Author
Vi Keeland is a native New Yorker with three children that occupy most of her free time, which she complains about often, but wouldn’t change for the world. She is a bookworm and has been known to read her kindle at stop lights, while styling her hair, cleaning, walking, during sporting events, and frequently while pretending to work. She is a boring attorney by day, and an exciting smut author by night!
Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads
September 5, 2013
Spotlight On: DJ Swykert, Author of The Pool Boy’s Beatitude
Welcome to today’s guest author, DJ Swykert. Be sure to check out the excerpt from The Pool Boy’s Beatitude, below!
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Like my character, Jack, I have always been attracted to the great mysteries of life. While Quantum Mechanics continues to search for a Theory of Everything, so have I. And I can write with authority about addiction, rehabilitation and jail. If you add the desire for a real and loving relationship into the equation you come up with the story of The Pool Boy’s Beatitude. Though it is fiction, it’s perhaps the most cathartic piece of writing I have ever produced. Not only does Jack discover anomalies to the large physical world we exist in, but also poignant truths about his own personal little universe.
In his search for the God particle Jack Joseph has lost control of the most important particle of existence, himself. Jack’s intellect may have expanded at the speed of light, but his emotional development is mired in the darkness of addiction. Without change Jack is accelerating towards a personal collision that would render his interest in the cosmic one irrelevant.
Jack is a drop-out physicist cleaning swimming pools to support a lifestyle of addiction and detachment. He has a wife divorcing him, a wealthy woman seducing him and the justice system convicting him. Jack’s personal cosmos is spiraling out of control. When he met Sarah his universe further expanded. The Gravitational Constant he studied at university lacked the velocity with which their galaxies rushed toward one another. It was a life-changing Big Bang. A new and brighter Jack was created and he found his supreme happiness. But there was a lot of space junk in the form of addiction and legal consequences standing in the way of his pool-boy quest toward bliss.
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Excerpt
I believe God thinks in numbers. Most of what I know best can be described with an equation, numbers predicting an outcome, relating the position, velocity, acceleration and various forces acting on a body of mass, and state this relationship as a function of time. And isn’t that what we are, what everything is: accelerated particles in space time.
And this velocity of motion is what creates gravity and holds everything together. But what creates the motion? I think about this shit all the time. Until I feel like I only know one thing: nothing.
I sat out on the grass and opened a bottle of Mad Dog 20-20. Drank it to the bottom, sucked it in like a black hole swallowing light. Alcohol goes through the brain in stages, first the cerebral cortex, the thinking brain. A friendlier, more daring person emerges, and becomes ever more creative, imaginative, as the drug continues deeper into the brain. Last to go is the limbic brain. That’s when you go numb.
I got ultimate this night, left the past, present, and flew into my future. It was brilliant, until in the morning, when I stared into the eyes of a cop. I realized I had evolved, I was homeless. Passed out on the lawn I had merged my present into my future and lost the past. I had become what I refused to change. There are no corners in a round expanding infinite universe. But I had turned one.
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The Pool Boy’s Beatitude can be ordered at bookstores or purchased directly from:
http://www.magicmasterminds.com
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About the Author
DJ Swykert is a former 911 operator. His work has appeared in The Tampa Review, Detroit News, Monarch Review, Lunch Ticket, Zodiac Review, Barbaric Yawp and Bull. His books include Children of the Enemy, Alpha Wolves, Maggie Elizabeth Harrington and The Death of Anyone. You can find him at: http://www.magicmasterminds.com. He is a wolf expert.
September 4, 2013
Book Trailer: Waking Up Dead
Waking Up Dead by Margo Bond Collins
Book Trailer #1
(I’m so very excited! SQUEE!)
September 3, 2013
Guest Author: Marie Lavender
Are Your Characters Fleshy?
This may come as a shocker, but a lot of beginning writers don’t know how to make good characters. And I’m sure some tenured authors make the same mistake occasionally. It’s not enough to say, “Hey, Mr. Character, you have dark hair and blue eyes. Now start talking.” Dialogue is one aspect of a character. So is appearance. But, what is inside is what counts. What is inside of a character is what makes us keep reading.
Take the time to fill out the finer details of a character. For example, what do they like to eat for breakfast? Maybe they don’t eat breakfast. Some people don’t. What is their religious affiliation? Where did they go to school? What kind of home life did that person have? Notice I said “person”.
People are complicated. We are complicated. If we were all pretty typical, would life be any fun? Probably not. Not everyone is easy to get along with, but sometimes getting into the heart of a person and learning more about them is rewarding. So do the same with your characters.
Most likely, if you’re any kind of fiction writer, you will have a plan for your story or book. You’ll have the plot mapped out. That is great! But, have you mapped out your character? Characters are not just plastic dolls. They should be so real you can practically touch them. Do you sketch? Sketch them if you have to. But, make notes of who that character is. What really makes them tick? Most importantly, what does he want out of life? And how does he plan to get it? What “secrets” do you know about your character that the reader may or may not know on the page? Trust me. All of these things will help you understand your character better.
In the writing of the sequel to my current release, I was arrogant. Okay, not arrogant. I was under the impression that I knew everything I could about the hero and heroine because I wrote a bunch of scenes. But, then, I thought, “Hold on. Why does so-and-so act that way? What makes her who she is?” So, I unearthed this worksheet full of character questions to help me identity not only the aspects of the heroine I already knew, but the stuff that I hadn’t thought of as well. Well, did that end up helping? Did it “flesh” her out? You bet. I finally knew why she had carried out certain actions. She made sense to me as a character. I wouldn’t have known she wasn’t three dimensional unless I had done that.
I also did the same for the hero, and I found out some interesting quirks. I also discovered he was completely human, not otherworldly like we want heroes to be. I think that makes a good character.
So, do what you can to find out everything you can about your characters. Make them flesh and bone, not plastic. Make them as real as possible with eccentricities and flaws and “secrets”, just like normal people. Make them…well, human. As human as you possibly can. You will look at that finished product and believe in it so much more.
~Marie Lavender
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About the Author
Marie Lavender’s most recent release is Upon Your Return.
She lives in the Midwest with her family and three cats. She has been writing for over twenty years. She has more works in progress than she can count on two hands.
At the tender age of nine, she began writing stories. Her imagination fueled a lot of her early child’s play. Even growing up, she entered writing contests and received a certificate for achieving the second round in one. She majored in Creative Writing in college because that was all she ever wanted – to be a writer. While there, she published two works in a university publication, and was a copy editor on the staff of an online student journal. After graduating from college, she sought out her dream to publish a book.
Since then, Marie has published sixteen books. Marie Lavender’s real love is writing romances, but she has also written mysteries, literary fiction and dabbled a little in paranormal stories. Most of her works have a romantic element involved in them. Upon Your Return is her first historical romance novel. Feel free to visit her website at http://marielavender.webs.com/ for further information about her books and her life. Marie is also on Facebook, Twitter and LinkedIn.
A list of her books and pen names includes:
Marie Lavender: Upon Your Return
Erica Sutherhome: Hard to Get; Memories; A Hint of Scandal; Without You; Strange Heat; Terror in the Night; Haunted; Pursuit; Perfect Game; A Touch of Dawn; Ransom
Kathryn Layne: A Misplaced Life
Heather Crouse: Express Café and Other Ramblings; Ramblings, Musings and Other Things; Soulful Ramblings and Other Worldly Things
http://www.marielavender.webs.com/
http://marielavenderbooks.blogspot.com/
http://marielavender.blogspot.com/
https://www.facebook.com/MarieAnnLavender
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Upon-Your-Return/221212331354873
https://twitter.com/marielavender1
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6938764.Marie_Lavender
http://www.amazon.com/Marie-Lavender/e/B00C10Q94I/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1
http://store.solsticepublishing.com/upon-your-return/
https://www.createspace.com/4284739
September 2, 2013
Guest Author: “Leaping Lanny Poffo”
Welcome today to “Leaping Lanny Poffo”–have a glimpse into the poetic soul of “The Genius” of the World Wrestling Federation, from his new book Wrestling with Rhyme!
Available from Amazon
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Autograph
When I was just a little “Leap”
I’d try to get an autograph
Of all the greatest wrestlers of the time
Well, some of them weren’t all that bad
But some were too important
And I knew right then and there, that was a crime
Fame is just a fleeting thing
And if you let it swell your head
Life has a way to take you down a notch
So many times I’ve seen a bum
Who used to live in glory
It’s been that way since Hackenschmidt lost to Gotch*
It really doesn’t take too much time
To sign a piece of paper
And time is never wasted on a youth
We’re equal in the eyes of God
In spite of our publicity
(I’ll bet He’s not impressed, to tell the truth)
*First recognized World Heavyweight Wrestling match
