Critical Mass is now live!!!

Great big cool announcement alert!

My third novel and the final chapter of The NADIA Project is now available. I know a lot of you folks are already familiar with the whole story behind Nadia and Jon (Will they or won't they?), but some aren't so please indulge me while I tout the latest.

Book One, Becoming NADIA, opens the saga with the question, "What makes a being, a person?"

Book Two, Unalive,  carries forward and expands the question of what constitutes Life, and digs deeper into the story of Jenna Paine.

 

Now, with Book Three, Critical Mass, let's throw Jenna and Nadia together. Shake well, add Jon, Jimmy, a pinch of gunpowder and a splash of vengeance. Mix carefully over high heat, and stand back.

Here's the down and dirty on the new release, Critical Mass:

Jenna Paine is a super spy, genetically enhanced to be more than human. Nadia Velasquez is a living weapon of mass destruction. When the secret organization who built them both decides they are no longer useful, two enemies are thrown together for the only purposes they could have in common: survival and revenge.

There's only one way out of The Pinnacle, and that's on a coroner's slab. Jenna lives through a treacherous attack vowing to exact her vengeance on the people who trained her to be the most deadly agent on the planet.

Wounded and on the run, she turns to the man who's sworn to make her face charges for her involvement in The Pinnacle's nefarious schemes.

After years spent hiding from The Pinnacle, Nadia runs into the one thing she never counted on: Shelf life. As her body breaks down, she realizes it's only a matter of the short time she has left to redeem her existence and give her daughter a chance to live free.

In the final showdown, the two transhumans join forces against a common enemy, and The Pinnacle come to know the deadly significance of…

Critical Mass

EXCERPT:

 Ten minutes later, Carlos pulled onto the shoulder of an unpaved road. After he
and Tab got out, he locked the car and drew a small GPS unit from a cargo pocket
in his BDUs. “Hang on—” He took a few steps to orient the unit, then turned and
strode across the dusty road, boots grinding in the dry gravel. “This way. Just a
short walk, now.”

Tab muttered, “At least we’re not wearing Class As,” before following.

They walked along a deer path through hardwoods and poison ivy when Carlos
heard the same voice he’d spoken with on the radio.

“That’s far enough, Sergeant.”

Carlos turned to see a mound of dirt move and rise into the figure of a man
wearing a ghillie suit of rough, earth-colored rags. “Check’em out, Jenna.”

“Right,” a female behind Carlos answered.

As Carlos spun around, a compact young woman stepped out of the trees in
camo BDUs. What the hell, she wasn’t there a second ago—

Jenna seemed to read his mind. “That’s okay,” she said with a smirk, “I’m a
sneaky little wench when I want to be.” She hummed a random little tune as she
waved a wand that looked like it was made from a curling iron in the air around his
body. A steady static hiss came from a small speaker. She finished with Carlos and
waved it around Tab. “Okay, no bugs, and they came alone.”

“Sergeant Villanueva,” said Jon, “I’ll come right to the point. I want you to
leave us alone. Don’t contact us anymore, and shut down your investigation of
NADIA.”

Carlos looked them up and down for a minute. They didn’t carry any long
weapons, but that didn’t rule out pistols. And the way they were just standing, it
didn’t look like they were in too much of a hurry to use them. But something about
this Jenna woman nagged at him. Maybe it was just the casual, self-confident
smirk she wore. But she was someone he did not want to make mad. All the same,
he felt safe enough to respond honestly to the request to desist. “Can’t do that,
Agent Daniels. I’m under orders to get to the bottom of NADIA. You’ve been
sheltering a known felon and using him to illegally obtain information—”

Jon said, “Are you a cop?”

“Huh?” Carlos’ jaw hung open, caught open in mid-sentence.

“I asked if you’re a cop. It’s a simple question.” Jon removed his hood and stepped closer, looking like a comical cross between Sasquatch and a homeless man with the rags hanging loose from his suit. “A yes or a no will do.”

“No.”

“Then shut down your investigation. It’s a matter for the Justice Department,

not the Army.”

Tab said, “What’s NADIA?”

Jenna stepped up, nose to nose with her. “Who’s asking?”

“The United States Army, on whom you’ve been eavesdropping,” said Carlos.
Jon said, “You could have closed the hole in your firewall.”

“I peeked back through. It led me to you.”

“It’s also going to lead to you getting a bullet in your head, if you dig any
further.”

Carlos felt the hair on his neck stand up. “Is that a threat?”

Jon shook his head. “Not from me, Sergeant. But the enemy has moles
everywhere. For all you know, the one who gave you the orders to find me, may
have done so only so they could take us all out.”

“Don’t you think you’re being just a little paranoid?”

“Do yourself a favor, Villanueva—start checking your superiors for connections to the Global Unification Alliance.”

Jenna whispered in Carlos’ ear, “Chapter Seventeen. Look for it.”

Jon’s brow wrinkled. “I’m sorry, what?”

Jenna stepped back. “Just keeping your ass out of the meat grinder, Jon. Let these guys handle that one.”

“Are we going to have to have a talk when we get back?”

“No, dear.” She gave Jon a sly grin as a flush rose in his face.

Carlos interjected, “So this…group will lead us to NADIA?”

“No, Carlos,” said Jon. “It will lead you away from NADIA.”

“Why?”

Jon looked around, shifted his weight nervously, and heaved a sigh. Rubbing

the back of his neck, he said, “Carlos, you have to trust me. Finding NADIA will
only lead to the last arms race that humanity will ever see.”

Carlos thought for a minute. Was this man actually pleading with him? The
implied threat was that NADIA could potentially destroy the world. The thought
sent a cold chill up Carlos’ spine. But he was duty-bound at least to find out what it
was. “Are you asking me to ignore my orders, then?”

Jon fixed him with a desperate stare. “I’m asking a fellow human to leave well
enough alone, for the sake of all our futures. If NADIA’s secret gets out, no one on
the planet will be safe. We’re trying to make sure the secret dies where no one will
dig it back up. I’m asking you to go beyond your orders, straight to the source of
the problem.”

Jon backed into the forest. “Leave us alone. Drop your investigation.” He slid
the hood back over his head and ducked down, and Carlos could no longer tell
where the undergrowth ended and Jon began. He wasn’t even sure Jon was still
there anymore.

Jenna gave Carlos and Tab one last, penetrating look. “Take some big guns.
You’ll need ’em.” She took off after Jon, so silent Carlos wondered briefly if she
was a ghost.

Tab muttered, “Strange people.”

Carlos whuffed a sigh of relief. “Scared people.”

“What next?”

“Tab, I think we’ll take a look at our own first. I want to see if Daniels’ theory
holds water.” Carlos started back toward the car.

Tab waited a moment before hustling to keep up. “What if he’s right?”

“I hope he’s wrong. On everything. But if he is right, and we’ve got a rat in the
woodpile, we’re all in a heap of trouble. Let’s go, Tab.”

When he took her hand, it was trembling almost as much as his own.

 

Updates and Apologies

Ugh.

It's been a helluva last couple of weeks, folks. Amid all the comings and goings here on Distant Shores and the Keith Household, Linda and I both came down with acute sinusitis. I've never had that before, and I can tell you, it's a party in a can. For a week solid, I ran a fever over 103 degrees. That alone will guarantee you won't feel like doing much, but on top of that, the sinus headaches pretty much had me floored. Hydrocodone became my friend. The week after that, I slept, whenever I wasn't at work. So I appreciate the patience of all who have been waiting for chapters and news on my writing work.

Critical Mass was delayed for a week. My publisher, Greek/Canadian powerhouse Lea Schizas, is not immune to computer crashes, and before the waves calmed down, several files had to be redone. So, again I say thanks for your patience, who have been waiting for my latest release. It's on for February 8th, officially. I'm especially geeked about this release, because it closes out the story of Nadia Velasquez. I really wanted to make sure the story had a full and suitable ending. Series are nice, but some stories need to be told and done.

Speaking of "told and done," this June marks the last installment in the NADIA Project. It's a prequel that sheds more light on everyone's favorite badass beauty, Jenna Paine. I'll have more on that one later. But Jenna fans, this one is especially for you.(my editors agreed it's pretty good, so I think you'll enjoy it especially.)

I'll be ready to go back to work on my current work, Tempus Fugitive, this Monday. My brain, believe it or not, is just coming back around.

You're not going to believe this. I got my final (I hope) rejection letter for Becoming NADIA. I know, I know. Huh? Seriously, it made it to the acquisition editor's desk at DAW, only 20 months after I sent them a notice of withdrawal, six months after I submitted the manuscript to them. It was a nice rejection, though, and I'll probably be subbing something to them in the future. But gimme a break, 26 months to decide if they want to pick up a contract on a new writer? Well, I guess I'm not a new writer anymore, so next time, I'll see if I can get them down to something reasonable, like less than a year.

The last item on the docket this week is good news from a friend: Someone I know has decided enough is enough with the abusive relationship they've been part of for the last several years, and is taking honest-to-God, concrete steps to get the hell out. It does my heart good to see someone avoiding the "professional victim" mentality that goes along with these relationships so often. Fly free, my friend. It's a great big, wonderful world out there. You can do it.

Anyway, that's the skinny on the not-so-skinny writer from Michigan. Everyone stay warm, and we'll catch up next week.

Publishing: To Pay, or Not to Pay?

Back in the early days of my publishing attempts, I found a book in the company book exchange. It was an innocent-looking little tome of about 200 words called "Manuscript Submission" by Scott Edelstein. I'd never heard of the guy, but I picked it up because I was totally lost as to how to get my novel to market, and wanted a springboard.

As it turns out, I recommend that book to anyone who has an interest in getting their work published. I can't begin to list the lessons that have helped me in good stead through the years in generating contacts, getting my foot through the door, and putting together submissions packages.

But the biggest lesson I learned from that book, and from other sources in the publishing industry, is this: There is no substitute for doing your homework on your options. And the first option any writer has is whether to pursue a contract deal or self-publish.

Whether you want to seal a deal with a print publisher, ePublisher, subsidy publisher, or any other type, you need to understand their business model. Most reputable publishers do NOT ask the writer for any money. I say most, because there are self-publishing houses that provide good services to authors for a fee. You must understand what you're walking into before you sign anything. If you are not looking to self-publish in print, you'd better not be paying dime one, unless there is an agreement for cover art and editing services involved. The problem even with most of these deals is, the cover art tends to be copy-and-paste rubber-stamp crap, and the "editing services" tend toward a cursory once-over without any in-depth correction of grammar, spelling, punctuation, etc.

Now, I know Kindle doesn't charge a penny for publishing using their services, and that's a big attractor for authors who don't have the cash resources to invest in professional services to prepare their work for market. They also hear horror stories about publishing houses who give their authors a pittance while the editor-in-chief rakes it in on the backs of the writers.

The truth is, you're going to pay, sooner or later. You either pay for professional cover art and editing before your Kindle version goes live, or you give a portion to your publishing house for providing those services for you. If you self-pub, you will pay a flat fee for those services, and when those are paid off through sales, the rest is your profit. (writing may be an art, but publishing is a business. Remember that). If you sign a contract, the terms of the contract rule. The publisher will pick up the up-front costs for those services in return for a share of your profits. The House will also provide distribution through their own vendors, which generally means a wider exposure than self-publishing, where you are totally on your own.

Look, it's your work. What you do with it is up to you. I'm just tired of seeing writers get taken for a ride by "publishing houses" that make more money from writers than they do from book sales. I'm also tired of seeing writers sell themselves short by rushing work to market that's only half-finished, namely unedited, and them they wallow at the bottom of the list with 20 sales instead of being the best they can be.

As a writer, you can take readers on a ride through whole worlds of your imagination. Don't cut yourself short by skimping on the polishing services you need to complete the work. If you self-pub, get it edited by a professional. It's an investment that can only pay for itself in the long run.

More on Coffee

 

When I was a kid, I never liked coffee. It was just always too bitter for my delicate palate. The Air Force changed all that. Coffee is thicker than blood in the military. If you don't drink it when you enter Boot Camp, you will before you graduate from your career training. At Shaw AFB, my duty station, our section commander and squadron commander had to have their coffee for morning briefing. If it wasn't ready precisely at 7AM, God help you. We had two coffee makers: one 12-cup standard Bunn and one of those metal monsters that might have been the secret entrance to a missile silo. I'm not sure to this day. I just knew the job-controller had to start that one about 5:30 to get it ready for Captain Wright and Colonel Barron.

 You know, I always thought those canteen cups looked like something hospital patients releive themselves in. And why the heck is that guy smiling, anyway? He must have had four cups of Type Four.

At the hangar where I work, about 75% of us are veterans. So it goes to follow that we have four coffee pots, and only one of them brews decaf.

There are four types of coffee. Five if you count that frou-frou stuff with the little green logo on the side of the cup. We'll get to that later.

Type One is Mild Roast, or what we hard-core drinkers like to call "swamp water." I've seen darker brews at Tahquamenon Falls. You can read the printing on the bottom of the cup, and if you swallow real slow, you may be able to taste it before it slides on down your gullet. During spawning season, you might have to be careful a salmon doesn't come up the other way

 

Type Two is Medium Roast, or what we call Jailhouse Coffee. It's a little more robust that Type One. The aroma as it brews is just strong enough to get the attention of junior commissioned officers, who will then circle the coffeemaker in a threatening manner. You might not see the bottom of the cup, but a spoon inserted halfway down will still be visible. Don't worry, if you're worth your salt you haven't washed your cup in three and a half years. The flavor will leech from the sides of your cup and left to sit a couple minutes, the brew will transform into a near equivalent of:

Type Three, or Dark Roast. Vets have a good laugh at this one, especially sergeants. It might be god enough for a Captain, but any enlsted man or hangar mechanic would turn his nose up at it. It's just damned-near unpatriotic to touch it to your lips. If you do, do not tell this man:

 

If I need to tell you why, stick to Type One.


Type Four is Weapons-Grade coffee. Those aren't bubbles, they're eyes. You don't pour this stuff, you just kind of dump it down your gullet. Swallow quick before it gets away. The effect is achieved through a technique known only to sergeants and senior avionics technicians, and involves a process of compressing three times the normal amount of coffee in the brew basket. By the way, the sergeant above? He was white when he enlisted. How did he get that manly tan? Coffee. It's also why his chin strap is on the back of his head.

Now we come to Type Five, which warrants inclusion on the list only by virtue of the fact that the origin of the bean roughly approximates a species of organic material almost similar to, but not quite entirely unlike, a coffee bean (with a bow to Doug Adams). Seriously, what's with all that "mocha-made-my-mama-do-the-decaf" stuff? What would happen if, God Forbid, one actually just ordered "coffee" in one of those stores? Has anyone even dared to try? I just can't bring myself to pay ten bucks for a cuppa anything, either.

 

But dem's da beans.