Thursday, March 3, 2016
The Club Book Promotions : New Release + Freebie + Release Event ~ Assure her...
The Club Book Promotions : New Release + Freebie + Release Event ~ Assure her...: .•*¨☆¸.•*´¨ Free On Amazon .•*¨☆¸.•*´¨ March 1st-March 5th Assure her by Thia Finn Chandler Chatam, fresh ou...
A WHOLE LOT ~ Literary Fiction by Bradley Wind
Literary Fiction
Date Published: February 16, 2016
Abel Velasco calculates many things. Things like the arc of falling sycamore leaves, the duration of a dog sneeze, or the number of times his aunt might hit him. He can’t help it – he’s a savant.
It is 1982. Abel has left foster care to live with his newly found relatives. His typical teenage struggles are compounded by the complication of his savant talents. Searching for a challenge, Abel becomes obsessed with the mysterious architecture of an abandoned mansion and strangely numbered Bible, launching his journey from suburban New Jersey to Berkeley, California and beyond.
Dr. Darold A. Treffert, author of "Extraordinary People," consultant for the movie "Rainman" and expert on savant syndrome wrote to Bradley: "Savant syndrome typically is present from birth as a part of some developmental disorder, including autism. But there are also cases of what I call "acquired savant" syndrome following head injury. The Acquired Savant raises interesting questions about the little Rain Man that might reside, perhaps, within us all."
Excerpt
CHAPTER ONE
I sense something divine in you. Yes, I do.
23-47.34.3-106.17.34-106.134.38.24.3-10.4.1645.38.1.10.4-38.57
In December 1666, the Chevalier de Terlon plucked a finger from the skeletal hand of the great mathematician René Descartes. When caught, de Terlon defended his theft as being worthy for, after all, it was the “instrument of the defunct’s immortal writings.” As documented in several of my favorite encyclopedias, Descartes was the father of modern philosophy and a key figure in the Scientific Revolution. No doubt he deserves respect, but I believe the finger theft a fitting tribute.
Descartes was a real a-hole. He called animals automata, basically flesh robots, and thought them without souls. How horrid to think of him dissecting living dogs, doing so only to learn how their hearts beat. A finger bone taken postmortem appears minor when one considers all those lives he stole, but still, he is my greatest hero and possibly, when I turn thirteen next year, I’ll care less for dogs. Most adults seem uninterested in animals.
I wish my neighbor, Mr. Sutkin, merely felt apathy toward his dog. He appears to hate Mister Scratch. Why own a dog you hate? Each time I see him hit Mister Scratch, I wish someone would steal Mr. Sutkin’s, pre-mortem.
From my back porch, I watched Mister Scratch sniffing for a discreet bowel-relief location. Mr. Sutkin would beat him if he crapped in his own yard, or if he found him on the obsolete train tracks that ran behind our houses. The options left were our property or on the banks leading down to the tracks. Crapping on a slope was no easy feat, so he preferred our yard. I tried to signal him to go next to the clothesline—neither Mr. Sutkin nor Pigpie (my aunt) could see him there, and I could take care of his pile—but he was too busy sniffing to notice me.
I dodged between the drying sheets to retreat from the breeze, pausing to smell the flowery detergent and experience the secret-passageway feeling that standing between sheets can give. Leaves flittered above, and the sheets started to whip against me. I considered sneaking a quick trip to the tree before mowing the lawn. The weather felt perfect for tree climbing.
Mister Scratch finished up his business and came over to sniff me as I started toward the tracks. His scent reached me first. If you eat what you smell, which we all do, and you are what you eat, then part of me is Mister Scratch - while most would find that a disquieting fact, I breathe deeply when he’s near. He’s a bent-tailed mutt who’s mostly beagle with conceivably some German shepherd, and he follows me all over the yard whenever we’re outside. He stopped at the slope, as he always does, and I waved good-bye as I climbed down.
A dirt trail detoured off the main path and wound through dense weeds and brushwood. Few could navigate it, especially not heavyset individuals. One had to keep alert to each root, rock, and thorny twig, but the path ended at a worthy destination: a giant old sycamore with a slat ladder nailed to the trunk.
At the seventh slat, I knew AC/DC Rocks and followed the directions to Keep Going!! At the eleventh, my heart doubted the truth that Alan & Lisa and they had True Luv Always. At the seventeenth slat, the writing on the board unnecessarily tipped me to being high in the sky with a little marijuana leaf drawn next to it. It was somewhat frightening to climb this far above the ground into such an old tree, but I always focused on the ladder’s words until I rested in her huge limbs. The gold and still-greenish leaves enveloped me as I dug my fingernails into the bark. After five minutes of careful climbing, the branches went rubbery, a stoplight signaling to go no farther. I did a quick scan for anyone who might see me
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Wednesday, March 2, 2016
A Suspense Police Procedural ~ SILENT PATNER a Police Story K9 Story by Jennifer Chase
* A portion of the sales from Silent Partner will be donated to purchase a new ballistic/stab proof police K9 vest*
Suspense / Police Procedural / K9
Date Published: December 2015 2nd Edition
One Cop, One Serial Killer, One Witness
Who Will Survive?
Northern California’s elite Police K9 Units arrive at an abandoned warehouse after a high-speed chase and apprehend two killers after they have fled a grisly murder scene. This barely scratches the surface of a bloody trail from a prolific serial killer that leads to unlocking the insidious secrets of one family’s history, while tearing a police department apart.
Jack Davis, a top K9 cop with an unprecedented integrity, finds himself falling for a beautiful murder suspect and struggling with departmental codes.
Megan O’Connell, suffering from agoraphobia, is the prime murder suspect in her sister’s brutal murder.
Darrell Brooks, a psychopath who loves to kill, is on a quest to drive Megan insane for profit.
Everyone is a suspect. Everyone has a secret. Someone else must die to keep the truth buried forever. Silent Partner is a suspense ride along that will keep you guessing until the bitter end.
Jennifer Chase is an award-winning author and consulting criminologist. She has authored five crime fiction novels, including the award-winning Emily Stone thriller series along with a screenwriting workbook.
Jennifer holds a Bachelor degree in police forensics and a Master's degree in criminology and criminal justice. These academic pursuits developed out of her curiosity about the criminal mind as well as from her own experience with a violent sociopath, providing Jennifer with deep personal investment in every story she tells. In addition, she holds certifications in serial crime and criminal profiling. She is an affiliate member of the International Association of Forensic Criminologists.
For more info: www.authorjenniferchase.com
Contact Information
Website: http://authorjenniferchase.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/JChaseNovelist
Purchase Links
Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/silent-partner-jennifer-chase/1028511362?ean=2940032893776
* A portion of the sales from Silent Partner will be donated to purchase a new ballastic/stab proof police K9 vest*
Excerpt
SILENT PARTNER A California Police K9 Story The city streets were quiet. It was approaching 1 a.m. and most residents were fast asleep waiting for the next day to begin. The sleeping neighborhoods were completely unaware of who and what roamed the streets in the middle of the night. Everyone had a story to tell and those people out in the middle of the night were no different. What made it unlike any other night was that there was a serial killer on the loose and it didn’t seem like the police were close to catching him anytime soon. The erratic murders didn’t seem to have any type of connection except for the victims it left behind. The sidewalks, along with a few parked cars, were wet from a mild rain from a couple of hours ago. Large droplets of water on the road reflected the approaching headlights of a police cruiser. The car idled as it slowed near quick flashes of light. In the shadows, transients were lighting up their scrounged cigarette butts in between quick swigs of cheap booze disguised in brown paper bags. The cruiser paused for just a moment, then slowly moved on. Deputy Jack Davis surveyed the streets with intense, dark blue eyes, casually running his fingers through his dark military haircut, looking for anything suspicious or out of place. His well-seasoned cop instincts from the past ten years rarely failed him. Jack had many things weighing heavy on his mind. One of those things he was going to have out right now. He vented to his partner, “You’re such an adrenaline junkie. The end doesn’t justify the means.” He sighed and continued, “I can’t even look at you right now. You have to start following procedures otherwise Sarge is going to have both our asses on suspension.” It remained quiet inside the cruiser. Jack finally spoke again. “Just because you sleep with me doesn’t make this any easier. Do you have anything to say for yourself?” A muscular one-hundred-pound black Labrador Retriever stared at his partner from the back seat. His large square head tilted slightly to one side, his black eyes fixed at attention as he watched his handler with building curiosity. Jack demanded. “Say something. Anything.” The dog barked twice and stood up, pushing his wet canine nose toward Jack and giving him a sloppy kiss on the side of his face, not forgetting the inside of his ear. Jack smiled. For a brief moment, his tension melted away. “Like I can stay mad at you.” Jack roughly scratched the big dog’s ears. He was rewarded with snorts and happy low-pitched whines. The police cruiser took a turn down an alley between two closed businesses, their interiors lit only by low emergency lighting illuminating a shadowy glow from the display shelves. Jack cut the engine but kept the car lights shining so he could see down the long alley. There were several dumpsters behind the electronics store and deli. The light bounced peculiar shadows and distorted views from the sides of the buildings and off barred security windows. Jack’s military boots hit the pavement as he got out of the car with purpose. He walked around the cruiser to the trunk, popped it open, and pulled out three gray blankets. He slammed the trunk closed, tucked the blankets under his right arm, and walked around the car. With eyes focused and ears perked up, his four-legged partner never missed a single step or movement that Jack made. The dog’s black eyes gave the canine an almost demonic appearance. A sign posted on the side of the back window of the police car read boldly: CAUTION POLICE DOG—KENO. Monterey County Sheriff was printed down the side of the front doors. Jack’s squeaky gun belt echoed in unison with his footsteps while he walked down the alley as a few suspicious eyes peered out at him from the deep shadows. Trash and flattened cardboard boxes littered the ground next to broken bottles that had been neatly swept against the side of the building. Some care had been taken to keep the glass from causing any injury to those who had to sleep there. Upon closer inspection, Jack could see several homeless people hidden beneath the city’s refuse cloaked in several layers of clothing with a few precious personal belongings clutched at their sides. A young woman barely in her twenties with short blonde hair and a five-year-old child huddled together in their filthy clothing, shivering slightly from the damp evening. The local homeless shelter had only a few beds even for women and children. When they were already occupied, there was nothing else that they could do but find the safest place to hide out for the night. For them, this was the next safest place to be―away from the usual areas of downtown and under the bridge. It was cold, but they would be safe for another night. Jack slowed his pace and with careful discretion he unfolded the blankets and gently wrapped them around the woman and little girl. They didn’t say a word to him, but their eyes conveyed gratitude. It was difficult for Jack to just leave the homeless behind to shiver in the night, but he turned and kept his focus on the cruiser as he walked back. Jack didn’t raise his eyes to look through the windshield until he was seated back inside his warm cruiser. Several sets of eyes reflected from the harsh headlights, but they seemed to be more curious than wary of his presence. Some nameless faces had seen him before, especially on extreme cold nights and holidays. He resembled a dark knight coming to the aid of his homeless kingdom. The cruiser slowly backed up and then disappeared into the night. The lights flashed like ghostly shadows for two seconds and then vanished as quickly as they had appeared. Once again, the alley was dark, quiet, and cold. |
Tuesday, March 1, 2016
*Theresa Campbell author of His Final Deal a Christian Fiction/Urban Novel
About the Author
Theresa A. Campbell is the author of the soul-fulfilling, entertaining novels, His Final Deal, Are You There, God? and God Has Spoken. She hails from Jamaica, West Indies and has earned business degrees from Baruch College and Fairleigh Dickinson University.
Growing up in rural Jamaica without electricity until she was about 11years old made Theresa read a lot. The lack of modern amenities did not detract from her creativity; in a sense, it improved her ability to see the ending of a story from a different perspective.
Theresa's sense of purpose is entrenched in the belief that God is always there for us, and she knows in her heart that she has to share this with her readers. It's Theresa's objective to keep it real at all times in her books so everyone can relate to her characters.
About The Book
Raymond Brown, popularly known as Smooth Suave, is one of Jamaica’s biggest drugs lords. With eight children by six baby mommas and counting, he’s a player for life. A true baller, he lavishes in his wealth. He’s a shot caller with “soldiers” wheeling and dealing all over Jamaica. It’s Suave’s world, and everyone else just lives in it . . . or so he thinks.
However, his nemesis, King Kong, sees it differently. Rivals since childhood, King Kong is hell-bent on destroying Suave at any cost. As the war over power, drugs, and money intensifies—from Wilton Gardens (Rema) to Arnett Gardens (Jungle)—bodies are dropping like flies, washing the island of paradise in blood.
But it is the murder and kidnapping of two of Suave’s loved ones that bring him to his knees. Being framed for murder, hunted by the cops, pursued by his enemies, betrayed by friends, tormented by a horrid secret, and fighting to protect his family and empire, Suave is nearing his breaking point. Yet, he isn’t going down without a fight.
Voilà! Suave makes a deal to eradicate his enemies—but if it backfires, it could very well cause him his own life. Then God counteroffers Suave’s deal with His own—one that will undoubtedly give Suave the victory he needs but requires him to give up his drug empire and turn his life over to the Lord. With his motto being, “I don’t do God,” will Suave accept God’s deal or take the risk of his own deal?
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