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Peter Simmons thinks he is an ordinary boy, before he is abducted by a man with certain special abilities, learns of his inescapable destiny, befriends immortals and becomes famous wordlwide. Why? Because Peter Simmons is mankind’s last hope for survival.
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Genre – Young-adult, Action and Adventure, Coming of Age, Sci-fi
Rating – PG-13
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Connect with Ramz Artso on Facebook & Twitter
Website http://ramzartso.blogspot.com/
Why Writing is a Form of Personal Therapy
by Brian Francis Heffron
For me this question really hits home. You see, I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder or PTSD. I have had it for a long while and it is no fun. It makes it hard to trust people. You sometimes mistake kindness for an attack. It confuses those around you that love you. You are always looking for peril, head on the swivel. Your snake brain is always there in front of you like a filter between you and life. None of these things are good for a calm, serene healthy life….So, I write. I write poems about the pain of PTSD. I explain the way it feels not to trust and to mishear what people say.
And now that I look back on the writing of Colorado Mandala, I see it was a subconscious attempt at self-healing. I wrote the first draft at Emerson College when I was a student their in their prestigious writing program in the 1970s. My writer-in–residence, and instructors, were American treasure the novelist Russell Banks and Viet Nam novelist Tim O’Brien. It seems I took something from both. Ina nay case I would write a chapter and take it in for their review and criticism. I don’t know how I made it all the way through but I did.
Then something happened and I had to get out of Boston right after graduation and so I went to sea as a deckhand delivering sailboats all over the North Atlantic. I left the manuscript with friend and when I returned it more or less slipped my mind as I got married, had a wonderful daughter and built a career as a screenwriter and Television Director/Producer.
Last summer, after years of therapy working on my own PTSD I remembered Colorado Mandala and pulled it out. I had it retyped and began to rewrite it incorporating any and all of the wisdom I may have acquired in the intervening years. Again, self-healing through writing. There is even a branch of science that focuses solely on the use of text as a healing element and it is called “Bibliotherapy”. Colorado Mandala is that. It is a novel that heals. A kind of therapeutic tool that brings the reader into a world he or she recognizes and that soothes.
The idea that my book could actually help other people afflicted with PTSD makes me so happy. And this is what the Psychologists are now saying.
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Genre – Literary Fiction
Rating – PG
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Connect with Brian Heffron on Facebook & Twitter
Website http://www.brianheffron.net/brianheffron.net/Welcome.html
Nobody Has To Know, Frank Nappi’s dark and daring new thriller, tells the story of Cameron Baldridge, a popular high school teacher whose relationship with one of his students leads him down an unfortunate and self-destructive path. Stalked through text-messages, Baldridge fights for his life against a terrifying extortion plot and the forces that threaten to expose him. NHTK is a sobering look into a world of secrets, lies, and shocking revelations, and will leave the reader wondering many things, including whether or not you can ever really know the person you love.
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Genre - Thriller
Rating – PG-13
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Connect with Frank Nappi on Facebook & Twitter
Website http://www.franknappi.com
Camille
How did my life get so complicated? One minute, I, Camille Anderson, was living a pretty normal life in which nothing ever happened to me, and the next I'm practically being hauled away from the premier wedding venue in Houston, The Corinthian, by security because of my sudden outburst to the groom.
I should have known I was setting myself up for disaster, but I had to do it. I had to tell my best friend that I'd been in love with him since I was thirteen.
I really didn't expect the scene to unfold the way it did, especially while Trevor was getting married, but I couldn't hold my feelings in much longer. I felt he was making a terrible mistake, because he was marrying the wrong woman. He should have been marrying me.
I guess I should backtrack to when Trevor and I first met. It was seventeen years ago, when the Williams family first moved into the house next to ours. I was outside waiting for my friend Tia Simmons to come by when I first noticed Trevor. He was absolutely gorgeous as he stepped out of his family's SUV. He had that "boy next door" look, with wavy black hair and smooth ivory skin. He looked over at me and gave me a huge grin, which I greatly returned.
After that day, not only did we become friends, but our parents became great friends as well. We always went by each other's homes for dinner or for game night (until we were too old to appreciate hanging out with our parents on a Friday night).
We were practically inseparable during our high school years, and many of our friends thought we would eventually get married and have lots of kids. When anyone mentioned that to Trevor, he would shrug it off and say, "We're just friends, and it will stay that way until the day we die." Usually those words would tug at my heartstrings, but being the shy person I am, I never let my feelings show.
As we went to college, Trevor and I went into the same major, public relations. That was when he met Chelsea Parker, who was also my roommate. At first I liked Chelsea because she was basically a sweet person, but when she set her sights on Trevor, I quickly disliked her. Not because she took Trevor away from me, but because she became a different person.
If only I could go back to four weeks ago, or even seventeen years ago, I would be with the man I loved...
~
Four weeks ago....
"I don't know why you dragged me to this," I said as I looked at my friend Tia. The two of us were inside the Aventine Ballroom of Hotel Icon waiting for our friend Trevor and his fiancée, Chelsea, to arrive for their engagement and welcome home party. The two had announced their engagement to everyone a while back when Trevor was visiting his parents before going back to Dallas. Not only did he announce his engagement, but he also said that he had accepted a new position at a prestigious PR firm and was moving back to Houston. Although I was happy that my best friend was moving back, I was not thrilled that he was getting married.
"For once, why can't you be happy for Tre? He and Chelsea are finally getting married."
I gave Tia an evil stare as I looked toward the revolving door to the ballroom.
"You know how I feel about Trevor and Chelsea getting married."
"Oh please, Cam, when are you going to get past the fact that Trevor found someone? I told you to admit your feelings to him, but being the person you are, you decided not to."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You felt you would have been rejected if you told Trevor your true feelings."
"If I remember correctly, in high school when Charles asked him why we never hooked up, he said, and I quote, 'We're just friends.'"
Tia rolled her eyes at me and started to stare at the door as well. This was not the first time we'd had this conversation about my feelings for Trevor, so I'm pretty sure Tia was tired of hearing it.
Tia was my other best friend and the complete opposite of me. While I was quiet and reserved, Tia was wild and carefree. She always did what she wanted and didn't care about the consequences. People always thought we were sisters, with our caramel-colored complexion and long, dark-brown hair. But that was where the similarities ended. I looked down at my black sequin dress that went above my knees, wondering if I was dressed appropriately for the occasion; but as I looked at the hot-pink dress Tia was sporting, I figured my outfit was perfect.
"So how are things between you and Eric?"
"Finished; I broke up with him a couple of days ago."
"I'm assuming because he's not Trevor? Cam, you have got to move on."
I sighed as I noticed two figures coming through the door. I started to breathe slowly as I watched my friend walk in with his fiancée. Trevor always was attractive, but tonight he looked really handsome in a dark blue suit, white shirt, and blue and white striped tie. His black, wavy hair was cut short, bringing out his beautiful brown eyes. He walked hand in hand with Chelsea, the woman I wish I'd never met, who was positively glowing in an ivory-colored empire dress. Her reddish brown hair was pulled into a tight ponytail and her makeup was flaw- less. Although I was completely jealous of Chelsea, I had to admit the two made a stunning couple.
Tia gave me a frown.
"You OK?"
"I'm cool. Let's just get this over with."
While the crowd of family and friends were clapping and whistling for the happy couple, all I could do was just stand in my place, looking at Trevor as if he was the only person in the room. He gave me a smile that showed the deep dimples on each of his cheeks. As he went to greet a couple of his family members, I took a deep breath to control any tears from flowing.
I shouldn't have come tonight.
~
Trevor
"Why did we plan a huge engagement party? Everyone knows we're engaged," I asked my fiancée, Chelsea, as we were walking hand in hand down the corridor inside Hotel Icon.
"Sweetie, I just wanted everyone to celebrate in our happiness and what better way than a huge party?"
I sighed as I continued to walk, not realizing how frustrated I was becoming.
Chelsea was the love of my life. I instantly knew I wanted to marry her when I first laid eyes on her in Camille's dorm room. The two were roommates their junior year at University of Houston, which was great for me, considering I was able to see my best friend and my girlfriend at the same time. Although Camille and I were really good friends, I got the sense that something had been bothering her since I'd been dating Chelsea. Call me crazy, but it seemed as if Camille was jealous of our relationship. I hope not, because Chelsea loves Camille and considers her a good friend.
As we walked into the ballroom, everyone from our family and our friends were clapping and cheering for our arrival. We started to wave at everyone as we entered. Once I turned my head toward the center of the room, I had to stop and admire the person staring straight at me. My heart jolted several beats at the beauty who was giving me a dazzling smile. Camille Anderson had always been a beautiful woman, from her caramel-colored skin to her deep chocolate eyes; she definitely stood out in a crowd.
Just looking at her long hair flowing around her face and the black dress that hugged her curves in all the right places made me feel sort of embarrassed, because I shouldn't have been looking at her in that way. I always considered her my best friend and nothing more, so why was I looking at her differently now?
Chelsea turned her attention to me, wondering what was wrong.
"Is everything OK?"
I suddenly realized I was staring a little too long as I turned to Chelsea.
"I'm fine," I said as I squeezed her hand.
I gave Camille a huge grin as I walked over to talk to a nearby guest. I snuck another peek at her; she was talking to our friend Tia near the bar. I don't know what was going on with me, but hopefully this feeling I was having about my best friend would go away soon.
That's if I want it to.
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Genre - Contemporary Fiction
Rating – PG13
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Connect with Sheena Binkley on Twitter
Adrik waited in the guard’s room a couple of corridors along from Kornfeld’s cell. There was only one way out, so the Jew had to pass this room. He spun a Makarov on his finger, aimed at imaginary targets and thrilled at the thought of using it. The gun was standard issue, but he would’ve chosen it anyway. Totally reliable, pull the trigger and out pop the bullets. The blowback design expels the spent case to the right and loads the next cartridge into the chamber – easy. And fully armed with eight rounds, he would use them all.
This wouldn’t be his first killing and sure as hell wouldn’t be his last. Kornfeld was a pain, and it was Otto who mattered. He would do anything for him. Why should he care about some Jew who got in the way?
But time dragged, and Kornfeld hadn’t yet made a show. For one horrible minute he thought there might be another way out – but no, that isn’t even possible. Calm down, be patient... Try as he might, he couldn’t, and the idea ran around his head, irritating him beyond measure.
He left the guardroom and paced the corridor outside. At first a short distance and then a bit further into the next passageway. No good – he had to find out what had happened. With gun in hand and footsteps stealthy he reached the cell door – it was slightly open. Oh shit, did that mean there was another way out? Or maybe Kornfeld had gone deeper into the prison block. Or maybe he was in the cell hoping the element of surprise would be with him.
Possibilities ganged up. Kornfeld knew Lubyanka well. What if there was another way out and that little bastard knew it? If so, Otto would kill him, never mind the Jew. He kicked the door fully open, slammed it against the cell wall, stood back and then moved in, pointing the gun around to make sure Kornfeld wasn’t hidden on either side of the opening. The cell was dimly lit and he found it difficult to see. He would stay put until his eyes got accustomed to the light. A body, he saw a body. It was covered with a greatcoat, on the bunk facing the wall.
He was clearly supposed to think it was Kornfeld. In that case he’d be under the bunk waiting... But then that’s obvious too, so he might be on top with the guard pushed underneath. That made more sense – it would be easier for him to make an attack from on top – but, shit, wouldn’t that be what he wanted him to think?
To be sure of the kill, Adrik wanted to shoot above and below – but he couldn’t. How would he explain the soldier’s death? Oh, Otto, if only Otto was there to tell him what to do. But he wasn’t, he had to make up his own mind. The Jew was on top – yes, definitely on top.
Cautiously, he edged forward, pointed the pistol to the back of the person’s head and pulled the body towards him with gun steady and ready to fire. As quickly as his huge form allowed, he pulled the greatcoat away.
Fuck! The guard! No time to react. A leg came from under the bunk with incredible speed and wrapped around the back of his. At the same time, the Jew’s other foot came against his knees and pushed. Adrik had brought his legs together when he tore the coat away and Kornfeld used the imbalance to his advantage. Adrik’s arms went out. He hovered awkwardly, then almost regained control, but Kornfeld pushed harder and Adrik went flying backwards with his legs in the air. A sense of suspension ended and he fell heavily, striking the hard stone floor. His head bounced, shudders chased through his brain and he found himself staring at the ceiling, wavering between conscious and unconscious.
The pain pierced his skull and he noticed his head had rested in a pool of warm liquid. He hadn’t seen that when he came in. Numbness consumed his body; he couldn’t move. But then his blurred vision saw the bleary outline of the Jew. Awareness came that his body was being rolled over. He was paralyzed, but it didn’t stop the surge of fear that ran through every fibre of his being.
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Genre – Thriller, Crime, Suspense
Rating – R
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Connect with Rik Stone on Facebook & Twitter
Website http://rik-stone.simdif.com
Can wearing the color pink attract true love?
That is the question Summer Jones intends to answer.
In her early thirties, Summer Jones thought that she had found the perfect man, the man she planned to marry until she learned that he still had feelings for his first love. Now, at age thirty-five, Summer is ready to fall in love again. After she hears that wearing the color pink can attract true love, she sets out to do just that–and finds more than just true love.
Follow Summer as she journeys into the world of color magic and find out how she uses that magic to help her choose between one man from her past and another man who is destined to become her future.
This romantic drama serves up something fun and sexy, proving that the road to love can be paved with many painful lessons and memorable moments. It’s a story about paying attention to your past so that you don’t always have to repeat it.
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Genre - Romance
Rating – PG-13
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Connect with Parker Paige on Twitter
Website parkerpaige.wordpress.com
Set against the backdrop of Soviet, post-war Russia, Birth of an Assassin follows the transformation of Jez Kornfeld from wide-eyed recruit to avenging outlaw. Amidst a murky underworld of flesh-trafficking, prostitution and institutionalized corruption, the elite Jewish soldier is thrown into a world where nothing is what it seems, nobody can be trusted, and everything can be violently torn from him.
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Genre - Thriller, Crime, Suspense
Rating – R
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Connect with Rik Stone on Facebook & Twitter
Website http://rik-stone.simdif.com
CHAPTER ONE
I can’t ask for a better day to be out shooting. Man, what a view. Something about how the sun’s rays press against the faint distant outline of the mountains. Sick! If it can seem so dominating from all the way over here, I can only imagine what it must feel like up close. I don’t know. It just always kind of does something to me.
I know, I know. Lame, right? But trust me, if you lived in the hellhole I live in, anytime alone is sacred. You start to appreciate all these little not-so-particular things. Yeah—even the outline of the mountains.
Carefully, I focus the lens on my Canon 7D to capture the effect of the clouds drifting across the peaks of Mt. Rose and get my shot. A few seconds later, the sunlight dims. I hadn’t realized it was so late. I glance at my watch, wondering what’s taking Melinda so long. She promised to pick me up by five, even though I knew that would mean five-thirty. It’s five-forty-five.
I call her on my cell. It rings four times, then goes to voicemail. “Come on, Mel!” I mutter. “It’s getting late!”
I’ve had a good day so far, probably because I’ve been alone for most of it, and I really don’t want another confrontation with Jet. I can still taste the faint copper tinge of blood at the corner of my mouth where he split my lip the last time around. Two days ago.
I hit redial. Straight to voicemail. “Dammit, Mel!”
I tell myself to breathe, but my anxiety is really starting to kick in. Sweat is beading on my forehead and my heart is jolting in my chest. Why does she always have to be so impossible? I don’t get it.
The moment I hear the loud thrum of an engine roaring up the dirt road, I jump up from the boulder I’ve been perched on. It’s about damn time!
She screeches up to me in her new, cherry-red Mini Cooper and slams on the brakes. I dodge around to the passenger side. Grab the door handle. It’s locked.
“Mel!” I shout. “Open up!”
But she’s sitting behind the wheel pretending not to hear me. Eyes glued to her phone, purple nails tapping out a text message. With a tiny smirk on her glossed-up lips.
I hit the window with my fist. “Stop messing around! Jet’s gonna be pissed!”
She finishes her text, sends it … and adjusts the rearview mirror so she can check out the jet-black curls at her temples. She still hasn’t given me one look. Is she really serious right now?
I pound at the window again, as hard as I can. “Open up, dammit!” My anxiety is turning into rage. And rage is something Jet’s modeled for me only too well over the years, ever since he and his first wife, Leyla, took me in as a foster kid. Mel was just six at the time, but “my sister,” which she became after they finally adopted me, was a full-fledged brat from Day One, and she’s only gotten worse.
My fist hurts. I’m afraid of what Jet will do when we get back, since he ordered me to be home by six so I can start dinner.
But as far as Mel’s concerned, I might as well not be there. I can’t control it any longer. I take a step back, lift my knee, and kick the passenger door with all my strength. The hollow metal frame vibrates against the sole of my shoe. Mel’s prized car now has a six-inch dent right in the middle of the passenger door.
I guess that got her attention. Her mouth is hanging open. For a moment, she’s so astonished that she can’t speak. She swings her door open and charges around to the passenger side.
“MY CAR!” she screams, staring at the dent. “Are you crazy?!”
“Why couldn’t you just open up?” I yell back.
“Gavin, you’re an asshole! I was just messing with you! You’re never gonna learn to use your head, are you?”
“Go to hell!”
She goes still, then raises her eyebrows with an “Oh, really?” expression. Then she hauls off and slams her fist into the right side of my face. All I can feel is the large stone of her ring jabbing into my cheek. She stalks back to the driver’s side with a wicked smirk creasing her lips and snaps, “You can walk home!”
She slides behind the wheel, slams the door, and peels off so hard and fast that the car kicks up a stinging cloud of gravel and asphalt dust all over me.
She can’t be serious. But as the Mini disappears around the first bend in the road, I realize that she is.
* * *
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Genre - Young Adult Science Fiction
Rating – PG
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Connect with Arthur J. Gonzalez on Facebook & Twitter
Website http://www.arthurjgonzalez.com/
Change is seldom easy, but moving into our new offices the final year of the campaign was anything but hard. Sandy decorated our campaign offices with style, comfortable furnishings, light- colored woods, and plenty of glass. She said her taste was as big as my pocketbook, and lucky for us, friends of the campaign had donated plenty of cash to do the job right.Sandy popped her head around the door. Dressed in a black skirt and form-fitting zebra print blouse, she carefully positioned the toe end of her black stilettos toward the floor to keep the door from closing. I could just see the faint line between her toes as her foot was flexed.
We had a tight spring closer installed right after one of my senior staff accidentally left the door ajar. There are a lot of sensitive issues discussed in here we would never want the rest of the office to know.
“Jack, you’ve got senior staff in 20 minutes.” Sandy’s voice had an almost musical quality. She rarely spoke to me in anything but the most dulcet tones, a trait which matched her pleasing personality.
“Hey, Sandy,” I jumped up from my seat and moved quickly towards her.
“Come with me; I want to show you something.”
“What’s going on, Jack? You seem excited.”
I didn’t answer – instead I led her gently by the arm toward the seventh floor elevator. We passed several staff members busy working at their desks, each calling out like dominoes, one after the other, “Hey Jack.” I smiled and gave thumbs up as Sandy and I hurried past.
“Damn, the elevator’s busy; let’s take the stairs.”
“Do we have enough time, Jack?” Sounding concerned as we turned the corner.
Ignoring the question, I pushed open the door and started down the steps. Sandy had one hand gripping the cold metal railing and her other digging into my arm for support, luckily she had short nails. A couple of years ago, I mentioned I didn’t like the plastic ones she was wearing. The next day she came into the office, plopped both hands down on my desk, and said, “I cut my nails, Jack!”
It was hard for her to move fast in high heels with her skirt fitted snug just above the knee. She managed by holding tight to my arm, scuffing along, taking quick small steps.
“I’m parked on the third floor of the parking garage. Keep going; it’s only one more floor.”
“Jack, I’m out of breath,” Sandy said as I pushed open the door to P3.
We entered a large open area to see a shiny sports car parked alone.
“It’s my new car; you like it?”
“What is it?”
“It’s a car,” Teasing, knowing what she meant.
“I know it’s a car, what kind is it? I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Don’t feel bad. I didn’t know either; I had to look it up. It’s French made, a Bugatti. The guy that delivered it said it’s one of a kind.”
Sitting before us was a machine that pushed the envelope to unreal. Lines so amazing it seemed to be in motion just standing still. The Bugatti Veyron is basically a street legal racecar. Exciting as all hell to drive. I never dreamed I’d own an automobile that could hit a top speed over 250 miles per hour. Truth is, before last night I didn’t even know I wanted one.
My version was custom painted black metallic with shiny chrome over dazzling wheel rims in a wave pattern over the single door. The porcelain moldings formed a body impossible to duplicate with steel alone. The styling was accentuated by a triple round grill that gave the car personality and elevated the handcrafted masterpiece to a work of art. To say this car was rare was an understatement; I’d seen only one similar car and that was in a magazine.
The Bugatti was hot, a real head turner, all eyes were on it as I drove to the office this morning.
Sandy said, “It’s beautiful, Jack When did you get it?”
“They just dropped it off last night.” I ran around the car and opened the passenger side door for her.
“Sandy, get in. Let’s go for a spin around the block; we’ve got time.” She tried to enter, first sideways then lowering herself gracefully as far as she could. Instead, she ended up plopping down, practically falling into the very low seat. She crossed her legs, trying to get situated and buckled in. The seats were so steeply angled, they looked like twin toboggans racing downhill. Watching Sandy try to get comfortable, I thought cars like these are not made for long drives or tight skirts.
Sandy warned, “I hope you’re gonna take it easy, Jack?”
“Engine on,” I spoke. The car was outfitted with prototype voice activated control. The engine obeyed, immediately humming to a start. The understated throatiness of the exhaust stood in quiet contrast to all the glass packs out there trying to Sound Street tough. All the gauges lit blue and the dials went to the hilt before settling down. The windows looked like mirrors from the outside and the interior cabin was nearly sound proof.
“Hear that purr?” I revved up the 16 cylinder 1000 horsepower engine, flooring the accelerator several times, burying the tach.
“Look at this thing Sandy – it doesn’t red line until 12,000 rpm!”
Sandy was admiring the leather wrapped interior, running her hands over the dash settling on the round vent of the chrome airstream.
“We won’t need the air conditioner today,” I joked.
“You think? – It’s like 40 degrees outside; I should’ve brought a sweater. You hurried me out so fast I didn’t have time to think. ”
I told her, “You won’t need it in here; the cabin heats up in seconds.” The car must have been equipped with some type of radiant heat system.
I flipped the dial and we were warm almost immediately.
Sandy said, “I wonder how they do that; I freeze waiting for my car to heat up. You know, Jack, I never thought I’d say this about a car, but this one is sexy… I guess some guys need this sort of thing.”
I sank back into the driver’s seat richly upholstered in a diamond patchwork of raised blond leather. The headrests had the Bugatti Logo richly embroidered to adorn the center. Everything in the cockpit was chrome or leather trimmed with a fragrant new car smell.
It’s always amused me that people are willing to pay many times the intrinsic value of an item just to obtain the status of a brand. This was not one of those times. We were seated in an example of excellence, worth every penny of the $1.6 million price tag. It wouldn’t have mattered what they called it.
“Reverse,” I eased off the brake. My left hand barely guiding the wheel, I backed the car from its lone parking spot.
When I arrived this morning, the first and second floors of the garage were nearly filled with cars so I took the third level to have it all to myself. I knew I was gonna take at least one person for a ride today!
“Drive,” I said, and with both hands on the wheel at ten and two, I asked Sandy, “Are you ready?” Before she could answer, I pressed my foot down on the pedal. The tires spun, smoking for a second on the slick cement floor. I smelled the hint of burning rubber as we laid our first 10-foot strip.
We were off!
“Hold on, Sandy,” I warned as we slowed quickly to negotiate the first turn.
“Please be careful,” Sandy pleaded as we tore through it. The thick rear of the car fishtailing, tires screeching, turn by turn we made it to the ground level. We tested the acceleration, racing full throttle the entire length of the floor. I hit the brakes hard, skidding right through the exit booth. The attendant raised the traffic arm just in time.
Ceramic Brake Pads, built to withstand enormous heat, allowed the car to stop faster than it accelerated. Sixty to zero in a mere 2.3 seconds…on this stop, I could’ve used another tenth of a second for Sandy’s sake.
“Oh my God, Jack, you almost hit the bar. You’re the last guy on earth that should own a car that goes this fast.”
“Oh Honey, I knew we weren’t gonna hit the bar. This car was made for this type of handling.”
I really did know it as fact. In practice this morning, me and the kid worked it out. I slipped him a twenty.
“You think that was fast, you haven’t seen nothing yet!”
“No, I really have,” Sandy grabbed tight to the armrests.
Looking only to my left I hit the gas and we flew out into the street.
“Jack, are you sure…?”
I answered by putting the pedal to the floor, “We’ll just take her around the block.”
We could feel only mild vibration as we tested the claim of zero to sixty in 2.5 seconds. We were momentarily pinned back in our seats.
“Wow!” I said. Driving as fast as I could, barely stopping at one corner before speeding up to the next, each time announcing to Sandy how fast we’d gotten up to.
“She just kept saying “You’re gonna get us killed.”
“The last run was our best, Sandy, sixty-eight!” I told her, proud of myself. When we got back to our starting point, we turned into the garage. I stopped briefly, thanked the attendant and grabbed a ticket.
Sandy said, “Pleeease, Jack, can we just take it easy now?”
The cockpit was relatively quiet, even with all the commotion we created. Tires screeching, rear end fishtailing, burning rubber all the way to the third level.
On the way up, I told Sandy, “It sounds worse than it is!”
“Off!” One final command and the powerful machine instantly fell into motionless repose.
“Jack! Driving with you feels like sitting in a rocket sled perched on a banana peel. I feel like I just lifted off in the space shuttle. You’re impossible! Really, Jack, you try sitting in the death seat with someone driving like that! I nearly put my foot through the floor trying to stop the car myself.” Sandy threatened with a look like she’d never get in my car again. This time I think she meant it.
“We have to take the elevator. This skirt is too tight for me to climb stairs.” I was laughing, exhilarated as we hurried towards the exit. Sandy was trying her best to keep up, one hand on my shoulder the other on my arm for balance. I pushed the button and showed her my watch, “See we made it.”
“Jack, we’ve only made it to the elevator,” she said slightly exaggerated, out of breath. She was shaking a bit. I grabbed her by the shoulders and looked down deep into her eyes.
“Don’t worry, I sent everyone a text before we left to hold off for 20 minutes. I just wanted to take you for a ride and have some fun. Wasn’t that an awesome adrenaline rush?”
“I just didn’t want them to blame me for making you late.” Sandy’s eyes were a little watery. She grabbed a tissue out of her purse and dabbed them dry.
“It wouldn’t have been your fault. Don’t cry Honey; I’m sorry you’re upset.”
“I’m not crying. Sometimes you’re a little wild Jack, really! When did you even decide to buy that car? Usually you have me check around…”
I cut her off, “It was a gift. Somebody Bud’s been working with, they just dropped it off.”
She cocked her head to the side and, wide-eyed, looked at my face, “Who would just give you that?”
I explained, “One of our key supporters in the East. I’m anxious to meet him. He’s throwing us a big fundraiser the night of the New Hampshire Primary in Upstate New York. Bud’s working out the details. I want you to come with us; it’ll be fun. Maybe you’ll meet some rich guy that drives his Benz like a little old lady.”
“Very funny, Jack. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with driving the speed limit. The way you drive, you’re gonna get somebody killed. Why did he give you the car though?”
“He wants to be sure that when I’m president, I’ll take his call. The car is his way of introducing himself. I’m not about to keep it. I’m gonna auction it off for charity after the election.”
“That’s some introduction, Jack. They sure know your weakness. I wish someone would give me a car.”
“Sandy, the super rich are drawn to power like moths to a flame.”
“Do you know what this means?” Sandy looked into my eyes, “You’re going all the way!”
I reached to her shoulders, “Sandy, we’re goin’ all the way!”
“Jack, I can’t wait until you expose these people.”
I started daydreaming about my speech… The wealthy want the status quo to continue, hoarding trillions… they move in a world that few people get a chance to see. We’ll get a big taste of that up in New York; that’s one of the reasons I wanted Sandy to come. She’s never seen this before. I wanted her to see this unbelievable wealth first hand.
Most Americans have no idea that the richest 1% control 50% of the income. The system is so broken. We have thirty-eight million kids who go to bed hungry every night while the wealthy in this country can’t figure out where to park their extra Mercedes.
“Jack… have you heard anything I said?” She knew I was deep in thought and hadn’t heard a word.
“Sandy, my parents have friends who would be embarrassed to stay too long in their winter homes for fear the neighbors would think they’d lost their minds or gone senile. All while millions of Americans are homeless. It’s messed up.”
“It’s awful, Jack The rich are so selfish they only care about themselves!”
“Well I’ll tell ya one thing, nobody has ever done anything about it.”
“The only thing I worry about, Jack: if you speak out against them, how are you going to get big donations for the campaign?”
“It’ll be like taking candy from a baby. It’s human nature. Every billionaire thinks he’s the exception and we’re not talking about him. You won’t believe how fast the donations roll in.”
“Jack, you know what I’ve never understood?”
“What, Honey?”
“What don’t they have with all that money?”
“Peace of mind…they worry about what they might lose. You’ll see. They get jittery when administrations change and they’ll pay huge money to the frontrunners. For insurance, they have access to whoever wins the Presidency. You watch.”
“Jack?”
“Yeah?”
“Next time I drive.”
Continues…
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Genre – Political Thriller
Rating – PG
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Connect with Greg Sandora on Facebook & Twitter
Website http://www.gregsandora.com/
The System Is Dead
by Justin Blaney
News broke recently that The Cuckoo’s Calling,
a novel by unknown author Robert Galbraith, was actually written by JK Rowling, a little known billionaire who wrote a story about some tosser named Harry Potter. The Cuckoo’s Calling had sold a mere 500 copies over 2 1/2 months, but rocketed to #1 in every category on Amazon, including fresh groceries within hours of Rowling’s secret coming out. Oddly enough, the Harry Potter series sells exactly 500 copies every time Emma Watson cuts her hair shorter.
Though it seemed obvious to everyone that The Cuckoo’s Calling was a great story, it was selling about as well as a PHD dissertation on bird watching. Great reviews, which the book had in abundance, were not enough for the book to catch on. One editor, who rejected the manuscript, recalled that the writing was quite good, but the novel didn’t stand out. A reviewer on Amazon opined that the book was so well written, she would not be surprised if we discover some day that it was written by a famous author. Rowling’s secret may have been discovered because the book’s prose was so self-assured that some readers couldn’t believe it was written by a freshman author.
So if the book is great, why wasn’t it selling more?
Because without her name, Ms. Rowling was reduced to mere mortal status, subject to the same broken publishing system that plagues authors, bookstores and readers everywhere. And don’t put all the blame on editors and agents. You try to pick a bestseller from a stack of manuscripts as tall as the B.F.G.
The publishing industry’s problems are just the first page of a very bad novel. Take a look around and you’ll find a lot of systems are broke.
Consider the system we trust to bring us great movies (which cost $17 a ticket and are rarely worth the price of popcorn, which, ironically, also costs $17).
Then there’s the system we trust to bring us great music (1% of which is bioengineered by Carly Rae Jepsen’s agent to become a #1 single, the other 99% is filler, bioengineered by the ghost of Steve Jobs to waste space on your iPod so you have to upgrade to the 32gb version).
Or how about the system we trust to educate our children. We spend $10,000 per raggy-head-of-hair on public education while 25% of students aren’t graduating high school. You can’t even get a job cleaning gum off the handrails at Six Flags without a master’s degree. And 10,000 bucks? You could buy your little rug rat a desk in the world’s best prep schools for that much money and you’d still have enough to get your family’s name imprinted on a brick in the school gymnasium.
Don’t even get me started on the system we trust to govern us. In the United States, our government debt has reached $250,000 for an average family of five. Europe and Asia aren’t doing any better. I could buy a lot of bricks with my name on it for that much money.
It’s like we’re all playing Parcheesi in a burning building, arguing about whose turn is next.
What should we do about all these broken systems?
Same thing you do in a fire. Curl into a ball and stay still—-no, that’s a bear attack. In a fire, you locate the nearest exit and run.
I’m not talking about colonizing Mars–although that would be pretty cool–I’m talking about creating your own system. One where you’re in charge. If the world’s rules aren’t working for you, starting making up your own.
Do you remember in 3rd grade during recess when that obnoxious redhead kid was losing at foursquare and he tried to change the rules so he could win? That’s what I’m talking about. Except in real life, you don’t have to lose for him to win. Everyone can win. Because you’re not playing against other people, you’re playing against yourself.
The system tells you to wait for that publisher to call you back and offer you a contract– that’s what the system told the author of Harry Potter when she didn’t use her real name. But when you’re making your own rules, you build your own audience and you have a lot more fun doing it because no one is giving you impossible deadlines or designing covers with a blonde when your book is about a brunette.
You can’t trust your employer to keep you on staff when it’s downsizing time. You can’t trust your schools to teach your kids everything they need to know. You can’t trust your grocery story to sell you foods that are healthy. You can’t trust your government to do your retirement planning for you. You can’t even trust your dishwasher to clean the dishes! Or, maybe that’s just my dishwasher.
It’s impossible to win a game that doesn’t have all the pieces.
Create your own game where you make the pieces up as you go. Find friends who love and support you instead of tearing you down. Learn what you need to learn. Get out of bed. Turn off the TV. Put your phone on mute and hide it under your pillow for a day. You may not be able to become anything you want, but you can become more than you are. You may not be able to do anything you want, but you can do more than you are. It takes work. And patience. And more work. And more patience. And sometimes a bit of luck. And good friends.
You’re the only person in this world who is going to make it happen. I, for one, find that very reassuring.
So what have you been waiting for? What systems do you trust that continually let you down? What steps are you going to take to stop trusting those systems and start making your own rules? I look forward to hearing from you. Please leave your comments at the bottom of this page!
About the author
Justin Blaney is the #1 bestselling author of Evan Burl and the Falling. He’s a blogger at JustinBlaney.com and I4J.org, the creator of Isfits, and a film producer with Inkliss. He lives outside Seattle with his wife and three daughters. Connect with Justin on Facebook, Twitter or Youtube.
My father abandoned me when I was an infant.
My friends have turned against me.
My uncle beats me.
The most powerful men in the world want me dead.
They all have one thing in common.
They think I’m turning into a monster.
I’m starting to worry they’re right.
Genre - Young Adult
Rating – PG
Connect with Justin Blaney on his website
Abby, 13, is looking forward to watching the moon turn purple, unaware that deadly bacteria from a passing comet will soon kill off older teens and adults. She must help her brother and baby sister survive in this new world, but all the while she has a ticking time bomb inside of her--adolescence.
"Cramer creates a picture of our world that's both frightening and inspiring in this heartfelt story that both young adults and adults can enjoy.A heartwarming but not overly sentimental story of survival." KIRKUS REVIEWS
"Outrageous and completely 'out of the box'." MY HOME AWAY FROM HOME review blog
"Three words: Gripping. Palpable. Well-developed." WORD SPELUNKING review blog
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Genre - Science fiction
Rating – PG-13
More details about the author
6.7/10
A couple reunites years after the night they first met, fell in love, and separated, convinced that one day they'd end up together.
Summary:
Jonathan Trager and Sara Thomas met while shopping for gloves in New York. Though buying for their respective lovers, the magic was right and a night of Christmas shopping turned into romance. Jon wanted to explore things further but Sara wasn't sure their love was meant to be. They decided to test fate by splitting up and seeing if destiny brought them back together... Many years later, having lost each other that night, both are engaged to be married. Still, neither can shake the need to give fate one last chance to reunite them. Jon enlists the help of his best man to track down the girl he can't forget starting at the store where they met. Sara asks her new age musician fiance for a break before the wedding and, with her best friend in tow, flies from California to New York hoping destiny will bring her soulmate back. Near-misses and classic Shakespearean confusion bring the two close to meeting a number of times but fate will have the final word on whether it was meant to be. Written by Lordship <lordship@juno.com>
Chapter 1
The Hunt
Guinevere stared into the shadows along the edge of the forest. She could hear Cedwyn shifting from foot to foot beside her, unable to stand still. She sighed, the bow made of sturdy pine in her hand growing heavier like her heart. Her thirteenth Birth Day was in a few days, but she wasn’t excited. Birth Days were supposed to be fun, but not this year. Not for her, not for a princess.
She frowned as Cedwyn adjusted the leather quiver of arrows on his back again. Sometimes, like today, her patience with the seven-year-old was short.
“Guin’ver?”
“Hush!”
“But ...”
“Hush!”
She stamped her boot on the ground, her displeasure clearly showing.
“Cedwyn,” she snapped. “What is so important that you can’t be quiet?”
“I’m hungry, and the bottoms of my trousers are wet. Can’t we go back to the castle?” His face showed his confusion at her tone.
Guinevere realized that she shouldn’t have directed her anger at Cedwyn. It wasn’t his fault. Glancing down at her own clothes, she saw the bottom of her green ankle-length tunic wet with the morning dew. Her stomach chose that moment to begin grumbling. It started as a low vibration but grew louder as if it hadn’t been fed in days. Cedwyn heard it and started giggling. He tried to smother the sound by covering his mouth with his small hand, but he was too late.
Trying to keep from laughing also, Guinevere shook her head. “How are we ever going to shoot a rabbit with all this noise?” She reached down and tousled his blond hair to let him know that she was not serious and to apologize for her crossness. “Let’s try for just ten minutes longer. Then if we find nothing, we’ll go back. Is that all right?”
Cedwyn shook his head, not wanting to make any further noise. She let her eyes move across the blue sky. The English summer sun had barely reached above the far hills when they had first arrived at the forest. Now, it was well on its way in its climb toward the dinner hour, and they hadn’t even had a proper breakfast yet. Cedwyn’s mum was sure to be upset that they had been gone so long.
“Come on,” he whispered. “The only creatures we’ve seen moving have been badgers and Cornish hens. We could of had five bloody hens by now.”
“I told you, it’s good luck to bag a rabbit on the eve of your thirteenth Birth Day,” Guinevere informed him.
Cedwyn studied her face, unsure if she was telling the truth or not. Then his blue eyes widened, and he grabbed her arm as she turned to continue hunting. “Wait a minute! You promised to help me bag a rabbit on the eve of my tenth Birth Day. You said that was lucky!”
She turned to him, her balled fists on her slim hips. “You need to listen closer when I talk to you. I explained the difference be- tween boys and girls. Boys have to seek luck on the eve of their tenth and fifteenth Birth Days. Since girls are naturally luckier than boys, they only have to seek luck once, on the eve of their thirteenth Birth Day.”
Cedwyn eyed her suspiciously, and then his eyes lit up.
“But I thought that the eve was the night before. Your Birth Day isn’t until the day after tomorrow.”
“That’s true, but the eve of something can also be anytime close to the day.”
“Are you sure?”
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Genre - Arthurian Legend
Rating – G
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Who or what influenced your writing over the years? Stephen King, Dean Koontz, Peter Straub, Clive Barker, Jeffery Deaver, Lincoln Child, Douglas Preston…. Star Wars books, playing Dungeons and Dragons, reading Dungeons and Dragons books, playing Magic the Gathering… during my late teens and early twenties, I probably read more epic fantasy than anything else, and that was a great influence in regards to mythology creation
What made you want to be a writer? The desire to work in your pajamas. Though as a dentist who wears scrubs every day, I pretty much work in my pajamas now.
What do you consider the most challenging about writing a novel, or about writing in general? Staying off the internet. Off of Facebook. I’ll admit, it was easier 20 years ago before the internet and Windows and computing in general was what it is today. I have a very short attention span. The instant gratification of screwing around on the internet is sometimes a real big distraction. Sometimes I wonder how much more I would get done with just a typewriter.
Did writing this book teach you anything and what was it? It taught me that I could, indeed, write a book if I put my mind to it. It also taught me where the legal brothels are in Nevada. Just saying…
Do you intend to make writing a career? I hope I can one day but I’ll be honest, I make a nice living as a dentist. I’d have to be a relatively successful writer to be able to give up dentistry. And besides, I get to help people at work. I get to hurt people. And it’s a social job. Writing… it’s a solitary profession. You sit at home on a computer by yourself. But still, yeah, I’d like to have more time to do it.
Have you developed a specific writing style? Yeah… you’ll have to read my stuff to discover what it is. The short stories are a good place to start.
What is your greatest strength as a write? The ability to write stories, whether they be funny or creepy or scary, that keep the readers thinking long after they’re done reading. My writing style, as well. I think it’s engaging without being too simple or overly complicated and stilted.
Have you ever had writer’s block? If so, what do you do about it? All the time… I have a list of ideas and concepts to build off of, but from the time I finished editing Blood, Smoke and Ashes up until two weeks ago, I had no idea what I wanted to write next. I had ideas but no stories, no characters. Going to the gym helps to free my mind.
Can you share a little of your current work with us? Another horror/thriller. It was actually the first book I tried to write as an adult after finishing my residency ten years ago. The main character is a dentist (several of my short story protagonists are dentists as well) with a disturbing history. His life starts to unravel the day before Thanksgiving when a patient, who is a gypsy, calls him an abomination before storming out. This is followed by the death of his grandmother and a disturbing scene at his grandparent’s house the night before the funeral. I plan on releasing it as a 4-5 part serial.
How did you come up with the title? Blood, Smoke and Ashes… it was easy. That’s what you see when an execution by electric chair goes horribly wrong. The execution of Molly Blackburn by an electric chair is the impetus behind the story. That’s why there is an electric chair on the cover of the book. Both covers. Blood, Smoke and Ashes conveys something very visceral about the experience.
Can you tell us about your main character? There are four main characters in Blood, Smoke and Ashes, and what I love about them all is that they are all tragic in their own ways. I think the best stories are those where the line between good and evil is blurred; where the bad guys are bad but you understand why they are bad; where you can empathize with the evil characters. Stories where the good guys aren’t necessarily all good; where they have the same faults and weakness as real people do. These characters are all dear to my heart because none of them-and I mean none of them- get what they deserve in the end, and the reader is left wondering if they would have made the same decisions.
How did you develop your plot and characters? I wrote the opening scene and the “bad guy’s” history, and let the story write itself. While my newest project is outlined from beginning to end, Blood, Smoke and Ashes was written night to night depending on what the characters were doing and how I felt. The prologue was even an afterthought. Hell, I thought that the story was going a certain way half way through. Certain of it. Then bang, one night I’m writing a scene with two of the female characters on the stairs talking with each other and I said to myself… what would happen if this one was pregnant? And that was it… the story went in a completely different direction. For the better. Is the story what I envisioned when I started it? No. It’s better. Because I allowed the characters to create the story.
This is the second edition of the book, and the errors noted in several of the reviews have been corrected.In the Fall of 1955, the state of Nevada used the electric chair to execute a prisoner for the first time.
It was also the last time.
Molly Blackburn, nicknamed Jane the Ripper by the Las Vegas press after killing eleven men while posing as a prostitute, was strapped to the chair without incident. The switch was flipped.
Everything after that went horribly wrong.
Since that day, a copycat Jane the Ripper has appeared almost every decade in a different city, mimicking Molly’s choice in victims as well as her methods of murder. She kills eleven men then disappears, never to be found. The similarities between the bodies left behind each decade is uncanny. As if they are all the victims of the same murderer, not a copycat.
But that’s impossible, of course, because Molly Blackburn is dead, her execution witnessed by a dozen people.
FBI Agent Jack Shaw, the lead investigator in the Jane the Ripper cases since the seventies, finally catches a break in 2009 when the intended fifth victim manages to turn the tables on the newest copycat . Everyone believes that the horror has finally ended with her capture. Shaw is not so sure, though, wondering if someone else will take up the mantle and kill seven more men to complete the cycle. But when no more bodies with her distinctive markings show up over the next two years, Shaw allows himself to believe that maybe he has seen the end of the Jane the Ripper murders.
As it turns out, what he thought was the end was only the beginning.
His hunt will take him across the country, and even when he thinks he’s finally discovered the truth, he quickly learns that not everything is as it seems.
That not every monster is created equal.
That the nature of good and evil is not as black and white as he has always believed.
That not everything that is broken can be put back together.
That not every fractured soul can be saved.
When blood, smoke and ashes rise, no one comes out the same on the other side.
Blood, Smoke and Ashes is a 115,00 word supernatural thriller that also contains the first half of my crime/thriller novella “I Never”
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Genre – Thriller / Horror
Rating – PG13 bordering on R
(Horror with some violence / Some sex, not overly graphic)
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Chapter 6
I lay in bed that night thinking about Maria's fierce, yet naive, love for Ian. Ah sixteen—such a romantic age. Again she reminded me of myself. I was only a few years older than she is when Pablo and I fell in love our sophomore year in college. We stayed together until we graduated. If this pregnancy had happened back then, Pablo and I might be married with a sixteen-year-old child today. Or—given all the ups and downs in our relationship—maybe we'd be divorced with a sixteen-year-old child. All of that is hard to imagine now.
I wouldn't have chosen to get pregnant at age twenty or twenty-one, but if I had, I would have had no hesitation about marrying Pablo. I loved him deeply, trusted him totally, and believed in our future together. I thought of him as my soul mate until that night a few days after our college graduation.
When Pablo said he'd saved up to take me to dinner at the pricey Flagstaff House to celebrate our graduation, I was sure he planned to propose. After all, the Flagstaff House is known as Boulder's most romantic restaurant, and widely acknowledged to be the best spot in town to pop the question. And we'd been together for three years. I intended to bring up my concerns that we were too young for marriage, that maybe we should wait a year or so. But I also planned to say "yes" to his proposal, because I knew we were destined to be together forever. I was floating on a joyous cloud as we walked into the elegant restaurant in the foothills.
Our table, next to a floor-to-ceiling window, gave us a breathtaking view of the city of Boulder 6,000 feet below. A stunning sunset matched my inner glow. I felt glamorous and grownup in my perfect little black cocktail dress, cut and gracefully draped to mold to my figure. I had spent more than I should have on it, but I wanted this night to be a magnificent memory. As I looked at Pablo, my handsome lover, looking especially delicious in a tie and jacket, I was in heaven.
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Genre - Mystery
Rating – PG
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Connect with Lynn Osterkamp on Twitter
Elloree Prince is an attractive, creative young woman who marries a wealthy businessman, Tom Randall. After courting his bride with unrelenting determination, Tom moves her into old-moneyed Oak View, where generations of Randalls have lived for years. Outwardly, Elloree appears to settle into raising their two sons within Oak View’s stifling social structure, but inwardly, she yearns for her artistic work. An unexpected phone call from Mark Williams, her former employer, offers her the career opportunity of a lifetime, and she must make a choice. She is torn between her devotion to her sons and her love for her work. Her decision to return to Wishes, Inc. brings dramatic life changes to her and the people she loves.
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Genre - Women’s fiction
Rating – PG-13
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Connect with Marilyn Holdsworth on Facebook & Twitter
Blog http://MarilynHoldsworth.wordpress.com/
Giveaway
The author is giving away 1 soft cover books and 3 kindle books in this tour.
The Jaxon Effect by KC Michaels
The first installment of the Jaxon Effect Trilogy is a fast paced and sexy page turner that has all the goods. One night only, that was the agreement!
Jaxon Remington has GQ looks, a hefty bank-roll, and he owns the hottest male strip club in Manhattan. Sounds perfect right. Not even close. On the surface he has the world by the balls but on the inside he's hanging by a tiny thread.
Jaxon wears a proverbial suit of armour but when Dr. Sims walks into his life he might as well be naked. After just one kiss she not only puts a chink in the armour, she blows it apart at the seams. No matter how hard he tries to deny their connection, he knows he needs more. With his sobriety on the line, he's forced to make a decision. Follow his heart, and risk everything or take the safe route, break her heart, and walk away.
Believing a one night stand is exactly what she needed to move past a terrible break-up, Kate Sims uncharacteristically agrees to Jaxon Remington's proposal. A one shot deal. A wonderful memory she could recall far into the future. What she received was far more than she bargained for. She had fallen for him and he was emotionally unavailable.
A relationship that had her teetering on the edge of insanity was not her idea of a good time. Although this man spoke to her soul on a level she couldn't comprehend, the one sided--no strings attached--arrangement she found herself in had to end. At the risk of losing him forever, deciding something was not better than nothing she gives him an ultimatum and prays she has the strength to follow through.
The Jaxon Effect is a romantic suspense trilogy. A guaranteed page turner that has compelling main characters, interesting sub characters and a unique plot. Women who enjoyed the deep connection between Edward and Bella in Twilight and the sensual chemistry between Christian and Anna in Fifty Shades will love this. This story differs from both of these titles as the plot is action packed yet realistic and the romantic elements are spicy but not erotica.
Sometimes love can blow you away.
When struggling college student Adam Parsh accepts a tutoring position, he is immediately drawn into the unknown world of the wealthy Vassalo family. Fighting off the sexual advances of Dario Vassalo, the Greek tycoon and patriarch, Adam finds himself the object of the dangerous desires of one of the most powerful men in the world—his married employer. Torn between his attraction to Dario and his deepening love for his best friend, Victor Maldonado, Adam is forced to choose between right and wrong. Surrounded by lust, glamour, and greed, Adam soon uncovers dark secrets strong enough to destroy lives forever.
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Genre - Gay Romance, Suspense
Rating – R
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Website http://dylanmadrid.blogspot.com
Here is an “An evening with Romance Novelist Dylan Madrid“!
GIVEAWAY
The author is giving away 10 eBooks and 2 paperbacks of “Mind Fields”
The Cleverest Princess by Lily Lexington
Princess Geraldine Camellia Fortescue-Bond (or Gerry for short) isn't
just an ordinary princess, she is the cleverest princess in her class.
In her spare time she runs the Royal Detective Agency which solves all
sorts of mysteries. Princess Gerry's service are engaged by the Queen
that has lost her crown. Join Princess Gerry and her pet dog, Onion
Breath as they follow the clues to discover the whereabouts of the
Queen's missing crown.
1 - ONE NIGHT
THE LAST THING Jules Blaze thought of before he closed his eyes was how he, how anyone, could undo the curse his people were under. He was in the middle of a dream, a nightmare as far as he was concerned, begging Grandpa Leroy and Grandma Bonnie not to leave, when someone banged on their front door, shaking their entire tree house.
Who’d be crazy enough to disturb them at this hour? He sat up on his bed and cocked his head. His mother’s soft tread tap-tapped on the wood floor.
“Who’s there?” her muffled voice asked, harsh and whispery from sleep.
The banging stopped.
“Erin, open up.” Saul’s voice, gruff and loud, jolted the last fog of sleepiness from Jules. He peered over at his brother sleeping noiselessly in the bunk below him, and quietly slipped down the ladder. On tiptoe he sneaked to the trapdoor opening that led down to the living room where Saul stood dripping from the rain.
“Is everything okay?” Erin said.
“Would I visit now if it were?” Saul said. Then in a gentler voice he added, “I’m sorry. Please, let’s take a seat, Erin.” He nodded at Jules who’d slipped down the pull-down ladder to join them. “Jules.” Jules thought about his father at the war front and swallowed a lump in his throat. Was this why Dad hadn’t sent any word to them for the last months? Because he couldn’t?
Saul held Erin by the arm. He led her to the dining room chairs behind the sofa covered with knitted shawls and afghan throws.
Jules trudged to the window and peered at the branches outside. The arm of the oak tree grew so thick they could easily live in it, although getting up there could be a problem, especially since he was afraid of heights. These days they didn’t even live in stone houses, or even wooden ones, unless living under a tree counted as a wooden home. Elfies lived in trees, or burrowed under rocks, in the forest of Reign.
“Take a seat, Jules.” Saul locked eyes on him for an instant. “I just received word from the riverfront patrol—Leroy and Bonnie’s boat capsized in the storm. They’re searching for the bodies, but it doesn’t look good.”
Erin let out a gasp and brought a fist to her mouth. “No!”
“Boat? How can they be sure it was them?” Jules leaned forward in his chair.
“Some of their belongings floated to shore, and I identified the wreck—the pieces drifted to the bank.”
Erin looked at him blankly.
Saul said, again, “The boat…was a wreck.”
“Boat?” Erin said.
“I’d loaned it to them.”
“Why?”
Saul looked at the ceiling. “They’d wanted to get across to Handover.”
“Handover? That’s preposterous. After telling us never to cross the river and saying how dangerous Handover is?” Erin’s voice sounded angry amidst her sobs.
Saul pushed his chair back and stood. He reached into the cloak of his pocket, brought out a few items and laid them on the dining table. “Some things to remember your folks by.” And with that he turned and stalked back out into the dripping night.
Jules stared at his grandpa’s pocket watch, the green felt hat the old man always wore, especially on damp days, and his grandma’s silk scarf she donned when the wind ruffled her snowy white hair. Erin sobbed more violently, and Jules stood behind his mother’s back, leaned over and hugged her trembling shoulders.
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Genre - Young Adult Adventure Fantasy
Rating – G
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Connect with Emma Right on Facebook & Facebook (Keeper of Reign)
Tess Snow has everything she ever wanted: one more semester before a career in property development, a loving boyfriend, and a future dazzling bright with possibility.
For their two year anniversary, Brax surprises Tess with a romantic trip to Mexico. Sandy beaches, delicious cocktails, and soul-connecting sex set the mood for a wonderful holiday. With a full heart, and looking forward to a passion filled week, Tess is on top of the world.
But lusty paradise is shattered.
Kidnapped. Drugged. Stolen. Tess is forced into a world full of darkness and terror.
Captive and alone with no savior, no lover, no faith, no future, Tess evolves from terrified girl to fierce fighter. But no matter her strength, it can’t save her from the horror of being sold.
Can Brax find Tess before she’s broken and ruined, or will Tess’s new owner change her life forever?
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Genre – Dark New Adult Contemporary Romance
Rating – PG-18
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With her leaky powers and premature smiting problem, fourteen year-old Trotter was still just trying to get the hang of the demi-godding business when the apocalypse began. In a world where the gods have withdrawn from humanity, leaving mortals bitter toward magic, she finds herself torn between the human and the goddess in her as the world begins to fade away and she becomes the prime suspect. When her search to determine the cause and prove her innocence ends up revolving around a mysterious little girl named Alice, she discovers that not all of the gods had been as distant as they seemed… Now, with everyone against her and the gods fighting amongst themselves, Trotter is on her own to save her world and stop a spiteful god from using Alice to destroy everything.
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Genre – YA Fantasy
Rating – PG
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2
It's an Art
“When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”
--Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
“Are you getting all this?” asked the stranger after the lingering pause and he straightened his legs. The cat leapt down and padded off after her own business.
“Yes, thank you,” answered the young man promptly, glad that the silence was broken at last and anxious to shift the topic a bit. “So the beginning was when George and Belle had Harry?” the host ventured, still scribbling.
“You missed it by a bit. This story began when Wang Fu Kong, George, committed himself to the journey to a new world, then the trek into the wilderness, and when he finally surrendered to the harsh beauty and rewarding wonder of the natural world in which he found himself.”
“Wait. Are you saying little Harry and his son, or daughter, or whatever, all the way down to Fred Livingson, whenever he lived, is all the same story? So, no one person had an individual beginning or end? That doesn't sound quite fair or right somehow.”
The guest stood up and walked to the door. He looked out into haze of the growing Texas day and the harvested hay fields across the pond, then he thought aloud, “You know, that's an interesting point... like 'What is the tree to the forest?' or, 'Is the story of the river in the melting ice and snow of the mountain?' or...”
“Well, yeah, or 'the chicken and the egg',” added the young man, “But how can you say: 'It begins here!' and not here, or here, or here?” Then he groaned in exasperation at his infirm grasp of what the stranger was getting at.
“The simplest way to answer that is to remind you that humans have the unique capacity to dream and to choose, which stands them in contrast to the rest of the life on this planet. Yet even with that great birthright, so few people develop the ability or make the attempt to swerve even a bit from the whims of the winds of fate or of cause and effect.” He paused, assessed the effect of this last on the young man and continued. “So when on that rare occasion someone commits to a decision made of his own understanding and aspiration, acts on that commitment, and affects the lives of others in a positive way which would not have occurred otherwise... That is a beginning.”
“And it doesn't seem to be ending...” muttered the host not so silently while sharpening his pencil for another round.
“It ends; its life however is mapped, not measured,” offered the guest, “Shall we proceed with your map?” The stranger sat down, and picked up the tale again with a conversation between George and White Feathers.
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Genre - Metaphysical/Fantasy/Action Adventure
Rating – G
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Website http://voyagerpress.org/
