@KimberlyShursen Shares Tips on Relaxing for Writers & More #AmReading #AmWriting #Thriller

Tell us about your family? I am a widow, so my handsome, bright sons are the cornerstone of my life. After my husband passed from cancer was when I moved from Minneapolis to the Midwest to take care of my aging mother.

How do you write – lap top, pen, paper, in bed, at a desk? Everywhere. It depends on my mood. In the winter months when it’s below zero, I bring the computer into my bedroom. If it’s 75-80 degrees outside, you might find me with my laptop on my deck.

Where do you get support from? Do you have friends in the industry? I have a ton of friends in the industry. Many I interviewed when I was first started my website. My friends live all over the world; Italy, Germany, the UK. I don’t ever want to lose even one of them.

How much sleep do you need to be your best? I don’t sleep well, I’m always thinking, thinking, thinking. I think this is the lament of most women. If I have five hours of continuous sleep, I’m good to go.

Is there anyone you’d like to acknowledge and thank for their support? Katie French, who is an excellent author, and I have been beta readers for each other’s books for three years. My books are enhanced by Katie’s input. We are brutally honest with each other, and that’s what we both want.

Every writer has their own idea of what a successful career in writing is, what does success in writing look like to you? Don’t we all want to be at the top of the New York Times Best Selling list? I’m no different. I’m not going to try to woo anyone with words such as “I just hoped and prayed that someone would read my books.” I want everyone to read my novels and applaud the fact that I am a bold writer who isn’t looking to “fit it” to what the most popular genre of the months is, as I’m ready and willing to take a chance.

It is vital to get exposure and target the right readers for your writing, tell us about your marketing campaign? I market the first thing in the morning every single day. Marketing doesn’t have to be about your book, it can be about building a relationship - one person at a time. I try to seek out people who I find interesting, and hope they find me interesting too. I have a “facebook team” that are unbelievable supporters who shout out the word to their friends whenever I have a release, a book signing, or radio interview. But make no mistake, this team is about friendship first and not marketing.

Tell us about your new book? What’s it about and why did you write it? Psychological thriller Lottery just came out this month. Mental illness has always fascinated me. I don’t think the public really understands that mental illness is just as real to the person afflicted as the so called “normal” person’s mind. In Lottery, Caleb O’Toole is described as “Jekyll and Hyde meets Dexter.” The human mind is fascinating, and there have been instances where we find that the person next door is not who we thought he/she was when their dark secret is exposed.

If you could have a dinner party and invite anyone dead or alive, who would you ask? My father. He passed three years ago, and I have so much I want to tell him.

Do you have any tips on how writers can relax? Exercise. Make yourself work out the kinks of sitting at a computer writing for hours and days at a time. Set a time, place, and how long you are going to work those muscles and take a break from the computer. Your mind, your body, and those closest to you need you to take a breather. I’m also a golfer and try to get on the course as much as time allows.

Soon after Ann Ferguson and Ben Grable marry, and Ben unseals his adoption papers, their perfect life together is torn apart, sending the couple to opposite sides of the courtroom.

Representing Ann, lawyer Michael J. McConaughey (Mac) feels this is the case that could have far-reaching, judicial effects -- the one he's been waiting for.

Opposing counsel knows this high profile case happens just once in a lifetime.

And when the silent protest known as HUSH sweeps the nation, making international news, the CEO of one of the top ten pharmaceutical companies in the world plots to derail the trial that could cost his company billions.

Critically acclaimed literary thriller HUSH not only questions one of the most controversial laws that has divided the nation for over four decades, but captures a story of the far-reaching ties of family that surpasses time and distance.

*** Hush does not have political or religious content. The story is built around the emotions and thoughts of two people who differ in their beliefs.

 EDITORIAL REVIEW: "Suspenseful and well-researched, this action-packed legal thriller will take readers on a journey through the trials and tribulations of one of the most controversial subjects in society today." - Katie French author of "The Breeders," "The Believer's," and "Eyes Ever To The Sky."

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre – Thriller

Rating – PG-13

More details about the author

Connect with Kimberly Shursen through Facebook and Twitter

Website http://www.kimberlyshursen.com/

COPYRIGHT: A NOVEL by Lori Lesko @LeskoLori #AmReading #Authors #AmWriting

“Enjoying your morning, babe?”

I looked up at Karen and smiled. “Yes,” I said, “The sunrise was so picturesque this morning, the colors were stunning.”

Karen motioned for a sip of coffee from my mug, and I obliged as she looked me over. “You gonna get dressed today?” she asked. She passed the mug back to me then lifted her knees up to her chest one at a time, stretching her muscles ready for her jog.

“Smartass,” I replied. It was our long-standing joke. She knew full well I would have a shower then dress in my typical uniform of comfortable sweats. I was glad I didn’t have to dress to impress anyone; it was one of the great benefits of working at home.

“I think I heard some noise from Danny’s room, but little Miss Kira is still sound asleep.”

“I’ll go get her. Have fun!” I yelled, as Karen dashed off the porch and jogged toward the beach, after flipping me the finger first, of course.

As a writer, I cherished the still, quiet beauty of the sunrise, and would get up every morning before dawn to meditate while the rest of my family still slept. I’d sit out on the back porch, breathing in the ocean air, drinking my coffee, and listen to the pounding waves.

Karen, on the other hand, usually slept in, but not today. She was due in Miami tomorrow for a photo-shoot and had to look her best. Jogging kept her slim, even though she constantly bitched about doing it.

It was time to play tag team. For my part, I had to make sure Danny and Kira were up and dressed for school. Easier said than done, especially when the two of them habitually fought me. I always made their lunches the night before, so it never became an issue in the morning.

I tended to Kira first, because she drained the clock of time more than any other human known to man. I pushed open her door and saw her blinking at me.

“Hey there, little girl,” I whispered. She wasn’t impressed by my kindness and pulled the puppy dog patterned covers over her head.

“I don’t wanna…” she said. Time for blackmail. I went and picked up Sammy, her favorite stuffed bunny.

“Really? Sammy wants to get up. Look, he’s already walking into the bathroom to wash his face,” I said, while bending over bunny’s legs and making him walk.

“Not without me he isn’t!” Kira yelled, jumping out of bed and running after me. Works every time, but that’s only because she’s four. New tactics would have to be discovered when she got older. Contemplating my other child, I wondered what Danny was doing. Judging from the odor permeating from outside of his room, there’d be trouble this morning.

“Danny, you functioning?” I yelled down the hall toward his door.

“Yes, I’m getting ready, Your Highness,” he shouted back.

“Thank you, my prince.” I lowered my voice when I saw Kira covering her ears.

“You’re too loud, Mommy,” she pouted.

“Sorry, you’re right.” I knelt down to help her get dressed. “No more caffeine for me today.” There was something so cute about her that morning. After washing herself and brushing her teeth, she ran back into her bedroom and pulled on her new black jeans and a pink shirt. She pretended to be a young adult with her choice of clothing, which made me worry that she was growing up too fast. Wasn’t she just born yesterday?

“I’m ready,” she proclaimed.

“Wait a minute, come here,” I said. Kira ran back into the bathroom and jumped up on the bathroom stool, so she could see herself in the mirror. I brushed her hair until it was glossy and smooth, and then we both looked into the mirror and flung our hair over our shoulders. “Hey, you’re beautiful. You know that?”

“No, you’re beautyyyfffall,” she said. We took each other’s hand and left the bathroom. Kira placed Sammy on her bed, to await her return, and then we walked down the hall. I knocked on Danny’s door and opened it.

“Shit, Mom, I’m getting dressed,” he chided me.

“Sorry, sorry,” I said, averting my eyes and stepping back out of his room. “You know I can smell it. There’s no use trying to hide it with air freshener. Last warning.”

Danny came over to the door and peered out, dressed in just a pair of jeans. His long brown hair wildly disheveled. “No more, I promise. I really mean it this time.”

“That’s good; otherwise you’ll be grounded for a month. Which means no seeing Alice.”

“I promise. I’m done with grass,” he said, cracking a smile at Kira and me.

“Okay, downstairs in five,” I told him. He disappeared back into his room and Kira looked up at me in bewilderment.

“Mommy, why does Danny not like grass?” she asked. I heard Danny laughing in his bedroom.

“It’s a long story, honey,” I said. Karen came jogging upstairs, passing us.

“Good morning, all! I’ll be in the shower,” she said, stopping to give Kira a kiss.

“You’re all sweaty, Mommy, yuck!” Kira pulled back.

“Yes, I am, but I love you anyway!” Karen said, laughing. “And you can smell the pot all the way down on the beach, Danny! You’re on my shit list!”

“I know, I know,” he called out.

Kira and I made waffles for breakfast. Correction, I made the waffles while Kira watched. Danny joined us, still looking a little rough around the edges, but trying to hide it. He looked a bit smarter in his navy blue shirt and had brushed his hair. I did my best to make as much noise as possible, just to irritate him.

We all sat at the kitchen breakfast bar and had milk and waffles. Karen appeared, clean and dressed and, as always, in white. White jeans and a sleeveless white top, showing just enough cleavage to distract me and cause impure thoughts to flit through my mind. I closed my eyes and forced myself to focus on the tasks at hand.

“Tag, you’re it,” I said to Karen as I brushed my hand gently across her arm. “Have a great day guys, I’m off to work. The grocery list is on the fridge,” I told Karen, and gave Danny and Kira a kiss.

“Would you at least try to consider a different outfit?” Karen pleaded.

“No, but I am going to take a shower.” I smiled and left for the second floor. I showered and got dressed in a pair of cream shorts and a maroon t-shirt. It wasn’t worthy of business attire, but compared to my usual sloppy sweats, it was a step up. I heard the van door close and pull out of the driveway. That was my cue to go to work.

I poured myself a glass of lemonade and went to my office, which was my sanctuary from the outside world. I opened the window and let the sounds and smell of the ocean seep into the room. Once I felt in sync with my surroundings, I turned my laptop on and typed a few sentences. In contrast to the extremely gruesome topic, I played symphony music that perfectly matched the crashing sound of the waves.

When typing really fast, I tended to look at the keyboard rather than the computer screen. After about twenty minutes of typing, I realized that the keys were floating, swimming before my eyes. I blinked a few times and tried to focus, but my vision became blurry. I stopped typing and rubbed my eyes, hoping it wasn’t a migraine forming; I put my glasses on, and tried to concentrate on the screen. Before I could begin typing again, pain shot down my spine, making me gasp. Waves of nausea came over me, and I knew that I would have to stop working until it passed.

At that point, the unthinkable happened. I felt a shooting pain travel up my left arm. Ignoring it didn’t make it stop. I thought to myself, carpal tunnel? Surely it couldn’t possibly be anything else. I only had a few more chapters to write and thebook would be finished, I didn’t want to stop now.

I stood up and felt the pain deepening in my lower back. This never happened with my headaches. What the fuck was going on? I ignored the voice in my head that told me to dial 911, and I bent over to perform my usual morning stretches, thinking that would help. When I lifted my head and stretched out my arms, Karen walked into my office. I barely recognized her face. The only reason I knew it was her was the golden haze of her curly perm and the white blur of her clothing.

“Babe, are you okay?” Karen asked.

“I can’t see very well and I feel nauseous,” I replied. My hand reached for her, and I knocked over my glass of lemonade. It wouldn’t be until much later that I’d realize the damage that this one motion would cause. I collapsed onto the floor.

“Amber!” my beloved screamed. That was the last thing I heard before the blackness engulfed me.

Amber Tyler is living every author’s dream: her books are all best sellers and she writes full time. She has worked hard and is well-accomplished in her career, and she has the support and love of her beautiful children and girlfriend. 

But the dream soon turns into a terrible nightmare when her latest manuscript is stolen. She decides to fight for what is rightfully hers, only to find that the harder she tries, the easier it all slips through her fingers, putting her career, her family, and her life in jeopardy.

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre – Thriller

Rating – PG-13

More details about the author

Connect with Lori Lesko on Facebook & Twitter

A Day in the Life of Mikey D. B. @mikeydbii #Dystopian #Thriller #MustRead

It all begins at five in the morning.  I wake up, make a protein packed breakfast and watch parts of documentaries while I eat.  I’ve watched documentaries on Hitler, Bigfoot, social media conspiracies, economics, magic, and basically anything I can find on Netflix that interests me at the time.  Anyway, after I eat/watch I finish getting ready for my day and then make the drive to work.

Sometimes these drives to work are the best part of my day.  Anytime before six in the morning, the roads are desolate, the mornings are cool, sun is usually rising, and it is just a good time to ponder about things.  There’s something about seeing a fresh new day begin that I love.  Maybe it’s because all the angry, muckiness of the world is still asleep.  I don’t know, but early mornings, as hard as they are to get up for, are some of the best things to experience.

So, after my morning drive, I head into my day job which consists of a lot of heavy lifting and calculations of length.  I work at a labeling manufacturing business where I coat and die cut the various labels for our clients.  You’d be amazed at how heavy paper is.  In rolls of 10,000 feet and sometimes more, these things can be up to two hundred pounds.  For the most part, I like my job.  It’s a keep-to-yourself kind of job and me being the anti-social one I can be, it gives me the opportunities to listen to music and podcasts.  In fact, a lot of my research for books happens in my eight hour shifts at work.  I download a set of podcasts I think will be relevant to what I’m trying to write, and then I listen to them.  I really can’t ask for a better time because after I get off work, my day doesn’t have a lot of wiggle room.

After my shift, which ends at about two in the afternoon, I bust my way on over to the gym.  My workouts are pretty intense, two mile runs at least, three to four mile bike rides and then a half hour of heavy weights.  I’m really trying to get ready to compete in a triathlon, so my workouts have to be pretty frequent or I’ll never train my body the way it needs to be.

Now this is where it gets kind of crazy.  I’m a high school football coach as well and practice starts at 4:30.  So I have just enough time to work out, rinse off, and get a quick bite before heading over to the school to yell at kids.  I love it!  The sport, the atmosphere, the kids, the other coaches I work with.  It’s one of the best opportunities that I’ve had come across my way.  I was hesitant to take on the responsibility at first, with the craziness of my writing and work as it is, but it’s seasonal and I couldn’t pass up the chance to get back into the sport.

Practice lasts until about seven, I get home at about eight, eat, and maybe get some writing in.  Mostly though, I’ll wind down and watch an episode of the office with my wife or we’ll just talk and read together.  The evenings, like my mornings, are a chance for me to think, process what’s happened in the day.  Maybe write them in my journal if I have enough to say.  After or before the hustle and craziness of the day, it’s in these times when I’ll turn to my scriptures to get guidance, peace, and reassurance (or chastisement—it all depends on what my attitude has been that day).

After having wrote this, I realize how packed my day is.  I think the important thing, no matter how busy we are, is we need to make sure we have our priorities in the right place.  For me, it’s: God, Family, Country.  I know if I put God first, that’ll only strengthen my resolve to take care of my family, and if I know my family is taken care of, I know I can then make decisions to take care of my country and community.

Change affects everyone and it is no different for Jackson. Living in Area 38 for as long as he can remember, he knows of no better way to exist than under the tyrannical rule of Christopher Stone, son of Stewart Stone from The Nine of The United Governmental Areas, aka The UGA. This all takes a dramatic turn when Jackson finds a red, metal box buried in his yard, filled with illegal artifacts—journals, a Bible, CDs, etc.—that are from a man of whom he has no recollection of: Mica Rouge.

 The year is 2036 and Mica, unlike Jackson, does know of a better way of life but is torn apart as he sees his country, The United States of America, crumbling from within by group known as The Political Mafia. The Mafia has infiltrated levels upon levels of governmental resources and it is up to Mica and a vigilante group known as The USA Division to stop them and their dark Utopian vision. To their demise, and at the country's expense, The Division fails and has no choice but to watch The Constitution dissolve and transform into The UGA.

In a final stand, having not given up hope, Mica and what is left of The Division, give one final fight in Colorado, or better known as Area 38. However, all is lost as The Division is betrayed by one of their own, Stewart Stone. Mica is left with no choice but to hide in exile, leaving what little history he can of himself and the great United States of America, with his wife, long time friends, and newly born son in hopes that they will one day finish what he could not.

Jackson, having found this legacy twenty-seven years later, decides to start the war that will end The Nine, and he with an outcast group known as The Raiders, begins his fight with Christopher Stone in Area 38. Filled with betrayal, unity, despair, hope, hate and love Area 38 follows both Mica and Jackson in their attempts to restore what they believe to be true freedom, and where one fails, the other rises to the seemingly impossible challenge.

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre – Dystopian Thriller

Rating – PG13

More details about the author

Connect with Mikey D. B. on Facebook & Twitter

Website www.mikeydb.com

Pendelton Wallace on Why Book Covers are So Important #SelfPub #WriteTip #Thriller

Why Book Covers are So Important

All my life, I have heard that you can’t judge a book by its cover. Yet, that is what we do. I’m as guilty as anyone else.

I go into the bookstore, or the on-line web site, and look at the covers. If the cover grabs my attention, then I read the back jacket or the description. That may lead me to look inside the book and maybe even buy the book.

Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t base my buying decision on the cover, but the cover is what first attracts my eye and gets me to look at the book.

I don’t think I am A-typical in this respect. Your cover needs to tell the story in such a way that the reader will want to look further. I am currently reading a book about a young man in Narobi, Kenya. The cover has a picture of a beautiful woman with an automatic pistol on the floor. The story that I’m reading has nothing to do with the cover picture.

If I had bought the book because I thought it was a good thriller/mystery, I would be terribly disappointed.

My point is that the cover must represent what the story is about. In The Inside Passage, I used a picture of a cruise ship on the Inside Passage with cross-hairs over it. What does that tell you about the story?

The story is about a group of al-Qaeda terrorist that are plotting to blow up a cruise ship on the Inside Passage of Canada. I’m hoping that the cover of the book conveys that message and grabs a shopper’s interest.

The Inside Passage is the first in a series of novels about computer security analyst Ted Higuera’s adventures. I want the covers to tie the books together so that when a reader sees the cover they will instantly know that this is another Ted Higuera thriller.

To this end, all of his stories will have cross hairs on the cover. The second book in the series, Hacker for Hire, is about corporate greed and industrial espionage at a major computer manufacturer in Seattle. So, for the cover, I took a picture of the Seattle skyline and imposed the cross hairs on it. I really like this cover.

The third book in the series, The Mexican Connection, is about the Mexican drug wars. For this cover I will probably use a picture of the Zocalo in Mexico City with the cross hairs on it.

In this way, all of the books have a common “look and feel” to their covers and readers will be able to recognize that they are part of a series.

Back to what to put on your cover. What is your genre? There seems to be a common theme in covers in each genre. For instance, romance novels. You can tell immediately by looking at the cover that it is a genre novel. Is that Fabio, holding a beautiful woman with one hand while fighting off the pirates with the other?

Don’t copy others, but look for good ideas. I’m not above stealing good ideas from anybody. Do you have a favorite author in your genre? What do they do about a cover? Take their ideas, tweak them and make them your own.

And, for goodness sake, make your covers readable. I have seen some covers with such convoluted type fonts that I can’t read the title of the book. Or the title is twisted around the art work and is difficult to decipher. I’m sure it’s all very arty, but I don’t like it. I want to be able to read the title and author name in the thumbnail on Amazon.com.

I had a boss one time that used to say “it’s all about marketing.” We were selling custom computer services to mid-size companies and she was all about the sizzle. She convinced the customer that we could do the job by presenting a bold, professional image.

You need to do the same thing with your covers. SIZZLE. Be different. Do something that jumps off the shelf. Don’t hide in the stack of books; figure out you own way to grab a customer’s attention.

Remember, we all judge a book by its cover.

If Clive Cussler had written Ugly Betty, it would be Hacker for Hire. 

Hacker for Hire, a suspense novel about corporate greed and industrial espionage, is the second book in a series about Latino computer security analyst Ted Higuera and his best friend, para-legal Chris Hardwick. 

The goofy, off-beat Ted Higuera, son of Mexican immigrants, grew up in East LA. An unlikely football scholarship brought him to Seattle. 

Chris, Ted’s college roommate, grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth. His father is the head of one of Seattle’s most prestigious law firms. 

Ted’s first job out of college leads him into the world of organized crime where he faces a brutal beating. After being rescued by beautiful private investigator Catrina Flaherty, Ted decides to go to work for her. 

Catrina is hired by a large computer corporation to find a leak in their corporate boardroom when the previous consultant is found floating in Elliot Bay. 

Ted discovers that Chris’s firm has been retained by their prime suspect. Now he and Chris are working opposite sides of the same case. 

Ted and Catrina are led deep into Seattle’s Hi-Tech world as they stalk the killer. But the killer is also hunting them. Can Ted find the killer before the killer finds him? 

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre – Mystery, Thriller

Rating – R

More details about the author

Connect with Pendelton Wallace on Facebook

Website www.pennwallace.com

@JWMefford's Thoughts on Time Stands Still for No One & Mid-Life #SummerOfGreed #Suspense

*****Lethal Greed, the 2nd book in the Greed Series was released today. You can get it from Amazon and participate in the array of release festivities by following the hashtag #SummerofGreed on Twitter. 

I look in the mirror, and what do I see? Extra lines, less hair, a little more weight, depending on my current level of fitness. Time stands still for no one. And, if you’re open to growing, learning, that’s a good thing. A very good thing.

By looking at that reflection—literally and figuratively—I’ve seen more changes than I can possibly count over the years. With more salt than pepper in my goatee, my facial hair shows some tread on my tires. Muscle strains, joint pain, squinting to read small print, all come with living a full life year after year for almost five decades. And don’t get me going about my torn rotator cuff. But it certainly beats the alternative.

I’ve never been one to hide my age, starting when I was a young kid, and looking even younger. I always had a stubborn, driven core that pushed me to work hard, even if the task or nature of the job was unappealing, or even if it made me want to puke. In my teenage years I built banana splits and flipped burgers, then mowed yards in triple-digit temperatures. Once I made it out of college, I worked long hours trying to scoop my rival reporter at the cross-town newspaper—my first paying gig in the writing world. But my drive and competitiveness hit an advanced level once I hit the grind of corporate life.

Information Technology was the field, the very hot field that sucked me in like an F5 tornado. It’s a remarkable industry, with an amazing array of talented, visionary people, especially in the early days, before anyone had used the term start-up.

From day one, I never quite felt comfortable working in IT, and most of the time truly felt out of place. Technology has never been a keen interest of mine. I had a few talents that helped me along the way…I’m pretty good with numbers and motivating people to get stuff done, even if I didn’t truly understand the nuts and bolts of what the hell we were trying to accomplish. It didn’t matter. I was told to break through the brick wall, and I did anything to reach the goal. I was about the best grinder around. Many were smarter, but few worked as hard. I never let my brain relax, because I couldn’t afford to.

And then I woke up. It wasn’t an overnight epiphany. I had internal struggles for years, my true voice softly telling me to find a job or business that suited me. It took a good ten years for me to take action, to recognize that little voice as my true self.

I have a friend who knew what he wanted to do when he was fourteen years old, maybe younger. He dreamed of working as a nuclear physicist. I’m not kidding. He was—is—brilliant. He wanted it so badly he could taste it. He talked about it all the time, studied everything about that world, and mapped his path toward his destiny.

Outside of dreaming to play for any number of sports teams, while growing up I could never figure out what I was destined to do with my life. Working as a reporter allowed me to work a muscle that I’d never used. The job itself was bit confining, but it ignited a creative spark in me that stayed alive like the Olympic flame. Then came the IT gig.

It was all meant to be…to provide life experiences that have taught me plenty, that I can share with others, my family, and, yes, write about in the most unbridled, embellished way possible. It’s empowering to finally admit the truth about who I am, how I want to contribute to the world, to evoke emotion from readers of my work. Is it a mid-life crisis? That’s not how I see it. I don’t want to buy a red sports car, I love my wife more than ever, and I have great fulfillment by watching three kids grow up and figure out life.

Instead, I’ve experienced a mid-life enlightenment. I might be in my late forties, but it’s better to admit who you are and what you’re passionate about before there’s no life left to live.

My only advice to my kids and anyone else of any age? Listen to your true self. Find your passion and then don’t hide it. Work like hell to be better at it, and be proud of who you are and how you impact the world.

It’s funny how things work out in life. My friend? Well, the government shut down funding for the super-collider, and after investing seven years of college and low-paying internships in cold-weather cities, his dreams of making a living as a nuclear physicist were flushed down the toilet. Now, though, he’s one of those visionary, brilliant people in the IT industry. He’s damn good at it, and I think he enjoys most of it. Bravo for him!

As for me, I’m a writer. I think I’m pretty damn good at it, and I’ll work my ass off to get better. That’s my passion. I hope you find yours.

Behind the façade of every corporate takeover executives pull levers this way and that, squeezing the last profitable nickel out of the deal. But no one knows the true intent of every so-called merger. 

No one knows the secret bonds that exist. 

An Indian technology giant swallows up another private company that has deep roots in North Texas. For one unassuming man the thought of layoffs, of losing his own job to a bunch of arrogant assholes feels like a kick to the jewels. 

Until the day Michael’s life changes forever.   

Perverse alliances. An affair of the heart. A grisly murder. A spiraling string of events thrusts Michael into a life-or-death fight to save a tortured soul and hunt down a brutal killer…one who lurks closer than he ever imagined. 

Greed knows no boundaries.

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre – Suspense, Thriller

Rating – R

More details about the author

Connect with John W. Mefford on Facebook & Twitter

Website http://www.johnwmefford.com

Richard Parry on Eyeballs, Book Covers & Sex Sells @TactualRain #Fantasy #Action #AmReading

Sex sells.

The thing is, our eyeballs are attracted to shiny things.  It probably all started with the basics: does that food look good to eat?  It does make me question the good judgement of the first person to eat a mussel, but whatever: we make a lot of calls based on what we see.  Despite our great technology and evolved art, we’re still animals at the core.  We like to eat, sleep, and make baby animals.

Like I said, sex sells.

Focus, people.  Back to book covers.  This means that your cover needs to grab a browsing reader by the eyeballs, travel down the optic nerve, and hunt around a little inside their head.  We pick up so much at that first glance.  Do we like that person?  Is the colour of their tie right for their shoe choice?  Is that a… wait, is that a coffee stain on the bottom of their tie?

Damn straight we’re not going to enjoy this meeting.  You know it: we’ve turned off before we’ve started.  The guy’s a slob, and he’s got cheap shoes from a dollar store.

It’s the same with your cover.  It needs to tell an immediate story.  The font needs to be in tune with the content (and readable at tiny sizes, because eBook thumbs are not hardcovers sized!).  The picture really does need to speak a thousand words, more or less, but it also needs to be relevant.  I mean, I don’t really care what your sexual preference is, but if you were expecting to take a man home, unwrap him, and then found out he was a she, you’d be… confused.

If you’re selling a vampire book and it’s not a vampire romance, do not put a bodice-ripper cover on it.  You will get bad reviews, because it’s not what your customer expected.

Covers are vital.  They’re your beachhead into someone’s heart.

Valentine’s an ordinary guy with ordinary problems. His boss is an asshole. He’s an alcoholic. And he’s getting that middle age spread just a bit too early. One night — the one night he can’t remember — changes everything. What happened at the popular downtown bar, The Elephant Blues? Why is Biomne, the largest pharmaceutical company in the world, so interested in him — and the virus he carries? How is he getting stronger, faster, and more fit? And what’s the connection between Valentine and the criminally insane Russian, Volk?

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre – Action, Thriller, Urban Fantasy

Rating – R16

More details about the author

 Connect with Richard Parry on Facebook & Twitter

Website http://www.rage.net.nz

NGHT'S FAVOUR by Richard Parry @TactualRain #AmReading #Thriller #Fantasy

“I’m still sweating.”  Val pulled his wet shirt away from his skin.  Much as he had to admit that transparent shirts on a fat guy looked bad, he’d carried his jacket rather than putting it on.  A light breeze was nudging against the fabric.  “I thought a cold shower after the gym would help.  This isn’t selling it for me.”

“That’s a mark of pride, buddy.  Just don’t get too close to me.”  John grimaced.  “Did you use deodorant?”

“Wait.  I can’t remember.”  Val sniffed under his arms.  “Yeah.  Smells like Axe.  I’ll probably sweat it off, but my intentions were pure.”

“No doubt.  You did good today.  Really good.”  John seemed distracted — he wasn’t checking out the women on the street, and he wasn’t really paying attention to where he was walking.  His phone had rung a couple of times, and he’d just ignored it.  John, the man whose digits were in more single women’s phones than anyone else alive, was ignoring his phone.

It was uncanny.

“You don’t sound like I did good.  You sound like we’re discussing my funeral.”  When he’d been a kid, Val had come off his bike.  He’d fallen a long way down a bank, rolling a couple times before the bike had caught up with him.  The tumbled images of earth and sky along with the taste of green grass and dirt in his mouth stayed with him.  He remembered the clank of the bike following him down, banging its way through the brush.  He’d wrenched his shoulder pretty badly.  Nothing serious, the doctor had said.  Rest it, it’ll be fine.  They say you don’t remember pain, but he swore this felt the same.  Wincing, he rubbed his shoulder.  “Damn.”

“Well, shit.  Ok.  Give me a minute.  I think I need to break this down for you.”  John continued on a few more paces, then stopped.  A couple of women almost walked into him, veering at the last minute.  One gave him a look over her shoulder as she passed.  He didn’t even notice.  “Look.  So you benched a lot today.”

“Dude, you just got a hair flick.”

“What?”  John looked around, but she was long gone.  “Was she hot?”

“I dunno.  I guess.  It felt like a lot.  Man, I’ve never hurt this bad.”  A memory came, stark against the mundane street around him.  She’d been bleeding so bad.  He could remember that damn headlight shining in his face through her shattered passenger window.  “Except maybe after the accident.”

John didn’t seem to notice the reference, focused on something different.  “Do you know how much is, ‘A lot?’”

“I dunno.  You said it was more than you could bench, but I figured that for a sort of motivational speech.  So I guess maybe less than you, sure, but a lot, right?”

John just stared at him.

“What?  Man, say something.”  Val looked around the street.  “What!”

“Ok, stupid, we’ll play it your way.  Today, you benched around six hundred and fifty pounds.  Maybe a bit more, a bit less.”  John slapped the mixed roll of cash his back pocket.  “It’s what’s buying the beers tonight.  That six fifty press.”

“I guess that sounds like a lot.  But it’s all Smurfberries to me.”  Something else was hurting in his back.  Val arched, trying to work the kink out.  This is why exercise isn’t more popular — it hurts too damn much.  You could read it in the papers: man killed riding a bike.  You never read about a man killed sitting on a couch.

“Smurfberries?  Are you on coke?”  John looked him in the eye.  “You can tell me.”

Val snorted.  “I’ve only got a thirst for Jack.  There’s this iPhone app, Smurf Village.”

“I don’t see where you’re going with this.”

“Give me a sec.  I’m trying to play your six fifty pounds game.  Trying to get it in my head, ok?  So in this app —”

“Smurf Village.”

“You got it.  In Smurf Village, you can build houses, go fishing, whatever.  I don’t know, bang Smurfette, whatever you want.”  Val frowned.  “Ok maybe not that, it’s for kids.  But the game’s free, except it’s not.”

“Smurfette’s a hooker, right?”

“You’re on the right track John, but it’s a kid’s game for fuck’s sake.  You need to work that out somehow, it’s creepy.  You can play the game, but you can sort of… I don’t know, incentivise your Smurfs.  Buy them Smurfberries.  And Smurfberries come right off your Mastercard.”

“So what’s a Smurfberry get me?”

Val clapped his hands together.  “Exactly.  We know how much a Smurfberry costs, because those thieving bastards charge your Mastercard for them.  But before you go in, before little Johnny —”

John winced.  “Jemima, please.”

“Sure.”  Val nodded.  “Before little Jemima gets hooked on the game crack that Smurf Village is, you’ve no clue as a consenting parent what a Smurfberry costs.  So when Jemima comes in and bothers you in front of the big game, asking for twenty bucks for some more Smurfberries, what do you do?”

“I dunno.”  John rubbed his chin.  “The big game.  Is it half time?  Does she leave me alone for another half hour?  I might pay twenty bucks for that.”

“Sure you might.  But that’s the thing.  You just don’t know.  It’s like any other arbitrary measurement, like —”  Val waved his hands in the air.  “Like, I guess, a megawatt hour, or a megabyte maybe.”

“I know what a megabyte is.  I work in a gym, but I’m not prehistoric.”

“Ok wise guy.  What’s a megabyte?”

“It’s, well…”  John trailed off, then tried to man up to the challenge.  “It’s a bunch of emails.”

“How many?”

“A lot?”

“Is six hundred and fifty pounds a lot?”

“You fucker.”

Val nodded.  “You see, I know what a megabyte is, and I might even be able to work out what a Smurfberry is worth.  I know cheese comes in pounds.  I can maybe imagine a six fifty pile of cheese, but I don’t know.  Is that a lot?”

“Seriously, you’re an asshole.”  John turned away and started checking out the talent, looking for the next hair flick.

Val dragged him back with a pat on the shoulder.  “Can an ordinary dude lift six fifty pounds worth of cheese?  I mean, it’s not something I’ve tried.”

“Fair enough.  Ok.  You got me.”  John walked on a few more paces.  “Here we go.  You know a guy called Scot Mendelson?”

“Does he work with you?”

“I wish.  Scot holds the current world record for the raw bench.”

“Raw?”  It’d been a while since meals.  “Like, uncooked?”

“Raw, like unassisted.”

Val gave John a blank look.  “How can you assist a guy on the bench?  Are there two guys pushing up?  One pulling from above?”

“It’s not important.  Well, it’s a little bit important, because you strap on a special shirt, and you can lift more.  But the raw bench is where it’s at, ok?”  John watched a woman walk past, head tracking as she sashayed past him.  “Ah.  So Scot, he’s the world record holder.”

“I know you’re dying to tell me.  What’s his record?  A thousand?”

“Not even close.  You need to think much, much lower.”

“Eight hundred?  We can play this game all day.  You should just tell me, since I made you famous on YouTube today.”

“We should probably get you a beer first.  Make sure you’re sitting down.”  John patted the wad of cash in his pocket again.  “You’re going to need to be lubricated for this one.”

“Now you’re scaring me.  What’s his fucking record?”

“Seven hundred.”  John paused, every so slightly — damn drama queen.  “And one.  Seven oh one pounds.  Dude’s been powerlifting his whole life, he’s a real significant piece of machinery, and he benches just fifty pounds more than you.”

Val stopped so suddenly the guy behind him on the sidewalk walked right into the back of him.  He turned and stared at John.  “You’re just trying to make me feel better for hurling at the gym.”

“I’m really not.  I had to clean that up.”  John rubbed the designer stubble on his jaw.  “Look, you did an amazing thing today.  Really, truly amazing.  So amazing, you shouldn’t have been able to do it.  I’m sort of impressed, but I’m wondering when the guy from Candid Camera is going to come out and have me on.  What you did, well, it’s a bit like the Coyote finally catching the Road Runner.  It breaks all the rules.”

Val laughed, a slightly weak and hysterical sound.  “You know me.  I just keep breaking rules.”  He swayed a little, then leaned against a parking meter.

John slapped him on the arm.  “It’s ok man.  You did good.  I just — I just can’t really believe it.  Even now.  I think I need that beer more than you do.”

“There’s one thing I don’t get.”

“Just one thing?  What is it?”

“Your friend, the guy who was there?”

“Emilio?”

“Sure, I guess.  Why’d he back me to six fifty?”

“Emilio’s crazy.”

“He bet a hundred bucks — our drinking money — that I’d bench six fifty.  Just fifty shy of Scot Wosshisname’s record.”  Val stared into the sky for a second, then back to John.  “If I was a judge of character, I reckon Emilio’s rigged this.”

“Maybe.  He’s coming down to drink with us tonight, so you can ask him then.  Since we’re sharing though, there’s one thing that I don’t get.”

Val stood up, pushing his bulk away from the parking meter.  “What?  I’m really thirsty.  It’s kind of inhumane keeping me out here like this.”

“How do you know what a Smurfberry is?”

Val chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment.  “That can’t be what you want to know.”

“No, I really want to know.  You’ve got no kids —”  And there was that damn memory again, burning as bright as the headlight through the shattered passenger window.  Rebekah was looking right at him, grasping his arm.  She was begging him to not leave her, What about the baby, she’d said.  “— But you know what a Smurfberry is.”

Val shook off the memory.  Just a dead relic.  “Let’s get that beer.”

Valentine’s an ordinary guy with ordinary problems. His boss is an asshole. He’s an alcoholic. And he’s getting that middle age spread just a bit too early. One night — the one night he can’t remember — changes everything. What happened at the popular downtown bar, The Elephant Blues? Why is Biomne, the largest pharmaceutical company in the world, so interested in him — and the virus he carries? How is he getting stronger, faster, and more fit? And what’s the connection between Valentine and the criminally insane Russian, Volk?

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre – Action, Thriller, Urban Fantasy

Rating – R16

More details about the author

 Connect with Richard Parry on Facebook & Twitter

Website http://www.rage.net.nz