Showing posts with label Action. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Action. Show all posts

Tuesday, June 3, 2014

Getting to Know Richard Parry (Night's Favour) @TactualRain #AmReading #Fantasy #Thriller


What book genre of books do you adore?
It always comes back to speculative fiction.  Whether it’s about star ships, dragons, vampires, ghosts, or werewolves, I’m there.  A good speculative fiction work takes the story of people and tests it against some really significant problems and challenges.
It’s easy to fall in love.  Is it easy to fall in love in a zombie apocalypse?  It’s easy to buy someone a coffee.  Is it easy to share your meal with them at the end of the world?
That kind of thing really gets me going.
What book should everybody read at least once?
The Cloth Merchant’s Apprentice, by Nigel Suckling (http://www.unicorngarden.com/clothmerchant.htm).
It’s a bit of a rare book today — it’s one of my treasured paper artefacts.  There are still some copies kicking around used online, and I’ve just checked Amazon — it’s out there (http://www.amazon.com/Cloth-Merchants-Apprentice-Nigel-Suckling/dp/0905664086/).  It reminds me of Gaiman at his best, a story that’s gentle and startling, much like Stardust.
This book taught me that you can have adventures and romance together, and that the way a story is told is a tremendous amount of the beauty in it.  The book is honest and respectful, fun and soulful in equal measure.
I will never part with it.
Is there any books you really don’t enjoy?
Anything that’s “YA.”
Wait, don’t go.  It’s not like that.
“YA” is not a genre, not really — it’s a descriptor for a group of people who are trying to find their way in the world like the rest of us.  They’re people, clever and intelligent, and want to know more about which way is up.  They have the best parts of enthusiasm and the worst parts of inexperience.  Saying you’ve got a genre for “YA” is like saying you’ve got a genre for Czechoslovakia.
Is “YA” the best we can do when we’re trying to sell a vapid vampire romance?  I get that a vampire romance can be awesome, so let’s — as storytellers — respect our audience and encourage the brain over the beast.  Let’s not tell stories that feed on our insecurities and baser nature.
One of my favourite quotes here comes from a Master™, Stephen King.  Love or hate the man, but he’s written a lot of stuff about a lot of things.  It’s hard to cite the original source, and maybe it’s urban legend, but it feels right:  “Harry Potter is about confronting fears, finding inner strength and doing what is right in the face of adversity. Twilight is about how important it is to have a boyfriend.”
Contrast with King’s example of Rowling, or Le Guinn’s Earthsea series, and you can see the gap.  It’s totally possible to write for a younger audience and respect them.  I’d like to see more of that respect when we’re telling stories to our next generation.  After all, these are the people who will be our leaders and change the world after our footprints are gone.
What do you hope your obituary will say about you?
That I lived well, that I did things that were right despite that they were hard, and that I was a good friend, husband, and human.
And that I had one foot in Heaven before the devil knew I was dead.
It’s kind of hard, though.  There’s a way you’d like your life to be like, and then there’s how the world around you impacts on the edges of that.  You’ve got people at work, or people in your social club.
Everyone knows that special person in HR.  You know what I mean.
I’d like all those people, and my friends and family too, to think that I made the world just a little bit better while I was on it.  If that was said at my obituary, that’d be enough.
Location and life experiences can really influence writing, tell us where you grew up and where you now live?
I was born in the Philippines.
Yeah, I love whipping that one out.  Truth be told I didn’t spend much time there — my parents yanked me back Stateside when I was about two years old, give or take, so my memories of the place are just a couple of scattered images.  A garden.  A few people, one of whom I was sure was my nanny.  Nothing bad — it’s a place I’d like to go visit again, with full expectation that I know nothing about it.
Speaking of Stateside, I spent some of my formative years in the US, largely at the edges — Los Angeles and New York City.  I remember sunny places where there’d be a jalopy with the roof cut off, and winters so cold that your face hurt.
I really don’t want to live somewhere where the air makes your face hurt.  What the hell is this, Pluto?
After my folks split up, we drifted across the US for just a little while, touching down in Connecticut before heading to New Zealand.  I’ve spent most of the rest of my life here in little Aotearoa.
When I got here, there were only two TV channels.  There were only cartoons on a Saturday morning.  That’s bullshit, plain and simple.
Despite my initial poor reaction to the backwater third world country that I thought I’d arrived in as a kid, I view New Zealand as my home.  I’ve travelled to a few places, Australia of course, Japan, Italy, America a few times, and the odd resort location to drink cocktails out of a coconut.
I don’t like Fiji.
People around me still think I have a little bit of an accent, and wonder where I come from.  I sometimes wonder that as well, and I like that I can lend a few different voices to my writing.
How did you develop your writing?
By abuse, mainly.
When I wanted to get serious about it, my little brother stepped up and threw me into a writer’s group — run by a pro, and it was more of a critique group than anything else.
Here’s the thing: when you write something, and you put your thoughts on paper, you think it’s awesome.  I mean, it probably doesn’t need any editing, and can go straight from your brain to the printing press at a mega publisher.  The people who aren’t getting published?
Hacks.  All of them.
Then you join a writer’s group, people who really just want to write good stuff, and wow — you will begin to understand just how much you suck.  It’s not like these people sit there and tell you that you suck, but the variety of feedback will show you gaps you never even knew you had.
So yeah.  I wrote a lot, about a lot of different things.  Sure, I was working on Night’s Favour, but I also wrote a few short stories, and some radio plays, and the odd poem or two.  All under the watchful gaze of my writer’s group, who were hard and soft, gentle and stern, but above all else, faithful to making me a better writer.
Other than that, I wrote.  I wrote around the edges of my life, and thought about writing when I wasn’t writing.  Mostly dialogue, but also about scenes, and the way things would play out.
And then I wrote some more.
Where do you get your inspiration from?
It’s possible our house was built on an old industrial spill, with some toxic chemicals that leached up through the loam and into our very bones.  If that’s the case, I’ve been super unlucky with living in houses built on old spill sites, because I’ve had weird ideas since as long as I can remember.
It could have easily have been something baked into the old Crayola crayon set I had when I was a kid.  It’s hard to be sure — was there ever a recall?  How do they make those colours?
I read a lot.  I watch a lot of movies.  I talk to people who read a lot and watch a lot of movies. I like taking something that’s a little familiar to people — say, a nice werewolf legend — and then sprucing it up with a bit of industrial magic, a virus or two, see where it goes.
Ideas are not something I’m short on.  How many of them are good ideas is probably a bit subjective, but I feel like I could sit down and write books until the end of my days, until the tips of my fingers were worn away, and not hit the bottom of the barrel.
I just want to do those ideas justice.  I want the stories to be fun and insightful — I don’t want to start writing without a good idea about the story that wants to be told.  I try and ask myself, what makes this story different?
What is hardest – getting published, writing or marketing?
Getting published, by a long shot.
Marketing, there’s some dudes out there who can help you, if you’re unable to do it yourself.  Lots of companies and people exist with a special flare for this — heck, this interview here is a great example.  Generous people, with a real talent for helping you get visibility?  They’re out there.
Writing is probably the easiest part, for a writer.  If it’s not, you might be in the wrong profession.  I don’t want to come across as conceited, but this is the thing we’re doing here.
The publishing part is still shrouded in mystery.  I figure I’d have a better chance of getting a deal with Tor if I did some Pagan rituals in my back garden: it’s not like the path is clear.  Every so often a major publisher will throw open their doors: Angry Robot, or Harper Collins, or whatever.  This is rare, though, and you’re up against a fair level of noise in that funnel to get noticed.  I can just imagine some poor bastard at Angry Robot, trying to sift through the manuscripts, and in a fit of rage dumping their entire desk into the trash.  If you’re that guy, I’m sorry.
To get a real shot, it feels like you need to get a good agent, and finding a good agent is just as hard a tower to climb.  There’s no easy path, no three-step process, no recipe for how to bake that cake.
I suspect this is in part why I lot of people go indie.  It’s not that indie makes you more successful, but with indie you get your product out there, and people can actually read it.  And they can read it before one of our Earth years have passed.  Fuck sake, but have you seen some of the publisher submission timelines?  6 months before they let you know if they like it, and another 18 months before it’ll be on a shelf.  And a lot of contracts are really unbecoming, very biased in favour of the publisher.  There’s no partnership there, no win-win, and there’s a real problem in a contractual relationship where both parties aren’t out for the equal success of the other.  Publishers?  If your contracts look like you’re treating your writers like cattle to be farmed, they’re going to stampede away.
Compare that to click-to-print with an indie system, and you can see the attraction.  Maybe your book isn’t at your corner store, but unless your surname is King it’s probably not going to be anyway.
I digress, but yeah: publishing.  I think that’s still an area needing a bit of work.  And there’s tremendous opportunity here: you see companies like Penguin and Random House merging in response to market pressure.  People are going to crash and burn in this new future we’re already inside.  And yet: publishers are uniquely suited to be able to still serve as a robust quality gate for content, if only they shift the model significantly in the favour of win/win for authors and themselves, think about the outcome for the customer, and adopt a more rapid distribution system.  Sure, I’m simplifying for the sake of a pithy paragraph, but the success stories of the next five years will be told by publishers who’ve made the shift from their traditional model.
What marketing works for you?
Generally, it’s been word of mouth, and reviews.  The more reviews, the better the success, but those only start with a few people who know you, willing to give you a shot.
You’d be surprised how many people who know you are really uncomfortable with reading your stuff.  What if they don’t like it?
I try and let people know there’s no obligation, that not every book is for everyone.  I get that it’s creepy and weird to write a review for someone that you know.  You give a four-star review to them, and suddenly the de-friend you on Facebook, kill your cat, and burn down your house.
It should have been five stars, asshole.
I get that.  But it’s still great marketing, to have people in your corner, telling people about this great new read they found.
It makes sense: of the last ten books I’ve read, eight of them were recommendations by people I know.  I learn their tastes, where those tastes align with mine, and pick a book based on what they say.  Sometimes I’ll get a book by randomly surfing through Amazon’s recommendations, but that seems fraught with peril, noisy, and subject to some weird analytics that I don’t quite grok.
Do you find it hard to share your work?
Those first drafts, sure.  I’ve got some beta readers who are awesome, there is no amount of money or sexual favours that can make up for the first drafts some of them read.
Once the draft starts to gain a bit more coherency, I find it easier to share — I’m proud of the thing I made, and I’m happy to put it out there.
Is your family supportive? Do your friends support you?
Beyond all reason and sanity, yes.
Some of the people I know kind of tilt their head sideways when I tell them I’m a writer, that I write novels, and they kind of say, “Really?”  Like it’s a thing you catch from doing unwholesome things in Thailand.
But those people aren’t really friends, more acquaintances.  Friends and family have my back, fully, and do things that are unexpected.  They send me articles on writing, or publishing.  They share their thoughts and ideas with me, and listen with endless patience about my ideas.  They’ll read excerpts that I throw at them and provide feedback.  I can bounce off half-formed ideas and they’ll be there with a catcher’s mitt, ready to help even though it’s not quite fair, that they don’t have all the pieces.
Speaking of patience, they are all enthusiastic about my next work, and claim impatience for it to be delivered.
It helps.  It helps a lot.  It’s fair to say that I write for me, because it’s a thing I enjoy and that I want to do.
But I can’t help but think that my stories want to be read by other people.  And if my friends and family like those stories, even if the rest of the world doesn’t?  It’s okay.  That’s enough.

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

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

Lazar's Target (Jack Lazar #Series) by Kevin Sterling @ksterlingwriter #Suspense #Mystery

The first-class cabin of the American Airlines Boeing 777-300ER was alive with activity as the flight attendants began their meal service, and aromas of braised beef mixed with grilled salmon wafted through the air. Stemware clinked together and ice cubes tumbled to the bottoms of double old-fashioned glasses as drinks were served, the purring sound of the engines providing a familiar backdrop, leaving one with the anticipation of arriving in a matter of hours at a far-off destination.
Jack and Terrance occupied the two center suites in the first row of the cabin, the privacy wall between them slid down for now, allowing them to speak freely over dinner. Terrance was busy working out the details of his meal with the flight attendant on the right side of the aircraft as the striking woman tending to the left arrived at Jack’s seat.
She was a mature woman, perhaps in her mid-fifties, but her body looked half that. Her dark hair ran perfectly straight, falling several inches past her shoulders, and her superb beauty was highlighted by a pair of enticing blue eyes. She reminded him of Jacqueline Bisset, and he couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to spend some time with her…sans the uniform.
Jack was comfortably settled in his seat, the nearly drained glass of Glenlivet providing an extra sense of well-being, and he smiled at the angel in front of him as she slid the bowl of field greens topped with cilantro vinaigrette over his tray table. The glass of Loire Valley Sancerre soon followed, and he downed the last sip of Scotch before handing her the empty glass.
“Thank you,” he said.
“You’re welcome. May I offer you a sourdough or multigrain roll?” She took the bread basket off her cart and unfolded the white napkin atop the rolls, the smell of warm, fresh bread washing over Jack’s face. She suspended a pair of tongs over the basket as she silently probed him for an answer.
Jack was momentarily lost in her eyes, but he snapped to. “Um…sourdough, please.”
“Here you go. I’ll check on you again in a few minutes. Enjoy your salad.” Her lips curved upward as if she recognized the mischievous ideas floating around in his head, and she gave him a wink before moving to the passenger behind him.
What a delightful creature.
He leaned to his left, past the edge of the seat, and angled his head to watch her walk those few feet, her shapely bottom nicely revealed by the tight skirt.
It was obvious, as he pulled back and sighed, that the man across the aisle had witnessed his little antic, and the two exchanged a respectful nod followed by a knowing grin. Clearly, they had both conjured up a similar fantasy.
Yielding to his typically male competitive spirit, Jack couldn’t help but consider whether he’d have the advantage in the unlikely event he and his first-class neighbor were to compete for her affections. His imagined adversary was probably closer to her age and had a generous head of salt-and-pepper hair, not to mention a ruggedly handsome face and an air of worldly sophistication Jack’s thirty-four years had not yet afforded him.
Perhaps he didn’t have the usual leg up this time. After all, not every woman looked for a muscle-bound younger man with an overactive sex drive and an enigmatic skill for attracting megalomaniacal villains and killers. Of course, the latter detail could be kept under wraps, especially if their entire relationship consisted of a one-night liaison.
Jack dove into the salad with his fork and enjoyed the crisp greens mixed with the potent cilantro flavor. He followed it with a sip of the Sancerre, its citrus and mineral notes drawing the flavors out of the salad even further. It was a pleasing combination, and Jack scribbled a mental note that cilantro and Sauvignon Blanc made a nice pair. Who knew?
“What are you so deep in thought about over there?” Terrance inquired, his resonant English accent in full bloom.
Jack had all but forgotten he was there. “What?”
“Let me guess. Beautiful flight attendants?”
“Well, now that you mention it, yes. How did you…”
“I saw how you couldn’t take your eyes off the exquisite woman helping you over there.”
Jack looked back to be sure she wasn’t listening to their conversation. “She really is exquisite, isn’t she?”
Terrance smiled as he raised a knowing eyebrow. “Indeed. But I think you missed something.”
“What’s that?”
“Her wedding ring.”
“What? No way.”
“Yes. Your attention to detail is slipping, my friend.” Terrance tapped the base of the ring finger on his left hand with an emphasizing grin.
Jack assumed Terrance was yanking his chain, but he leaned into the aisle anyway and looked toward her again. Then he pulled back. “Shit.”
Terrance laughed heartily. “You are so predictable. I could see those wheels turning in your head, like you were trying to think of the most expedient way to get her out of that uniform.”
“Have I told you lately how annoying you are?” Jack asked, authentically perturbed.
“Yes. Two nights ago. Right after you forked over the hundred dollars I won from our bet on the game.”
“Ah, yes. And the hits just keep on coming.”
“Besides, we’re changing planes at Heathrow to that British Airways flight to Copenhagen, so I don’t really see how you would have managed it. What were you thinking, anyway? A quickie in one of the Flagship Lounge showers?”
That actually did sound like a lot of fun, but…
“No. I’m sure we could have arranged a rendezvous some other time, perhaps on the way back from negotiating this deal.”
Terrance waived him off. “Well, it’s all a moot point anyway.”
“Yes, thank you very much.”
“Hey, it’s not my fault. In fact, I pointed out the flaw in your plan before you had a chance to run amuck with it. You should thank me.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that what I just did?”
“No, sir. That was sarcasm.”
“It’s the best you’re going to get, Counselor.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
The striking young flight attendant on Terrance’s side arrived with a bottle of the Sancerre and refilled his glass before plucking the business card out of his hand with a wry smile and trailing off. She was a young, exotic redhead who oozed sexuality as she walked, and every man on the right side of the plane seemed mesmerized by her.
“What the hell was that?” Jack inquired.
“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Terrance posed with a devilish grin. “We’re going out when I get back to L.A. She’s based there.”
“Must be the English accent. Damn you.”
He laughed again. “If you’re trying to make me feel guilty, Jack, forget it. I don’t know anyone who romances women better than you do. Just let the rest of us have a go at it every now and then, okay?”
Jack sighed playfully. “Oh, all right.”
“Besides, I’m not on the prowl the same way you are. Ultimately, I’m looking for someone to share my life with.”
“And I’m not?”
“Not as far as I can tell.”
Jack reared back his head. “Really? What are you basing that on?”
“You want a perfect case in point?” Terrance asked.
“Absolutely. I’d love to hear this.”
“Are you sure you’ve got the stomach for it?”
Jack narrowed his eyes. “Yes. Hit me.”
“Dalia.”
Oh, that hurt. Dalia was an amazing Egyptian girl living in Cambridge, England, and Jack actually thought she might be “the one”. They had spent an amazing time together amidst tumultuous circumstances, and they both wanted to take the relationship to the next level, but the geographic separation was a killer. She had an amazing professorship at Cambridge University that only a fool would give up, so her moving to L.A. wasn’t a viable option, and she wasn’t willing to endure a long-distance relationship either.
Jack, on the other hand, was essentially free to live anywhere. Yes, his business contacts were in the L.A. area, but he was independently wealthy now and could set up shop wherever he wanted, including Europe. So what stopped him from relocating to England and giving it a try? He could always move back if things didn’t work out.
It was a quandary that had vexed him for a couple of weeks now, and Terrance had a sixth sense about such things, not to mention a penchant for drawing them out of people. It was probably what made him such a great litigator.
“You know, Terrance, I have no idea how to answer that.”
“I thought as much. All kidding aside, my friend, I think you need to spend some time figuring it out. You can’t remain a playboy forever.”
“Really?” Jack was only half kidding. “Why not?”
“Well, I guess you could, a la Hugh Hefner. But what kind of life would that be?”
“Gosh. Let me think. Living in a mansion with gorgeous, naked women prancing all over the place? How dreadful!”
Terrance chuckled. “You know what I mean.”
“Yes, of course I do. But seriously. Are you telling me you don’t enjoy playing the field?”
“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t,” Terrance answered. “I’m always happy to jump into bed with a pretty girl, assuming I’m not in a relationship at the time. And who knows, maybe that’s where it all begins. But my end goal is to find someone to marry, settle down, have brunch on Sundays, host barbecues in the backyard, go shopping at the mall together, and eventually start a family.”
Jack sighed again. “That sounds pretty nice, actually. But no minivan, right?”
“Hell, no. That’s where I draw the line. My wife can chauffer the kids to soccer practice in an Escalade.”
“Good for you.”
“So, what’s your problem, my friend?”
“I wouldn’t exactly call it a problem,” Jack answered. “I’m having fun right now, and I figure it’s just a matter of time before I’m ready to stop all the shenanigans and do exactly what you’re talking about.”
Terrance stroked his chin. “You’re thirty-four, right?”
“Yes.”
“You planning on stopping those shenanigans anytime soon?”
“I don’t know,” Jack answered. “Besides, thirty-four isn’t that old anymore. I can wait for years before starting a family if I want.”
“I’m not so much referring to your age as much as I am the woman who you’ll eventually marry and the matter of her biological clock. Or were you planning to settle down with a woman twenty years younger than you?”
Jack hadn’t considered that particular scenario before, and he instantly did the math. If a woman wanted to start a family by age thirty-five, then he could conceivably wait until fifty-five.
Terrance shook his head woefully. “Good God. You’re doing the math over there, aren’t you?”
Jack gave him a sheepish grin. “Um…yeah.”
“So let’s have it. What’s your number?”
“Fifty-five.”
“Christ. You’re a mess, Jack.”
lazar

"James Bond Meets Fifty Shades of Grey"

Immerse yourself in the world class novels that combine action, mystery & suspense with tantalizing and tastefully written erotica. You’ll find all your sensibilities roused at once with Kevin Sterling’s ultra-sexy, action-packed Jack Lazar Series.

In this fourth action-packed thriller, Jack travels to Denmark for a business venture, but what seems to be a textbook transaction turns into a nightmare after he gets involved with Katarina, a vivacious Danish girl who apparently lacks a moral compass, not to mention an off button. After naively believing their liaison was just a random encounter, Jack discovers she’s connected to his business deal, and there’s a dangerous political group with skin in the game, too.
Katarina makes a convincing case of being a victim, not part of the conspiracy, but can Jack really trust her?
The firestorm gets out of control as Jack digs deeper, unearths the convoluted plot behind it all, and discovers that innocent people are being heartlessly killed. He’s not only horrified by the reason why it’s happening, but how it’s being done, and there appears to be no way to stop it from occurring again.
Then the scheme’s real objective emerges, launching Jack into action with intelligence operatives to prevent it. But that’s not so easy with assassins on Jack’s tail, forcing him to struggle for survival while trying to prevent Katarina from getting caught in the crossfire.
Buy Now @ Amazon
Genre – Action, Mystery, Suspense
Rating – R
More details about the author
Connect with Kevin Sterling on Facebook & Twitter

Monday, February 3, 2014

#Excerpt from The Sovereign Order of Monte Cristo by Holy Ghost Writer #SherlockHolmes #BookWorm

After reuniting with Haydee and Mercedes, as well as meeting his two new daughters, Jana, by Haydee, and Lextra, by Mercedes, Dantes has never been happier. The house takes on a joyful air. Dantes spends weeks playing with his babies and making love to his wives, who are overjoyed at his return.
“I am so blessed,” he thinks as he strokes Lextra’s fine hair. “And so torn by what is now my duty. I want to remain with my family, but I must do the bidding of Mother Wisdom. It is for the children that I must go to America and find a plantation.” He has already sent scouts to look around and will soon follow, once he receives word that they have found a suitable plantation. In the meantime, though, he vows to focus on his daughters and his wives.
Jana is the outgoing daughter. She has a captivating smile like her mother and dark hair. Lextra is more fair-skinned with light hair and seems to babble constantly. Dantes spends as much time with them as possible, playing on a huge blanket in the garden. Haydee and Mercedes are never far away, talking and sewing their brightly colored hemp-fabrics as decoration for the nurseries. They know their husband will be leaving soon, and both of them have asked to go with him; they cannot bear another long separation.
Holy Ghost Writer
The Sovereign Order of Monte Cristo is a continuation of The Count of Monte Cristo (Book I), related through the voice of Sherlock Holmes and The Sultan of Monte Cristo (Book II). It includes exhilarating new adventures, characters, and ideas, carrying the reader past book I and II and into book III of an ever-expanding new series based on the classic.
Those who have already had the pleasure of reading The Sultan of Monte Cristo will certainly appreciate the unique way in which the Holy Ghost Writer has expanded the original story without the help of anyone (except perhaps from the ghosts of Dumas and Doyle).
In addition to comprising a 3rd sequel to The Count of Monte Cristo, The Sovereign Order of Monte Cristo serves as a prequel to The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.
Buy Now @ Amazon
Genre – Action, Adventure
Rating – PG-15
More details about the author
Connect with Holy Ghost Writer on Facebook & Twitter