Bryan Koepke's Blog: http://bryankoepke.com/blog

Amazon Giveaway - Vengeance

Enter to win 1 of 30 copies of VENGEANCE.
written by Bryan Koepke

Prize: Vengeance (A Reece Culver Thriller - Book 1) (Kindle Edition)

Giveaway link to paste into your web browser is here:
https://giveaway.amazon.com/p/ec6425d...

Ends :Dec 19, 2016 11:59 PM PST

Contest Rules:
Winner: Every eligible entry has 1 in 300 chance to win, up to 30 winners.
•Requirements for participation:
◦Resident of the 50 United States or the District of Columbia
◦Follow @BryanKoepke on twitter
◦18+ years of age (or legal age)

Congratulations to the Winners: On February 8th, 2016 Val...

Congratulations to the Winners: 

On February 8th, 2016 Valerie Mabery, John Sanders, and Cheryl Epps were selected as the Goodreads Giveaway Contest Winners of Sabotage

All three of them won an autographed copy of my new book Sabotage.

That's quite a feat considering there were a total 1,088 entries spread across the U.S., Canada, and the U.K. Tomorrow your books will be in the mail.

Congratulations to the Winners: On February 8th, 201...

Congratulations to the Winners: 

On February 8th, 2016 Valerie Mabery, John Sanders, and Cheryl Epps were selected as the Goodreads Giveaway Contest Winners of Sabotage

All three of them won an autographed copy of my new book Sabotage.

That's quite a feat considering there were a total 1,088 entries spread across the U.S., Canada, and the U.K. Tomorrow your books will be in the mail.

SABOTAGEA REECE CULVER NOVELBRYAN KOEPKEChapter 1Saturda...

  SABOTAGE
A REECE CULVER NOVEL


BRYAN KOEPKE



Chapter 1
Saturday June 8, 2013                          Julian had been told the target would betraveling south along the coastal road. With a practiced hand he pivoted thestock of the Russian-made sniper rifle on its black steel swivel mount atop thebipod legs and aimed toward the highway below. The SUV would be passing rightthrough his sight . . .  there. A chillybreeze blew through the tent, rippling the damp cotton shirt that lay molded tohis back. He wasn’t nervous, but he did tend to sweat as the killing hourapproached. He regarded the unpleasant sensation as just part of the job. Itwasn’t like anyone would ever find out.Peering throughthe custom-made rifle scope, he adjusted the magnification between his thumband index finger, zooming in on the worn white strands of the highway’s centerline several hundred yards below. As he rotated the knob back out, he spottedthe farthest flag he’d placed in the branches of a nearby tree. The strip ofwhite plastic barely fluttered, telling him the wind was calm. His squareunshaven chin pressed firmly against the cold black stock of the Dragunov SVD,and he pushed upward, seating the steel magazine that housed multiple 7N1steel-core sniper rounds. With its 151-grain projectile and velocity of 830 meters per second, itwas perfect for this type of work.A rifle was thebest—precise, anonymous, and decisive. He ran the shot through his mind onemore time. Envision what you want to havehappen. He’d read about that in an e-zine, and he adopted it as part of hispreparations, even though it was supposed to be part of his ten-year life plan.He didn’t need any plan. In ten years he’d be rich and retired on a privateisland in the Caribbean. The trackingdevice he’d stuck under the rear bumper would tell him when the SUV was near.It would approach on its way south toward the city of Talbert. He’d picked theperfect spot. The narrow Scottish road curved left around a large hill, and thevast expanse of the North Atlantic Ocean spread beyond the guardrail. Confirm thelicense plate BV-061-EK, lead the target, and pan upward to the windshield. He’ddraw a bead on the man’s head, squeeze the trigger, and watch as the windshieldfilled with a fine red mist. He’d envisioned the heavy vehicle veering sidewaysand crashing through the flimsy rusted guardrail before plunging into the depthsof the sea. The driver would be dead before he realized how freezing cold thatwater was.            Asthe assassin waited patiently enduring the wet chill that reminded him of hishome on Bainbridge Island, he monitored the moving red dot on his cell phone. Ayoung woman with a yellow scarf drove past in her blue Volvo sedan. His stomachgrowled, and he remembered the bacon he’d had at the inn.  The slabs were thick and cooked only inpatches. Typical British cuisine.            Thedot was rapidly approaching, and he shifted his attention to a silver NissanPathfinder rapidly making its way up the road. It carried two occupants. Damn it, he thought as a maroon BMW X5came around the corner. The Pathfinder would pass in front just as the BMWentered his field of fire. He could feel a dropof sweat rolling down the knobs of his spine. He zeroed in the rifle scope onthe BMW windshield. The cross hairs remained steady as the SUV slowed to makethe curve. He saw the Pathfinder pass through in a blur. He had a split secondof clearance as he squeezed the trigger. The windshield misted red and flashedbeyond his line of sight.


Chapter 2
Reece Culver was driving, and his good friend HaisleyAverton sat opposite. He was finding that the Pathfinder he’d rented handledpretty well for a truck. Driving on the left was weird, though, just like thename of the town they’d just passed through. Who would want to live in a placecalled Lochgilphead? You’d have to check the spelling every time you wrote youraddress. “The way I see it, we have two options. We canfind a pub in town, grab a few brews, some chow, and find a place to staytonight, or we can head straight up to that fishing lodge, check in, and hopetheir restaurant and bar are still open,” Reece said.“I vote for the first one. On the flyer thelodge looks like it’s hard-core fishing only, and I’d rather check out some ofthe local scotch before we go camping,” Haisley said.They were nearing yet another curve on thetwisting coastal road. Coming around the bend was a maroon BMW X5. A lot nicercar than what we’re driving, Reece thought. Wouldn’t pay for the upgrade,though—As the two cars passed, he heard the loud crackof a rifle. He instinctively ducked. In the rearview mirror he saw the BMWcareen sideways, straight into the guardrail. The steel barrier was ripped openwith an ear-splitting screech. TheBMW carried on through—and dropped out of sight.“Did you seethat?” he yelled, jamming his cowboy boot down on the brake pedal. The rear wheels locked asthe vehicle skidded. The rear end started drifting right, and then the truck’sautomatic traction control system corrected their path. Reece could smell thetires burning from the friction. “What the helljust happened?” Haisley said as he unbuckled his seat belt. Reece flung openhis door and jumped down, wanting to see what happened to the other car. He ranto the crumpled section of the guardrail that the BMW had destroyed before itwent airborne. Springing off his right foot, he cleared the barrier like ahurdle. The grass-covered bank was wet and slick as he descended. He started toslide, then caught himself, allowing himself to fall on his behind. Hehalf-slid, half-pedaled the rest of the way down to the water.The sports utilityvehicle was twenty feet out into the ocean with its front end already submergedbelow the surface. Reece didn’t have much time, if in fact the driver was stillalive. He slipped off his Tony Lama boots. “Reece, what areyou doing?” Haisley cried from above.“I’ve got to seeif he needs to be rescued.”The lapping surf feltcold on his shins, then his stomach, and shoulders as he plunged into the waves.The saltwater burned his eyes as he looked out toward the truck and wondered ifhe’d get there in time. It seemed like ittook ten minutes to swim to the sinking truck. Reece kicked through the water,taking big swipes at it as he alternated strokes with his arms. Just a little more. I’ve got it now.  He’d finally madeit just as the rear bumper plunged below the surface and followed the rest ofthe truck’s chassis, sinking remorselessly into the cold black depths. Reecestuck his head below the water’s surface as he followed the red SUV down. Therewas no way he could dive that far.             Pullinghis head out of the water, he kicked to keep treading water. For the first timehe felt the bone-chilling cold. His teeth chattered and his numb legs felt liketwo heavy clumps. The wind whipped at the water’s surface, spraying his face. He turned backtoward the shore and felt a strong current carrying him south. If he didn’t getback to shore, hypothermia would set in and he’d drown. Come on, he toldhimself, focus. He swung into motion, feeling more sluggish now. His arms wereheavy like wooden oars. Reece kicked his feet to propel himself forward, butfelt the weight of his clothes. His friend Haisley was standing on the bank afew feet from the water’s edge. The olderbald black man with his white goatee was waving to him frantically.Just keep onrowing, he encouraged himself, just like a rowboat, looking for the right spotto fish. As he steadily made his way to shore, his mind filled with questions.What had happened on the road up above? Someone had shot at a moving vehicle,and that car was now sunk in the ocean depths. Whoever it was had to be adamned good shot. That meant that the killing was intentionalHe’d been lucky.One second earlier, and he could have been the one who was killed. A burn ofanger started spreading from the back of his neck. That was too close. Thatmade it personal.
SABOTAGE - Reece Culver thriller series - Book 2 is out.

SABOTAGEA REECE CULV...

  SABOTAGE
A REECE CULVER NOVEL


BRYAN KOEPKE



Chapter 1
Saturday June 8, 2013                          Julian had been told the target would be traveling south along the coastal road. With a practiced hand he pivoted the stock of the Russian-made sniper rifle on its black steel swivel mount atop the bipod legs and aimed toward the highway below. The SUV would be passing right through his sight . . .  there. A chilly breeze blew through the tent, rippling the damp cotton shirt that lay molded to his back. He wasn’t nervous, but he did tend to sweat as the killing hour approached. He regarded the unpleasant sensation as just part of the job. It wasn’t like anyone would ever find out.Peering through the custom-made rifle scope, he adjusted the magnification between his thumb and index finger, zooming in on the worn white strands of the highway’s center line several hundred yards below. As he rotated the knob back out, he spotted the farthest flag he’d placed in the branches of a nearby tree. The strip of white plastic barely fluttered, telling him the wind was calm. His square unshaven chin pressed firmly against the cold black stock of the Dragunov SVD, and he pushed upward, seating the steel magazine that housed multiple 7N1 steel-core sniper rounds. With its 151-grain projectile and velocity of 830 meters per second, it was perfect for this type of work.A rifle was the best—precise, anonymous, and decisive. He ran the shot through his mind one more time. Envision what you want to have happen. He’d read about that in an e-zine, and he adopted it as part of his preparations, even though it was supposed to be part of his ten-year life plan. He didn’t need any plan. In ten years he’d be rich and retired on a private island in the Caribbean. The tracking device he’d stuck under the rear bumper would tell him when the SUV was near. It would approach on its way south toward the city of Talbert. He’d picked the perfect spot. The narrow Scottish road curved left around a large hill, and the vast expanse of the North Atlantic Ocean spread beyond the guardrail. Confirm the license plate BV-061-EK, lead the target, and pan upward to the windshield. He’d draw a bead on the man’s head, squeeze the trigger, and watch as the windshield filled with a fine red mist. He’d envisioned the heavy vehicle veering sideways and crashing through the flimsy rusted guardrail before plunging into the depths of the sea. The driver would be dead before he realized how freezing cold that water was.            As the assassin waited patiently enduring the wet chill that reminded him of his home on Bainbridge Island, he monitored the moving red dot on his cell phone. A young woman with a yellow scarf drove past in her blue Volvo sedan. His stomach growled, and he remembered the bacon he’d had at the inn.  The slabs were thick and cooked only in patches. Typical British cuisine.            The dot was rapidly approaching, and he shifted his attention to a silver Nissan Pathfinder rapidly making its way up the road. It carried two occupants. Damn it, he thought as a maroon BMW X5 came around the corner. The Pathfinder would pass in front just as the BMW entered his field of fire. He could feel a drop of sweat rolling down the knobs of his spine. He zeroed in the rifle scope on the BMW windshield. The cross hairs remained steady as the SUV slowed to make the curve. He saw the Pathfinder pass through in a blur. He had a split second of clearance as he squeezed the trigger. The windshield misted red and flashed beyond his line of sight.


Chapter 2
Reece Culver was driving, and his good friend Haisley Averton sat opposite. He was finding that the Pathfinder he’d rented handled pretty well for a truck. Driving on the left was weird, though, just like the name of the town they’d just passed through. Who would want to live in a place called Lochgilphead? You’d have to check the spelling every time you wrote your address. “The way I see it, we have two options. We can find a pub in town, grab a few brews, some chow, and find a place to stay tonight, or we can head straight up to that fishing lodge, check in, and hope their restaurant and bar are still open,” Reece said.“I vote for the first one. On the flyer the lodge looks like it’s hard-core fishing only, and I’d rather check out some of the local scotch before we go camping,” Haisley said.They were nearing yet another curve on the twisting coastal road. Coming around the bend was a maroon BMW X5. A lot nicer car than what we’re driving, Reece thought. Wouldn’t pay for the upgrade, though—As the two cars passed, he heard the loud crack of a rifle. He instinctively ducked. In the rearview mirror he saw the BMW careen sideways, straight into the guardrail. The steel barrier was ripped open with an ear-splitting screech. The BMW carried on through—and dropped out of sight.“Did you see that?” he yelled, jamming his cowboy boot down on the brake pedal. The rear wheels locked as the vehicle skidded. The rear end started drifting right, and then the truck’s automatic traction control system corrected their path. Reece could smell the tires burning from the friction. “What the hell just happened?” Haisley said as he unbuckled his seat belt. Reece flung open his door and jumped down, wanting to see what happened to the other car. He ran to the crumpled section of the guardrail that the BMW had destroyed before it went airborne. Springing off his right foot, he cleared the barrier like a hurdle. The grass-covered bank was wet and slick as he descended. He started to slide, then caught himself, allowing himself to fall on his behind. He half-slid, half-pedaled the rest of the way down to the water.The sports utility vehicle was twenty feet out into the ocean with its front end already submerged below the surface. Reece didn’t have much time, if in fact the driver was still alive. He slipped off his Tony Lama boots. “Reece, what are you doing?” Haisley cried from above.“I’ve got to see if he needs to be rescued.”The lapping surf felt cold on his shins, then his stomach, and shoulders as he plunged into the waves. The saltwater burned his eyes as he looked out toward the truck and wondered if he’d get there in time. It seemed like it took ten minutes to swim to the sinking truck. Reece kicked through the water, taking big swipes at it as he alternated strokes with his arms. Just a little more. I’ve got it now.  He’d finally made it just as the rear bumper plunged below the surface and followed the rest of the truck’s chassis, sinking remorselessly into the cold black depths. Reece stuck his head below the water’s surface as he followed the red SUV down. There was no way he could dive that far.             Pulling his head out of the water, he kicked to keep treading water. For the first time he felt the bone-chilling cold. His teeth chattered and his numb legs felt like two heavy clumps. The wind whipped at the water’s surface, spraying his face. He turned back toward the shore and felt a strong current carrying him south. If he didn’t get back to shore, hypothermia would set in and he’d drown. Come on, he told himself, focus. He swung into motion, feeling more sluggish now. His arms were heavy like wooden oars. Reece kicked his feet to propel himself forward, but felt the weight of his clothes. His friend Haisley was standing on the bank a few feet from the water’s edge. The older bald black man with his white goatee was waving to him frantically.Just keep on rowing, he encouraged himself, just like a rowboat, looking for the right spot to fish. As he steadily made his way to shore, his mind filled with questions. What had happened on the road up above? Someone had shot at a moving vehicle, and that car was now sunk in the ocean depths. Whoever it was had to be a damned good shot. That meant that the killing was intentionalHe’d been lucky. One second earlier, and he could have been the one who was killed. A burn of anger started spreading from the back of his neck. That was too close. That made it personal.
SABOTAGE - Reece Culver thriller series - Book 2 is out.

SABOTAGEA REECE...

  SABOTAGE
A REECE CULVER NOVEL


BRYAN KOEPKE



Chapter 1
Saturday June 8, 2013                          Julian had been told the target would be traveling south along the coastal road. With a practiced hand he pivoted the stock of the Russian-made sniper rifle on its black steel swivel mount atop the bipod legs and aimed toward the highway below. The SUV would be passing right through his sight . . .  there. A chilly breeze blew through the tent, rippling the damp cotton shirt that lay molded to his back. He wasn’t nervous, but he did tend to sweat as the killing hour approached. He regarded the unpleasant sensation as just part of the job. It wasn’t like anyone would ever find out.Peering through the custom-made rifle scope, he adjusted the magnification between his thumb and index finger, zooming in on the worn white strands of the highway’s center line several hundred yards below. As he rotated the knob back out, he spotted the farthest flag he’d placed in the branches of a nearby tree. The strip of white plastic barely fluttered, telling him the wind was calm. His square unshaven chin pressed firmly against the cold black stock of the Dragunov SVD, and he pushed upward, seating the steel magazine that housed multiple 7N1 steel-core sniper rounds. With its 151-grain projectile and velocity of 830 meters per second, it was perfect for this type of work.A rifle was the best—precise, anonymous, and decisive. He ran the shot through his mind one more time. Envision what you want to have happen. He’d read about that in an e-zine, and he adopted it as part of his preparations, even though it was supposed to be part of his ten-year life plan. He didn’t need any plan. In ten years he’d be rich and retired on a private island in the Caribbean. The tracking device he’d stuck under the rear bumper would tell him when the SUV was near. It would approach on its way south toward the city of Talbert. He’d picked the perfect spot. The narrow Scottish road curved left around a large hill, and the vast expanse of the North Atlantic Ocean spread beyond the guardrail. Confirm the license plate BV-061-EK, lead the target, and pan upward to the windshield. He’d draw a bead on the man’s head, squeeze the trigger, and watch as the windshield filled with a fine red mist. He’d envisioned the heavy vehicle veering sideways and crashing through the flimsy rusted guardrail before plunging into the depths of the sea. The driver would be dead before he realized how freezing cold that water was.            As the assassin waited patiently enduring the wet chill that reminded him of his home on Bainbridge Island, he monitored the moving red dot on his cell phone. A young woman with a yellow scarf drove past in her blue Volvo sedan. His stomach growled, and he remembered the bacon he’d had at the inn.  The slabs were thick and cooked only in patches. Typical British cuisine.            The dot was rapidly approaching, and he shifted his attention to a silver Nissan Pathfinder rapidly making its way up the road. It carried two occupants. Damn it, he thought as a maroon BMW X5 came around the corner. The Pathfinder would pass in front just as the BMW entered his field of fire. He could feel a drop of sweat rolling down the knobs of his spine. He zeroed in the rifle scope on the BMW windshield. The cross hairs remained steady as the SUV slowed to make the curve. He saw the Pathfinder pass through in a blur. He had a split second of clearance as he squeezed the trigger. The windshield misted red and flashed beyond his line of sight.


Chapter 2
Reece Culver was driving, and his good friend Haisley Averton sat opposite. He was finding that the Pathfinder he’d rented handled pretty well for a truck. Driving on the left was weird, though, just like the name of the town they’d just passed through. Who would want to live in a place called Lochgilphead? You’d have to check the spelling every time you wrote your address. “The way I see it, we have two options. We can find a pub in town, grab a few brews, some chow, and find a place to stay tonight, or we can head straight up to that fishing lodge, check in, and hope their restaurant and bar are still open,” Reece said.“I vote for the first one. On the flyer the lodge looks like it’s hard-core fishing only, and I’d rather check out some of the local scotch before we go camping,” Haisley said.They were nearing yet another curve on the twisting coastal road. Coming around the bend was a maroon BMW X5. A lot nicer car than what we’re driving, Reece thought. Wouldn’t pay for the upgrade, though—As the two cars passed, he heard the loud crack of a rifle. He instinctively ducked. In the rearview mirror he saw the BMW careen sideways, straight into the guardrail. The steel barrier was ripped open with an ear-splitting screech. The BMW carried on through—and dropped out of sight.“Did you see that?” he yelled, jamming his cowboy boot down on the brake pedal. The rear wheels locked as the vehicle skidded. The rear end started drifting right, and then the truck’s automatic traction control system corrected their path. Reece could smell the tires burning from the friction. “What the hell just happened?” Haisley said as he unbuckled his seat belt. Reece flung open his door and jumped down, wanting to see what happened to the other car. He ran to the crumpled section of the guardrail that the BMW had destroyed before it went airborne. Springing off his right foot, he cleared the barrier like a hurdle. The grass-covered bank was wet and slick as he descended. He started to slide, then caught himself, allowing himself to fall on his behind. He half-slid, half-pedaled the rest of the way down to the water.The sports utility vehicle was twenty feet out into the ocean with its front end already submerged below the surface. Reece didn’t have much time, if in fact the driver was still alive. He slipped off his Tony Lama boots. “Reece, what are you doing?” Haisley cried from above.“I’ve got to see if he needs to be rescued.”The lapping surf felt cold on his shins, then his stomach, and shoulders as he plunged into the waves. The saltwater burned his eyes as he looked out toward the truck and wondered if he’d get there in time. It seemed like it took ten minutes to swim to the sinking truck. Reece kicked through the water, taking big swipes at it as he alternated strokes with his arms. Just a little more. I’ve got it now.  He’d finally made it just as the rear bumper plunged below the surface and followed the rest of the truck’s chassis, sinking remorselessly into the cold black depths. Reece stuck his head below the water’s surface as he followed the red SUV down. There was no way he could dive that far.             Pulling his head out of the water, he kicked to keep treading water. For the first time he felt the bone-chilling cold. His teeth chattered and his numb legs felt like two heavy clumps. The wind whipped at the water’s surface, spraying his face. He turned back toward the shore and felt a strong current carrying him south. If he didn’t get back to shore, hypothermia would set in and he’d drown. Come on, he told himself, focus. He swung into motion, feeling more sluggish now. His arms were heavy like wooden oars. Reece kicked his feet to propel himself forward, but felt the weight of his clothes. His friend Haisley was standing on the bank a few feet from the water’s edge. The older bald black man with his white goatee was waving to him frantically.Just keep on rowing, he encouraged himself, just like a rowboat, looking for the right spot to fish. As he steadily made his way to shore, his mind filled with questions. What had happened on the road up above? Someone had shot at a moving vehicle, and that car was now sunk in the ocean depths. Whoever it was had to be a damned good shot. That meant that the killing was intentionalHe’d been lucky. One second earlier, and he could have been the one who was killed. A burn of anger started spreading from the back of his neck. That was too close. That made it personal.
SABOTAGE - Reece Culver thriller series - Book 2 is out.

Bryan Koepke's thrilling new short story, DAMAGE, punches into Amazon Top 100 Best Sellers rankings first week out.

It's been just a little under a week since DAMAGE was published and it's already made it into the Amazon Top 100 Best Sellers for two separate categories several days in a row.  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00WPCI7FGPlease Share!






This short piece of fiction was written as the prequel to Koepke's previously published Novel VENGEANCE after the author heard from readers that they'd like more information about the protagonist's father.

Author Bryan Koepke's website offers readers and writers tips on Self Publishing

The recently updated website of Author Bryan Koepke gives readers information about his book Vengeance, and his soon to be released short story, Damage, which is the prequel to the novel.

Here's the cover reveal for the soon to be published short story by author Bryan Koepke.
In this story we read the prequel to Vengeance.




If you dig further you'll find a whole page titled "Writers" with general advice, tips, & tricks on self publishing.  This page also has links to places where authors can get started self-publishing their own work.  Here's the link Bryan Koepke.

Take a look and if you don't see something you're interested in be sure to contact Bryan on his Contact page.

What's next after the debut Novel Vengeance?

If you've followed me on Twitter or my Facebook Author page you probably know I've been working on the next book in the Reece Culver Thriller series, Sabotage, which Writers Cabin Press plans to publish in 2015.  I've gone so far to say it will come out in the later half of 2015.  Right now I'm working my way through the manuscript editing it word by word, paragraph by paragraph, and page by page.  I'm hoping to give my freelance editor a call in the next couple of weeks and set up a time to send it to him.

When I wrote Vengeance I went through several rounds of developmental editing with John Paine.  Then in the Fall of 2013 he did his final edit and last March the book was published by Writers Cabin Press, Ltd.

I've also been working on a prequel to Vengeance that will give the reader some insight into the life of Reece's father, Al Culver.  I'll let you know when this is done and when it becomes available on Amazon.

Living with Tinnitus

In June of 2012 I woke up one day with a new sound in my left ear.  It was a high pitched ringing noise.  I went the way of most who've discovered this in their own lives spending hours on the Internet looking for a cause, a treatment, a reason why the peace and quiet I'd known for close to 50 years had suddenly become foreign.

The following Spring I visited an Audiologist where I was tested for hearing lost.  The good doctor offered me a pair of masking devices not covered by insurance that would play soothing music to block out the ringing.  I took a pass and saved myself a couple thousand dollars.

A year later I saw an article about a treatment called Neuromonics.  It promised to permanently offer relief or a lower level of disturbance and perceptance to tinnitus.  I got another hearing test and they said I was a perfect candidate for this treatment.  Guess what - not covered by insurance.  That was May and I waited until September to give the treatment a try.  To me it was a major monitory investment, but after five months of reflection I reasoned if I can't fork over my valuable dough for my health then I'm in bad shape.  I've been doing it now for 4 months and have just transitioned to what they call stage 2.

I have gotten some relief from the disturbance of this malady in my life.  The main part of life it affects is sleep.  Not that big a deal unless you commute to work, work a full-time job, spend hours concentrating and making important financial decisions that you're ultimately held accountable for and then in your free time spend hours in a silence writing novels.  Then all of a sudden sleep or the lack there of because something you miss.

Along the way I've made a few discoveries about what helps my tinnitus go away.  I've been lucky enough to experience 1 day every week or so, when the ringing in my left ear seems to disappear almost entirely.  Yes, these are happy days for me.  It gives me hope that one day it will disappear for good.

So you ask is Neromonics responsible for the days when the tinnitus disappears.  My answer thus far is no.  I've experienced this free day effect for close to two years.  My guess is it relates to my state of mind on those days.  Perhaps one day a week I'm completely relaxed.  Honestly I don't know what the cause is, but I'll take those days when they come.