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Friday, December 28, 2012

Another Year of Spendor Gone

What a year it has been for all of us. The world almost came to an end (again), our faith in Wall Street sits on a fiscal cliff like lemmings waiting to take that final step over the edge, an outcry over SOPA went out to the masses, and Facebook tried the stockmarket.  We had a run for our money in 2012. Now that the Mayan calendar has run out, what will 2013 bring us?
On a personal note I accomplished a few goals. Two more books went out with my name on them - Ocean's Fury (a tale from your own view of events about a cruise ship in peril) and Temperature: Bitter Cold. They are available at any online bookstore along with Temperature: Dead and Rising.
I also had a small book signing locally to kick off the release of Temperature: Bitter Cold with some of the proceeds going to the Michael J. Fox Foundation for Parkinson's Research (It's never too late to donate. Contribute directly or purchase a book to help out). I also made time to print out fanfare for the coming novel - Get quality work at VistaPrint http://vistaprint.tellapal.com/a/clk/34Bhzd .
The holidays would not be the same without family there to support you. I had a great support team this year, which allowed me to spend way too much time in my office to finish writing instead of partaking in routine events around the house. So, to make up for it I stopped blogging, making notes for the next manuscript, and killed off the majority of time I spend on social networks promoting my work to spend quality time here in my home. Time management isn't my friend and Santa forgot to gift wrap me some. I hope to fix that in the coming year by spreading my time evenly between family, a paying job, and my passion to write. To that end, I want to wish everyone Happy Holidays and good tidings for the coming year.

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

What a Year can Make... and Lemonade Wasn't on the List of Ingredients

It has been a very long year for me. I spent a year of my writing time to market the first novel as most novice authors might do. We really want to see it sell and put everything else on the back burner. Turns out to be a really bad choice. What would have happened if the novel boomed? What else did I have to offer? Nothing, nothing at all.
Time flew by without me noticing. My several attempts to setup a book signing (not one of the bad marketing elements) gained few sales; got enough to buy gas for the ride home. I spent endless hours building webpages to showcase my new novel, ran giveaways for publicity, and drown my Facebook friends with my bottomless posts about this great new read they should all pick up. After one full year of promoting, I had the title of the second book written down – on scratch paper. Talk about progress towards my second book! I should have been editing it by now instead of just figuring out the title.
Here’s a little side note before I go on, what is written above is all true and should leave a sour twang in a reader’s mouth to think selling a novel is more important than the work itself. That’s not so. I felt it was important for those reading my post today to gain one bit of insight I lacked. “Don’t stop writing. No matter how dear to you your first manuscript is; the important thing to keep in mind is offering something else after that book starts flying off the shelves.” I am not dissuaded from my poor marketing skills to try again, but I have also learned to leave these kinds of matters in knowledgeable hands when I can afford it. Money trees don’t grow well in sandy soil and I seem to live in a desert.
The real goal of an author comes from and old saying, “They like me. They really, really like me.” It is the craving to have your ego stroked, petted, and praised for doing such a good job. We, as writers, always seek out vindication for what we do. On the flip-side, bad reviews could kill the initial inspiration driving that newly born writer. He/She might have a great storytelling voice, but just needs a mentor to guide them. Bad reviews are wonderful. These reviews tell a writer where something went wrong and allows them to fix it in the next novel. Positive criticism (even in its lowest form of sounding down right mean) can improve writing skills. I have listened to those worldly critics and done just that with the sequel to Temperature: Dead and Rising.
With all this said, I sit and wait for the current publisher to to finish the formatting and release my second novel, Temperature: Bitter Cold, into the wild. I will keep you apprised of thing until then through my fan page or website.

Friday, July 20, 2012

What's Wrong Here?

Not a good sign when the weather report doesn't know what to expect. They only claim to know the sun is up right now, maybe.

Thursday, June 14, 2012

Steps in Editing (the kind for short legs...)

Words to live by and learn from. http://ow.ly/bAoa3 Lulu's Blog - The Editorial Process has great advice for writers of every level.They're right that traditional publishing houses help their writers immensely with fine-tuning a manuscript. What does a self published author have to look forward to? Well, there are friends, family, and a sometimes pricey editor (depending on the author's word count) to wade through innocent mistakes missed on the first few revisions. These people are invaluable to a writer as is a large publishing house is to a well-known author. Whether an author seeks out professional advice from a publisher or a friend, he or she must always remember what advice comes back negative in a good way. They want to see you succeed. Take what has to be said and run with it. Read more tips from Lulu's blog to improve your editing.


Don't forget to visit Panhandling Fantasy or the Dead and Rising homepage to see what's coming out next from me.

Thursday, April 12, 2012

Temperature Series (Book 2) Excerpt

I offer this opening sequence for Temperature: Bitter Cold as an excerpt for what's to come late October. I'll attach a cover when that is ready (coming very, very soon).


“You might wanna call an ambulance. I might’ve hurt mor’n his feelings,” Mack said to the bartender, after it was all said and done.

He should have stayed home tonight, but staring at a few second-hand pieces of furniture in a studio apartment would bring his mood down further. Mack lived alone, pinching every hard earned penny that came his way to survive a meager living. His funds were sapped away at every turn; he needed to eat, pay rent, live out a reoccurring nightmare where his car needed continual fixing and never stayed functional long, along with buying drinks at the local bars for winding down after a long day to relax him. They were all a part of his simple, destitute life – especially the drinking. Getting hurt in bar fights did not fit in his budget. All he wanted to do was unwind and relax with a few drinks, but that idiot had to ruin it. His mood matched his dark pants and zippered hoodie he threw on in haste before heading out.

Tonight, Mack picked the wrong bar to visit. The crowd was overly energized with some sort of excitement – some sports event might have just ended – which was not his typical dive; a low-key atmosphere was more his style. No, tonight seemed as if the cool breezes outside carried a statically charged air about it. His hunger and feelings of nervous as dusk settled in forced him into the first bar Mack crossed. He should have found a liquor store and went home with a case of beer as a night cap with a pizza delivery called; however, he felt compelled to step foot into Frankie’s Suds and Slop.

He sat on a stool too long nursing his fifth Jack and Coke to notice another patron walking past as he got up. Irrational fear spread to his bones from nowhere, a childish fear of being scared of what crawled at night left behind with Tooth Fairies and Santa Claus. An accidental bump when he got up turned from a simple mistake to an all-out brawl. Mack wanted to go home and instead got drawn into a heavy fisted fight. In a clearer state of mind he might have pushed passed the fellow but he was too drunk to think that clearly. The other guy fought well without any help from friends, like the younger crowd tended to do nowadays. With a few dirty moves he had learned on the streets as a kid ended the fight quickly.

Mack edged his way closer to the entrance as the bartender turned picking up the phone’s receiver. Taking one final look at the heap of a man on the floor raised the tiny hairs on the back of his neck. He had beaten him in a semi-fair fight, yet Mack got rattled from seeing the unconscious guy on the floor. All eyes rested on his opponent’s limp body.

“Best be mov’n,” he mumbled letting the bar’s swinging door shut behind him.

Outside, night had already settled in since he first stepped in for a drink. The only light pooling beneath lampposts dotted a street cloaked in a starless night shrouded by thick clouds. Chilly winds from a gentle breeze nipped at Mack as he zipped the hoodie closed to fend off the coming winter. Few people seemed to be out at this hour making him check the time. There should still be stragglers heading for a late bite to eat, but barely a soul could be found walking or driving. The thought raised his neck hairs on end again; the impression that staying out in the open might be a bad idea tonight.

“Spooky,” he whispered, fearing the dark like some babe still wet behind the ears. He tried to push past the feeling of being watched. Tried.

Mack did not say it loud, but it brought shivers down his spine like a bad horror movie with cheap scare tactics. Never had he felt like this on any other night. Frankie’s sat in a five blocks radius away from his place, so getting home unscathed should not be an issue; however, chancing an alley was out of the question. No matter how much time got cut using those shortcuts, Mack could not bring himself to do it.

Face bowed to the wind, he headed off home; sirens blared somewhere far away. The sounds made Mack pick up his pace to put distance between him and the bar. There was not the triple shrills of an alarm from a siren he expected that made ambulances stand out from the rest. The police were on their way down this street and getting closer by the sound of it. They would want to check the bar first before medics showed up, in case more violence reared up, before taking to the streets to search for him. The police might be looking for witnesses or for the man fleeing a crime. Mack gave praise for such a concealing night to hide in.
As he ventured further down the sidewalk – shoulders hunched against the brisk wind and to shrink his bulk – two streetlamps flickered up ahead. His mood shifted briefly to an irritation of his town, “City’s never fixin’ anything around these parts.” Mack complained, cursing quietly to the air before him. Tonight it worked in his favor, but how many others have used this same method to commit robbery or worse moving about unseen?

Light bulbs fizzled out of existence at the same time Mack finished cursing more under his breath. Fuming at the city’s inability to maintain was it’s streets stupid, Mack glowered at his own murky thoughts. He should be elated from this hidden opportunity a cover of darkness offered. Flashing lights of blue and red bounced off a car’s back widow to give him a start. It rounded a street corner six blocks away, giving him incentive to forget avoiding alleys altogether.

He entered to find a dumpster just inside the entrance to duck behind. Not the brightest place to ditch a cop, but it will do. Deep shadows concealing him in the alley gave promise of an unobserved escape.
From there he waited for the sounds of tires crunching the loose blacktop to faded before running away. He never heard them move any closer. In fact, not a sound drifted on the chilly wind of any movement at all from whence he came. Sighing with relief, his only hope came from the deeper darkness behind him. It led in the opposite direction of home, but a couple of side streets later would turn him back where Mack needed to go.

His corridor jutted to the left like a branch off the main trunk running parallel to paved roads on either side. What first appeared to be a simple walk down an alley became a maze of zigzag networks of nonsense. He broke into a trot down one main path, skirting away from other darker ways. City buildings reached up to the cloud covered sky above him - each a few stories tall – blocking out most of the moonless night sky. Mack felt invigorated by the vast darkness surrounding him and dark clothing lent to masking his movements slowed his steps to a mild walk, confidence in his cover overriding an earlier fear of being noticed.

Bands of fog dropped down lower, like a curtain near the end of a performance, to the alley creating a false ceiling shrinking closer, boxing Mack in. He looked between two adjoining alleys deciding which one led to safety. He cringed at what looked like something a nightmare hid within. More misty fog filled connecting alleys blocking, possibly steering Mack, to a single route. Others might be using this very pitch black night shrouded in fog to their advantage, too.

Screams of a frightened woman charged primal feelings he kept buried as her voice echoed through dense fog ‘stop’ and ‘don’t hurt me’. Rage boiled up hearing a woman in distress dispelling what was left of his recent bender, clearing his mind to act.

Scared for her life, he ran full tilt in the direction he heard her last. I hope to God I’m not too late, labored breathing from sprinting to her rescue sapped what energy he had for any other thought.

Mack rounded his last corner to a sick puppet show of shadows portraying images of someone lying down motionless. Two other figures stood over the limp body, before light of a nearby streetlight went out. At least now Mack knew how many he was up against. Without any light he feared those aggressors might get an upper hand and flee before he could do anything; however, it was going to be more of an advantage for him now that those assailants were momentarily blinded by their loss of light.

Mack took his time, making each step carefully over loose gravel and water-filled potholes to keep from making too much noise. He tried to not squander what small advantage he had over them at the moment. No more cries for help came from the unknown woman. Some things in life could be overlooked, such as run of the mill holdups or a store robbery. Hurting a defenseless woman was an act he never turned a blind eye to. It was the lowest crime a person could do to another as he saw it. Those hoodlums would pay.

Mack skirted the line between right and wrong when it came to being a law-biding citizen, mostly siding with the darker wrong side in his thirty- some odd years of living. Hurting a lady was going overboard in my book, Plain and simple. Fighting against a lack of self-control, Mack tried to prepare himself for what was to come.

He steeled himself for reacting better than he had back at the bar. Mack would aim for self-control to be his best defense this time. He peeked around the corner of a stucco covered building where the struggle had been happening. They still stood over her limp form as if waiting for something. Strange, muggers and rapists do not normally gloat over their prey this long, Mack mulled over.

He took it as a sign from above that they would be so preoccupied with their prize to notice him slipping up. His worries magnified as he stared at a voluptuous woman lit by a passing car’s headlights laying prone on the dirty alley, a rip in her shirt running down her back.

Taking a deep breath, he jumped out in rage and ran for the closet one to punch. Not one of them moved as he bound out after them. A sinister sneer stretched Mack’s lips, This is gonna be easy.

Mack reached out for the first one to throw him aside with his built up momentum and lay a solid punch on the second one. It sounded like a good start, but the figure in front of him vanished.

Just like that – gone.

Caught off guard, it caused Mack to stumble in the emptiness left behind and ram into a far wall. Recovering from the mishap quickly, he turned back from where he came to find no one there. He stood witness to an empty ally. Not a soul could be seen through intensifying fog. A whistle drew his attention to a patch of blackness where his eyes could not penetrate.

“Now it’s our turn,” a man’s voice resonated from deep and powerful shadows.

Mack did not know what to think. Everything changed in an instant. Even the woman on the ground was not there anymore. Was he being played? Who were these people and what game were they playing at with a half-drunk man? Better leave it alone, Mack’s fears speaking out of turn of benevolent nightmares taking to life, driving his thoughts. Something is not right here. Need to get home and every light on until the sun comes back up.

A hand grabbed hold of his shoulder pulling Mack into that menacing darkness. The iron grip held tight to Mack, unseen hands pounding at his upper torso. They rained down on him like jackhammers beating concrete. He tried blocking each swing as best he could, but it brought a stinging pain with every hit. Finally, the one supporting Mack’s weight with his shoulder let loose with a shove.

Barely able to stand on his own two feet, he crumpled to the ground. Mack could not believe a single hand kept him from falling the whole time. “That was for ruining our beloved man servant,” a hauntingly cool voice spoke out. Fear struck Mack anew with uncontrolled shaking when his adversary flashed a glint of white pointy teeth lit up from another passing car for just a second, “Now, we take out our own vengeance on you!”

Beneath the sinister depths of those blackened shadows grew a growl deep within its chest. He was not sure what this man was, but being human had nothing to do with it, no longer part of the equation. Abruptly, silence prevailed over everything. Winds grew still, usual city noises ceased to exist as Mack felt those final moments of life ticking loudly in his ears. He waited for that moment when his life stopped altogether.
It never came.

A quick strobe of light was a stark contrast beneath his tightly shut eyelids as he awaited a killing strike. Heels scraped across asphalt, hallow grunts of pain broke the silence. Mack dared to open his eyes to see what was happening. He blindly, and in great pain, crawled to a wall out of the way of mayhem. Faceless shapes stood out against ambient light glowing in and defused by fog from the street beyond. He counted four shapes instead of the three hoodlums originally beating him. A set of headlights from another passing car cut through thick mists to reveal one person fending off the others with ease.

From what Mack could see bodies of his attackers blurred in an out like a bad episode of the twilight zone; one minute standing out of reach, the next minute dropping out of the sky to pounce. The weirdest thing to him was almost complete silence fell over the whole fight. A swish here of clothes or a faint grunt there could be heard above the otherwise din of silence.

It was eerie.

Noises of occasional bodies smashing into a brick wall or a trashcan collapsing under a fallen body’s weight grew in a franticly increasing fray of violence. They all moved too fast for his eyes to keep up with their chaos. He just hoped the stranger came out on top, Unless he’s out for me, too. His lone savior fought valiantly against the malevolent shapes.

Shapes.

Mack could not bring himself to call them human any longer. When the things rebounded off the walls to attack they crouched down on all fours before pouncing forward again toward their prey. No human could do that, Mack thought looking on in amazement as he watched unfold before him.

When one appeared in midair, the stranger drove an object he had pulled from somewhere in his jacket, sharpened to a point at its tip, into the creature’s chest. It was the only time any of them made such a distinct sound. Nails scrapping across a chalkboard could not compare to the ear piercing howl it made after the stranger’s deed was done. The shape most like the helpless woman leaped out of the air appearing like the rest in blurred fashion to find the same fate as the first. A third tried to escape with little success. Brilliant bars of blue light shot out from the stranger’s hand disintegrating the body in seconds.

Has to be some kind of military-style laser gun. Seen it in a movie once, Mack mulled over in his head.
Then it was over.

The stranger finally showed some excursion standing there as a solitary figure panting slightly; apparently winded. Mack felt his injures flared to life after being so focused on what happened around him. His sight blurred from tears soaking his cheeks. He barely made out his liberator as he walked closer, elation of living one more day overwhelming Mack’s senses.

“Worn-out soul suckers … skin draped lowlifes never learn,” Mack heard him say in a hushed tone, possibly not meant for him to hear it, too close to mumbling. “I kill, and make alive: I bring down to the grave, and bring up again. There’s no matching a God.” Shaking his head all the while to emphasize the words he spoke with a smirk ghosting across his lips to no one in particular. Those last words he spoke kindled forgotten memories. Mack could have sworn that was a quote from the bible.

Nothing moved; the quiet of night surrounding them both like a tightly fit blanket. Hearing the stranger take a few steps closer had Mack reflexively scooting away until he pressed his back against a dumpster. Fear came back to haunt him as he wondered if fate was not done with him yet. He had seen how this man handled his attackers with such graceful finesse. Am I next?

“Whoa there!” he said in a deep resonate voice, “It’s over. No one’s going to hurt you anymore.”

Mack stared up, questioning the words while attempting to fix on the man’s face. The voice was rough around the edges, yet spoken softly enough to keep a person calm. He did not trust his own voice at the moment to give any response; fearing a shaky one would not be manly enough. All Mack could do was cross arms over his chest to stave off pain from breathing. The way he talked in a non-challenging manner almost had him forgetting the earlier beating, almost.

“What’s your name?” He asked Mack, still standing out of arm’s reach.

“Malcom Sankter, but people just call me Mack,” lip quivering slightly from the pain. Not so manly to show fear like this, he attempted to convince himself.

“Well, Mack, you picked the wrong person to use as a punching bag tonight, I think,” the stranger said with a hint of a chuckle. “That guy was one of theirs.”

“Gangs?” He asked over the protest of his lungs confused. Keeping his statement short seemed best for now.

A louder burst of mirth came out this time, “You could call them that, I suppose.” He paused for only a moment. Mack’s vision still not clear enough to tell what the guy was thinking before he continued, “No, they’re more than that to be sure.

“I’ll be straight with you. Can’t lie to a man that’s seen what you have tonight. That sorry sap you beat up in the bar was one of their man servants. Someone for them to run errands during daylight, take care of routine tasks when everyone else conducts business. Vengeance was their main purpose tonight for these vampires …”

Shock was sure to be on his face, “Like in the movies? Vampires?”

“Vampires in movies sell tickets. They’re too soft around the middle to be real. The real ones created those stories to keep Joe Public and that like thinking vampires are friendly or a big threat. You found out the hard way about the truth things,” finishing up what he said with a wave of a hand in the same manner one might shoo away a bothersome fly.

Gathering his wits, Mack finally came to his senses enough to ask the stranger’s name. “No one of great concern,” he replied. “I’ve had a few names over time, and some downright mean ones. But, if it makes you feel any better call me Jerome, Jerome Tempile,” he said nonchalantly, even if sounding in irritated from saying his own name.

Something about saying his name disturbed Jerome, an internal struggle that vexed him briefly and it showed distinctly on his face. A quick changing the conversation to what he fought mellowed Jerome’s voice again, “Those vampires kept one thing true even in movies – they loved playing with their food. I think its because they get overconfident to the point of swelling with pride. It dictates how they act toward each other and the world at large.” He turned his head slightly to look back at the two remaining bodies sprawled on the ground, “Have to clean that up before I go. Just too messy for someone to happen upon.”

Such an outlandish tale ripped from the movie trailers, left Mack delirious, confused about what to make of it all. But could he deny what had happened here tonight? This is whack! I wouldn’t believe it unless I saw it with my own two eyes, and I did! He gave a shake of his head, Damn my sight, why can’t I see straight?

“Those wounds look pretty bad, my friend. I’ll help you to a hospital before cleaning up here. Those eyes of yours are dilating. Could be you have a concussion. Let’s get you taken care of first before anything worsens,” Jerome bantered as he lifted him up off the ground effortlessly to stand. “Told you they play with their food. The vampires just wanted to tenderize a meal before consuming. Glad I showed up when I did or they’d be dining about now.”

Explains why I can’t see two feet in front of me, I guess, Mack thought to himself.

No sooner than he finished thinking, a flare of light shone brightly before them. Mack shut his eyes tightly against it as Jerome pulled them forward. Light vanished and they stood in a parking lot facing the front of a hospital’s Emergency Room’s entrance. Bold lettering was large enough for him to make out even with blurry vision.

“How’d we get here?” Mack’s confusion standing out clear in his voice.

“Right after I got you standing, you staggered a few step like a person with too many drinks in him before falling down. You must have blacked out, because I had to drag you to a cab and came to just now,” he could almost feel the smirk Jerome was sure to have from the way his voice sounded. “You think you can make it the rest of the way to those doors by yourself?”

 “Sure, sure.” He tried to sound confident, but with some effort, “I’ll make it. Thank you for helping me back there.” Those last words hurt his pride, a stab to Mack heart for each said. He stood there alive, Mack could handle a few mental stab wounds for it tonight.

“Make sure they scan that head. The blurred vision might be something serious,” Jerome said compassionately.

“Will do,” he said reaching out with his free hand to shake farewell. “I’ll be fine.” Firming up his grip when they shook, and then letting it fall to his side to hide the shaking in Mack’s arm from obvious exertion. Mack had to show he could still fight if need be. Getting dizzy from doing was harder to hide from Jerome than the handshake.

“I have to get back and take,” Jerome dropped his voice then, “the you-know-what and put them in a safe place. Besides, I’ll have use of you later.”

He stared with a glazed over look back as Jerome moved away. Mack tried to work out if he had heard him correctly. Need him later? What did that mean? Shaking his head only fogged up his mind and made things worse. Mack turned with a couple of steps towards the hospital for medical attention. We traveled twenty miles out of the way to get here. Nowhere near my apartment. They just better have prettier nurses than the one I visit. He looked around with crossed vision for any cars not noticing him, First thing I’ll do is report the murders when I get to a nurse. He won’t have time to clean up anything with the time it will take during the cab ride. Cops will be there way before he is, Mack mused in his head. No matter what happened back there, I’m still a law abiding citizen and I can’t just turn my back on murder.

Mack started drew closer to a semi-circle driveway where patients got dropped off. His steps weak, his body fatigued and aching with each movement. A shallow gust rustled leaves in a nearby bush with its passing, faint light illuminating surround foliage in front of him. He assumed it came from headlights of waiting car that Jerome would leave in. Pain shot down Mack’s spine as he turned to wave goodbye one last time.
Nothing moved behind him.

Not a soul could be found where he had left Jerome. Not a cab, person, or any kind of moving vehicle could be found in the almost empty parking lot. Determination drove Mack forward, pain ebbing to his will, “Let’s see if you can out run the cops the same way.” He stated coolly under his breath. Another brisk gust pushed him firmly enough to misstep, almost losing his footing, carrying his words away as he crested the entry looking for a phone.

Wednesday, April 4, 2012

And A Winner Is Born...

And we have a winner! JoAnn H. is the proud owner of a sign copy of my book and the gift card. Thank you all for entering. Come back to find out what is planned for the second book in the series - Temperature: Bitter Cold. Until then, Happy reading.

Wednesday, March 28, 2012

Giveaway Ends Soon!

Our giveaway ends in three days. A signed paperback and $50 gift card are at stake! Don't let this opportunity pass you by. Odds are still in your favor to win. Besides a drawing coming up, we are happy to announce two other activities we have our hands in. A new book publishing website still under construction and a year long charity event. Our charity event (Books for Cures) is to support furthering Parkinson's Research by donating a portion of each book sale all year long to the Michael J. Fox Foundation. There are two other ways to donate if a book isn't something you wish to have. We have partnered with Razoo in an effort to raise needed support with a minimum of $10 going towards this charity or go directly to the Michael J. Fox Foundation for my Team Fox link to place a donation. Any way you choose to support them is a worthy effort on your part. Please help when and where you can by giving something yourself or sharing these links or blog with others. Thank you for all your support from Panhandling Fantasy and Adam Santo.

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

To Err is to be Amazon

Is it me or does anyone else think the pricing war between "store bots" at Amazon is ridiculous? Here's my logic on this subject:

-Amazon bots fight to give the best price until it goes below a dollar.
-Now the book is deeply discount compared to the published price the author has placed on it.
-And said author still gets the royalty price preset for every sale made.


It would cost me more to buy my book with shipping through my publisher than paying under a dollar for a book with $3.99 flat shipping (if I buy in bulk). My publisher doesn't make as much money off me through my stocking needs and the Amazon bot loses ( I believe) by selling it at a loss.

I am making this blog short because the discussion is expected to be overwhelming, I'm sure. Tell me your thoughts on authors using these bots to their fullest advantage.

Saturday, March 3, 2012

Read an Ebook Week is Here

Smashwords is building a catalog of specially marked ebooks participating in this event and I am one of them. Every title will be offered at a discount from 25% to 100% (one-hundred percent off equals free for those having problems with fractions). It all starts with publishing the limited time catalog on Smashwords at one minute past midnight - March 4, 2012. Start enjoying the fun and discounts by stopping by for a few free reads or exploring a new author. What code do you use for my participating tile, you ask? Here it is - REW50 (between 2012-03-04 to 2012-03-10)

Saturday, February 25, 2012

Almost Done.

It is almost a reality. The second novel in the Temperature series will be in print soon. Things might change as I make revisions, but here is a clip from the upcoming book -

She thought it better to change the subject while he cooled off, “You said earlier about a woman that change everything for you before we bought tickets. Who was she?” The glare he gave her almost made Sally flinch, I’m batting a thousand today.
“Her name is Luana Seffrum,” He said flatly.
“You said is. Does that mean she’s still around?” Sally had started this new avenue to their conversation. She might as well see it through, besides Sally became curious about a woman connected to his past and still alive at that.
“Very much so. She would have been my wife before I died. The most luscious woman I’d ever met. Present company excluded of course,” he looked like he wanted to squirm out of his chair right then.
“Of course,” Sally replied a little sardonically. Finding her appetite returning, Sally reached for the large steak burger to occupy her mouth before she said anything more.
Bo sounded like was trying to backpedal from his comment, “Some in my village couldn’t compare to her. That’s not so true now that I’ve traveled beyond those limited boarders. You stand out among those women I’ve encountered.”
Around a mouth full of burger, as undignified as it was to talk like that, Sally said, “I had it on into your little black book? It must be a pretty big book if I’m being compared to centuries of ‘travel’ you’ve done.” She had to force the grin creeping up to stay away. His obvious discomfort and their conversation had eased worries of what would come soon. Playing with Bo like this relaxed her mind the most. It helped elevate her nervous twitch, too.
He gave out a hearty laugh at her goading. Bo was not falling for her ploy, “I have to give it to you. I almost saw the jealous streak running through you of Luana. She is deeply rooted in my past, but I plan to keep her there. She stirred my loins as a youth, but no more. I know her too well now to have that happen again.”
Sad that her game ended so soon, Sally asked directly, “You said she changed everything. Why?” She still wanted to know what she was to him if nothing else. I know so little about him; nevertheless, I trust him with my life.
Bo cocked his head to one side in thought, “Luana had been undead when I’d met her even though I didn’t know it at the time. Maybe it was fate or maybe luck on her part – in either case she was there to guide me when I became undead.”
“She took you under her wing as you did with me?”
“In a way. I tried to release you to the world when I had the chance, so what happened to me didn’t repeat itself,” he explained. “I only had her to rely on and teach me. I tried to give you enough guidance to find others of our kind and learn from them. I ended up relying on her for everything until I turn into a toy for her to use ruthlessly. I won’t bore you with the details, but I got the bitter end of what she plotted by being banished from the higher courts of our undead council for one hundred years.” Shame of his implied crime showed briefly, then vanished. “It’s where I first met Adelwin. He saw through her and had my ban lifted shortly after.”
“So you fell for her before turning and followed Luana around like a puppy waiting for her attentions? Doesn’t sound like you,” Sally doubted he could be so naive.
“Don’t you remember boys in school doing about the same thing? I was once like that, too. Boys are like that in every decade; it should be a given. What I learned from her outweighed my affections – real or benign,” Bo admitted. “Because of her betrayal, I’ve not seen Luana since. The council ordered her dismantled and buried. I don’t know what happened there after.”


I hope to offer this title in eBook, paperback, and this time in hardcover. Please check back soon to see where this will all end. There are two other books in the works for later this year. Check out an excerpt for one of those novels here.

Friday, February 17, 2012

Don't Keep a Good Thing Down

A giveaway has been initiated to herald in a new novel in the coming months. I will start another one of these when I have the second book in print. So, join the fun now and share the news. This is an undying challenge to see it go viral. That's why I called it the "undying" challenge - we need to keep it from falling into the muddy trenches of obscurity.

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

Create the Best Title and Win

I've got something to share. Win a $20 Amazon gift card in February by coming up with the best title for a book. Details are at - http://www.facebook.com/DeadRights in you want a chance to win. You ask, "Is that all it takes?"
Yes. That's all. Your submitted title will be judged by the public and myself for the winning entry. So, stop by and throw your try in the hat. What could it hurt? The contest is free to enter!

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

Payout Excerpt

Here is a short excerpt one another novel I'm working on. Pending title is 'Payout'. No cover for it yet:


Chapter 1

Stop! a voice cried out. Flashlights blared to life behind him in pursuit.
Fat chance, he wanted to say, except he had to save his breath for running.
Multiple bursts of light brightened the night sky briefly making him turn to see if a car followed so soon. Shadows played havoc with his eyes as he ran away. Projectiles shot out from the doorway the man just left straight at him. A Burning sensation across his back was the only warning he got before ducking at the last minute, letting the red and yellow warmth from the missiles propellant singe hair up the back of his neck. The missile exploded unlike anything he had ever witnessed on TV or in person. The impact melted the brick after a ferocious flash, lightning without thunder. The man, too scared to do anything else, picked up his feet and ran faster for the alley ahead.
The alleys normally narrow pathway, fitting a single dump truck or passenger car down its trash-filled roads with not much room to spare gave little cover for him. Puddles splashed underfoot from the recent rainfall. Not every place the light touched asphalt reflected his image in the wet patches or with shadows cast by the full moon. Trash and empty cardboard boxes made it hard to stay in the buildings shadowy embrace. He had nowhere to hide. The man moved between the inky silhouettes cast by the ambient glow of upper apartment windows, in hopes he was wrong about finding somewhere to conceal himself. What a mess this turned out to be, he battered himself thinking. If he lived he wouldnt make the same mistake twice.
It all went back to the only time he chose to live life on a single impulse, which he never did and would not again. News came down the grapevine about a big job coming up that could set him up for life. It originated from an unknown source, but the guy passing it on he knew and trusted. A simple snatch-and-grab was the way his buddy put it.
# # #
I tell you Joe, it sounds fishy, but my source is as good as any out there. Never steered me wrong, Sam said in hushed tones keeping the conversation between them as much as the bar allowed.
Joe scratched his head wondering if it could be as legit as Sam said it was. Do I know the guy?
No. He and I go way back, I can trust him. Names werent given for whos fronting the money, however, he did tell me it came from a high roller, he searched the room skittishly from the sound of water glasses crashing to the floor by a clumsy busboy before turning back. The look Sam had spooked him a little.  He wasnt so sure Sam was being forthcoming with all the details.
Reconsidering, almost feeling pulled forward to the decision, Ill take your word for it. Send back that Ill do it. He couldnt reason out why the words rolled off his tongue so easily. He was not known to be this spontaneous. But thats how it all started.

# # #

He should have kept to himself, working the sure bets instead of taking the job tonight. He always took extra care to check out the jobs before signing on as a precaution to his well-being. He never got the chance. The night air held promise of a heavy down pour. He hated working under the cover of rain; always leaves a wet trail for anyone to follow in the dry confines of a heist.
Joe came to loathe the idea of doing this job. Repeated calls from the employer, hassles from the partners about not stepping here or there without giving up why they knew this, and waiting for someone elses timetable became unbearable. Keeping the employers name in the dark was just good business. It bothered Joe to no end still not knowing his or her name this far into the game. In his line of work knowing who was flipping the bill meant getting a callback for another job or jail time from working with an undercover agent. Not the best scenario for getting the job done.
Another reason stood out, two other people got hired on. There would be partners joining and no room for negotiation. He worked alone most of the time, limiting the hands digging in his pockets for a cut. Plus, alarms tended to get tripped when too many feet were involved. These partners of his were said to be knowledgeable about the item they needed to find. Joe wanted to know what the object looked like. That would help, he thought. His employer refused to describe it over the phone. Just rely on your help for that, his boss told him. Unlikely, but where was the choice.
The location was not given until the last minute. Nothing went his way after the first meeting. They were going in for an object kept at random locations for safe keeping. Again he wasnt given a choice, not even on how to complete the job. Had he been in control, everything might have went smoother.
They just had to break into the store and snatch the pocket-sized object, removed some other items to cover up what was really taken, and hightail it. Simple, except not knowing beforehand what the layout looked like. Everything had been orchestrated on the onset with phone conversations replacing face-to-face contact. Joe still didnt really know who he worked for after a few meetings. Phone numbers used by Joes employer all came up untraceable. He wished he never heard of the mysterious object, let alone the job. Now he ran, the enlightened pair his employer brought in never made it past the door of the store.
An unassuming enough looking necklace sat tucked in his pocket as he ran. What happened back there did not seem natural. No laser light show he knew of could do the things he witnessed. Their flesh seared away by inches at a time when they tried to get away. The bluish flash that came with it didnt seem right either. It all made no sense to him. Scared him so bad he didnt look back until clearing the doorjamb. He wished he hadnt now. What happened to those poor guys wont ever leave his memory now. There wasnt any looking back now.
Skirting across the pools of light with the smallest parts of him breaking the invisible plane between light and dark should have helped Joe evade the people from the store; his pursuers were still hot on the trail. Flashlights flared down the alley after him shining off brick walls in jagged movements. Headlights flashed past the entrance of the alley less than fifty feet away. If he could make it clear into the street Joe might lose them in the crowded sidewalks.
Burning sensations ran down his leg where the necklace rested, feeling nearly white hot against his skin. He was too afraid to look down, wasting valuable time and possibly tripping over any unseen objects by doing it. Right when his feet touched the sidewalk a voice called to him. Joe Brinston.
It said his name, intense pain growing from the necklace forgotten. No one on this job knew his real name just in case someone was caught in the act and ratted the accomplices out to the cops. The people behind him surely couldnt know it.
Joe.
An odd feeling came over him to turn back, turn around from where he just came from. It was so strong Joe almost listened to the sirens calling. He was pretty sure not a single one of them was female, but the voice he heard could be no other.
Joe.
Momentarily distracted by the sounds of a woman calling might have been the intent of the people chasing him. Maybe one of them had a high-pitched voice mimicking a woman to cause him pause. That didnt explain his name being called out. Rolling fear taking over he bolted from the alley into a sea of people. The theater had just let out giving him cover one could only wish for.  Cover at last and her voice stopped calling to him.
Joe didnt waste any time thinking. He dove for the next unlit alley a few streets down and ran the center of it as fast as he could. If it had not rained earlier he might have been able to run faster, so staying on the side of caution Joe kept to a jogging pace praying it was fast enough to lose them. Slowing to a walk Joe took the chance to look back feeling safe of further pursuit. Sure enough, the chase was over. This street hed cut back to had less businesses tailored to the night crowd as the other street had been.
Doubling back now might bring him face-to-face with the people he had swiped the necklace from. Better to continue cutting down alleys, sidestepping the main streets, before heading back to the car. Joe took the good fortune of being the driver tonight for what it was worth. If one of the others drove, walking would be the only alternative and it was a long way to go. There wasnt anyone he trusted enough to call for a pickup.
Now, more than any other night, left Joe disbelieving he could trust a soul with what happened; not even his closest friends. The necklace nagged at him from the interior of the pocket. Such a big payout for a chain with some kind of ridiculous pendant hanging on it, Joe didnt dare pull it out to inspect it. Here in the open where anyone could see it and possibly remember him carrying it so close to where he stole it. Thoughts drifted in and out as he walked slowly down the street. The car was up ahead parked out of reach of any street lamp keeping the car mostly in darkness, secluded from other cars parked in the security of light.
Joe fished out his keys with a watchful eye scanning the curbside for anyone following. His hand brushed up against the necklace searching for them sending a cold blast up his forearm. Chills raced throughout his body. That infernal pendant, Joe hissed in his head at the pain.
Joes steps staggered as he tried to control the shivering that necklace caused. First it got so hot he thought it would burn right out of the pocket and now Antarctica would be a warm place compared to touching this thing again. Without knowing what it was Joe could see why the payout was so much. There was something unique about the necklace making it seem priceless no matter the simplicity of the design. Unlocking the car door while shaking from the cold left by the necklaces touch, he dropped into the seat and cranked the engine up before getting the door closed. Putting the heater on high didnt seem enough to ward off the cold. At the same moment he thought about the cold, the point under the necklace touching skin carried warmth now. He took the chance to retrieve the pendant and immediately dumped it in the glove box. At least there wouldnt be any more of those freaky happenings if he couldnt touch it.
More relieved to be rid of the thing, thoughts wandered back to what happened at the store. Throwing his head back against the headrest and closing his eyes to the world, Joe tried to recall what happened from the safety of the car. Its not something I want to remember but what I saw must not have been real, his head reeled from seeing again the blue flash of light disintegrate his partners.
Everything was moving so fast adrenaline spiked in him at the mere thought of how close he came to being like the others. That stuff came out of nowhere like magic. It was hard to believe! After they entered the room where the necklace had been, a search for surveillance equipment gave them nothing at all. Nothing on the property had the slightest appearance of high-tech besides the magnetic alarm strips set on the windows and doors. Even a first time thief knew how to pull a heist this simple, but Joe had missed something. Security cameras tucked away or motion sensors must have been hidden from sight.
How else do you explain a quick lockdown of the premises as it happened there? Joe began to feel exposed sitting in the car still too close to the building he just robbed. Turning the keys in the ignition with a satisfying rumble from the engine, he checked the street for flashlights before pulling away. Put the past behind him he always said. Forget what went on and focus on the prize. Joe would make the call in the morning to the contact to exchange the pendant for cash. It was all that was left.
Joe.
The voice came back. He sat in a car driving with the windows rolled up. This day just gets better, Joe repeated to himself several times.
Faint streamers of light emitted from the glove box as he heard the woman again, Joe.
The disembodied voice echoed through his head. Refusing to enter the highway while some woman called out his name, he pulled up to the curb under the overpass. Hands shook when he let go of the steering wheel. The events of the day just got worse. He was delusional. Joe hoped to God this job paid out like he was told. How could he continue if melting walls, disintegrated bodies, and phantom voices plagued him?
From the outside of the car, the inside looked like an overhead light was turned on to read a map. Inside the car Joe pulled on the door handle until it broke off, windows didnt roll down. He screamed at the top of his lungs. He knew the end must be near.