#AmReading - Blue Hole by Rolland Love @RollandLove

Blue Hole by Rolland Love

Amazon

Blue Hole and the SEQUEL River’s Edge are mystery suspense novels set in the Ozark Mountains that have received over (200) five star reviews. ★★★★★ ... In the second novel I aged the two brothers Dub and Tommy in Blue Hole by 50 years and made them grandfathers. They take their grandsons back to Blue Hole where a murder occurred the last time they were there in 1949.
The story is based on a tale my grandfather told about a murder where a body was found floating in a swimming hole in a remote area of the Ozark Mountains. The name Blue Hole comes from the sky blue color of a deep pool of water where a spring runs into the Jacks Fork river from the mouth of a cave. Jacks Fork was named one of the most scenic float and fishing streams in the world by Life Magazine.

Peter Simmons and the Vessel of Time by Ramz Artso @RamzArtso

Peter

Chapter 4

Portland, Oregon

October 22nd

Afternoon Hours

I sauntered out of the school building with my friends in tow and pulled on a thickly woven hat to cover my fluffy flaxen hair, which was bound to be frolic even in the mildest of breezes. I took a deep breath and scrutinized my immediate surroundings, noticing an armada of clouds scudding across the sky. It was a rather blustery day. The shrewd, trilling wind had all but divested the converging trees off their multicolored leaves, pasting them on the glossy asphalt and graffiti adorned walls across the road. My spirits were quickly heightened by this observation, and I suddenly felt rejuvenated after a long and taxing day at school. I didn’t know why, but the afternoon’s indolent weather appealed to me very much. I found it to be a congenial environment. For unexplainable reasons, I felt like I was caught amidst a fairytale. It was this eerie feeling which came and went on a whim. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Perhaps it was triggered by the subconscious mind brushing against a collage of subliminal memories, which stopped resurfacing partway through the process.

Anyhow, there I was, enjoying the warm and soporific touch of the autumn sun on my face, engaging in introspective thoughts of adolescent nature when Max Cornwell, a close, meddlesome friend of mine, called me from my rhapsodic dream with a sharp nudge in the ribs.

‘Hey, man! You daydreaming?’

I closed my eyes; feeling a little peeved, took a long drag of the wakening fresh air and gave him a negative response by shaking my head.

‘Feel sick or something?’ he persisted.

I wished he would stop harping on me, but it looked like Max had no intention of letting me enjoy my moment of glee, so I withdrew by tartly saying, ‘No, I’m all right.’

‘Hey, check this out,’ said George Whitmore,–who was another pal of mine–wedging himself between me and Max. He held a folded twenty dollar bill in his hand, and his ecstatic facial expression suggested that he had just chanced upon the find by sheer luck.

‘Is that yours?’ I asked, knowing very well that it wasn’t.

‘No, I found it on the floor of the auditorium. Just seconds before the last period ended.’

‘Then perhaps you should report your discovery to the lost and found. I’m sure they’ll know what to do with it there.’

‘Yeah, right. That’s exactly what I’m going to do,’ he said, snorting derisively. He then added in a somewhat defensive tone, as if trying to convince himself more than anyone else, ‘I found it, so it’s mine–right?’

I considered pointing out that his intentions were tantamount to theft, but shrugged it off instead, and followed the wrought-iron fence verging the school grounds before exiting by the small postern. I was in no mood for an argument, feeling too tired to do anything other than run a bath and soak in it. Therefore, I expunged the matter from my mind, bid goodbye to both George and Max and plunged into the small gathering of trees and brush which we, the kids, had dubbed the Mini Forest. It was seldom traveled by anyone, but we called it that because of its size, which was way too small to be an actual forest, and a trifle too large to be called otherwise.

I was whistling a merry tune, and wending my way home with a spring in my step, when my ears abruptly pulled back in fright. All of a sudden, I couldn’t help but feel as if I was being watched. But that wasn’t all. I felt like someone was trying to look inside of me. Right into me. As if they were rummaging in my soul, searching its every nook and cranny, trying to fish up my deepest fears and darkest secrets. It was equivalent to being stripped naked in front of a large audience. Steeling myself for something ugly, I felt the first stirrings of unease.

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Genre – Young-adult, Action and Adventure, Coming of Age, Sci-fi

Rating – PG-13

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Connect with  Ramz Artso on Facebook & Twitter

Website http://ramzartso.blogspot.com/

Laila Ibrahim – My favorite reviews

This is one of my favorite reviews.  It was written by my niece for a school report when she was a Freshman in high school.

Main Course: Honest Reaction

By Rachel Ibrahim

The book, Yellow Crocus, by Laila Ibrahim is one of my all time favorite books. I don’t normally like historical fiction books; I get too bored with them, and don’t find them as interesting as science fiction or fantasy books. I was surprised by how engaging the read was; I could not put the book down because it brings you into the world of the two main characters, Lizbeth and Mattie. I can really feel, and almost experience the feelings and relationship that they have with each other. I would highly recommend this book because it’s a well written, captivating, but easy read that you can let loose in. It’s easy to understand, but is education while still appealing. This 1830’s slavery story is fun, loving, and heartbreaking to any reader.

My favorite thing about this book is how much everything in the book relates to the author, my aunt, Laila. Our families are close, and with them living in Berkley, I get to see her often. This book was a major accomplishment for her and I could just see how happy it made her when it was finally published. Truthfully, I would not have read this book if she didn’t write it, and I do not rate this book based on my relationship with her, or just to make her happy, but I truly did love it, and am glad that I read it. Every time I turn the page, even after reading this book for the 5^th time, I can imagine her writing. Everything in the book reminds me of how Laila is, especially the main character Mattie. They are both inspiring, strong women who fight for what is right, even if society disapproves, and society will never be able to change the mind of my aunt. It’s amazing to see people like that, and by writing this book I think she shares her courage and I could not love her more for the person she is.

In 1837, Lisbeth Wainwright is born to the white mistress of a sprawling Virginia plantation. Seconds later, she is delivered into the arms of her black wet nurse, Mattie. For a field hand like Mattie, her transfer to the big house is supposed to be considered an honor—except that the move tears Mattie away from her beloved grandfather and her infant son, Samuel. But Mattie is a slave, with no say in the matter, and so she devotes herself to her master’s daughter, though she longs to be raising her own child. Growing up under Mattie’s tender care, little Lisbeth adopts the woman’s deep-seated faith in God, her love of music and black-eyed peas, and the tradition of hunting for yellow crocuses in the early days of spring.

As the years pass, Lisbeth is drawn slowly back into her white parents’ world and begins to learn the ins and outs of life for a high-born young lady. Still she retains her connection to Mattie, befriending Samuel and drifting comfortably between the two worlds. She accepts her parents’ assertion that their slaves depend upon them for guidance and protection, yet that notion becomes more and more difficult to believe as she gains awareness of the inequality of life in the big house versus the slave quarters. When, on the threshold of her society wedding to debonair Edward Cunningham, Lisbeth bears witness to a shockingly brutal act, the final vestiges of her naiveté crumble around her. Just twenty-one years old, she is forced to choose between what is socially acceptable and what is right, a decision that will change her life forever.

This compelling historical novel chronicles young Lisbeth Wainwright’s coming-of-age during one of the most difficult chapters of American history. Lisbeth’s powerful bond with Mattie makes her loss of innocence in the face of society’s ugly secrets all the more heartbreaking, and yet it is the courage she learns from her stand in mother that enables Lisbeth to blaze a new path for herself. Yellow Crocus offers moving proof of how the greatest social change often blooms forth from small personal acts of love.

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Genre - Historical Fiction

Rating – PG-13

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Connect with Laila Ibrahim on Facebook

Birth of an Assassin by Rik Stone @stone_rik

Chapter 5

For three weeks, Jez watched his peers leave for the front while his presence wasn’t even acknowledged by the sergeant. He had to face up to him, and find out why.

“Excuse me, Sergeant Sharansky.”

“Yes, private, come in.”

He bent as he pushed through the flaps and into the tent. “If I may, Sergeant, I’ll get straight to the point.” Sharansky sat back and nodded. “You seem to be of an opinion that I wouldn’t be of much use in the field. I’ve trained KooKooEh ever since I got here and…”

“And?” the sergeant broke in.

He stood further to attention. “Sergeant, I know this war is bitter and casualties high. I just don’t understand why my skills are not put to better use.”

“Oh – a tantrum. The boy isn’t getting his way.”

Rankled, Jez discarded caution. “It’s not like that, Sergeant, no, I…”

“All right… all right,” the sergeant conceded, and lifted a hand to silence him. “We’ve received information of a rooftop party for a group of significant conservative officers. I’ve looked at your records. Seems you can shoot, but you’ve never killed. Do you think you can go the distance?”

Had Sharansky waited for him to make this approach?

“Yes, Sergeant, you’re right, I haven’t killed, but there has to be a first time for everyone. I’m ready, it won’t be a problem.”

“It’d better not be. Get your combat gear together and make sure you’re ready to travel at first light. Don’t worry about weapons, I’ll sort them out.”

Night still contested with day as Jez emerged. The KKE boy sat behind the wheel with Sergeant Sharansky next to him. It was so early that his mind hadn’t kicked in properly, or was it that he hadn’t clipped his belt buckle properly? Whichever, he got in a tangle and fell.

“Don’t worry,” the sergeant said, “you’re not late.” He turned to the driver. “Let’s go.”

Friendly enough, but Jez could’ve sworn he’d sniggered.

Then it got worse. The accelerator hit the metal before Jez had sat down, and he crashed over into the rear seat. This time the sergeant laughed for all he was worth.

“After the boy drops us, it’ll take him an hour to get to his KooKooEh comrades and let them know we’re on our way,” Sergeant Sharansky said. “We’ll have that hour and another three to get to our position and set up. Oh, one more thing: you’re Jez, I’m Viktor, and we’re without rank. You’re trained, so there’s no need to explain.”

“No, Sergeant, sorry, Viktor, but why the time limit?”

“We’ve arranged for KooKooEh to make a diversionary attack on a military village in the town’s suburbs. When their firepower can be heard we must be in position and ready to open fire.”

They hadn’t driven for long when the jeep left the main road in favor of dirt tracks and paths that wound along low gullies and high mountainsides. But now the boy drove tentatively and made sure the vehicle didn’t kick up dust. Eventually they stopped on a hillside and Jez pulled his rattled body from the jeep. A spattering of houses lay to the west, or at least he guessed they were houses: from that distance they looked no more than an anomaly in the terrain. Viktor took a bag from the jeep and the boy drove off without a word.

“Will there be opposition between here and the town, Viktor?”

“There’d better not be, or the mission is over. Until we’re ready to hit, low profile is the name of the game.”

They crept silently over sterile ground, and the nearer they got the more patrols they found to skirt around. When necessary they bellied out, slung the bag over the back of whoever’s turn it was to be mule, and crawled. When they reached the halfway mark, Jez was up on his feet and trotting crouched with the bag over his shoulder.

“You want me to take a turn with that bag?”

“No, it’s not a problem.”

The lifetime of physical training had paid dividends and his body thrived on the workout. But his mind was full of the task ahead: he would kill; that was why he’d trained so hard. It was a necessary step in his military evolution. Even so, sweat popped on his face – and it wasn’t through physical exertion.

They arrived on the town’s outskirts and nestled into a niche at the base of a hill. Viktor took two AK-47 submachine guns from the bag: a recently developed weapon created by a young unknown called Kalashnikov. Jez had trained with the rifle and liked its responses – accurate to 800 meters and still a kill shot at 1,500 meters. Viktor laid the guns side by side and dipped back into the bag. He took out enough ammunition to fill the magazines twice over.

“Load up, Jez. Then take off your trousers and shirt, and fasten the ammunition belt with the spare bullets in front of you.”

Jez relaxed and grinned. “We’re going to look a bit obvious if we walk into town like this.”

Viktor sighed. “We’re not quite finished,” he said. “Sling the gun over your back.”

Jez obeyed, and as Viktor pulled out sandals and a couple of hooded kaftans, the fog cleared.

“Get into these,” he said. “Reports say there are Arabs in the town, so we should go unnoticed.”

“And if we don’t?”

“Well, I don’t think the conservatives will lose any sleep over killing us slowly.”

“Right, Viktor.”

Reality sobered his thoughts – death was feasible.

“Noticing the AK-47 won’t be a problem as long as you don’t bend to pick anything up in town,” Viktor continued.

Jez held out the kaftan like a girl in a dress shop and nodded. “I could pass as an Arab without the kaftan. And you’re… well weathered.”

He watched Viktor pull the kaftan over his head. His muscular frame could have been a problem, but in the loose-fit garment he just looked fat. Jez grinned.

“What?”

“Nothing, Viktor, just thinking.”

They moved into side alleys of what Jez presumed was a typical mountain town: houses with dark adobe sun-dried brickwork, mainly flat-roofed but some slanted and tiled. Orange trees bore bitter fruit that had been left to over-ripen and wither. Their skins had already bleached to a pale shade of yellow, and the branches they hung from stretched over sandstone walls to reach for the shade of olive trees, whose aged trunks had bloated to more than a meter in width. These olives lined the street, proudly adorning the sidewalks. Their long, heavy branches provided shade for the passersby, while the white paint around the trunks gave guidance to night traffic.

On a main street, Jez watched donkeys pull rickety carts piled with firewood. Rusted old cars belched blue-black smoke so thick that it rasped the throat. An uncovered army truck chugged by, full of soldiers who looked over-heated as they leaned wearily on their rifles. Vehicles had parked on either side of the road, which slowed the traffic. A black chauffeur-driven convertible stopped just ahead with a military officer sat in the back seat, tapping a swagger stick on his forearm and staring straight ahead. His pompous expression raised the hackles on Jez’s neck. The blonde woman sitting next to him was just the opposite: she craned her neck in every direction and showed interest in all she looked at.

They turned off into a side alley and Jez was glad to leave the mayhem behind; but within a couple of meters he found himself pressed against a wall to let a heavily-laden donkey pass. The large wooden cases that flanked the animal looked over-burdening, but it never faltered. A woman led the beast from the front and stared directly at Jez. Her tanned and shrunken face seemed to admonish him, but then he realized she wasn’t looking at him, but through him.

After several alleyways into town they came to an open plaza where Arab vendors manned vegetable stalls. On the opposite side of the square a number of conservative soldiers hung around, smoking, talking.

“Take my hand, Jez,” Viktor ordered.

“What?”

“Just do it,” he said with resignation.

Jez took the sergeant’s hand and they walked diagonally across the square. Viktor clung to him and chatted in Greek – or whatever language it was; it all sounded Greek to Jez. They bumped and pushed their way through a throng of people who eagerly cleared their goods in readiness for an evening of freedom.

Halfway across the plaza, anxiety tingled over Jez’s skin as he brushed against a man. Perfumed and smartly dressed, he looked how a key official might. The stock of Jez’s AK had clipped the man’s arm, not hard, but enough for him to reach up and rub it. With face contorted, he stared at Jez in puzzlement, probably wondering how someone so much smaller than him could cause such pain with a minor bump.

Jez brought his hands together and bowed remorsefully. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said, using the only Arabic he knew.

“Yes, sir,” Viktor added, “I’m sorry too. This is an idiot boy and I don’t know why I keep him.”

By the look on the man’s face, he hadn’t understood a word. Jez guessed that’s what Viktor thought too, which would be why he turned on Jez, swiped at his head, and pushed him across the square. He continued with the angry charade until they got nearer to the soldiers, he quieted, took Jez’s hand and returned to jabbering. They cleared the square and the handholding abruptly ended.

“That’s a relief,” Jez said. “I like you well enough, but not in that way.”

Viktor laughed warmly. “It’s not unusual for male Arab friends to hold hands. It doesn’t mean the same with them, and we need to blend in as much as possible.”

“Whatever you say.”

The sergeant shook his head and laughed as he took another swipe at Jez. His directions brought them to their first destination: a red sandstone house with off-white steps that led to a door on the first floor.

“Isn’t there someone here to meet us? You can’t just go in without knocking,” Jez said, as Viktor reached the top step and grabbed the door handle.

“Don’t worry, we have all the information we need, enough to get the job done. That way if we’re caught we can’t let anybody down.”

“What if the house is found after we’re done? Won’t that lead to our informant?”

“You ask too many questions. Me, I just get on with what I’m given. Truth is, I don’t know what cover has been set up. I only know what we have to do and how we have to do it.”

The windows were small, but inside was bright because a French door was positioned to catch sunbeams that reverberated on the stark white walls. A ladder to a trapdoor stood against a teak-colored ceiling beam. Jez slipped the kaftan off over his head and removed the rifle. “Oh,” he groaned, and stretched and arched his body. “I’m glad to get rid of that. When I bumped into that man, the gun moved and the stock was stuck between my shoulders.”

“Ah, such a sensitive little button,” Viktor baited.

Jez nearly rose to defend his words until he realized he was being sent up. They sat in underwear, tucking into the Feta cheese and bread that had been left out on the table.

“Right, Jez,” Viktor said, and wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist. “We have a good hour before the fireworks begin. According to my information there are a good few rooftops to cross before reaching our position and it’ll be easier to get there while it’s light, so we should make a start right away.”

“That’s not a problem, but do we go in under-shorts and vest? Not a very dignified way to die if we’re caught.”

“Don’t worry about that, there’s no such thing as dignified dying – just dying.”

Maybe, but Jez would prefer it if he had a bit more on than a pair of underpants.

Set against the backdrop of Soviet, post-war Russia, Birth of an Assassin follows the transformation of Jez Kornfeld from wide-eyed recruit to avenging outlaw. Amidst a murky underworld of flesh-trafficking, prostitution and institutionalized corruption, the elite Jewish soldier is thrown into a world where nothing is what it seems, nobody can be trusted, and everything can be violently torn from him.

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Genre - Thriller, Crime, Suspense

Rating – R

More details about the author

Connect with Rik Stone on Facebook & Twitter

Website http://rik-stone.simdif.com

Bargain Sand Dollar: A Story of Undying Love by Sebastian Cole @sebastiancole3

Beverly Hills Book Award winner, USA Best Book Award finalist, ForeWord Reviews Book of the Year Award bronze winner, International Book Award finalist, ForeWord Firsts debut literary competition finalist.

The story opens with Noah Hartman, eighty years old, lying on his deathbed recounting his life of love and loss to Josh, a compassionate orderly at the hospital. As Noah’s loved ones arrive one by one, they listen in on his story, and we’re transported back in time to Noah’s younger years.

Though outwardly seeming to have it all, Noah, now thirty-five, is actually an empty, lost, and broken man running on automatic pilot. He has no true identity due to having allowed his powerful, wealthy parents to manipulate, control, and brainwash him from a young age. With the threat of disinheritance and withholding love and approval if he doesn’t comply with the plan they have for his life, Noah is lured in by the reward of great wealth and the illusion of running the family business empire some day.

Enter Robin, twenty-five years old, who — in direct contrast to Noah — is a vivacious, free spirit. Full of life and always living in the moment, Robin’s love saves Noah by inspiring him to stand up to his parents and live his own life at all costs, reclaiming his true self.

They get married, and while snorkeling in the Caribbean, the captain of the boat warns them not to disturb anything in the sea. Ignoring the exhortation, Noah dives down and snags a sand dollar from the ocean floor, whereupon it explodes in his hand. With the fragile sand dollar taking on new significance, Robin inexplicably leaves Noah shortly after returning from their honeymoon. Like a passing breeze, she disappears out of his life without a trace, seemingly forever.

Years pass, and Noah still can’t get Robin out of his mind and out of his heart. After all, the one he loved the most would forever be the one who got away. That’s when he finds out about her hidden secret, the underlying condition responsible for her leaving. Noah has no choice but to move on with his life without her, meeting Sarah at the premiere of SAND DOLLAR, the movie he wrote about his time with Robin.

Years later, it’s Noah and Sarah’s wedding day, and Robin discovers a clue that Noah had surreptitiously inserted into the movie, inspiring her to race to the wedding to try to stop it. With the wedding in shambles, the scene jumps back to present day, with both Robin and Sarah placed in Noah’s hospital room. But which one did he choose?

As Noah wraps up his story, he discovers a far greater truth about the past, present, and future. Things are definitely not as they appear as the pieces of a shattered love are put back together in the remarkable final chapter of Noah’s life.

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Genre – Contemporary Romance

Rating – PG 13

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Connect with Sebastian Cole on Facebook & Twitter

Blog http://www.sebastiancoleauthor.com

#AmReading - Discretion by David Balzarini @Mcdoyle99

Discretion by David Balzarini

Amazon

Indiestructible: Inspiring Stories from the Publishing Jungle @MsBessieBell

Tackling the Time Factor

by Jessica Bell

The biggest problem I had with deciding to go indie was the time factor.

With a stressful full-time job as a project manager for the Academic Research & Development department at Education First, it was difficult for me to see how I could possibly work, write, blog, edit, publish, market, run a literary journal, direct a writer’s retreat, and live my life all at once. It doesn’t help that I’m a bit of a stickler. I like to get everything done myself because I have a hard time waiting on others to do things I know I can get done more quickly and efficiently. I outsource if I really have to, but I do enjoy doing the work, such as designing covers, learning new skills and navigating social media. So when I say, DIY, I really mean DIY. Where on Earth, I wondered, would I find the time to be an editor for an educational publisher and literary magazine, an author, a typesetter, a designer, and a marketer? And what about walking the dog? Making dinner? Sleeping? (Forget the laundry. I have months of unfolded washed clothes in a heap on the couch that will soon need to go straight back into the machine from the dog rubbing herself all over them.)

The time factor is a logical fear. But once I finally made the decision to do this on my own, I realized that it wasn’t as daunting as it seemed. Do you know how much more you actually get done when you think something is impossible?

I don’t want to tell you how to schedule your day, but I’m going to give you a run down on how to approach this time management malarkey mentally. The key for me is not to focus on one thing all day. When you do this, you burn out. Your brain starts to lag from the monotony of the same information. You need to mix it up. If you mix it up, you get more done, because your mind is consistently stimulated with fresh information.

Let’s start with the actual writing of your books. Because this is what it all boils down to, yes? But first, I have to say, everyone is different. Everyone writes at different speeds, deals with stress in different ways, has different expectations of themselves. So you need to figure out what you want and works for you.

1. Stop thinking about what other people will think of your work. And write honestly. The first version of my debut novel was written for an audience. It was rejected again and again—for five years. And then, I found a small press who saw something in me and made an effort to get to know me. (Unfortunately that publisher liquidated only six months after its release, but that’s another story which you can read about here.) The publisher said my book was good, but that it felt like she was watching the characters through a window. She said: “Go deeper.” So I dug deeper and dragged the truth from my heart and soul. A truth I was afraid to admit was there. But it resulted in an honest book—a book I didn’t know I had in me. And one I hope women will be able to relate to. It’s glory-less, but real. And real steals hearts. What does this have to do with time management you ask? A lot. When you believe in your work, when you love your work, the words get written faster.

2. Focus on one paragraph at a time. I will never forget Anne Lamott’s advice from Bird by Bird (most accessible and nonsense-less book on writing I’ve ever read): write what you can see through a one-inch frame.

The reason I say this, is because knowing how much you have to revise can sometimes be daunting and overwhelming, and you might try to get through as much as possible and forget to focus your attention on the quality of your work. If you make each paragraph the best it can be before you move on, you won’t have to do any major rewrites (unless there’s a snag in your plot that you’ve overlooked and it’s related to a pertinent turning point). I’m talking revision here, not first draft.

3. Divide your writing time into short bursts. I find that if I give myself only one hour to write every morning before work, sometimes even shorter periods of time (especially when I accidentally sleep in), I’m forced to come up with things I wouldn’t normally think of.

The brain works in mysterious ways when it’s under pressure, and sometimes a little self-inflicted pressure can push you to great heights. Can you believe I wrote the first draft of The Book over a three-day long weekend? I did this because I experimented with the self-inflicted pressure idea. It worked. But be careful not to expect too much from yourself. There is nothing worse than becoming unmotivated due to not reaching personal goals. Which brings me to my fourth point ...

4. To start with, set your goals low. Set goals you know for a fact you can reach. If you set them too high, and continuously fail to meet them, you are going to feel really bad about yourself. This may result in neglecting your goals altogether. I know this from personal experience. If you later realize that you are meeting your goals with ease, gradually make them more challenging. But I strongly urge you to start small. It’s better for you, psychologically, to meet easy goals, than to struggle meeting difficult goals. Not achieving goals is a major hazard for self-esteem, motivation, and creativity.

So what about the rest?

Let’s see. These are the things I continuously have on the go that are not part of my day job or writing books, and I still find time to walk the dog and make dinner (sorry, the washing is still on the couch):

—Vine Leaves Literary Journal (reading submissions, sending rejection/acceptance letters, designing the magazine, promoting the magazine)

—Homeric Writers’ Retreat & Workshop (organizing the event and handling finances)

—Typesetting, designing, and marketing my books (which includes, what seems, a never-ending thread of guest posts and interviews)

—Blogging (including keeping up to speed with my weekly guest feature, The Artist Unleashed)

—Maintaining my online presence (Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, etc.)

I do all this stuff on top of the day job. On top of my writing. Because I do it all in scheduled, short bursts. I get up early to make sure I have one hour to write and one hour to do something else from the list above. I pick and choose depending on priority. During my lunch break, I blog and spend about half an hour to an hour (depends on how long I can take from work) on social media. After work, I walk the dog, make dinner, maybe go to yoga. Once that’s done, I’ll spend another hour or so doing something else from the list above. Then I have a shower, relax in front of the TV, or do something else away from the computer before I go to bed. Then in bed, I’ll read a chapter or two of the book on my bedside table. Reading to me is relaxing and not a chore.

So what have I accomplished in this average day of mine?

Here’s an example:

—My job (at least 7 hours worth)

—500-1000 words on my WIP

—I read 30 Vine Leaves submissions and sent a few responses, maybe even set up a classified ad on NewPages.com.

—I wrote/scheduled a blog post, commented on other blogs.

—I connected with everyone I wanted to online. I may have worked on my latest book cover for a bit.

—I made dinner.

—I walked the dog.

—I relaxed.

—Look ... I’ll deal with those clothes tomorrow, okay?

I know people with kids who have just as much, and more, on their plate, and they’re still finding the time to self-publish. You can too.

My point is, it can all be done. And it doesn’t have to freak you out, or overwhelm you. Just pace yourself. And if you don’t have a full-time job like me, imagine how much more you can get done.

Nothing is impossible if you put your mind to it.

Nothing is impossible if you truly want it.

Nothing is impossible. Full stop.

Bio:

If Jessica Bell could choose only one creative mentor, she’d give the role to Euterpe, the Greek muse of music and lyrics. This is not only because she currently resides in Athens, Greece, but because of her life as a thirty-something Australian-native contemporary fiction author, poet and singer/songwriter/guitarist, whose literary inspiration often stems from songs she’s written.

In addition to her novels, poetry collections, (one of which was nominated for the Goodreads Choice Awards in 2012), and her Writing in a Nutshell series, she has published a variety of works in online and print literary journals and anthologies, including Australia’s Cordite Review, and the anthologies 100 STORIES FOR QUEENSLAND and FROM STAGE DOOR SHADOWS, both released through Australia’s, eMergent Publishing.

Jessica is the Co-Publishing Editor of Vine Leaves Literary Journal and annually runs the Homeric Writers’ Retreat & Workshop on the Greek island of Ithaca. She makes a living as a writer/editor for English Language Teaching Publishers worldwide, such as Pearson Education, HarperCollins, MacMillan Education, Education First and Cengage Learning.

Keep an eye out for her forthcoming novel, BITTER LIKE ORANGE PEEL, slated for release, November 1, 2013.

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre –  Non-fiction

Rating – G

More details about the author

Connect with Jessica Bell on Facebook &  Twitter

Blog http://thealliterativeallomorph.blogspot.com/

Gringa – A Love Story (Complete Series books 1-4) by Eve Rabi @EveRabi1

A man named Norman, seated next to me, leans over and says, ‘Señorita gringa want Whisky?

‘Yes please, Norman.’

Norman pours the whisky and places the glass in front of me.

‘Thank you Norman,’ I say, bypassing the glass and reaching for the bottle.

Norman’s eyes grow huge when he sees me taking giant swigs from the bottle.

It’s awful. I hate whisky. Tastes like gasoline to me.

‘Damn!’ I say, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. ‘This sure is mighty fine whisky, Norman.’

‘Eh, Señorita gringa, my name …’

‘Lemme pour you one, Norman.’ I top his glass to the brim and hand it to him. ‘Knock yourself out,’ I chuckle.

Diablo’s not smiling.

Yeah, I’m supposed to be nice to him now that the FBI is involved. Well, fuck the FBI and Fuck him.

As lunch progresses, I’m feeling a little more relaxed now. Warm in my toes and even a little confident. Well, they’re eating lunch and I’m drinking mine – whisky, Tequila and some other shit on the table.

After a few more swigs from the bottles, I cross my arms over my head and whistle Hit me Baby One More Time by Brittany bitch. Totally out of tune, but hey, who gives a fuck right now.

Diablo’s hairy face reveals little, but somehow I don’t think he’s comfortable with my drinking. Hell, I’m not comfortable with my drinking, but screw him.

Link to Gringa:

http://www.amazon.com/Gringa-Modern-day-Love-Story-ebook/dp/B005CQBCJA\

BOOK BLURB:

I was twenty-one, a sassy college student who took crap from no one. While holidaying in Mexico, I was accosted by The Devil of Mexico called Diablo and shot, because the s.o.b. mistook me for a spy.
I survived, only to encounter him again months later. How’s that for luck?
Furious and sick of all that I’d been through because of him, I slapped him, told him to go to hell and braced myself for the bullet. He could shoot me – I no longer cared.
But, to my surprise, he became fascinated with me and blackmailed me into becoming his woman. He’d slay the entire village that sheltered me, if I rejected his proposal.
He was Kong, hairy, tattooed from fingertips to face, with scary ass piercings, blood-shot snake eyes, a ruthless killer and above all, he was my murderer – how could anyone expect me to say yes?
To save the village I had to.
He took me by force, terrorized me into submission and made me his. To make matters worse, I had to put up with his ruthless, backstabbing family who hated me and wanted to kill me.
I despised the bastard and I told him that. Spark flew. Fists too.
But, the more I rejected Diablo, the more he wanted me.
At times he wanted to kill me because of my insolence, but other times he just wanted me to love him.
I was his Gringa and in an attempt to get my love, he began to change for me. Drastic changes that made me laugh at him at first, then made me curious.
As the days went by, I found myself drawn to him and I began seeing him differently. When I found out about his past, everything changed.

Where to find Eve Rabi online

Website: http://everabi.wordpress.com/

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/eve.rabi

Blog: http://everabi.wordpress.com/

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/everabiauthor

Twitter: https://twitter.com/EveRabi1

LOVE STORIES BY EVE RABI

Deception – A Palace Full of Liars – Book 1

Deception – A Palace Full of Liars – Book 2

Burn’s World – Book 1

Burn’s World – Book 2

Burn’s World – Book 3

Burn’s World – Book 4

CAPTURED – My Sworn Enemy, My Secret Lover – Book 1

CAPTURED – My Sworn Enemy, My Secret Lover – Book 2

Gringa – A Love Story Book 1

Gringa – A Love Story Book 2

Gringa – A Love Story Book 3

Gringa – A Love Story Book 4

THE CHEAT – A Tale of Lies and Infidelity – Book 1

THE CHEAT – A Tale of Lies and Infidelity – Book 2

You Will Pay – For Leaving Me (This book is free to Eve Rabi Fans)

Obsessed with me –Book 1

Obsessed with me –Book 2

Betrayed – He’d get his Girl at Any Cost

My Brother, My Rival (Book 1)

My Brother, My Rival (Book 2)

Breathing for Two by Wolf Pascoe @WolfPascoe

ONE
BREATHING LESSONS

IN the freshman year of my anesthesia residency, I was given a lesson in breathing by a patient whom I’ll call Otto. Anesthesia residencies come replete with breathing lessons, but Otto was also teaching humility that day, a subject absent from the formal anesthesia curriculum.
A doctor gets humility not from curricula but from his patients. I acquired a truckload of humility the day I met Otto, and the truck has only gotten larger since.
Otto was undergoing a cystoscopy, a look inside the bladder performed by passing a thin viewing scope through the urethra. There is no incision in such a procedure.
Generally, you don’t need anything fancy to support a patient’s breathing while giving anesthesia during a cystoscopy. As the patient passes from wakefulness into unconsciousness you can let him continue to breathe for himself.
In Otto’s case, I strapped a rubber anesthesia mask over his mouth and nose to make an airtight seal against his skin, and delivered through the mask an appropriate combination of oxygen and anesthetic gas. In principle, what I did was essentially what the Boston dentist, William Thomas Green Morton, had done during the first public demonstration of ether anesthesia in 1846.
The modern anesthesia face mask is a hollow cone of rubber or plastic. It’s like the oxygen mask that drops down from above a passenger’s head on an airplane, though it’s more substantially built. The base is malleable and cushioned by a ring of air, a sort of inner tube. The mask is shaped to fit around the nose and mouth; with a bit of pressure, it seals against the skin. The top of the mask connects to a source of anesthetic vapor and oxygen.
Readers of a certain age may remember the TV series, Marcus Welby, M.D., which began each week with Dr. Welby lowering a black anesthesia mask down over the camera lens. In those days, apparently, the family doctor did everything.
The anesthesia machine—the “cascade of glass columns, porcelain knobs and metal conduits” I described previously—is the gas delivery system. The machine connects to an oxygen tank and directs the flow of oxygen from the tank through a vaporizer where the oxygen mixes with anesthesia gas. The mixture passes out of the machine through plastic tubing (“anesthesia hose”) that connects to the face mask.
The patient breathes the mixture.
Gas leaving the anesthesia machine actually flows through the anesthesia tubing in a circle—in fact it’s called the circle system. One limb of the circle travels from the machine to the anesthesia mask, where the patient inhales it. The other limb, carrying exhaled gas, travels from the mask back to the machine, where excess carbon dioxide from the patient is filtered out. The filtered gas is mixed with fresh gas and travels back to the patient.
The same gases, minus the carbon dioxide, keep going round and round. The system is airtight, except for a pop-off valve that relieves excess pressure.
Otto was a large man with a thickly muscled neck, but by extending his head I could keep his airway clear, allowing him to continue breathing while the urologist worked. Instead of using an anesthesia mask to deliver my mix of gases, I could have assured Otto’s airway by using an endotracheal tube. This is a long breathing tube (about a centimeter in diameter) inserted through the mouth all the way into the trachea.
But getting an endotracheal tube in isn’t always easy, and it’s usually not necessary during a cystoscopy. Most often an anesthesia mask will do.
One side effect of anesthesia is the loss of normal muscle tone. This happened to Otto. A few minutes into the case, his flaccid tongue fell back in his throat. His diaphragm continued to contract, but air couldn’t get through to the lungs—his airway was obstructed. Otto was, of course, completely unconscious at this point.
Everyone loses some muscle tone during sleep—this is the cause of snoring, and of the more serious condition of sleep apnea. But the loss of tone is even greater under anesthesia, and the anesthetized patient cannot rouse herself to find a better breathing position.
I managed the problem by putting a short plastic tube called an airway into Otto’s mouth. The airway depressed the tongue and cleared a passage for air. It wasn’t as good as an endotracheal tube, which would have extended all the way into Otto’s trachea, but it seemed to do the trick.

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre – Non-fiction / Memoir

Rating – G

More details about the author and the book

Connect with Wolf Pascoe on Facebook & Twitter

Website http://wolfpascoe.com

How Did I Launch My First Book? by Bobbie Cole @cole_bobbie

Choosing the Date

My personal faith memoir, She Does Not Fear the Snow, launched September 6, 2013, the 5^th anniversary of my wedding to husband, Butch.

Since the book deals with how I came to meet and marry him, it was an appropriate date for the launch.

I would recommend linking a book launch to a significant date. It gives you one more thing to talk about. I celebrated with a photo montage of our five years and a huge cake.

Local Launch

My marketing for my launch was to my local audience, here in Fredericton, NB, Canada, and to my potential Kindle audience, worldwide but primarily in the USA.

The first was a traditional campaign. It involved a bookstore signing and leading an evening service at my church, to which approximately 100 people came.

I announced these events through local press and radio and postcards, distributed to local churches. My church also promoted it.

I communicated repeatedly to Facebook and Linked In connections in the local area, posting short extracts from the book and photos of people my circles would recognise, holding a copy of the book.

I asked everyone to share the news and many did.

Wherever I was dealing with people who wouldn’t know what my book was about, I added a byline in my communications: A trail of miracles led her from a Jerusalem church to love in Atlantic Canada.

I also created a countdown Facebook tile that I posted on my own pages, groups I belonged to and my Linked In profile, as well as on Pinterest.

This tile counted down the days to launch and directed everyone to the book page, where a free sample chapter was available for download, along with my promo video.

I took some trouble over the video. Sitting, surrounded by snow, I summarize my story – (It was minus 20 degrees on the day of the shoot!) – with sweet piano music in the background.

I created additional tiles in respect of the book signing and the evening service I was leading and posted these in all media, splashed ‘Tomorrow’ and ‘Today’, across them, in the run-up to these events.

About three weeks before the launch, I had a guest post on well-known Christian author, Mary de Muth’s blog (http://www.marydemuth.com/god-sent-me-a-crab-awesome-guest-post/). I sent everyone I knew to read it.

This post got good traction from her own audience and ended up with over 40 comments. Some of her readers spontaneously tweeted about it.

The Kindle Promo

My Kindle promo was over 3 free download days, Sept 6-8. I also created a tile about this and posted it widely, adding Today / Ends Tomorrow and Ends Midnight Pacific splashes, as the campaign unfolded.

I requested a listing for the Kindle promotion on every Christian and non-Christian book promotion site that I could find. In some cases, I made small ‘donations’ . Mostly, they were free.

I tweeted about each of these events as they were coming up and requested retweets, which many people did.

Personal Email List

I emailed my own personal email list, dividing it into local to Fredericton and non-local. The local people were told about the signing and evening service events, as well as the free Kindle promo.

The non-local people were only told about the Kindle.

Reviews

I sought reviews from everyone who had already read the book, having made it available as a pdf on a closed Facebook site several months prior to the launch, to whom I invited readers. I also sought reviews from volunteer readers on writing sites and professional readers.

My Blog

I have a blog, http://testimonytrain.com, a hub for honing and sharing our Christian testimonies. It’s brand new and has few followers at present. Nevertheless, the pages from my book I posted there, as well as testimonies of others, were mentioned on my Facebook page and in Linked In messages. Next time around, I know this blog will reach many people in its own right.

What has been the result of all this?

I had about 650 free downloads of the Kindle version and sold nearly 50 books during the weekend events.

This is very encouraging. Reviews will start to grow. The book will become established.

At this stage, it’s not about the sales but about the buzz.

I’m pleased and confident.

What would I do differently next time?

I’d get way more guest posts set up. I should have been on this three months ahead of time.

I’d have all my tiles prepared for my countdowns etc. three months ahead of launch date also.

I totally underestimated the amount of time required in engaging with others. Being prepared would have made this less hectic.

And I’d find some methods for working out what worked and what didn’t. This campaign was a battery of shots that has left me not knowing what worked best.

Bio:

Bobbie Ann Cole is author of her faith memoir, She Does Not Fear the Snow. A trail of miracles led her from a Jerusalem church, where she wasn’t supposed to be, to meet and marry her Boaz in Atlantic Canada. Free sample chapter and promo video: www.shedoesnotfearthesnow.com. Bobbie, AKA The Testimony Lady, will help you write your testimony, too.  Download her free workbook, Start Writing Your Christian Testimony: http://testimonytrain.com.

Bobbie Ann Cole’s inspirational memoir charts her personal journey to faith and redemption. Broken by cancer and the failure of her marriage, she visits Israel, seeking direction and new meaning for her life. She has a profound spiritual experience in a Jerusalem church, where, as a Jew, she’s not supposed to be. Her experience there marks the start of a chain of supernatural events, through which God reveals His purposes to her. This transformational story of love, set on three continents, echoes that of biblical Ruth, who accepts faith in the Land of Israel and receives God’s blessing in the shape of a new husband of faith, a Canadian.

‘Filled with humor, warmth and love, She Does Not Fear the Snow is the promise of love after a battle with cancer and the sting of divorce. Bobbie Ann Cole has written an honest, touching memoir which permits the reader to accompany her through a time of healing, self-discovery and faith. Bobbie’s transparency makes it hard to put down. A great read for those healing from their own journey. You will find encouragement here.’ Kim de Blecourt, Author of Until We All Come Home: A Harrowing Journey, a Mother’s Courage, a Race to Freedom (FaithWords, November, 2012)

‘This book will inspire you to look for God’s voice in everyday events of life. It will cause you to reflect on past experiences and see how God’s hand led you in the right path. It’s a beautiful story full of romance, forgiveness and coming to faith.’ Evangeline Inman, Author of The Divine Heartmender and Extreme Worship for Songwriters

‘Bobbie’s story greatly encourages us that life is not to be lived or viewed through the lens of chance. Open your heart as you read, and embrace the personal truth that God in His providence will direct our steps and bring us to our destiny.’ Pastor Wayne Flowers, Smythe Street Cathedral, Fredericton, NB, Canada

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre –  Faith Memoir

Rating – PG

More details about the author & the book

Connect with Bobbie Ann Cole on Facebook

Website www.shedoesnotfearthesnow.com

5 Writing Tips by Ben Galley @BenGalley

Tip 1: Write a great book

The future of any author rests on none other than a great book, as it always has.

Of course – ‘great’ means many different things to many different people. Not every bestseller is a work of genius, but they sell because they are popular with masses of readers. They could be popular great because they engage, or challenge, or cross boundaries, or inspire. That is the mark of a great book – not just its literary quality, but what it does to the reader. Great books make people talk, and those are the books that sell and will keep selling.

So how exactly do we write a great book? Well, that’s the hard part. Firstly, through practice. Even the best writers on the planet are still writing and practicing, every day. And when you write, you should always strive for the best quality of writing that you can, and strive to engage the reader. Aim high. Do something different. Have a solid and airtight plot. Create deep and varied characters and worlds. Spend time thinking about what you want your book to do and say.

Tip 2: Get a great cover:

So once you’ve finished your book, it’s time to start polishing it – making it into a professional and sellable product.

The cover is the packaging of your book, and therefore the first point of contact for a reader. Contrary to the old adage, readers will judge books by their cover. They make up their minds about a book’s genre, price, quality, and therefore whether they want to buy it, in the first few seconds. This is why it is important to get not just a good cover, but a great one. You want it to match all the effort you’ve put into its contents.

Cover design is an area where many indie, or self-publishing, authors fall down, mainly due to the fact that good graphic design costs money, and also due to the fact that people assume they can DIY it. Unfortunately, unless you are a professional designer, this simply isn’t true.

I always recommend outsourcing a professional. Anything less simply won’t cut the mustard. In today’s market, indie books need to be indistinguishable from traditional books, both to shrug off any preconceptions and also to rise above the huge volume of poor-quality books now on the market.

Tip 3: Editing it to perfection:

Editing is as important as cover design, and another area that a huge amount of indies get wrong. What’s vital about editing is that it affects your marketing.

Unfortunately, there’s a certain stigma about indie books. A large amount of readers expect them to be full of errors and mistakes, due to the fact they haven’t been through a publishing house. We need to shrug off that stigma. Bad editing can mean bad reviews, scuppering your sales. As with cover design, we should be aiming for a professional standard. You need to do that great book of yours justice.

There are two ways to edit your books – either hire a freelance editor, or DIY. The first is expensive, while the second is difficult, as few authors are professional editors. I would always recommend the first – shelling out for a good editor. Or, like me, if you don’t want to shell out for an editor, you can use beta readers.

Beta reading, or crowd-editing as it is sometimes known, is a way of using multiple semi-pro editors. You ask a number of people (I recommend avid readers, honest fans, English teachers, professionals etc) to proofread and give detailed feedback on your manuscript. You get your book edited to a professional standard, and in return your betas get a sneak peek of your book, a free copy, perhaps even a mention in the dedication – whatever you want to offer!

Tip 4: Market it, and then market it again:

So, you’ve published yourself a great product, now you need to sell it. How? Well, gone are the days (if they even existed!) when simple availability resulted in sales. Due to the sheer volume of books now in the market, a book (even a great book!) that isn’t being marketed will be drowned out and make few, if any, sales. Marketing is a must for today’s indie author.

As we discussed, people spread the word about a good book, and this is the biggest key to marketing – Word of mouth.

A good website is paramount, followed closely by good blurbs, bios, and a professional appearance. Next up is getting readers. Social media is a good place to start. Twitter and Facebook, don’t convert very well into sales but are good for being, you guessed it - social. By following and engaging with people on a social level they will be more likely to read and recommend your books.

Customer reviews are also very important. Readers put a lot of stock in reviews, so having a lot of positive reviews will really help sales. Source as many as you can from the readers you meet on Twitter on Facebook, and also contact book blogs and ask for reviews. Comments from respected and well-known sites will also add a little validity to your book.

Basically, get talking!

Tip 5: Give it time and effort:

Lastly, you need to give it time and effort.

Simply having a book on a shelf will not make you millions overnight. Skill can gain you some success and income, but effort and time is also needed, as we’ve seen above.

Perseverance is needed too, and I urge everyone to keep working and keep trying. It will seem like you’re getting nowhere fast at first. It may seem overwhelming, but marketing is a day by day, reader by reader process. Keep at it, attack from every angle, and trust me, you will have a shot at success.

Good luck out there.

Ben Galley is a young indie author from sunny England. The author of the epic and dark fantasy series – The Emaneska Series, he has published five books so far, and has many more on the way. Ben is very zealous about helping other indie authors, and provides self-publishing advice and services via his website Shelf Help, which can be found at www.bengalley.com.

His name is Farden.
They whisper that he’s dangerous.
Dangerous is only the half of it.

Something has gone missing from the libraries of Arfell. Something very old, and something very powerful. Five scholars are now dead, a country is once again on the brink of war, and the magick council is running out of time and options.

Entangled in a web of lies and politics and dragged halfway across icy Emaneska and back, Farden must unearth a secret even he doesn’t want to know, a secret that will shake the foundations of his world. Dragons, drugs, magick, death, and the deepest of betrayals await.

Welcome to Emaneska.

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre –  Epic Fantasy

Rating – PG-13

More details about the author & the book

Connect with Ben Galley on Facebook & Twitter

Website http://www.bengalley.com

Author Interview – Brie McGill @briemcgill

What writing are you most proud of? Considering I only have one title on the market, it has to be Kain!

http://www.amazon.com/Kain-Sex-Drugs-Cyberpunk-ebook/dp/B00CQ8BJLI/

Kain was born from an epic manuscript I started writing in high school and never finished. Lukian was a supporting character in the tale; Kain details his backstory. It is an incredible feeling to see something that spent years collecting cobwebs in my brain dusted off and brought to life. I also invested a huge amount of time researching cool subjects, like deadly martial arts and the Tibetan Book of the Dead, so I’m pleased that I stuck with the project and saw it through to completion.

On the subject of that original manuscript, it will be broken into at least ten interlocking tales that can be read in any order, so there is more from both Lukian and his world to come. Six Below, a gothic romance following the tale of a megacorporation deeply enmeshed with the Empire Daitya, is scheduled for release late October 2013.

What are you most proud of in your personal life? I am proud of the fact that I keep going, no matter what. Life isn’t always easy, and sometimes it’s tempting to run away or give up. This is one of the central themes explored in Kain: Lukian has an entire Empire against him, but he keeps fighting for his life, his independence. It isn’t easy, it isn’t pretty–he drags himself through dumpsters, desolate snowbanks, and central sewer systems–but he never quits. I think anyone in real life who stays true to himself, under pressure, against adversity, is a hero.

What books did you love growing up? My dad introduced me to George Orwell at a very young age, and I fell in love with Anne Rice’s Vampire Chronicles, specifically Lestat.

Going further back, I loved everything Diane Hoh, Goosebumps, The Bread Sister of Sinking Creek, The Numblers, and Chicka Chicka Boom Boom.

What book should everybody read at least once? Delta of Venus, by Anais Nin–I discovered this book only a couple of months ago and it has been a revelation. I wish I had read it when I was nineteen. Some passages were written so beautifully, I had to stop to read them again. It is a bird’s eye view of sexuality, covering a wide range of topics in a human context… I only wish I could have read it sooner. I feel like it would have saved me years of fretting and neurosis, in the quest to appreciate all that is natural and beautiful.

Is there any books you really don’t enjoy? I tried so hard to get into James Joyce, but I couldn’t do it. This is a shame, because I am Irish. Maybe I should try again.

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre –  Sci-Fi/Steamy Romance

Rating – R (18+)

More details about the author & the book

Connect with Brie McGill on Facebook  & Twitter

Website http://www.sexdrugsandcyberpunk.com/

 

Quality Reads UK Book Club Disclosure: Author interview / guest post has been submitted by the author and previously used on other sites.

Author Interview – Mark David Major & Layce Boswell @markdmajor

Mark David Major

What is hardest – getting published, writing or marketing?

MARK: Marketing.

What marketing works for you?

MARK: Word of mouth always works best. The blogs (www.thesovereignty.com/blog and www.outlaw-urbanist.com/blog are useful because they are marketing tools but also offer an opportunity based on the discipline of writing to actually test out ideas and drafts.

Do you find it hard to share your work?

LAYCE: I do at times, but I am working on putting myself out there more.

MARK: I don’t. People often tell me that I share too much information.

Do you plan to publish more books?

MARK: We’ve already agreed to do a follow-up children’s book to An Infinitesimal Abundance of Color, which we hope to publish next year. We have a concept in mind.

LAYCE: I’m sketching out ideas for the illustrations but I’m really waiting on Mark to write the story.

MARK: I’m still working it out in my head. I also really need to resume work on the sequel to Mars Rising. I’m procrastinating with purpose (see my answer above).

If you could study any subject at university what would you pick?

LAYCE: Animation and Sequential Art

MARK: These may sound odd but I would really like to study for a Masters of Business Administration (on top of all of my other degrees). However, it’s too expensive to invest in what is really a whim at this point in my life.

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre – Juvenile Fiction/Bedtime and Dreams

Rating – G

More details about the author and the book

Connect with Mark David Major, Layce Boswell on Facebook and Twitter

The Howling Heart by April Bostic

* * * *

Three days after my father’s funeral, I landed at the airport in Denver. I rented a Jeep Wrangler, because I needed a four-wheel-drive vehicle to get up the mountain. The July weather was mild, so I wore khaki shorts, a plain white tee, and beige Vans sneakers.

One of the odd things about finding our cabin was you had to find the nearby town first. I remembered we got lost during our vacation, which caused an argument between my parents. Finding the road that led to the town was tricky, because there was only one accessible by vehicle, and there was no road sign. My father knew how to get there, because the person who sold him the cabin gave him a landmark. Luckily, he passed that information onto me during one of our conversations. Once you found the road, the town was so small that if you blinked, you’d drive right by it. When my mother said it was remote, she wasn’t being facetious.

I drove on the interstate for over an hour before I realized I missed my turn. I had to find a tree shaped like a wishbone—it was struck by lightning — but all the trees looked alike to me. It took another half-hour for me to turn around and make another attempt.

I found my landmark, but a tangle of fallen branches blocked the entrance. My hands gripped the steering wheel. I knew I was in for a bumpy ride. I floored the accelerator, and the Jeep broke through the roadblock. The road was narrow, and the terrain was rough. Whoever constructed it didn’t want people to travel on it. I screamed when tree branches appeared out of nowhere and banged against the windshield. The forest surrounded me on both sides, and I wondered if I’d ever reach the town.

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre – Paranormal Romance

Rating – Adult

More details about the author & the book

Connect with April Bostic on Goodreads

Website http://www.aprilbostic.com/

Joyfully Yours by Amy Lamont @Amy_Lamont

Out in the parking lot, Faith braced herself against the cold November chill, pulling her black pea coat tight around her body. A few yards away, her Good Samaritan leaned against a car, talking on his phone.

There was something bizarre about a priest talking on a cell phone. Like the time she’d driven through Pennsylvania and snapped a picture of an Amish woman filling the gas tank of a ginormous SUV. In this case, she decided to refrain from taking advantage of the photo op. She’d already ogled the guy. Taking a picture might elevate her to stalker status. She was pretty sure nothing good could come from stalking a priest.

He hung up the phone before she had a chance to escape the parking lot and her shoulders sagged. She might not want to be accused of stalking, but she should go give him a real thank you for helping her out. He had saved her from the unruly masses in Carlucci’s Market.

“Excuse me,” she called before he could get into his car, a sensible Ford. “I wanted to thank you again. I think you may have saved my life back there.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the store.

“My pleasure.”

“Is there somewhere I can send the money? I thought I had a little more cash in my wallet….”

He waved her offer away. “Don’t worry about it. Happens to all of us.”

Faith bit her bottom lip, trying to imagine the handsome, clean-cut man in front of her digging in his pockets for spare change.

As if he could read her mind, he nodded. “Even me. Once I was late for an appointment and didn’t have money for the parking meter. I asked a lady passing by if she had any change. I even told her I was a priest. She hit me with her purse and told me I should be ashamed of myself for impersonating a man of the cloth.”

Faith laughed at the picture he painted. His eyes dipped down for an instant and her laughter cut off on a choking wheeze.

Yikes. Was it her imagination or had the priest just checked her out? She hopped backwards a step and stuttered out another quick thanks before scurrying away. Must be her imagination. Or maybe he was one of those pervy priests.

As she made the trek to the train platform, half her brain dwelled with disgust on the idea of him checking her out. The other half was happy she’d taken the extra few minutes to do her hair and put on some makeup this morning.

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre - Contemporary Holiday Romance

Rating – PG

More details about the author

Connect with Amy Lamont on Facebook & Twitter

Website http://amylamont.com

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#AmReading - Out of the Black by John Rector @john_rector

Out of the Black by John Rector

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To keep the light of his life, he’ll have to do some dark things.

After Matt Caine loses his wife in a car accident, all he has left is his daughter, Anna. But just as the little girl—who survived the accident—finally starts thriving, Matt’s former in-laws threaten to take her away via a bitter custody battle. Desperate to keep Anna and in debt to some dangerous local thugs, Matt has no good options. But he does have Jay, one very bad friend.

Just out of jail and plagued by drug addiction, Jay tempts Matt with a foolproof kidnapping scheme. But what sounds like the perfect solution to all his problems eventually leads Matt through a nightmarish maze of betrayals and reversals, pushing him to his breaking point—and beyond. Now, with his entire life hanging in the balance, Matt makes a pledge of brutal payback.

Onio by Linell Jeppsen @nelj8

Chapter 4

For four days, Mel drifted in and out of consciousness. When she was able to swim up from the tendrils of death that held her, she dreamed vivid and horrifying dreams.

Once, she sat up with a start and saw a scene from Dante’s Inferno. She saw a huge hairy man being flogged by a branchless tree trunk. The tree was very large and the branches on it had been cut crudely so that long splinters sprouted from its surface like jagged teeth. The man was held in place by long ropes of vine that were hung from stalactites so that his feet barely touched the floor. He was screaming while others of his kind either cheered in triumph or wept with sympathy.

Another time Mel awoke in a hospital room with nurses all around her. She felt like she was in familiar territory, but wondered how she had changed places with her mother. Her mom held her wrist in one large hand and peered into her eyes with concern.

“Mama…,” she croaked, and drew back in alarm when her mother’s face disappeared. Now she was surrounded by monsters. Their giant hairy faces leered down at her. Their mouths sang an eerie chorus Mel couldn’t hear, but understood. The hospital room dissolved into a small cave and her crisp, white sheets were replaced by a scruffy fur blanket. She shrugged it off, screaming, before succumbing to the healing darkness once again.

Finally Mel awoke to voices. She felt a little better and her head no longer felt like it might explode. She looked over to the far side of the cave and saw Onio being tended to by the old sasquatch female. He looked pale and shaken. The old one, whose name was Rain, rubbed some sort of ointment on Onio’s back. Although their lips didn’t move, they were talking. Mel closed her eyes and listened.

“Onio, what he did was just,” she murmured.

“Just!” Onio snarled. “The test is designed to punish the worst criminals…murderers, and rapines! What I did was not even a crime! Why did he bring his grandson, who would be king, to his knees?”

Mel peeked at the two sasquatches through her eyelashes. She saw that Onio’s head was bowed and that his shoulders heaved with sobs. Rain stood some distance away and wiped her hands clean with a rag. She regarded her grandson with an eyebrow raised in equal parts exasperation and love.

She brought Onio a mug of something to drink and Mel’s throat ached with thirst. She watched as he set the mug down, staring at the floor in anger. Rain sat next to him on the shelf of rock that served as a bed.

“Onio, what you did was akin to murder. I know you know this, because I have taught you these things myself!” She placed a hand on the male’s thigh. “I will teach it again, Grandson,” she continued. “Maybe this time you will listen and truly understand.”

Rain slapped the young sasquatch sharply and stood up. Onio hunched his shoulders at the reprimand, glaring at his own toes.

“The small humans have small brains, Grandson. Also, their brains work differently than ours. We are intuitive, telepathic and sensitive to the ways of nature and the planet around us. They are none of these things, but they are creatures of intellect. Look at the marvelous machines they construct, the technology they have invented! In many ways their workings are like magic to us. Just as, I think, our ways are magical to them.” Rain sighed.

“That is why we hide from them, Onio. They are a covetous race, and would take from us, by any means necessary, that which they desire. For many generations the humans have tried to unlock the mysteries of our brains. They want to know how to use the soul song, and would steal it from us if they could. Many times they have tried…this you know, first-hand!”

Tears were dripping out of Onio’s eyes and falling to the floor. He murmured, “I am sorry, Grandmother. I wasn’t thinking properly.”

Mel saw the old female smile as she fussed with some things in a bag, then walked over to cook something on a fire set in the middle of the floor.

“Now, finally, First Son admits to not thinking before acting.” Although the sasquatches lips didn’t move, Mel could hear the sarcasm dripping from Rain’s voice, as the smell of meat cooking filled the air.

“Onio, listen and hear my words.” Rain’s voice was urgent. “There are as many reasons as birds in the sky why we do not co-mingle with the little humans. Most importantly, they will hunt us down and kill us for the gifts we possess. They would experiment on us and dissect our brains, and all for nothing! Even if they knew how to extract our abilities, their brains do not have the means, or the capacity, for soul song. It is called neural pathways…or some such. I have forgotten the exact words.” Now she glared at her grandson again. “We think that this little human will survive what you did to her, Onio.”

Mel slammed her eyes shut as she saw the big male glance her way. Guilt was written all over his face.

“You were lucky, I think, that this creature survived at all. Your gift opened pathways in her brain…neural connections most humans are not equipped to deal with, or understand. We believe that the only reason the girl hasn’t died is because her ear canals are damaged. Our gifts are sense, rather than thought, oriented. Hearing is a sense, so her brain was able to withstand the new impulses. She is very ill, though, and will be frail for a long while to come. She may not survive the change…someday her brain might break from the strain you yourself put on it!”

Mel saw Onio put his hands over his face and shudder. “Oh Grandmother,” he moaned. “Truly, I did not think to kill this little human…I did not think at all!”

Rain nodded, filled a wooden bowl with meat, and handed it to him. She glanced over at Mel and sat down next to Onio again.

“You are young yet, Onio, and perhaps foolish, but you will be a fine leader someday. To lead well, though, you must learn to listen to the world around you. Drak, your uncle, is also a fine man, but he suffers from jealousy. He never thought that you would be declared king after Bouldar is gone…not with the small human blood that flows in your veins. That he himself told you this only serves to prove that he hasn’t the wisdom to lead the tribe.”

She chuckled. “There is a thing the small humans call irony. It took me many, many years of study to understand this concept, but I find it ironic that the very thing Drak used to wound you with actually ensures your ascension to the seat of leadership.”

She stood again and moved around behind Onio to apply more salve to his wounded back. “My husband believes that the human soldiers are renewing their efforts to find us, and hunt us down. He believes that these soldiers want to use the soul song as some sort of weapon. They are a warrior species who will use even the most benign gift as a tool for destruction!” The old female apparently forgot to be gentle in her application of the medicine on his wounds. Onio winced with pain.

“He thinks that the tribe needs a leader who can both sympathize with and out-maneuver the humans who want to conquer us. The blood in your veins has made you smarter than the rest of us…especially Drak. You still possess the tribe’s gifts, like telepathy and camouflage, but your intellect will be the thing that can save the tribe from the small humans’ greed.” She gave her grandson’s shoulders a shake, not caring that he cried out in pain.

“That leader will be you, Grandson!” she shouted. “But only if this little human woman survives and you learn to think before you act!”

Rain’s voice was pensive when she spoke again. “Before Bouldar became my husband he was much like you; curious and compelled to seek out the small humans’ company, despite the risks.” She threw her arms up with a growl of rage.

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Genre – Fantasy/Romance

Rating – PG13

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Website http://neljeppsen.weebly.com/

Author Interview – A.M. Griffin @AMGriffinbooks #LovingDangerously

How did you develop your writing? I’m a newbie author so I’m still developing my writing style. One day I think I’ll find my “voice” and I’m working hard on getting there—taking advice from critique partners and editors, but I think there’s still so much to learn. I’m hoping I’ll have an “aha” moment. Then everything will finally be right with the world. Author A. M. Griffin has found her voice.

Where do you get your motivation? Seeing my writer friends continue to press forward is a great motivation. There are some authors that seem to not rest at all. I get tired sometimes and I want to take a break, but then I’ll read that a friend has cleaned the house, taken care of kids and finished a book all in one day and I groan, thinking, “If she can do all that, then I better whip my butt into shape and stop complaining.” My husband is also a great motivator. He wants to become a stay-at-home dad, so he’s always pushing me to keep writing and keep going.

What is hardest – getting published, writing or marketing? Writing. Writing takes a lot of thinking and planning. It’s stressful to know what you want to say but hard to find the words some times.

Is your family supportive? My family is extremely supportive. My mother has read my books (although she skips the sex scenes). My father has been begging to read one of my books for a while (the answer is always no). My husband and sisters tell everyone who will listen to buy my books. They are my biggest supporters and the first members of my street team. My children know what I write and are proud of me. I know that I’m very blessed to have my family behind me 100% and I don’t take that for granted.

Do you plan to publish more books? Yes! I have two more books on the way for the Loving Dangerously series, Dangerously His and Dangerously Forever. I have more stories in my head for that series so hopefully the books won’t stop there. I’m also working on a superhuman book that will be included in a multi-author series. I have played with two other books that I would like to finish in 2014. I’m hoping 2014 will be the year of a new series as well as the growth of Loving Dangerously.

What else do you do to make money, other than write? It is rare today for writers to be full time… I am a nurse in my real life. I’ve been a nurse since 1998 so you’d think maybe I’d write about that. Nope! I’m writing about alien invasions and superhumans. Although I’m not writing full-time, one day in the future I hope to make writing my full-time gig instead of a part-time job.

What other jobs have you had in your life? I was the Queen of job hopping back in the day. My first job was at Baskin Robbins. They kept firing me, but I kept showing up to work. When McDonalds opened up across the street I left Baskin Robbins (I’m sure they were very happy) and went to work for McDonalds. After that I worked at a movie theater in the mall. Then I worked as a waitress. That only lasted one day though. I found that I didn’t like waiting on people. I worked for a clothing store, but had zero commission. I like stocking better then helping people pick out outfits. I worked at the campus radio station answering phones. Oh! I almost forgot. I worked as a phone sex operator for a while. Yes, the 900 number girl that horny men would call if they were looking for a good time. I did that while I was in nursing school. I could study and work at the same time. All that was required was some “oohs” and “ahhs”.

Jess hates aliens. After the invasion that destroyed Earth, the extraterrestrial bastards sold her to a brothel as a sex slave. She may have escaped but the old memories and fears still linger in the dark corners of her mind. Supposedly Sonis is just the place for her—somewhere safe, where she can heal and start fresh. She’s almost hopeful…until she meets Rasha, her new boss.

Rasha, captain of the Sonis Royal Guard, is a warrior through and through. He’s huge, sinfully sexy and could have any woman on Sonis—but the woman he wants is Jess. He’s very much an alien and Jess knows she should hate him or at least be wary, but whenever he’s around, she loses control. She tells herself it’s only sex—amazing, mind-blowing sex like nothing else she’s ever experienced—but there’s something about Rasha that shakes her soul. The feel of his skin against hers, the look in his eyes as he touches her—they make her want to believe it’s possible to find love and begin again.

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Genre - Science fiction

Rating – R

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Connect with A.M. Griffin on Twitter

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