Category: Guest Author

Guest Author REBECCA YOUNT showcase & giveaway ENDED

WELCOME BACK REBECCA YOUNT

REBECCA YOUNT

Rebecca Yount is a native-born Midwesterner who always had a desire to travel. Now in a third professional career as the author of the Mick Chandra mystery series, she and her husband arrange free home exchanges in England, Scotland, and France. The Mick Chandra books take place in England.

In ebook format, the first three books of the Mick series are available from all major vendors. They have garnered 4, and mainly, 5-star reviews. There are currently 7 books in the Mick series, with #8 on the way. She can be reached at: RebeccaYount.com and Rebecca Yount author.
Connect with Rebecca at these sites:

WEBSITE         

GUEST POST

UNEARTHING THE TREASURE:

Why I Love The Ravenhoe Cauldron

 When I was a child, nothing excited me more than the prospect of a visit to the Ohio Historical Society Museum.  In the 1950s and 60s, waterparks and such were rare in central Ohio. So if we wanted to do something special, we had to seek other amusements. That might entail a double feature at the movies, a walk in our lovely county park, or a pick-up baseball game in an open field. But the crème de la crème of outings was a day at the museum.

My friends and I had different reasons for loving the museum, but we all agreed on one thing: the mummy was the star.  Yes, the mummy.  One.  That was all the collection could boast at the time.  But, boy, was she a doozy!

To this day, I remember being transfixed by her slender figure, her long, black tapered fingers peeking out from the linen wrappings, and her disproportionately large feet. I don’t remember her name, but she was the 19-year-old daughter of a prominent high priest.  Her contemporary portrait, displayed above her sarcophagus, revealed the full-body right profile of a beautiful young woman, a single bare breast exposed.  My, how the boys hooted over that.

But I had other priorities.  This centuries-old deceased young woman inspired me to fall in love with archeology.

As a 10-year-old, I dramatically announced to my redoubtable father, “One day I’m going to become an archeologist.”

“Oh, yeah?  Spell it,” he challenged me.

I did.  Correctly.

It was not to be.  Instead, I devoted some twenty+ years to being a concert pianist and then, in order to eat and pay my rent, worked in education policy development in Washington, D.C.  On early retirement, I fulfilled another dream: I became a fiction writer.

So, by way of a long introduction, this is where the third book in my Mick Chandra mystery series comes in: The Ravenhoe Cauldron, my favorite among the completed seven.  Why?  Because the story centers on archeology.

Some years ago I had intended to write a novel for young adults that featured an ancient Celtic setting.  But I just couldn’t get it to come together, so I put that project aside.  However, I had already completed a considerable amount of research for the book.

As I added books to my Mick Chandra mystery series, I stumbled upon an idea to write an installment in which Mick and company must find a missing 2,000-year-old gold Celtic ceremonial cauldron that was stolen from a local museum in Colchester, England.

Eureka!  Talk about mining gold. I was able to finally use all of that research about Celtic culture and history that I had previously set aside.  As I wrote The Ravenhoe Cauldron, it was apparent that I was vicariously living my childhood dream of being an archeologist.  When the fictional diggers mine the pits for Celtic artifacts, I’m right there with them, digging away as well.

I had great fun researching the book at the archeological site in Colchester.  Also, it was fascinating to conduct further research at the Colchester and British Museums.  Both collections feature a wealth of Celtic artifacts, many rendered in solid gold.

The Ravenhoe Cauldron also addresses two additional intriguing topics: the antiquities black market and fake busting.  Both of these I had to learn from the bottom up, which involved a massive amount of additional research.

The sale of stolen antiquities ranks among the top four most lucrative international crimes. And there are only a handful of credible fake busters in this world who can detect the real from the forgeries.

Here’s where good research enriches a story.  What is one way a fake buster can detect ancient gold as opposed to newer gold?  By tasting it.  Gold, unless it’s absolutely pure, contains a certain amount of copper and other impurities.  Over time the combination of these impurities can cause slight corrosion. Therefore, the older the gold the more coppery-metallic the taste. Experienced goldsmiths refer to this taste as “sour.”

Jamie Geller, Mick’s undercover agent, makes the mistake of tasting the gold on an artifact that a dealer is trying to fence.  By doing so, he gives himself away as an agent for the police.  Typically, collectors of stolen antiquities want a fast deal and mistakenly assume authenticity.  As Thomas Hoving, one of the world’s most sought-after fake busters, wrote: “Need, speed, and greed” are paramount in the illegal antiquities trade.

I have come to appreciate that writing fiction is not unlike digging for treasure.  As I write, I am excavating amazing discoveries.

So it would seem that I have become an archeologist after all.

ABOUT THE BOOK

The garotted corpse of Stanislaw Janus, a notorious antiquities thief and forger, is discovered in an excavation pit at an archeological site near Colchester, on England’s east coast. A former curator of pre-Roman British artifacts at the British Museum, Janus had turned to crime and was fencing forgeries on the international antiquities black market. Just before his murder, Janus had engineered the theft of the priceless Ravenhoe Cauldron from the Colchester Museum. The nearly 2,000-year-old solid gold vessel had been unearthed by archaeologists …… in the very pit where Janus’ corpse was discovered.

Despite being on parental leave to care for his four-month-old daughter, Detective Inspector Michael “Mick” Chandra is put in charge of the case, his family leave suspended by New Scotland Yard’s commissioner. Mick must find Janus’ murderer as well as locate the missing cauldron, but his task will not be easy. Interpol reveals that Janus assumed multiple identities and remained maddenly out of the reach of law enforcement agencies. Nathaniel Wyatt, his former colleague at the British Museum, describes Janus as the “Steppenwolf” — charming one minute, vicious the next.

Mick calls upon the Yard’s Arts and Antiquities Unit for help in this complex case and as it turns out, he will need all the help he can get, as the case becomes increasingly fraught with danger and risk.

A diverse cast of characters illuminates and obscures Stanislaw Janus’ past: Dr. Cassandra Palmer, Chief Curator of the Colchester Museum, who had known Janus for more than a decade; Dr. Gill Metcalf, director of the archeological dig who openly disdains Janus; Alissa Woo, Metcalf’s beautiful graduate assistant, who originally discovered the cauldron at the Colchester site; Nathaniel Wyatt, Janus’ former colleague, who believes the cauldron will never be recovered; and Anderson Peale III, noted wealthy collector of Celtic artifacts, who may not be as reputable as he seems. Added to this cast is Janus’ star-crossed mistress, Regina, who passes onto Mick her lover’s personal diary.

Familiar faces from the two previous Mick Chandra books return as well: Jessica Beaumont, the American-born pianist who is now Mick’s wife; Mick’s friend and chief informant, Jamie Geller; and Mick’s no-nonsense partner, Sergeant Elizabeth Chang.

And then there is the mysterious rust-encrusted key sent through Mick’s home mail slot bearing a note that reads: “The key to the Ravenhoe Cauldron.”

BOOK DETAILS:

Genre: Crime
Published by: Self
Publication Date: June 30, 2013
Number of Pages: 401
ISBN-13: 9781467559348
ASIN: B00DQCUKTU

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DISCLAIMER
I received a copy of this book, at no charge to me, in exchange for my honest review. No items that I receive are ever sold…they are kept by me, or given to family and/or friends.
ADDENDUM
I do not have any affiliation with Amazon.com or Barnes & Noble. I am an IndieBound affiliate. I am providing link(s) solely for visitors that may be interested in purchasing this Book/EBook.

 

Guest Author FRANKIE Y. BAILEY

 

WELCOME FRANKIE Y. BAILEY

FRANKIE Y. BAILEY

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

WEBSITE     TWITTER    

Q&A with Frankie Y. Bailey

On Writing and Reading
1.  Do you draw from personal experiences and/or current events?
As a criminal justice professor, I do research on crime and American history/culture. This gives me an endless supply of historical and contemporary events to draw on for inspiration as a fiction writer.  In my Lizzie Stuart mystery series, my character is a crime historian, and I use my own research in those books. In The Red Queen Dies, the debut of my Hannah McCabe series, Albany history plays a crucial role. But because  my new series is set in a parallel universe (alternate reality), my treatment of current events has a twist. The when, if, and why of events in my fictional world is somewhat different  than the world we know.  That will become more obvious as the series goes on. I’m having fun with my own version of world-building – an Albany/a world that is a lot like the one we know, but not quite, and now and then not at all like.

I go to the real places that I use as settings. Occasionally what happens while I’m  “on location” ends up being fictionalized in a book. With The Red Queen Dies and my police detective, Hannah McCabe, I draw on experiences such as attending an autopsy and doing ride-alongs and interviews with female police officers and their partners, as well as information I’ve picked up at conferences such at the Writers’ Police Academy.

I think all writers draw on our personal experiences in the sense that we write about what we care about or consider funny or troubling or worth pondering.

2. Do you start with the conclusion and plot in reverse or start from the beginning and see where the story line brings you?
Writers often describe themselves as plotters (who outline), pantsers (who write by seat of pants), or hybrids. I’m a hybrid. I look for something that resonates with me and that I want to write about. In The Red Queen Dies, it was the recurring role that Albany played in the Lincoln-Booth saga. Booth and Lincoln were in Albany on the same day in 1861. A couple of months later, while performing in Albany, an actress stabbed Booth during a lover’s quarrel.  I kept thinking about that episode and what might have happened if the actress, Henrietta Irving, had killed Booth. That led me to my title character, a fictional Broadway actress, who comes to Albany to work on a play about Irving.  I had a chilling piece of Albany history and an Alice in Wonderland/Through the Looking Glass theme that worked for my world of 2019.  I outlined as far as I could and began to write.

But, at some point, what most writers – including me – hope is that the characters will begin to take on a life of their own and that they will begin to say and do unexpected things.

Re the ending – because I’m writing a series, I have an overarching series plotline that develops as the series does.  Think of television crime shows in which the murder being investigated is solved each week, but what is happening in the lives of the main characters continues to evolve and play out. I know how that will progress.  But what I’ve found is that the identity of the killer in a given book sometimes changes as I get to know the characters and understand what they want and what they’re willing to do to get it.

3. Your routine when writing? Any idiosyncrasies?
My routine has changed over the year as I went from being unpublished to published. I started out writing/publishing nonfiction as an academic scholar. I have continued my academic research.  Right now, I’m working on a book about clothing, crime, and justice.  My academic research requires time spent in libraries and archives. I also get to read books, watch television and movies, and surf the Internet. Luckily, that research overlaps with the research for my fiction, or vice versa. I write every day. I move back and forth between home and school. What I’m working on depends on deadlines. I try to make as much use as possible of weekends, evenings, and summer. I like to have blocks of time to write rather than a few minutes here and there. But I do a lot of “pre-writing” in my head – for example, bits of dialogue between characters.

Before I can begin writing, I have to have a title. I re-write the first 50 pages over and over again as a kind of warm-up until I can get into the mood and rhythm of the book.

4.  Is writing you full-time job? If not, may I ask what you do by day?
See above.

5. Who are some of your favorite authors?
I usually name dead authors or authors in other genres to avoid leaving out any of the great crime writers who I could mention. I love characters who use wonderful language to describe their emotions. That puts Shakespeare at the top of my list. I did three quarters of Shakespeare as an undergrad. Crime fiction – Rudolph Fisher (The Conjure- Man Dies), Richard Martin Stern (The Johnny Ortiz series), Dick Francis (horse racing).  Classic romantic suspense – Mary Stewart, Phyllis Whitney, Victoria Hope. Mainstream fiction from F. Scott Fitzgerald to Toni Morrison . Trying, without success, to keep up with bestsellers.

6. What are you reading now?
For research, books about being an undertaker, funerals, and superstitions about death and dying. I’m also reading – slowly – Moby Dick, a book that I’ve often started but never finished. I reference Moby Dick in my work in progress.

7. Are you working on your next novel? Can you tell us a little about it?
The working title is Cock Robin’s Funeral.  I love the ballad of Cock Robin and used that as my starting point. This is the second book in my Hannah McCabe series. The time is January 2020, and a funeral director is murdered, shot with an arrow from his own crossbow. This book picks up with and continues to develop a subplot involving several of the main characters. Murder, politics, betrayal, climate change, and a city struggling to cope.

Fun questions:
a. Your novel will be a movie. Who would you cast?
No idea for Hannah McCabe.  But her father, Angus, was inspired by one of my favorite veteran actors, the late Darren McGavin. I loved him as the investigative reporter in “Kolchak: The Night Stalker” and as the grumpy father in “A Christmas Story”. In my alternate reality, he would be alive and well and able to play the role of Angus.

b. Would you rather read or watch TV/movie?
Because my research focuses on crime and mass media/popular culture, I’ve had to learn to read  while watching TV/movie.  If a TV show or movie catches my attention, I stop reading and watch. But, of course, some books or TV/movies, are so good they deserve undivided attention.

c. Favorite food?
Depends on whether I’m trying to be healthy or really indulging. Oatmeal with pears, walnuts, and almond milk vs. fried oysters.

d.  Favorite beverage?
Hot apple cider with lots of cinnamon.

 

ABOUT THE BOOK

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

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

READ AN EXCERPT

DATE: Thursday, 24 October 2019

TIME: 0700 hours

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

DISPLAY ON WALL: Wake- up News

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who were the victims of a serial killer?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On the wall, the anchorwoman took over.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Got to run, Pop. Have a good day.”

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

“Hank McCabe, you tell me what’s—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why? What are you—”

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

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

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

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

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

count on me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Meanwhile, daily life continued on Central Avenue, where Zoe

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

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

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

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

Howard Miller.

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

Horns blared.

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

More horns blared.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good morning, Reverend Deke.”

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

“Yes, thank you, He is,” McCabe said.

“I’m pleased to hear that.”

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

McCabe watched him go, greeting the people he passed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dispatch, Detective Baxter also responding.”

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

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

“Happy hunting.”

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

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

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

“Get these ropes off me, bitch!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Baxter hauled the perp to his feet.

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

“I’m gonna sue both of you.”

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

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

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

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

Sirens screeching, two police cruisers pulled into the alley.

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

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

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

BOOK DETAILS:

Genre: Mystery & Detective
Published by: Minotaur Books
Publication Date: Sept 10, 2013
Number of Pages: 304
ISBN: 978-0-312-64175-7 / 978-1-250-03717-6

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DISCLAIMER
I received a copy of this book, at no charge to me, in exchange for my honest review. No items that I receive are ever sold…they are kept by me, or given to family and/or friends.
ADDENDUM
I do not have any affiliation with Amazon.com or Barnes & Noble. I am an IndieBound affiliate. I am providing link(s) solely for visitors that may be interested in purchasing this Book/EBook.

Guest Author CAROL E. WYER showcase & giveaway ENDED

 

WELCOME BACK CAROL E. WYER

CAROL E. WYER

After completing a degree in French and English at Keele University, Carol Wyer became a language teacher in Casablanca, Morocco. She ran the EFL department at a private UK school (a non-magical Hogwarts), set up Language 2000 Ltd, teaching a variety of languages, including basic Japanese, and translated documents. Recurring medical problems forced her to give up teaching and become a fitness instructor. Thanks to older age, she now writes novels, articles and books that poke fun at getting older. Known for her light-hearted take on life, Carol has written two award-winning novels and now also tours giving talks on how to age disgracefully.
Connect with Carol at these sites:

WEBSITE          TWITTER    

ABOUT THE BOOK

Is your Grumpy Old Man getting under your feet? Is he wrestling with retirement? Are you wondering if you should bundle him up and entrust him to basket-weaving classes? Then this book could be the answer to your prayers. This light hearted guide is packed full of lively ideas, anecdotes and quips. Not only does it set out to provide laughs, but offers over 700 ideas and ways to keep a Grumpy Old Man occupied. From collecting airline sick bags to zorbing, you will be sure to find an absorbing pastime for your beloved curmudgeon. There are examples of those who have faced extraordinary challenges in older age, fascinating facts to interest a reluctant partner and innovative ideas drizzled, of course, with a large dollop of humor. Written tongue-in-cheek, this book succeeds in proving that getting older doesn’t mean the end of life or having fun. It provides amusing answers to the question, “How on Earth will my husband fill in his time in his retirement?” It offers suggestions on what might, or most certainly might not, amuse him. Ideal for trivia buffs, those approaching retirement, (or just at a loose end) and frustrated women who have an irritable male on their hands, this book will lighten any mood and may even prevent the odd murder.
Read my review here.

Read an excerpt
Without further ado, let’s look at the abundance of activities that your Grumpy can enjoy beginning with the letter A.
Introduce your Grumpy to the absorbing and completely time-consuming hobby of aviation, particularly aeroplanes.
First, get him a copy of Top Gun (or any good film about flying) to whet his appetite. Next, purchase a trial flying lesson. He’ll love it. Honestly, he will. Don’t be mean though, and get him an aerobatic flight. He’ll come home a horrible pasty shade of grey, and you’ll never get him to agree to that holiday to Alicante you hoped you could take next year.
Once he has “the flying bug”, ensure he signs up for flying lessons. Now, you’ll have to make some serious economies to fund this new hobby, and you’ll have to forget that holiday to Alicante for a while, but it’ll be worth it. He’ll soon transform into a new man, and which one of us wouldn’t fancy a Tom Cruise-a-like coming home after a long day up in the clouds?
Flying doesn’t just keep these Grumpy Old Men out of the house for an hour or two. Oh no, they have to get to the airfield early to set up, have a pre-flight briefing, a couple of cups of coffee and some cake, chat to their mates and ensure they have planned a route. Then, there is the actual flying, followed by a debrief, and the obligatory drink at the pub to recap the entire flight.
There are exams to be taken and much studying to be done. Many a night will be spent sitting at the dining table with pencils in their mouths, as they attempt to learn the principles of aviation law or meteorology. You’ll be able to relax on the settee and watch all those soaps without any dark muttering coming from the other end.
You may find that you will need to learn the phonetic alphabet though, just to show willingness and give him a hand. Let me assist you by starting with: Golf, Romeo, Uniform, Mike, Papa, Yankee.
If you can’t interest him in this particular hobby, then you could try him with a remote-controlled aircraft. This is the best of both worlds.
He can fly his aeroplane without taking examinations, wherever he fancies, and it won’t cost a fortune. There will be more about remote-controlled vehicles later.
Last but not least, you could offer him the chance to do some plane spotting. This is obviously the cheapest option, and can be enjoyed at the airport or in your back garden if you are fortunate enough to live under the flight path.
If he decides on the latter, you’ll be able to book that trip to Alicante. After all, he’ll see plenty of aeroplanes.
What do William Tell, Robin Hood, and Cupid have in common? The answer is archery or toxophily as it is also called. (You might need that piece of information for a pub quiz.)
Archery is one of the most ancient sports known to mankind. In ancient times and the medieval period, this activity was used for protecting people from enemies and for hunting wild animals. Today, it is regarded as a recreational activity or sport, and is looked upon as a way to improve concentration, mental strength, and precision … where was I?
Oh yes, sorry, I was thinking about Kevin Costner in the 1991 film Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves and got distracted. Today, two forms of archery are prevalent: target archery and field archery.
Sign your fractious man up for lessons and watch him improve, along with his game. Word of warning: don’t let him place an apple on your head “for practice”.
Question: What did the lustful maiden say to the handsome archer?
Answer: You make me quiver.
BOOK DETAILS:

Genre: Non-Fiction, Humor
Published by: Safkhet Publising
Publication Date: 1st June 2013
Number of Pages: 106

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Guest Author DR. JOSEPH WENKE showcase & giveaway ENDED

WELCOME DR. JOSEPH WENKE

DR. JOSEPH WENKE

JOE WENKE is an outspoken and articulate LGBTQ rights activist. He is the founder and publisher of Trans Über, a publishing company with a focus on LBGTQ rights, free thought and promoting equality for all people.  Wenke is the author of Mailer’s America and You Got to be Kidding! The Cultural Arsonist’s Satirical Reading of the Bible. His next book, Papal Bull: An Ex-Catholic Calls Out the Catholic Church, will be published this fall along with his first novel, The Talk Show.

Wenke began his career as an editor at the Foundation Center in New York City.  He was a speechwriter at Avnet for Tony Hamilton, the founder of the global electronics distribution industry, and wrote speeches for George Conrades, the head of IBM U.S. As a senior vice president at Caribiner International he served as the company’s lead communications strategist and head of global accounts.  He partners with Gisele Xtravaganza in Gisele New World, which produces events for the ballroom community. Wenke is the owner and managing partner of Xperience, a multi-million dollar marketing communications and production company with offices in New York, Boston and Detroit.

Wenke received a B.A. in English from the University of Notre Dame, an M.A. in English from Penn State and a Ph.D. in English from the University of Connecticut. He is a columnist and frequent contributor to the Huffington Post.
Connect with Dr. Wenke at these sites:

WEBSITE        TWITTER   

ABOUT THE BOOK

When it comes to the Bible, author, satirist and cultural arsonist Dr. Joe Wenke has a lot of questions. Why did God turn Lot’s wife into a pillar of salt? Were there no other seasonings available? How come no one noticed that Samson’s hair grew back and he was super strong again? Who lost Jesus’s baby book? The story of the Devil tempting Jesus—did the Devil or Jesus report it? And why does the Holy Spirit like to show up as a bird?

As irreverent as the musical The Book of Mormon, YOU GOT TO BE KIDDING! THE CULTURAL ARSONIST’S SATIRICAL READING OF THE BIBLE (TransÜber, LLC; November 2012)  is an engaging, provocative and often hilarious investigation into the bestselling book of all time. Written to “cause trouble” and provoke deeper thought during a time when religious fundamentalism is gaining strength around the world, Wenke, a marketing executive, former corporate speechwriter and keen observer of human gullibility, lures readers out of their mental closets and tempts them to more closely examine the stories they think they know about the Bible.

Drawing upon the same pool of incendiary and cerebral humor as Bill Maher, Jon Stewart and the late, great George Carlin, YOU GOT TO BE KIDDING! follows a trail of talking angels, fratricidal siblings, divinely sanctioned massacres and surprised lepers from the Old to the New Testament pointing out the impossible, the illogical and the unrealistic. Among the stories laid bare, are:

  • Noah’s Ark: How big was that boat—and who cleaned up after the animals?
  • Jonah and the Whale: Just how does one survive being digested for three days?
  • The Three Wise Men: If they were so wise, why did they get lost?
  • Jesus, Miracle Worker: Where did Jesus learn how to perform miracles—at Hogwarts?

YOU GOT TO BE KIDDING! is a call for humor to restore our sanity and our ability to think for ourselves. Just as it was written in the Bible—or was it?

BOOK DETAILS:

Genre: Non Fiction, Humor, Religion
Paperback: 206 pages
Publisher: Trans Uber LLC
Publication Date: October 1, 2012
ISBN-10: 0985900202
ISBN-13: 978-0985900205

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Guest Author GORDON BENNET BLEIL showcase & giveaway ENDED

WELCOME GORDON BENNET BLEIL

GORDON BENNET BLEIL

Gordon Bennett Bleil is a financial educator, former banker, bank consultant, entrepreneur, business executive and business owner. He has been a professor teaching in MBA programs and he holds an MBA in finance from the University of Southern California. Gordon hosted a radio show in finance entitled The Path to Financial Freedom and has authored courses in personal financial management. He is renowned for his ability to present complicated material so that it becomes simple and understandable.
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GUEST POST

Budgeting 101

The mere mention of the word “budget” causes stress and anxiety in some people analogous to telling them that they would have to go to the dentist.  For some reason any mention of managing your money seems to be intimidating.  Maybe it’s because so many books approach budgeting as a rigorous and intimidating process.

But it doesn’t need to be that way at all. A budget is simply a spending plan to let you stay in control of your finances. If it is done correctly it can be an invaluable aid to help you meet your goals. A budget should be useful and flexible so that you will continue to see is a benefit rather than an impediment.

There are essentially six steps to preparing a good budget. Let’s explore them.

Step 1— Decide why you want a budget.
If you do not know why you need a budget it is useless to try to make one.  Many people make their first budget when they find out they are spending more than they are making and need to fix it.  Others want to save more for retirement. Whatever it is you simply need a goal before you start budgeting.

Step 2 — Gather data
You need to know what you are spending now and for what you were using your money.  This is often the toughest part of the budgeting process.  If you asked most people to reconstruct from memory what they spent the last month they would unlikely get closer than about 80%.

The importance of this cannot be over emphasized. One of the reasons for a budget is to identify money that is being wasted or spent unnecessarily. Money is very liquid so we may draw a parallel to water in a bucket.  If the bucket has a hole all of the contents will certainly leak out. We want to keep that from happening.

So for one month count  every penny you spend. Then at the end of the month add pro rata amounts for any expenditures which do not occur evenly each month.  Be especially careful with charge cards that you do not add the amount of the primary transaction and the amount on the credit card. If you do you will be double counting.

When this is done you should have a pretty accurate idea of where your money is going. You may have some surprises. At one money management seminar a lady who did this discovered she was spending $1700 a year in the company vending machines. Now there is nothing immoral in this but maybe it is not the best way to spend your money. Maybe she wanted to make some changes.

Step 3 — Organize the data
Raw data is not very useful.  So we have to organize it into categories. There are mandatory expenses, discretionary expenses, hybrid expenses, and escrowed ones.

Mandatory expenses are those which have to be paid before anything else can be paid. The mortgage payment is an example.

Discretionary expenses are those which can be suspended for an indefinite or short period of time. An example would be going to the movies.

Hybrid expenses are those which have characteristics of each of the previous two.  An example is the grocery bill. Some of the grocery bill is mandatory and some of it is discretionary.

Escrow expenses are monies which you set aside for bills that do not occur evenly throughout the year. An example would be your property taxes.

Now record the data into these categories. It is a good idea to record this information on columned paper with three columns so that you can make changes.

Step 4 — Analyze the data and propose changes
Now it is time to look at the data in some detail. For each item determine what you spent and what you would like to spend and put the amount in parallel columns. Then determine whether the amount has to go up or down.  Maybe you want to put more money into retirement and less money into eating out.

Obviously the amount of money going out has to equal the amount of money coming in.  If part of the money coming in is increased indebtedness you may want to consider correcting that.  Someday increased debt has to be paid back and that will increase still another category.

Step 5 — Calculate all of the changes you want to make
For all of the expense items simply determine any changes that you have to make.

Step 6 — Put your spending plan (budget) to work for you
How you do this is completely up to you. A few tips may help you out. Money for different purposes should be handled differently. Wherever possible mandatory expenses should be set up as an automatic debit to a checking account. Money for different purposes should also be physically separated. It can be in different bank accounts, or it could be an envelope system.

The envelope system works very well. You simply put the allocated amount of money for each category in a separate envelope. When the money is gone you stop spending. This way it keeps you from overspending for something you had not planned to do. Escrow money should not be mixed with the grocery or entertainment funds.

There are many sites on the Internet which can give you additional specifics on budgeting and systems to do so. All of the forms necessary for a budget can be downloaded free from the author’s website www.ptff.net.  Another thing that may be of interest to you is the Financial Freedom Risk Assessment quiz that can also be found on that web site.

ABOUT THE BOOK
Give Yourself a Raise is a complete how-to guide for finding more money to reduce the stress in your life and lead you to­ financial freedom. Suitable for beginners and professionals alike, it will lead you to more contentment about money!
Unique to this book are:
·      Financial Freedom Risk Assessment Quiz—take it and evaluate your own risk!
·      Goals made easy—the complete foundation for personal money management
·      Freedom Money Management System™—harness the power of electronic banking to organize your personal finances
You will also learn how to:
·      Control impulse spending
·      Eliminate family conflict
·      Get out of debt and stay out
·      Practice spending strategies to stretch your income
·      Stop wasting money
BOOK DETAILS:

Categories: Personal Finance-Budgeting, Personal Finance-Money Management
Paperback: 250 pages
Publisher: Elate Press
Publication Date: July 23, 2013
ISBN-10: 0988149184
ISBN-13: 978-0988149182

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Partners In Crime Tours Presents: Guest Author JON LAND

WELCOME BACK JON LAND

JON LAND

Jon Land is the author of more than 30 thrillers, including the bestselling Caitlin Strong Texas Ranger series that includes Strong Enough to Die, Strong Justice, Strong at the Break, Strong Vengeance and, coming this August, Strong Rain Falling. This past fall he resurrected his longtime series hero Blaine McCracken in the E-Book Original Pandora’s Temple, which became a bestseller on both Apple and Amazon and was nominated for a Thriller Award as Best E-Book Original. A follow-up, The Tenth Circle, is slated for release in time for the holiday season. Jon’s first nonfiction book, BETRAYAL, meanwhile, was a national bestseller and was named Best True Crime Book of 2012 by Suspense Magazine. He lives in Providence, Rhode Island and can be found on the Web at jonlandbooks.com.
Connect with Jon at these sites:

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Q&A with Jon Land

CM: Do  you draw from personal experiences and/or current events?
JL: Great question to start!  Never on personal experiences, all the time on current events.  I live a pretty uninteresting life which is just the way I like and I’ve always said writers are mostly much better off writing from their imagination.  My very good friend Steve Berry says, “Don’t write what you know, write what you love.”  I couldn’t agree more.  Current events, on the other hand, form the very fabric of modern thriller fiction.  STRONG RAIN FALLING, for example, involves a massive attack to be launched against the nation’s power grid—there’s nothing more current than that.  And current, in the thriller form anyway, normally means scary.  The challenge is writing about something that could be about to happen, to stay ahead of the curve instead of behind it.

CM: Do you start with the conclusion and plot in reverse or start from the beginning and see where the storyline brings you?
JL: I’m a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants writer in all respects.  I operate on the theory that if I don’t know what’s going to happen next, then the reader can’t possibly know.  I can get away with this because I trust my characters to take me where they want and need to go.  I’m normally about 100 pages ahead with where I’m headed in my mind, never much more than that.  And the result, unfortunately at times, is my first drafts tend to need lots of work.  In fact, I’d venture to say that one of my greatest strengths as a writer is actually rewriting, often based on my own objective read of what I’ve created. For me, first drafts area about getting it down and getting it done.  Each successive draft hones and polishes the material further.  I throw a bunch out, I add a bunch more—sometimes even entirely new characters, subplots and scenes if I sense a weakness or flaw.  I’m also blessed with a terrific editor, Natalia Aponte, who’s always pushing me to do better, to make my Caitlin Strong books, and all my books for that matter, both structurally and emotionally complete.  The thing I like to stress here is that no process works for all writers.  We all have to find what works for us.

CM: Your routine when writing?  Any idiosyncrasies?
JL: Hey, you love those two-part questions, don’t you? (laughs)  When I’m doing the hardest work of all, a first draft, I normally write in two shifts for two-three hours each that normally produces around 15-20 pages total.  I’ll average 75-80 pages in a week and closer to the end will get over 100, so figure I can finish a first draft in around 7-8 weeks, a really fast clip.  And part of the reason I’m able to do that is I’ve got two tricks I’ve come to rely on:  First, I always leave a scene or chapter off in the middle, not the end, so I have a running start when I go back to work.  There’s a tendency to want to stop writing at the end of a chapter just like there is when reading.  I never stop there.  Even if I get just the first couple paragraphs down, enough to provide direction, I’m good to go when I get back to the keyboard.  I also always have a few books put aside by my favorite authors.  Before putting my fingers to work, I’ll read 15-20 pages of their book (see below for more info on who!) just to get me in the right mindset, to remind me of what a great story reads like so I’m ready to write my own.

CM: Is writing your full time job?
JL: Yes, it is. That’s probably the shortest answer to a question I’ve ever given, so I better go on a little.  I’d always planned on becoming a lawyer.  But I got bit by the writing bug in college and fell in love with the process as well as seeing my name in print.  That’s the thing about me:  I actually love the process of writing.  I can’t explain why or how I do it exactly.  I just know I love where it takes me.  It’s like therapy.  When I’m not writing, I go into withdrawals.  It’s like a legal drug.

CM: Who are some of your favorite authors?
JL: Well, THE EXORCIST was the first book I read cover-to-cover in a single day, a single setting actually.  Reading Robert Ludlum’s THE HOLCROFT COVENANT (along with THE MATARESE CIRCLE) taught me more about what makes a great thriller than anything else. THE BOYS FROM BRAZIL taught me the importance of a great “What if?” question.  THE STAND showed me the wonder of taking the reader out of his or her world and into the world we fashion on the page.  MARATHON MAN made me realize just how much caring about the characters means.  I can quote portions of that book, just as I can from the others I mention here and far more.  As far as strictly favorites, Lee Child and James Lee Burke are the authors I most look forward to, with plenty of others not far behind.  David Morrell, who never writes the same book twice.  Stephen Hunter, who’s a maestro when it comes to action scenes.  Michael Connolly for writing books that are impossible to put down.  And I’ve recently discovered John Hart who seems incapable of writing a bad sentence or creating a character who doesn’t command our interest.

CM: What are you reading now?
JL:  Lee Child’s second book, DIE TRYING.  I’ve been saving it forever but the time finally came!

CM: Are you working on your next novel?  Can you tell us a little bit about it?
JL:  Again, with the two-part questions!  (laughs)  The next book’s already done.  It’s called THE TENTH CIRCLE and it’s the follow-up to PANDORA’S TEMPLE once again featuring Blaine McCracken, my original series hero I’ve fallen back in love with.  Beyond that I’m actually working on three books:  a sequel to my bestselling THE SEVEN SINS, a terrific project I’m doing in tandem with the great Heather Graham, and I’m just about to start STRONG DARKNESS, the next book featuring Caitlin that takes her and Cort Wesley Masters to a very dark place potentially.  I’m going to take her right up to the edge, but hopefully not so close that she slips over.

CM: Your novel will be a movie.  Who would you cast?
JL:  Bruce Willis for Blaine McCracken—that’s the easy one.  For Caitlin, let’s see, Eva Mendez maybe.  Hillary Swank.  Jennifer Garner.  Maybe I should Google “strong actresses in their mid-30s and see what I get!  In film, the budget to a large extent is determined by the box office value of your store.  So if I wanted the biggest budget I’d have to say Angelina Jolie, but she might be a bit old.  Hey, Sandra Bullock is too old too but she lives in Texas so who knows?

CM: Would you rather read or watch television or a film?
JL:  Okay, confession time:  this is the golden age of scripted television and I can’t get enough of shows like THE WALKING DEAD, BREAKING BAD, JUSTIFIED, MAD MEN, DEXTER, GAME OF THRONES—the list goes on and on.  But here’s the thing, the crucial disclaimer:  I love those kind of shows because their novelistic in structure.  Watching them week to week is like watching a novel.  That’s why I don’t “binge watch” the way a lot of people are these days.  I prefer to look forward to the next week’s episode in the arc, to be kept in suspense.  Call it practicing what I preach.

CM: Favorite food?
JL: Nothing beats a great steak, but lobster comes close.  And I have a bagel for breakfast almost every day.

CM: Favorite beverage?
JL:  Iced tea—no doubt about it.  Been that way for as long as I can remember.  Of course, since I’m a writer, I probably should have said scotch, or maybe bourbon. Hell, anything that makes me forget what a tough business this is truly is!

Thank you Jon for stopping by today and answering my 2 part questions!! (chuckling)

ABOUT THE BOOK

Mexico, 1919: The birth of the Mexican drug trade begins with opium being smuggled across the U.S. border, igniting an all-out battle with American law enforcement in general and the Texas Rangers in particular.

The Present: Fifth Generation Texas Ranger Caitlin Strong and her lover, former outlaw Cort Wesley Masters, both survive terrifying gun battles. But this time, it turns out, the actual targets were not them, but Masters’ teenage sons.

That sets Caitlin and Cort Wesley off on a trail winding through the past and present with nothing less than the future of the United States hanging in the balance. Along the way they will confront terrible truths dating all the way back to the Mexican Revolution and the dogged battle Caitlin’s own grandfather and great-grandfather fought against the first generation of Mexican drug dealers.

At the heart of the storm soon to sweep away America as we know it, lies a mastermind whose abundant power is equaled only by her thirst for vengeance. Ana Callas Guajardo, the last surviving member of the family that founded the Mexican drug trade, has dedicated all of her vast resources to a plot aimed at the U.S.’s technological heart.

This time out, sabotage proves to be as deadly a weapon as bombs in a battle Caitlin must win in cyberspace as well. Her lone chance to prevail is to short-circuit a complex plan based as much on microchips as bullets. Because there’s a strong rain coming and only Caitlin and Cort Wesley can stop the fall before it’s too late.

READ AN EXCERPT

CHAPTER 1

Providence, Rhode Island

Caitlin Strong was waiting downstairs in a grassy park bisected by concrete walkways when Dylan Torres emerged from the building. The boy fit in surprisingly well with the Brown University college students he slid between in approaching her, his long black hair bouncing just past his shoulders and attracting the attention of more than one passing coed.

“How’d it go?” Caitlin asked, rising from the bench that felt like a sauna in the sun.

Dylan shrugged and blew some stray hair from his face with his breath. “Size could be an issue.”

“For playing football at this level, I expect so.”

“Coach Estes didn’t rule it out. He just said there were no more first year slots left in the program.”

“First year?”

“Freshman, Caitlin.”

“How’d you leave it?” she asked, feeling dwarfed by the athletic buildings that housed playing courts, training facilities, a swimming pool, full gym and the offices of the school’s coaches. The buildings enclosed the park-like setting on three sides, leaving the street side to be rimmed by an eight-foot wall of carefully layered stone. Playing fields took up the rear of the complex beyond the buildings and, while waiting for Dylan, Caitlin heard the clang of aluminum bats hitting baseballs and thunks of what sounded like soccer balls being kicked about. Funny how living in a place the size of Texas made her antsy within an area where so much was squeezed so close.

“Well, short of me growing another four inches and putting on maybe twenty pounds of muscle, it’s gonna be an uphill battle,” Dylan said, looking down. “That is, if I even get into this place. That’s an uphill battle too.”

She reached out and touched his shoulder. “This coming from a kid who’s bested serial killers, kidnappers and last year a human monster who bled venom instead of blood.”

Dylan started to shrug, but smiled instead. “Helps that you and my dad were there to gun them all down.”

“Well, I don’t believe we’ll be shooting Coach Estes and my point was if anybody can handle an uphill battle or two, it’s you.”

Dylan lapsed into silence, leaving Caitlin to think of the restaurant they’d eaten at the night before where the waitress had complimented her on having such a good looking son. She’d felt her insides turn to mush when the boy smiled and went right on studying the menu, not bothering to correct the woman. He was three quarters through a fifth year at San Antonio’s St. Anthony Catholic High School, in range of finishing the year with straight “A”s. Though the school didn’t formally offer such a program, Caitlin’s captain D. W. Tepper had convinced them to make an exception on behalf of the Texas Rangers by slightly altering their Senior Connection program to fit the needs of a boy whose grades hadn’t anywhere near matched his potential yet.

Not that it was an easy fit. The school’s pristine campus in historic Monte Vista just north of downtown San Antonio was populated by boys and girls in staid, prescribed uniforms that made Dylan cringe. Blazers instead of shapeless shirts worn out at the waist, khakis instead of jeans gone from sagging to, more recently, what they called skinny, and hard leather dress shoes instead of the boots Caitlin had bought him for his birthday a few years back. But the undermanned football team had recruited him early on, Dylan donning a uniform for the first time since a brief stint in the Pop Warner league as a young boy while his mother was still alive and the father he’d yet to meet was in prison. This past fall at St. Anthony’s he’d taken to the sport again like a natural, playing running back and sifting through the tiniest holes in the defensive line to amass vast chunks of yardage. Dylan ended up being named Second Team All TAPPS District 2-5A, attracting the attention of several small colleges, though none on the level of Brown University, a perennial contender for the Ivy League crown.

Caitlin found those Friday nights, sitting with Cort Wesley Masters and his younger son Luke in stands ripe with the first soft bite of fall, strangely comforting. Given that she’d never had much use for such things in her own teenage years, the experience left her feeling as if she’d been transported back in time with a chance to relive her own youth through a boy who was as close to a son as she’d ever have. Left her recalling her own high school days smelling of gun oil instead of perfume. She’d been awkward then, gawky after growing tall fast. Still a few years short of forty, Caitlin had never added to that five-foot-seven-inch frame, although the present found her filled out and firm from regular workouts and jogging. She wore her wavy black hair more fashionably styled, but kept it the very same length she always had, perhaps in a misguided at-tempt to slow time if not stop it altogether.

Gazing at Dylan now, she recalled the headmaster of his school, a cousin of Caitlin’s own high school principal, coming up to her after the victorious opening home game.

“The school owes you a great bit of gratitude, Ranger.”

“Well, sir, I’ll bet Dylan’ll do even better next week.”

The headmaster gestured toward the newly installed lights. “I meant gratitude for the Rangers arranging for the variance that allowed us to go forward with the installation. That’s the only reason we’re able to be here to-night.”

She’d nodded, smiling to herself at how Captain Tepper had managed to arrange Dylan’s admission. “Our pleasure, sir.”

Now, months later on the campus of an Ivy League school in Providence, Rhode Island, Dylan looked down at the grass and then up again, something furtive lurking in his suddenly narrowed eyes. The sun sneaking through a nearby tree dappled his face and further hid what he was about to share.

“I got invited to a frat party.”

“Say that again.”

“I got invited to a party at this frat called D-Phi.”

“D what?”

“Short for Delta Phi. Like the Greek letters.”

“I know they’re Greek letters, son, just like I know what goes on at these kind of parties given that I’ve been called to break them up on more than one occasion.”

“You’re the one who made me start thinking about college.”

“Doesn’t mean I got you thinking about doing shots and playing beer pong.”

“Beirut.”

Caitlin looked at him as if he were speaking a foreign language.

“They call it Beirut here, not beer pong,” Dylan continued. “And it’s important I get a notion of what the campus life is like. You told me that too.”

“I did?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I let you go to this party, you promise you won’t drink?”

Dylan rolled his head from side to side. “I promise I won’t drink much.”

“What’s that mean?”

“That I’ll be just fine when you come pick me up in the morning to get to the airport.”

“Pick you up,” Caitlin repeated, her gaze narrowing.

“I’m staying with this kid from Texas who plays on the team. Coach set it up.”

“Coach Estes?”

“Yup. Why?’

Caitlin slapped an arm around the boy’s shoulder and steered him toward the street. “Because I may rethink my decision about shooting him.”

“I told him you were a Texas Ranger,” Dylan said, as they approached a pair of workmen stringing a tape measure outside the athletic complex’s hockey rink.

“What’d he think about that?” Caitlin said, finding her gaze drawn to the two men she noticed had no tools and were wearing scuffed shoes instead of work boots.

“He said he liked gals with guns.”

They continued along the walkway that curved around the park-like grounds, banking left at a small lot where Caitlin had parked her rental. She worked the remote to unlock the doors and watched Dylan ease around to the passenger side, while she turned back toward the hockey rink and the two workmen she couldn’t shake from her mind.

But they were gone.

CHAPTER 2

Providence, Rhode Island

“What’s this WaterFire thing?” Dylan asked, spooning up the last of his ice cream while Caitlin sipped her nightly post-dinner coffee.

“Like a tradition here. Comes highly recommended.”

“You don’t want me going to that frat party.”

“The thought had crossed my mind, but I’m guessing the WaterFire’ll be done ‘fore your party even gets started.”

Dylan held the spoon in his hand and then licked at it.

“How’s the ice cream?”

“It’s Gelato.”

“What’s the difference?”

“None, I guess.

They had chosen to eat at a restaurant called Paragon, again on the recommendation of Coach Estes, a fashionably loud, lit, and reasonably priced bistro-like restaurant on the student-dominated Thayer Street across from the University bookstore. Dylan ordered a pizza while Caitlin ruminated over the menu choices before eventually opting for what she always did: a steak. You can take the gal out of Texas, she thought to herself, but you can’t take Texas out of the gal.

“I hear this Waterfire is something special,” Caitlin said, when she saw him checking his watch.

“Yeah? Who told you that?”

“Coach Estes. What do you say we head downtown and check it out?”

* * *

They walked through the comfortable cool of the early evening darkness, a welcome respite from the sweltering spring heat wave that had struck Texas just before they’d left. Caitlin wanted to talk, but Dylan wouldn’t look up from his iPhone, banging out text after text.

They strolled up a slight hill and then down a steeper one, joining the thick flow of people heading for the sounds of the nighttime festival known as WaterFire. The air was crisp and laced with the pungent aroma of wood smoke drifting up from Providence’s downtown area, where the masses of milling people were headed. The scents grew stronger while the harmonic strains of music sharpened the closer they drew to an area bridged by walkways crisscross-ing a river that ran the entire length of the modest office buildings and residential towers that dominated the city’s skyline. A performance area had been roped off at the foot of the hill, currently occupied by a group of white-faced mimes. An array of pushcarts offering various grilled meats as well as snacks and sweets were lined up nearby, most with hefty lines before them.

The tightest clusters of festival patrons moved in both directions down a walkway at the river’s edge. Cait-lin realized the strange and haunting strains of music had their origins down here as well and moved to join the flow. The black water shimmered like glass, an eerie glow emanat-ing from its surface. Boaters and canoeists paddled lei-surely by. A water taxi packed with seated patrons sipping wine slid past followed by what looked like a gondola straight from Venice.

But it was the source of the orange glow reflecting off the water’s surface that claimed Caitlin’s attention. She could now identify the pungent scent of wood smoke as that of pine and cedar, hearing the familiar crackle of flames as she and Dylan reached a promenade that ran di-rectly alongside the river.

“Caitlin?” Dylan prodded, touching her shoulder.

She jerked to her right, stiffening, the boy’s hand like a hot iron against her shirt.

“Uh-oh,” the boy said. “You got that look.”

“Just don’t like crowds,” Caitlin managed, casting her gaze about. “That’s all.”

A lie, because she felt something wasn’t right, out of rhythm somehow. Her stomach had already tightened and now she could feel the bands of muscle in her neck and shoul-ders knotting up as well.

“Yeah?” Dylan followed before she forced a smile. “And, like, I’m supposed to believe that?”

Before them, a line of bonfires that seemed to rise out of the water curved along the expanse of the Providence river walk. The source of these bonfires, Caitlin saw now, were nearly a hundred steel braziers of flaming wood moored to the water’s surface and stoked by black-shirted workers in a square pontoon-like boat, including one who performed an elaborate fire dance in between tending the flames.

The twisting line of braziers seemed to stretch for-ever into the night. Caitlin and Dylan continued to follow their bright glow amid the crowd, keeping the knee-high re-taining wall on their right. More kiosks selling hotdogs, grilled meats to be stuffed in pockets, kabobs, beverages, and souvenirs had been set up above the river walk on streets and sidewalks. The sights and sounds left her homesick for Texas, the sweet smell of wood smoke reminding her of the scent of barbecue and grilled food wafting over the famed San Antonio River Walk.

Caitlin was imagining that smell when she felt some-thing, not much and not even identifiable at first, yet enough to make her neck hairs stand up. A ripple in the crowd, she realized an instant later, followed almost immediately by more of a buckling indicative of someone forcing their way through it. Instinct twisted Caitlin in the di-rection of the ripple’s origin and the flames’ glow caught a face that was familiar to her.

Because it belonged to one of the workman she’d glimpsed outside the hockey rink back at Brown University. And the second workman stood directly alongside him, hands pulling their jackets back enough to reveal the dark glint of the pistols wedged into their belts.

INSERT TEXT

BOOK DETAILS:

Genre: Thriller
Published by: Forge Books
Publication Date: August 13, 2013
Number of Pages: 368
ISBN: 978-0765331502
Series: Caitlin Strong, 5
(Can be read as a Stand Alone)

PURCHASE LINKS:

              

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DISCLAIMER
I received a copy of this book, at no charge to me, in exchange for my honest review. No items that I receive are ever sold…they are kept by me, or given to family and/or friends.
ADDENDUM
I do not have any affiliation with Amazon.com or Barnes & Noble. I am an IndieBound affiliate. I am providing link(s) solely for visitors that may be interested in purchasing this Book/EBook.

Guest Author JULIA CAMERON showcase & giveaway ENDED

WELCOME JULIA CAMERON


JULIA CAMERON

Julia Cameron has been an active artist for more than thirty years, with over thirty books (including bestsellers The Artist’s Way, Walking In This World and The Right to Write) and countless television, film, and theater scripts to her credit. Writing since the age of 18, Cameron has a long list of screenplay and teleplay credits to her name, including an episode of Miami Vice, and Elvis and the Beauty Queen, which starred Don Johnson. She was a writer on such movies as Taxi Driver, New York, New York, and The Last Waltz. She wrote, produced, and directed the award-winning independent feature film, God’s Will, which premiered at the Chicago International Film Festival, and was selected by the London Film Festival, the Munich International Film Festival, and Women in Film Festival, among others. In addition to making film, Cameron has taught film at such diverse places as Chicago Filmmakers, Northwestern University, and Columbia College. Her profound teachings on unlocking creativity and living from the creative center have inspired countless artists to unleash their full potential. Her site JuliaCameronLive.com is an online course and artists’ community.
Connect with Julia at these sites:

WEBSITE        TWITTER    

Q&A with Julia

It has been 20 years since the publication of your bestseller, The Artist’s Way, and your many fans have long been asking for a book like The Artist’s Way for Parents – why did you decide to write this book now?
My daughter, Domenica, has just had her first child. I wanted to pass on to her the tips and insights I myself had used.

What creative tools did you employ in your daughter’s upbringing?
I wrote Morning Pages, I took Domenica with me on Creative Expeditions, I supplied her with toys for solo play. Above all, I modeled the joy of creative exploration myself.

Why do you think parents lose sight of their personal creativity, and why is it important that they reignite it?
Parents often feel they must commit themselves 24/7 to nurturing their child. With this as a mission, they often neglect their own creative nurturing. When they commit to self-care as well as child care, they experience and transmit joy.

Spirituality is an important theme in this book. What is the connection between spirituality and creativity?
I often say that spirituality and creativity are one and the same. As we commit to deepening our spirituality, we awaken our creativity. As we commit to awakening our creativity, we reignite our spirituality.

You describe this book as a “toolkit” for parents and their children. What are some of the key resources that will they discover in its pages?
The Artist’s Way for Parents aims at awakening inner wisdom. Its essays and tasks provoke thought. Parents will learn the attitudes and aptitudes that best serve their child’s creativity. For example, they will learn how to cultivate safety, inventiveness and independence.

This book is geared toward parents with children newborn through age twelve – does it get harder to inspire creativity in children as they grow older?
No. Children crave self-expression, and as they mature, their avenues for self-expression increase.

You encourage parents to write “Morning Pages” at the start of every day – can you explain a bit about the process and how parents, and their children, will benefit from this exercise?
Morning Pages are three pages of longhand, morning writing about absolutely anything. Virginia Wolfe advised wanna-be artists that they would need “a room of their own.” Morning Pages constitute such a room. As parents write their pages, they come in contact with their authentic feelings. This allows them to relate to their children without resentment. Instead, they find themselves tabulating the many tiny steps in their child’s development and their own reactions to them.

In what ways has our changing culture influenced people’s creativity over the years and generations?
Morning Pages are an old-fashioned tool. Writing by hand, we achieve a hand-made life. Writing by computer, we race along, ignoring our true feelings and perceptions. Emailing and texting, we tune out on our environment. As we focus on old-fashioned tools such as crafts, we awaken our child’s originality. Keeping our own technological indulgence to a minimum, we encourage our children to do the same.

How did your own parents encourage creativity in you and your siblings?
My parents encouraged creativity by supplying rich resources for our creative self-expression. They encouraged us to draw, paint, write and make music. They applauded our efforts. Their encouragement was pivotal in developing our love of self-expression.

Why is it so important for parents to awaken their children’s creative minds
Just as blood is part of our physical DNA, creativity is part of our spiritual DNA. Awakening our children’s creativity gives them the opportunity to become fully rounded individuals.

What is the most important takeaway for parents who are reading The Artist’s Way for Parents?

Readers of The Artist’s Way for Parents will find themselves cultivating their own creativity. They will see how their common sense and simple encouragement will benefit their children. They will learn the value of their alert participation in their children’s unfolding lives.

ABOUT THE BOOK
“For decades, people have been asking me to write this book. The Artist’s Way focuses on a creative recovery. We re-cover the ground we have traveled in our past. The Artist’s Way for Parents focuses on creative cultivation, where we consciously—and playfully—put our children on a healthy creative path toward the future.” —Julia Cameron
From the bestselling author of The Artist’s Way comes the most highly requested addition to Julia Cameron’s canon of work on the creative process. The Artist’s Way for Parents provides an ongoing spiritual toolkit that parents can enter—and re-enter—at any pace and at any point in their child’s early years.
According to Cameron: “Every child is creative—and every parent is creative. Your child requires joy, and exercising creativity, both independently and together, makes for a happy and fulfilling family life.” Focusing on parents and their children from birth to age twelve, The Artist’s Way for Parents builds on the foundation of The Artist’s Way and shares it with the next generation. Using spiritual concepts and practical tools, this book will assist parents as they guide their children to greater creativity.
BOOK DETAILS:

Genre: Non Fiction, Parenting & relationships
Published by: Tarcher
Publication Date: August 15, 2013
Number of Pages: 288
ISBN-10: 0399163727
ISBN-13: 978-0399163722

PURCHASE LINKS:

       

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We think your readers would be interested in learning about the charitable promotion that Tarcher/Penguin is running now through August 15th: To celebrate the release of The Artist’s Way for Parents, Tarcher/Penguin has teamed with the LilySarahGraceFund and the International Child Art Foundation to help underprivileged children everywhere gain access to the arts. For every copy of The Artist’s Way for Parents sold now through August 15th, Tarcher/Penguin will donate $1 to these organizations. In addition, if the total number of copies sold within this timeframe (hardcopy or ebook) exceeds 1,000, Tarcher/Penguin will double its contribution. To make each order count, simply e-mail your receipt or an image of your receipt to: AWforParents@gmail.com.

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ADDENDUM
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Partners In Crime Tours Presents: Guest Author J.M. LeDUC

WELCOME J.M. LeDUC

J.M. LeDUC

Mark Adduci, writing as J. M. LeDuc is native Bostonian, who transplanted to South Florida in 1985. He shares his love and life with his wife, Sherri and his daughter, Chelsea.

Blessed to have had a mother who loved the written word, her passion was passed on to him. It is in her maiden name he writes. When he is not crafting the plot of his next thriller, his alter ego is busy working as a professor at The Academy of Nursing and Health Occupations, a nursing college in West Palm Beach, Florida.

J.M. LeDuc’s first novel, “Cursed Blessing” won a Royal Palm Literary Award in 2008 as an unpublished manuscript in the thriller category. It was published in 2010. He has subsequently written Cursed Presence and Cursed Days, books two and three of the Trilogy of The Chosen, as well as a novella, Phantom Squad. He is a proud member of the Florida Writers Association (FWA) and the prestigious International Thriller Writers (ITW).
Connect with J.M. LeDuc at these sites:

WEBSITE      

ABOUT THE BOOK

In the blink of an eye, a life begins and another ends.

In a blink of an eye, Brent Venturi falls into the chasm of despair.

What do you do when everything is lost? When the person you loved is gone and all you have left is guilt? These are the questions that face Brent, the leader of the Phantom Squad and the latest in Noah’s line of descendants. His answer—go back to the beginning, back to where it all began—Mount Ararat.

The last known resting place of Noah’s Ark.

In his travels, Brent will meet Rowtag Achak, a Cree brave and Special Forces sniper who is on a similar path of self-destruction. Together, they will trace their steps from Palm Cove to Washington D.C., all the way to Armenia and the Khor Virap Monastery which sits at the base of Mount Ararat. Their travels will eventually take them to Alpha Camp and the Hindu Kush Mountains on the Pakistan-Afghanistan border.

When President Dupree and the Phantom Squad get captured by the Brotherhood of Gaza, time for introspection is over and time for action begins. Brent must find a way to get back to the man he was in order to save the people still left in his life.

What begins as a sabbatical of self-awareness turns into a mission of survival. His own, that of the squad and more importantly, that of the president of the United States. What man and nature takes away, only God can restore. The restoration of the Cornerstone.

To find the beginning, one must walk through the past and be willing to step into the future.

READ AN EXCERPT
Prologue
One month agoIn one combustible moment, Brent’s life became a tumultuous cascade of happiness and horror. He had witnessed the birth of his daughter and the death of his wife.
Two weeks agoEight years ago, after his first encounter with the Omega Butcher, a sadistic serial killer, Brent Venturi lost his identity. Emotional and physical scars forced a sabbatical from the team he led: The Phantom Squad. It was only through the peace he had found in God and in his hometown of Palm Cove that he was able to recover from his physical and psychological injuries.He was once again sliding back down that slippery slope of despair into a deep, depressive abyss. The place he once ran to for tranquility no longer provided comfort. He spent his days alone and his nights wandering the streets.The nightmares that once plagued his life, the nightmares he thought were in his past, once again tore a path through his subconscious mind. It was terrifying enough when his dreams brought visions of his own torture, but now, the visions and images were different. More vivid, more personal, more terrifying. The tortured was now Chloe. His nightmares were made worse by the images of blood: so much blood, pools of blood, on her, on him . . . everywhere.When he did manage to fall asleep, Brent woke up in a pool of sweat and vomit, fearful that the wetness he felt was blood. Chloe’s blood.Agony was making him less of a man and more of a weapon of mass destruction.

 

Chapter 1

 

Present

Seven walked with a purposeful stride down the halls of SIA headquarters which made all other three letter intelligence agencies seem like child’s play. The sound of his footfalls as his heavy boots struck the tile floors reverberated in his ears like the base of a stereo. He heard it echo off the solid steel walls. As he walked deeper into the labyrinth, he looked up at the writing over the door that led to the inner sanctum.

We are called upon when others fail.

He placed his hand on the black glass panel next to the steel door. Like all others in HQ, it worked by palmer recognition. A faint red line slid under his hand. The door’s air lock disengaged. He repeated this maneuver multiple times as he descended further into the maze, finally arriving at his destination, the security office. Joan’s lair.

Joan, an eclectic blend of bohemian and punk was Maddie Smith’s personal assistant and a self taught computer genius. Her office was nestled in the midst of SIA’s security hub. A sea of computers and flat screen monitors filled every bit of desk and wall space. As he entered, she sat transfixed and stared at a video feed. The monitor she was glued to took up one entire wall and was embedded in three feet of concrete and steel.

“How long has he been there?” Seven asked.

Joan turned just long enough to acknowledge his arrival. “I arrived at o-eight hundred hours. The security clock shows he’s been there since…”

“O-five hundred.” Seven finished her sentence.

It had been the same pattern for the past ten days.

He stood behind her and watched Brent in the armory. Seven, like all of those close to Brent, was showing the signs of stress. In the past weeks, wrinkles from age crept into his face, like dried fissures on barren land.

He blinked the sleeplessness from his eyes. “Can you roll the tape back to when he arrived?”

“I can, but nothing has changed. Brent is still anal—a man of pattern.”

Seven reached into the back pocket of his jeans and took out his tobacco tin. Watching the screen, he tapped the lid, shook loose the tobacco, and placed it between his lower lip and gums.

Joan looked at him, rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Much like yourself.”

Seven smirked and spit in his empty coffee cup. “Oblige an old man,” he drawled, “and run the tape.”

“Yes, sir.” Joan reached over with her left hand, nimbly fingered the keyboard, and brought up the tape.

“Finally, a woman who will listen to me.”

“I hope that wasn’t meant for me.”

They both turned and saw Maddie standing in the doorway. Maddie Smith was the director of the SIA and Seven’s wife. As always, everyone’s eyes were glued to her—she was stunning. A voluptuous redhead who knew how to draw attention from both sexes. She embodied a 1950’s movie starlet.

“Good morning, Darlin,” Seven smiled.

“Good morning, Madam Director,” Joan said.

Her piecing emerald green eyes focused on Joan. “Why so formal this morning?”

Joan shrugged. “Everything seems so formal since, . . .” her eyes moistened, “you know.”

Maddie’s voice took on a saddened tone. She stood behind Joan, lightly rubbed her shoulders, and kissed the top of her head. “Yeah, I know, but I would feel better if you went back to calling me Maddie, or Mom, or the ‘B’ word that you mumble under your breath from time to time.”

Joan wiped her tears and sniffed. “And what word would that be?”

“Beautiful,” Maddie joked.

A partial smile surfaced on Joan’s lips. “Oh, that ‘B’ word. Right.”

“That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile in weeks. It feels good.” She looked at Seven expecting a sarcastic comeback, but he was glued to the screen. The look in her husband’s eyes made her shiver. “What is it?”

“It’s Brent’s eyes. They’re blank. Emotionless. It’s as if he were on a squad mission.”

“Is that so bad?” Joan said. “Isn’t that the way you all look when you’re engaged in training?”

Pointing to the monitor, Seven said, “This is different. Look at his jugular veins. His eyes may be expressionless, but the rest of him is about to snap.”

Maddie drew in a deep breath as she watched the monitor. Blowing it out, she knew what she had to do. “We can’t put the inevitable off any longer. Call the directorate and the Phantom Squad to a meeting at thirteen hundred hours and Seven,” she waited for him to acknowledge her.

“Get him there.”

BOOK DETAILS:

Genre: Christian Suspense
Published by: Suspense Publishing
Publication Date: 06/25/13
Number of Pages: 330
ISBN: 978-1484188682 // 1484188683

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