BLOG-BOMB!!! The victim: L.J. Holmes

Okay, I'm pretty excited this week. Actually, my timing is like a week off here, so bear with me for a mention in passing: Lies and Paine, my upcoming release, is coming up June 14th from MuseItUp Publishing (yay!).Last week, I posted an excerpt, but at that time I didn't have a cover to post. Well, on my birthday, I got cover art. It's on the "my Books" page here, so click on that real quick if you want to see it.

 

The reason I'm not tooting my own horn again this week, is that for a while now, I've wanted to get with my adopted sister at MuseItUp, L. J. Holmes, for an interview. Well, with both of us being busier than a one-legged man in a butt-kicking contest, the interview part will come later.

But I just finished a short work of Lin's, a mini-mystery titled She's Gone.

Guys, you want to get this one. For one, the cover is so intriguing, I couldn't resist being attracted to the story within. It's a short read, only 26 pages, but there's a whole lotta story packed in there. I spent just as much time enjoying the tongue-in-cheek humor as I did the way she drug my heart through the maze of clues left behind as Jon Ross wonders why his beautiful wife has suddenly disappeared-- Right along with every last possession of hers. Don't get in too big a rush to conclude what happened or why, because if there's one thing L.J. has a handle on, it's how to surprise a reader.

Okay, so the main reason I wanted to do this post was to highlight L.J. and hopefully steer some of you toward her work. She just finished her first full-length novel, and shares credits on some stories with her daughter, Kat Holmes. You thought I cranked out some stroies? Holy cow, these two have a fistful of stories published in the time it took me to do four.

Lin has been with MuseItUp since Day One, and was one of the first to welcome me there with open arms. Since then, we've found out just how small the world really is (her brother used to be a pilot for the company for which I work!) We've become pretty close friends since then.

But friendship aside, Her writing style is very easy on the eyes, and the impact her story makes will remain for some time.

Anyway, do yourself a favor and check out L.J.'s work at

http://museituppublishing.com/bookstore/index.php/our-authors/58-our-authors/authors-h/130-author-36374

Scroll down the left side of the page and click on the Author Search. Scroll down again til you find her. I'm pretty sure you'll find something to like.

Coming Soon: Lies and Paine

Greetings, castaways.

This week, I wanted to share with you something special to me. It's the final punctuation placed on my award-winning series The NADIA Project. Someone's story just had to be told to its completion, and I'm sure you all can guess who I'm talking about.

By the time Critical Mass  closes out, you'll either love her or you'll hate her guts. She's everyone's hopeless flirt and loose cannon all rolled into one, whether an angel or demon no one has quite figured out yet.

So without further ado, let's grab a peek at Jenna by way of Lies and Paine:

 

BLURB:

 



Jenna Paine doesn’t know how “special” she really is. Raised by her scientist mother and a Japanese tutor named Mama-San, her special abilities go unnoticed in the hustle and bustle of her schoolwork and training. However, other eyes are watching as well, from behind a veil of secrets. And they have plans for someone with precisely Jenna’s talents. 

In college, she meets a group of people who introduce her to a new vision for world peace, and a way to realize it.  

But when the cost for peace is measured in blood, can Jenna get out before it’s too late?

 

EXCERPT:

Project 14-257. Day 3653. Subject believes she is a normal human child of ten years. Doctor Paine continues on-site monitoring and Dr. Spielberg remains as project head. With additions to staff, project direction shifts from emphasis on normalcy to exploitation of design enhancements. Initial variation of The Turing Test now becomes realization of new human advancement. Modified project completion date Day 7305. Pending success of the remote incubation process (see Project 15-013, pending), project is on target to become our crowning achievement.

* * * *

Workmen came to empty the garage the day after Mama-San moved in. Special equipment arrived the next day on a big truck. Jenna watched them bring in boxes and bags of strange-looking gadgets, the purpose of which she could only guess. Mama-San started slowly, with special games that Jenna liked. She played them with Jenna every day after her homework was done, sometimes into late hours. They started out as a funny kind of slow dance, and when Jenna danced like that, she found she wouldn’t think so much about Daddy. It made it easier to throw herself into the other games, which involved faster moves. Moves that broke things.

Jenna imagined the boards and bricks to be the worst things in her life. She named them as her fists and feet rained shattering blows upon them, smiling in satisfaction at every crunch or crack that rang up her limbs and into her ears. They were Melissa Wheaton, who whispered behind Jenna’s back at school all day, calling her “freak” and “loser” for her eyes, larger and sharper than everyone else’s. They were Ricky Blanton, who had picked on Jenna every day since first grade. They were Cancer, who took her daddy away and put him in the ground.

One day Mama-San handed Jenna a package wrapped in a red scarf. When Jenna undid the string, on the silk lay a coarse wool belt, as black as night. And wound in the belt, pure and bright, lay a beautiful red candy. She was so overjoyed, she threw her arms around the woman’s waist and squeezed until Mama-San’s gentle hands pulled her loose. When she looked up, Mama-San stood beaming with pride. “You have done well, Sakana-Chan. I’m so proud of you!”

 

“I want to show Mother!” Jenna took off at a run. She found her mother on the phone with Dr. Spielberg, talking about research notes and some boring new project Mother had become involved in.

Mother held a finger up as Jenna approached, breathless. “Anna, put Petr on. I have a piece of my mind for him.” She put a hand over the mouthpiece long enough to say to Jenna, “Hold just a moment. Wait in the living room.”

Jenna retreated obediently and sat on the couch until Mother entered, rubbing her head. “I swear that man is going to be the death of me yet.”

“Here, Mother. Mama-San gave me this.” Jenna stood and laid the belt reverently across her mother’s arm.

Mother held it up. “Well, isn’t that lovely. I take it there is some sort of significance to it?”

A swell of pride grew in Jenna’s chest. “It’s for taekwondo. It means I can teach now.”

“That’s lovely, dear. Is your homework done?”

“Mama-San just wanted to take a few minutes—“

“Mama-San should be helping you with your math, dear. Homework first. Play later.” She handed the belt back to Jenna and walked out, speaking over her shoulder as she left. “I’ll call when dinner’s ready.”

Jenna stood frozen, her first black belt suddenly heavy in her arms. She looked down at it. She’d thought it was special, the way Mama-San handed it to her all wrapped in the beautiful scarf and tied with a ribbon. But Mother didn’t seem to think it was. She just turned and left.

Jenna’s hand dropped. On the way down, she brushed her pocket. Reaching in, she brought out her confirmation. The red candy glowed in the light of the corner lamp. That made the belt special. She brought the candy to her mouth, preparing to pop it in, but hesitated just at her lips. It was special. Should she really eat it so quickly, after working so hard to earn it? Just getting a red piece was too rich a reward to squander on a moment’s pleasure.

She’d lost count of the green candies Mama-San had given her for each skill learned. After the first few pieces, she quit eating the green candy. They went into the trash when she thought Mama-San wasn’t looking. She didn’t want the green candy, dammit. She wanted red.

No, this was special. She carried her new prizes upstairs to her bedroom. The candy she placed on her bookshelf with trembling, careful fingers. Then she undid the white student’s belt from her gi and wrapped the black one around her waist. She stood back to look at herself in the mirror on the back of her door. The girl in the looking glass stared back with a new kind of strength Jenna Paine never thought could be there. She took a wide stance and threw a series of lightning punches into the air, finishing with a side kick that stopped just short of the fragile mirror. Then, carefully extending her toes, Jenna touched the glass before lowering her leg again with a smile.

Okay, Mama-San. What’s next?

On Publishing: Contracts

Fellow Castaways,

This week, let's talk about contracts. I know several of you have elected to go the independent route and self-publish (I trust you had professional editing services. Please tell me you did), but sooner or later, even you will encounter a contract.

Victorine Lieske, the self-publishing champion and mentor to all prospective Indies, related to us at the critique site some time ago, that her novel Not What She Seems hit the NYT Best-Seller list for eBooks. Yay, Vicki. Lo and behold, she was approached by not one, not two, but three different agencies desiring to represent her book to the Big Six publishing Houses, and correct me if I'm wrong, Vicki, but wasn't there talk of a movie deal as well?

Anyway, as a writer, even an independent one, you will need to have some insight on contracts. Now, I'm not a contract or IP attorney, but I've seen a few contracts, being a contract-published author, and have gathered some knowledge from other pros about what terms to look for and what red flags to watch for. Mainly because I damn near fell victim to several scams in my search for a publisher for my work, and so many writers even now are settling for pathetic terms in contracts, because they don't know what they don't know. So let's look at some things on contract terms here:

1.) Rights. When the publisher talks about rights, they will be specific about what rights they are negotiating with you. No publisher should demand copyright. That's yours, 100%, no matter what. That's not to say someone won't try to wangle it out of you in the contract. Copyright is what makes the work yours. NEVER give it up. Period. That would be a deal-killer for me.

The rights a publisher wants are the publication rights. That's a world different from copyright. They want the exclusive right to publish and distribute your work. That's perfectly reasonable.

2.) Format. The contract should be specific about which formats are up for negotiation. The three current formats are eBook, print, and audio. If the contract only covers one format, guess what? The other formats are open to their own contract terms, with anyone else! My publisher sends me two contracts to sign: One for the eBook, and another separate contract for the print version. They don't distribute audiobook, so I am free to negotiate terms for an audio version on my own. Read carefully, though. Your publisher may specify "any and all formats" in one contract. That would raise a red flag for me. It may not be a deal-killer, but I'd read the rest very carefully indeed.

3.) Length of term. The contract should specify a set time span, and it better damn well not be "for term of copyright." Seriously? You want to be roped into a contract until 70 years after you die? My publisher specifies a 3-year term. At the end of that three years, we either renew by mutual consent, or terminate the contract, with publication rights reverting to me (after issuance of a letter of release from the publisher). Some publishers ask for five years, others for seven. I wouldn't go any longer than seven. Seven years is a long time to be stapled to one deal.

4.) Terms of termination. You need to see specific conditions listed under which the contract may be terminated. What if the publisher goes out of business? What if you die? What if a Hrung chooses to collapse on Earth? You need to know these things. You need an "out" as well as the publisher. They may want to cut you loose if you don't "pay out" on your first print run. They may even want their advance back. In some cases, that may be a considerable sum.

Those are the "Big Things" to look for, but there may be more. For an excellent example, go to The Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America website: http://www.sfwa.org/category/sample-contracts/

The more you know, the more powerful you are. Don't get taken in by scam artists.

Excerpt: Critical Mass

This week I want to share an excerpt from my latest work, just released in February. Critical Mass closes out the full-length novels of The NADIA Project, and some readers have told me it's the best one of the three. Now, next month, I have a novella coming out, Lies and Paine, that fills out the story behind everyone's favorite kick-ass anti-heroine.

This scene from Critical Mass sets up a little picture of Jenna and Jimmy. You can check out the book at tinyurl.com/cm-novel

Jimmy sat on the porch, watching the dull routine of the afternoon in front of
him. The air commandos not on guard sat in the shade of Nadia’s lawn for lunch,
weapons within easy reach. Those on duty at the detention shacks stood their
watches, ever vigilant against any attempted breakout. The occasional fly or wasp
buzzed by, its hypnotic drone lulling the man in the wooden chair. The pain med
Watts had given him was just starting to do its work, and the ache in Jimmy’s
shoulder was finally at a tolerable level. But on the downside, that warm, sleepy
feeling Jimmy hated so much was just beginning to creep in and steal the rest of
his afternoon.

The old warrior’s eyes had just drifted shut when the screen door opened with a
protest of springs. The steps on the porch were light and favored one side. The soft
scent in his nostrils confirmed the identity of the other party. “Afternoon, Miss
Paine,” he mumbled through the painkiller’s haze. Another smell, cool and yeasty,
wafted to him and he held out a hand to receive the cold bottle offered, his eyes
still closed.

He couldn’t resist his own grin at the smile in her voice. “You must have sonar,
you old coot.” The chair next to Jimmy’s creaked as Jenna settled into it. She
clinked her bottle against his and took a pull.

The first swallow went down good, so he took a second before speaking.
“How’s the leg?”

“Better, thanks. A little stiff, but I can work with it.”

“Good. Wouldn’t want ya to miss out just ’cause ya got a little hitch in your
git-along.”

“Jimmy, I wouldn’t miss this if I had a whole leg off.”

“Big deal, eh?

Jenna looked out at the yard for a while before answering. “They lied to me. I
don’t like being lied to.”

“But do you still believe in what they want? World unity and Kumbaya, and all
that crap?”

Jenna tensed and clenched her jaw at the offhand remark. “When you kill
someone, what do you feel?”

Jimmy bristled at the question. “You’re kidding, right?” Feel? How the hell am
I supposed to feel? What kind of stupid questions was that?

Jenna’s eyes narrowed with passion. “I want to know what you feel when you
pull a trigger and put a bullet into another person, and let their life spill out. In
whose name did you do it? Yours? Your country’s? And how did it solve
anything?” She looked away. “That wasn’t even enough, was it? You had to teach
others how to kill, too. For a border. An imaginary line on a map.”

She paused long enough to take a swallow. “So before you label someone’s
beliefs as ‘crap,’ just think about what it felt like every time you killed someone
for that imaginary line.”

The hair stood up on Jimmy’s neck. I swear, if you were a man, I’d pin your
ears back… As it was, there was no way he was going to let that one go. It had
been a long time since he needed to shift into sergeant mode, but the shift was as
smooth as his last class of recruits.

“Young lady.” He struggled through gritted teeth. “I didn’t kill anyone for a
line. I killed to save an idea. That idea was that free men should be able to defend
themselves from oppression and tyranny and help other men to live free as well.
Them poor jackwagons who stood in the way of that idea were the ones I killed.
And to tell you the truth, I don’t feel a damned thing for ’em. That line on the map
you’re goin’ on about is the line that says, ‘on this side you’re free to choose your
own destiny.’ And I’ll spill as much blood as I have to to make sure it stays where
it’s at.”

Jimmy sniffed and set his bottle on the small table between them. “Look at
you, giving me the ‘baby-killer’ speech. How many bodies have you left behind?
Why don’t you tell me what you felt when you stood over the bodies of the people
you laid out for a lie?”

He gave her a cold smile then and watched the steel in her eyes melt away. “I’ll
grant you, hon, you ain’t any worse than me. But you sure as hell ain’t any sight
better.”

Leaning his chair back, he said, “Now, I’d be willin’ to bet your vision for this
earth ain’t too far from mine. We just ended up thinkin’ about it from some
different places.” He fixed her eyes again with his. “I do know if I’d have had a
half-dozen more of you on my team, we’d have buried less of our boys and more
of theirs.”

Jenna broke her gaze away and looked across the yard. In the silence that
followed, Jimmy imagined he could hear the gears working inside her head. He
just hoped that, whatever she decided in the end about whatever it was she was
pondering, it wouldn’t affect her edge when it came down to brass knuckles and
billy clubs.

Things were going to get bad enough as it was.

What's "Left Wing" Anyway?

You guys have put up with me going on and on about the dangers of left-wing thinking. Well, I guess it's about time we explored exactly what "Left Wing" and "Right Wing" mean, and do some comparisons. But first comes first: Thank you all for tuning in to the blog and putting up with me.

The terms come from the French Nationalist Assembly (pre-revolution) in the late 1700's. The more conservative members sat on the right side of the chamber, led by the nobles. The left side was occupied by the more revolutionary and liberal members. The terms just kind of stuck throughout the years, and have come to generally mean the contrast between liberal and conservative schools of thought.

Conservatives in general desire less government involvement in business, fewer regulations and less government spending. In social circles, they favor a more pro-family stance, pro-faith (Judeo-Christian) and the values commensurate with those faiths. The accusations conservatives usually face are these: Being pro-Judeo-Christian values automatically means hatred of anyone not a Christian or a Jew. Being pro-business automatically means being desirous of environmental destruction. Being for limited government automatically means kids and old people starve and die from medical neglect, and being pro-family automatically means hatred of anything else.

Now, all you folks who define yourselves as liberal, feel free to correct me. I'm actually going to try to be fair in my analysis her (I know, I can hear the gasps). Liberals in general desire more government involvement in business, for purposes of "fairness." No one gets a Cadillac until everyone has a Prius. They call themselves the "Party of tolerance" and decry any definition of standards applied to the terms "family." Faith is something you either have or you don't. It doesn't matter; it's between you and your god or gods. Moral absolutes are outmoded and unenlightened. And Mankind is the worst thing that ever happened to Planet Earth. The accusations most often leveled at liberals are these: They are the "Party of Tolerance" for anyone except Jews and Christians, and anyone who doesn't forcefully agree with them. They are accused of being for "Big Government" regulations at the cost of individual liberty for the good of all.The Government is our "Sugar Daddy" who takes care of us, feeds us, gives us jobs, and makes sure Mother Nature is protected.

Here's the dangerous part of Liberal thinking: The roots of the Modern Liberal Movement originate in Communism.

I took the liberty of download and reading the Communist Manifesto by Karl Marx and Freiderich Engels, and I found some disturbing parallels.

Communists have declared that a state of class warfare exists bewteeen two groups defined as "the proletariat" and "the bourgeoisie." The proletariat are anyone who works for a paycheck. The bourgeoisie are anyone who signs that paycheck.

They demand the abolition of personal property by "the bourgeoisie," again defining the bourgeois as anyone who strives to make more than anyone else. Any private property owned by the bourgeoisie are to be confiscated by The State. They don't specify what gets done with it after that. I wonder if Marx and Engels counted on becoming "The State."

Communists also stand for a steeply graded, progressive tax on income. It's not about simply supporting government, which our Constitution specifies. Taxation is about "making things equal." Let me ask you now, which American political party stands for this type of tax structure? Which party has declared class warfare?

Communists demand the dissolution of the traditional family. The State should raise children. Marriage is an outmoded tradition. No relational exclusivity need exist. All women are commonly available to anyone and everyone (How do you feel about that one, ladies?). "It takes a village to raise a child." That wasn't a quote from the Manifesto, but someone prominent in politics has said that. And our public school system has been steadily edging out parents as the final authority in children's' lives.

In fact, here are the ten points from The Communist Manifesto in bullet-point (I'm quoting directly from the manifesto):

1. Abolition of property in land and application of all rents of land to public purposes.
2. A heavily progressive or graduated income tax.
3. Abolition of all rights of inheritance.
4. Confiscation of the property of all emigrants and rebels.
5. Centralization of credit in the hands of the State, by means of a national bank with State capital and an exclusive monopoly.
6. Centralization of the means of communication and transport in the hands of the State.
7. Extensions of factories and instruments of production owned by the State; the bringing into cultivation of waste-lands, and the improvement of the soil generally in accordance with a common plan.
8. Equal liability of all to labour. Establishment of industrial armies, especially for agriculture.
9. Combination of agriculture with manufacturing industries; gradual abolition of the distinction between town and country, by a more equable distribution of the population over the country.
10. Free education for all children in public schools. Abolition of children's factory labour in its present form Combination of education with industrial production, etc, etc, etc.

Does anyone remember Pol Pot's regime? The Soviet Union? The Cultural Revolution under Mao? Not only is Communism a train wreck as an economic and political system (The Communists themselves claim that it is a political system, as the state "the struggle of the proletariat against the bourgeoisie is a political struggle."

The only things that Communism breed are universal poverty and the deaths of millions. Stalin was responsible for 24 million deaths in his purges, but it was Hitler whom everyone remembers. Pol Pot's wonderful attempts at Point 9 were exposed in a book called The Killing Fields.

This is "The Left," folks. It's dangerous, it's wrong, and it's a miserable failure. It's just too bad we have so many in Washington who think it only failed because they haven't tried it yet.

Please, in our desire to serve the common good, can we simply use common sense and human compassion, and not worry so much that someone else makes more money than us? In other words, let's be Human beings.

Wait...What wing was that again?

Oh, people, please forgive me, but this won't stay in.

This week was a horrible one in U.S. history. On Wednesday, this article came up:
http://news.yahoo.com/whos-behind-boston-marathon-bombings-4-theories-070000129.html

Notice how everyone jumps on the "Right Wing Extremist" phrase? Notice there's no mention of "Left Wing Extremists" anywhere in the article?

Let's look at some of history's "Right Wing" favorites, and where they really stood:

Time McVeigh is everyone's first favorite "Right Winger." I mean, he was a member of the Michigan Militia, right? Aren't they "Right Wing Extremists?" Not so fast. McVeigh was kicked out of the MM. He also was a militant atheist and he quit the NRA because they didn't take a strong enough stance on guns. He supported the legalization of marijuana. How does any of that equate to a being a conservative?

Next favorite "Right Wing" Boogey-Man: The Tea Party. Yes, Tea Party people are conservative. But how many bombs have they planted? They stand and hold signs, pray, and stand for less government and less taxes. They've never shot anyone. The one time someone tried to label them as racists, it was later revealed that rabble-rousers had been deliberately planted in the crowd to shout racist slogans and call black people n*****rs in front of cameras. The Tea Party discusses the Constitution and works through the election process to achieve their goals. How is that extreme? Can anyone tell me what violence has been perpetrated by them? Anyone? Beuller?

Next in line are the Nazis. Right Wing? Seriously? Did you know that "Nazi" was short for Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei (The National Socialist German Workers' Party)? Right Wing? Not as a socialist, you don't. These guys were on the left, very solidly so. So why do conservatives get called "Nazis?" Riddle me this, Batman. I think maybe it's because it's such a hateful term, and conservatives are accused of hating anything with which they disagree. Liberal socialists are never Nazis, are they? 

Has everyone forgotten the Weather Underground? The Earth Liberation Front? The Black Panthers? The Symbianese Liberation Army? The Sandanistas? The Communists under Lenin, Stalin, and
Khrushchev? These ain't "Right Wing" by any stretch of the imagination, folks.

So seriously, what "wing" is behind the most violent, murderous, hate-filled actions and rhetoric of the past century, and how is it that the conservative Right have to take the rap for it?

The Russian brothers who bombed the marathon simply did not fit the "Right Wing" mold. As a matter of fact, no one who would perpetrate such a horrid act would. But with the current propaganda machine rolling along, will enough people believe that to make a difference?

That's the question of the hour.

The Abdication of Leadership

This week there was a story on Yahoo! News that made my blood run cold. Here it is:

http://news.yahoo.com/dad-furious-finding-crayon-written-paper-florida-4th-124614291.html

For those who clicked on the link, skip to the next paragraph. For those who did not, the crux is this: A fourth-grader came home with a crayon-scrawled note in his own hand, dictated to him by his teacher: "I am willing to give up some of my constitutional rights in order to be safer or more secure."

Now, let's give the teacher in question the benefit of the doubt, and say she was just trying to make a point. Benjamin Franklin said, "Any society that would give up a little liberty to gain a little security will deserve neither and lose both."

He's right. Unfortunately, our current society is taking exactly the opposite bent. Don't have a job? The government has programs to provide your income. Welfare and unemployment insurance guarantee an income if you lose your job or are unable to work. There's also heating assistance for the winter months, utility assistance for electricity and gas if you can't pay your bills. There's WIC for food assistance, social security for when we get old, Medicare, Medicaid, Obamacare, housing assistance, school lunch programs, Obamaphones... There's a government program for just about everything.

It's become so easy to just depend on our government. I mean, after all, they are there to give us a safety net, right? To make sure we all succeed? And anyone who doesn't support every one of these programs hates old people, and would throw their grandma off a cliff. They want to starve children and kick Aunt Martha out onto the street. Anyone who even voices a doubt about a single entitlement program wants people to get sick and die. Sure, some people are going to work the system simply because they are lazy or think the world owes them something, but those "safety nets" are so essential, it's worth selling your children and grandchildren into slavery just to keep them going.

Right?

Look at this from a common sense approach: No one wants to see people get sick and die. No one wants children to go hungry. We all care. We just don't all see the same solution.

But the fact is, when you sign on to to government program, you give the government one more degree of control over your life. Housing assistance? Sure, but you will live in a government housing project. And we all know those are high-quality buildings, well-maintained and in good neighborhoods with excellent schools. Like Cabrini Green. Anyone remember a show called Good Times? Food assistance? Sure, there's WIC (Women/Infants/Children). But you can only buy items that we (the government) approve. And let's look at something else: Those programs are so overburdened by fraud, waste and abuse, the benefits that actually get to the people who need them don't amount to a fart in a whirlwind. And that doesn't even account for the "administrative fees" that get siphoned off somewhere between the tax input and Aunt Martha's checking account. From the latest figures, only about 30 cents of each dollar actually does the job it's intended to do. That's a pathetic return of investment, not to mention the "robber baron" policies of uneven taxation involved to fund these worthless boondoggles.

Yes. I said "return of investment." After all, I can because Nancy Pelosi used the phrase "investment in our future" countless times in her campaign to raise taxes for her "balanced approach." Harry Reid cited the exact same talking point. So these programs are "an investment." Can someone tell me what the return is that these investments are reaping, besides more widespread poverty and dependence on programs? Right now, as I right this, 1/6 of our country is living below the poverty level. More people are on food stamps and WIC than any other time in our history. One in eleven eligible workers is unemployed or can't get enough work hours to pay their bills. And the government's answer is "Tax more, spend more!"

Why not? It worked in France, didn't it? It worked in Greece, and in England. I don't see what all those riots and demonstrations are about. I mean, all we lost was our international credit rating. Not to worry; China is buying our debt. Just because they are our potential deadly enemies and want to destroy us economically doesn't mean a thing.

When you owe someone, you become their servant. That debt hangs over your head like a club, and as long as you owe the other, you have to do what they tell you. Don't you think even for a second that those programs we depend on, that we receive from, are debt?

Our turn to pay the piper is coming, people. We'll be lucky if we only end up where Greece is. If you keep bleeding the host, sooner or later it dies. Then where are your programs? What good is then debating about the loss of our security vs our liberty, after we lose both?

Can we wake up before it's too late? I certainly hope so

When Plot Lines Attack!

I had a plot. I really did.

 

I had this awe-inspiring idea for a time-travel thriller about a guy who jumps back and pops Adolf Hitler, saving six million Jews in the bargain. Of course, then it would cause the Nazis to win WWII and then I would have to send him back in time to stop himself from killing Hitler, and it would be this killer chase across time, and there would be tears and thrills and deep questions about whether we should be screwing around with the past.

But then, disaster struck.

My plot exploded.

It all started with a guy at work who asked me to use him in one of my books. He wanted to be a psycho serial murderer, and volunteered to get popped in grand fashion in the book. So I looks at 'im oncet' and I say, "Lemme see wut Ah kin do." It turns out, I happen to need a serial murderer to set up my anti-hero's character, you know. Just something to whet the plot line, so to speak.


So I start in on the chapter, and I stall. HARD. Weeks go by, and I can't get through what needs to get done. Just find the guy and kill him, already. But no. The line won't just run from Point A to Point B.

Now, I', basically a Plotter. I usually come up with a rough outline, not like Point A, B, C, etc. More of a Point A, Point F, Point M, Point T, and Point Z, and I give the plot some freedom in the middle to do what it wants. The main thing is, I try to keep the line going through my main points, and end at Point Z.

This time, it turns out, my muse rebelled.

 

 Now my secondary character has taken over and declared itself The New Boss. I fought to out it back in the box, all to no avail. At least I get to keep my title: Tempus Fugitive will now feature the chase in a more traditional order, but with fewer sociopathic tyrants, and more serial killers. One less World War, to be replaced by one more personal.

Sure, I could force the book back in line. But would it be anything close to acceptable? The best I could hope for in that case would be two hundred or so pages of sheer drivel. Real writing, to me, is a cooperative effort between me and my muse. I think most you you may agree.

 

So my book is turning into something other than what I originally intended. At this point, I need to rethink my real aim: to write the story I set out to write, or let the story become its own definition of brilliant?

I think you know the answer.

At least my muse hasn't demanded I shave the beard.

Coming Soon to Paperback: Unalive

Greetings, fellow castaways.

This has been an amazingly good year for the Keith Household, and we thank our maker copiously for his abundant blessings.

We actually managed to NOT have anyone die, have a stroke or heart attack, have major surgery, lose a home, lose a vehicle, or anything else in the Annual January Blegh Attack. That's the first time a major catastrophe has not stricken our family in January or February since 1985. I'm not exaggerating, folks. I won't go into the graphic details, but suffice to say this is turning out to be a pretty good year.

Becoming NADIA, my debut novel, has been selling well in paperback. And here's the awesome news:

This June, it will be joined in print by its sequel, Unalive. Is anyone else out there as geeked as I am? I think, as much as the fact that I can hold it in my hands, I'm overwhelmed by the positive response from my readers. I have people asking, "When is the sequel coming to paperback?" Here I am, three novels published in eBook format in international markets, a novella coming out this June as well, and I'm still stricken with perma-grin with every new contract, every new step forward in my writing career. I just can't help it.

Anyway, this week I want to share with you an excerpt from Unalive, for those who are still waiting for the paperback.

The cover is by Delilah K. Stephans. Editing was by Fiona Young-Brown and Greta Gunselman. Gotta give credit where credit is due, BTW. ;-)

Anyway, go ahead and check it out if you haven't already. I think you'll like it.

BLURB:

In the second installment of The NADIA Project, the potential stakes are raised even higher.

The lab where Nadia was built is no more. But when The Pinnacle strikes back at the

government agencies trying to crack its secrets, a horrible truth emerges: The evil cabal of

kingmakers is still building living weapons of mass destruction somewhere on the globe.

Jon Daniels and Nadia Velasquez must find the lab and stop it before a new wave of terror

erupts across the world. In order to succeed, though, they must get through The Pinnacle’s most

deadly weapon: Jenna Paine.

All who stand between evil and the innocent are two ancient warriors, a misfit genius, a

rogue FBI agent, and a living antimatter bomb named NADIA.

EXCERPT:

The limousine parked across the end of the boardwalk with its doors open. The driver, a

huge Samoan, stood to one side, his hands folded in front of him. Jenna didn’t recognize him;

she didn’t necessarily expect their usual driver on a moment’s notice, but something in the way

he just stood there… Jenna stepped forward, in front of Anna and Sofi. Something was wrong.

The car blocked the end of the boardwalk with no room to get around it. A quick scan of the

trees and the other bungalows in the direct area revealed no direct threats, but this whole scene

stank.

“Anna,” she said quietly, trying not to move her lips, “I’m too late; I’m sorry. Get ready to

drop the bags and follow me, okay?”

Anna’s face paled. Sofi stood, silent and blank.

Suddenly, Jenna heard the whisper of a stirring in the water underneath their bungalow.

Then another, and another. She dropped her burden and drew the SIG from its holster. “Run for

the car!” she shouted, and charged the driver, who was drawing his own weapon. She shot him in

center-mass before he could drop behind the limo. The strike of her bullet knocked off his own

aim, and his shot went wide. He went down in the dirt on the far side of the car.

Behind her, Jenna heard a cry of surprise from Anna, and turned to see a man in a wetsuit

advancing along the boardwalk from the bungalow with an SKS assault rifle. She blew his head

open with a shot that hit him between his eyes, and swung the SIG to fire again at a third attacker

who opened up from the cover of the bungalow. Anna cried out in pain as her arm spouted red.

Jenna’s shot missed the man and spanged off the corner of the building. He shrieked as splinters

sprayed into his eyes.

“I said run, dammit! Go!” Jenna screamed. Anna finally started forward. Sofi froze at the

sight of her mother’s blood pouring down her wounded arm. Jenna had to drop out of her combat

stance to grab the small girl and drag her down the boardwalk to the car.

A bullet snapped through the air next to her head and she fired one-handed and off-balance

at the last diver emerging from around the bungalow. The shot missed. He ducked back around

the corner. She threw Sofi into the back seat of the limousine. Anna made it to the car just before

Jenna slammed the door, securing them behind the bulletproof glass. She spun back around as

another bullet pinged off the armored window.

Jenna vaulted over the hood of the car and landed on top of the driver, who had managed to

crawl into a defilade behind the front of the car. Wounded the giant man was, but far from

disabled, even with a .45 round in his belly. He grabbed her ankle as she came down and she

sprawled clumsily onto the sand. The SIG dropped from her hand as she lost her balance.

She hit hard on one knee and he was on top of her in a flash, whipping open a butterfly knife

as he pinned her down by sheer weight. One of Jenna’s hands was pinned behind her back as she

landed, and the driver grabbed her free wrist as he brought the knife down at her chest.

Jenna rolled under him before he could complete the thrust. The blade stabbed down into the

sand. The hand behind her back came free as she rolled, and she thrust her thumb into his eye.

He rose up and dropped the knife with a cry. She wriggled free and tried to get to her feet, but a

huge, wildly-swung fist caught her between the shoulder blades. She flew through the air,

landing on her face in the sand. He was on her again before she could get her breath back. He

grabbed her and rolled her over. She saw his face, a mask of hate and rage, as he swung a fist at

her face.

Jenna brought up an arm and blocked the blow, redirecting it across her attacker’s body, and

she rolled again as he came down on top of her with all his weight. She carried the roll through

like a human ballbearing and threw him off her. She found herself suddenly free enough to get

up. Staggering back against the side of the limo, Jenna caught her breath as the driver fought his

way to his feet. Jenna scanned the area, finding the knife and her pistol lying in the sand a meter

from each other.

As she dove for the pistol, a burst of automatic fire erupted on the other side of the car.

Bullets ricocheted off the armored window as the last gunman emptied his magazine at Anna and

Sofi. Jenna grabbed the SIG, snap-rolled up, and popped off two shots over the top of the car.

The first round hit him in the face, the second ripped through his neck, and he collapsed in a gory

heap on the boardwalk. The distraction was enough. The huge Samoan freight-trained her from

the side and sent her flying again, knocking the gun loose.

This time when she hit, she had enough sideways momentum to roll up into a kneeling

position as he charged again. He had size and reach; Jenna had speed and training. She dodged

another ham-sized fist and closed inside his defenses before he could follow up. She punched

him twice in the groin as he reached down to grab her, and he grunted and dropped. As he came

down, her hand came up, driving his nasal bone into his brain. He hit the ground and lay

quivering as the sand around his head and chest blossomed red.

Jenna struggled to her feet. Pain wracked her body. She staggered to the limousine and

opened the back door. Anna’s face was pale, and she was barely conscious. Sofi bawled in terror

as she held her hands over the wound in Anna’s left upper arm. It didn’t do much good. Her

mother’s blood still ran freely down, soaking her blouse, covering Sofi’s tiny hands and the car

seat.

“Hang on, honey, let me find something,” Jenna panted. She found the driver’s butterfly

knife lying in the sand and cut a shirtsleeve from his body. She quickly fashioned a pressure

bandage and stuck the folded knife into the wrappings, winding it around twice to tighten the

bandage and put additional pressure on the wound. She used another strip of cloth to secure the

knife handle. She gently lay Anna down on the floor and put her feet up on the seat to treat for

shock. Then she checked on Sofi.

The little girl was covered in her mother’s blood, trembling uncontrollably as she cried. She

didn’t have any open wounds, but she also was going into shock. Jenna tried to take her out of

the back seat, but she couldn’t get Sofi to let go of her mother. So Jenna tried a different

approach. “Sofi, listen to me! Can you understand me, honey?” Sofi stopped crying and nodded,

but the fright in her expression remained. “Sofi, I need you to hold tight onto your mom, okay?

I’m going to get you to a hospital, and I need you to help Mommy stay awake, all right? Don’t

let her go to sleep. Do you understand me?” Once again, Sofi nodded.

Jenna picked up her SIG before she got into the driver’s seat and turned the key. God knew

what might be between them and the hospital.

Great News!!!

I am officially on "the ride" now.

My first novel, the award-winning Becoming NADIA, is in available paperback as well as all eBook formats. I ordered twenty copies to sell personally, and lo and behold, they sold in a week. I ordered more, and since last Friday, I've sold about half of that one as well. Needless to say, it's pretty exciting.

 

There's only one thing that pretty, popular TV reporter Nadia Velasquez is missing: her memory from before the explosion that killed everyone else in the room, including the President of Nigeria. But from the moment she meets FBI agent Jon Daniels, all hell breaks loose. Friends turn into deadly enemies overnight, and she has no idea who she can trust anymore.

When Jon and Nadia investigate further, they discover the living terror that is the truth behind Nadia's existence, a truth that could mean the death of millions.

Oooo, sounds cool, doesn't it? Seriously, I had a load of fun writing it, and I haven't yet heard anyone tell me they regretted buying it. And believe me, my friends all let me know if they don't like something. I'm so pushy about everything I like, they got sick of saving my feelings a long time ago. Anyway, if you want to check out more, click here.

Last week, I signed the print contract for my second book, Unalive. It's the sequel to Becoming NADIA, and the second installment in the series The NADIA Project.

 

In the second installment of The NADIA Project, the potential stakes are raised even higher. The lab where Nadia was built is no more. But when The Pinnacle strikes back at the government agencies trying to crack its secrets, a horrible truth emerges: The evil cabal of kingmakers is still building living weapons of mass destruction somewhere on the globe.

Jon Daniels and Nadia Velasquez must find the lab and stop it before a new wave of terror erupts across the world. In order to succeed, though, they must get through The Pinnacle's most deadly weapon: Jenna Paine.

All who stand between evil and the innocent are two ancient warriors, a misfit genius, a rogue FBI agent, and a living antimatter bomb named NADIA

 You know what the first response from the guys at the hangar was? "How do I get her phone number?" Oh, I can definitely agree that the girl my cover artist chose was a PERFECT Jenna, wouldn't you? We ramped up the action and suspense to a level that is not kind to those with heart conditions, and we threw in a few more surprises, just to tease.

The print release comes out this June, so look for it. Check out a free taste here. Go ahead. Click the link. You know you really want to.

I will say this: I'm a bit of a prude. Yes, I feature a fair amount of violence in my work. But it's all central to the plot, and I think it has a redeeming value in the end. I don't write graphic sex, and I keep the language within comfortable range for teens and up. I just think that literature should be available to as wide an audience as I can make it, without a parent blushing about their kids reading it. Granted, some of my bad guys are really good people, and some of my good guys treat each other like the southern end of a northbound elephant. But that all goes toward raising questions like "What really is the difference between Good and Evil?" and "What makes a person, a person?"

Anyway, I'm sure my third book (the final installment in the series, titled Critical Mass) will be coming to print as well. Check that one out here. 

 

Thanks again for letting me go on. It really is quite a ride, this whole "published" thing.  And I'm going to take Neal Gaimann's advice. I'm going to enjoy it while I can.