FEATURED AUTHOR: KEVIN D. MILLER

ABOUT THE BOOK

A megalomaniac god is pursuing a millennia-old vendetta, and Leif must learn to wrangle a newly awakened power to either become a hero or a villain. He will leave his old life and run from creatures he believed were reserved for myth and legend. He travels across the realms while struggling to tame the blinding rage that comes with his new demi-god like power. Will Leif survive the intra-realm quest and prevent Ragnarok or will he fail to control his awakening.



Book Details:

Title: Awakening
Author: Kevin D. Miller

 
Genre: high fantasy, dark fantasy, mythology, action and adventure

Series: The Berserker Chronicles, book 1
Publisher: Bifrost Books (December 5, 2020)

Print length: 336 pages

INTERVIEW WITH KEVIN D. MILLER

Where’s home for you?

I live in Redlands, California.  

Where did you grow up?
I grew up in Palm Desert, California.

Who would you pick to write your biography? 
Jim Butcher, he is one of my favorite author’s and a truly amazing writer.   


Have you been in any natural disasters?
I don’t know if this counts, but all my life I have lived near the San Andreas Fault. Due to being so close I have been in numerous earthquakes, some of them quite big on the Richter scale.


What choices in life would you like to have a redo on?
I would change several of the college courses I took. Instead of choosing  easy classes, I would pick those courses that would better help me in my adult life.



What makes you nervous?
The thought of undiscovered typos in my book Awakening. 


What makes you happy?
Spending time with my girlfriend, Amy and our two dogs Pepper and Riley.

Do you have another job outside of writing?
Yes, I am a practicing attorney.

Who are you?
That’s a deep question. I am still learning who I am. Up until three years ago, I didn't even know I wanted to be an author.

If you could only save one thing from your house, what would it be?
My dogs.

What’s one of your favorite quotes? 
This isn’t exactly a famous quote or anything, but I always ask myself “Why not,” when I am considering doing something new. Why not writing a book. Why not write a series. Why not learn a new skill.  It helps reinforce for me the notion that no one is stopping me from doing what I want to do. I just have to push past the initial nerves of trying something and possibly failing. But the possibility of failure shouldn’t stops me from trying. So, why not?

If you could live anywhere in the world, where in the world would it be?
Kyoto, Japan. I absolutely love Japan and Japanese culture. I’ve been to Japan twice and plan to go again next summer. I studied Japanese history in college and even wrote my college thesis on ancient Japan. I loved being there. The food is delicious, the country is beautiful and everyone is so nice. If I could, I would sell all my stuff and move there tomorrow.

How did you create the plot for this book?
I came up with the initial idea for Awakening while watching the opening scene from the first episode of The History Channel TV show Vikings. After the initial inspiration, I mentally story-boarded my idea until I felt that I had worked out all the kinks, then started writing.

Are any of your characters inspired by real people?
None that were inspired, but I did include several of my friends and girlfriend’s names into small roles within the book. Just as fun littler Easter eggs for them to come across when they first read Awakening.  

With what five real people would you most like to be stuck in a bookstore?

Jim Butcher, Larry Correia, Garon Whited, Terry Mancour and Robert Kirkman. They are all amazing authors and creators. Getting the chance to pick their brains and ask for advice would be amazing.

Who are your favorite authors?

Jim Butcher, Larry Correia, Garon Whited, Terry Mancour, Christopher Palolini, Michaelbrent Collins, Craig Alanson, Anthony Ryan, Brent Weeks, and Brandon Sanderson.


What book are you currently reading and in what format?
I am reading Homeland by R. A. Salvatore in e-book format and listening to Pandora’s Star by Peter F. Hamilton on Audible.


Do you have a routine for writing?
My typical routine is to write for 45 to 60 minutes during my lunch break at work.    

Where and when do you prefer to do your writing?
Typically during my lunch break in my office. I shut my door, turn on my music and can write free from distraction.

What’s the best compliment you’ve ever received about your writing?
That they thought Awakening should be turned into a Netflix series. I got chills when they told me.

You can be any fictional character for one day.
Harry Dresden from The Dresden files.

What would your dream office look like?
A comfortable chair, a stand up desk, framed paintings of nerdy scenes from my favorite movies along the wall. There would be two computer monitors so I can have my notes up at the same time. One wall is a floor to ceiling whiteboard so I can mind map and keep a running list of notes on it, with the final wall has a large window so I can procrastinate by staring out it.

Why did you decide to self-publish?
I researched reaching out to the major publishing houses and from everything I read, it made me feel like it would be a colossal waste of time to try and get published in the traditional sense. So I figured, why not do it myself.

Are you happy with your decision to self-publish?
Yes, I like have complete control over my book and writing.

What steps to publication did you personally do, and what did you hire someone to do? Is there anyone you’d recommend for a particular service?
I wrote Awakening along with spending several months reviewing and editing it myself, but I can only do so much. I felt it was necessary to hire a professional editor. My editor performed two developmental edit read-throughs along with copy and line-by-line editing. I then hired a digital artist to draw my cover and back page. Once all of that was done, my editor then went the extra mile by compiling everything together and uploading onto Amazon, Draft2Digital and IngramSpark.

What are you working on now?
I just turned in Ascension to my editor last week, and I'm now working on my first draft of book three, Ragnarok.

EXCERPT FROM AWAKENING





Prologue

Alexander never thought that he would live long enough to enjoy quiet nights like this. He noted it was a particularly cold night as he stepped onto his back porch. His breath sent out a little fog, and he marveled at how peaceful winter could be in the Icelandic forest. The freshly fallen snow sparkled as the Northern lights flashed through the night sky. Alexander never grew tired of watching their fiery dance. He only wished his wife, Helga, was still around to enjoy the peace and quiet. Sighing contentedly, Alexander reached down, grabbed a bundle of firewood, and turned to head back inside. Suddenly he froze. He felt it, a tingling he hadn’t felt in a long time, danger. Scanning the surrounding forest, Alexander couldn’t see anything out of place, but the feeling that something was out there, something that didn’t belong, still pulled at him like the tide. Alexander stared into the darkness for a few more moments, but the forest remained silent, unwilling to give up its secrets. Alexander shrugged and went back into his house. For the first time in years, he locked the door behind him.

As Alexander sat by the fire, the warmth failed to chase away the feeling that someone or something was out there roaming his forest. A familiar howl rang out from deep within the forest, pulling Alexander out of his thoughts. A second later similar howls answered. Alexander could identify each individual wolf by their howl; he had known this pack for years. Settling back in his chair, he envisioned the wolves in full force. The howls continued to ring across the forest. In all his years living in the forest, Alexander had never heard so many wolves at once. They sounded agitated. They must sense it too, he thought.

Alexander groaned as his knees popped and his old bones protested the sudden movement of getting to his feet. It was as if his body knew what he was planning to do and was voicing its discontent. It had been decades since he had been in a fight, but it seemed he was being called out one last time. Hell, Alexander thought, I may see Helga sooner than I thought. Pulling on his thick wool parka, Alexander grabbed the double-bladed ax he used to chop wood. The weight felt comfortable in his hands. The ax had been his weapon of choice from the time he was strong enough to swing one. His mother had pushed him to branch out and learn to use other weapons, but it wasn’t meant to be. The ax was the weapon of his ancestors, and he honored them by using it. The cold hit Alexander like a hammer, clearing his senses and waking him up to the world around him. The Berserker had laid dormant inside of him for decades now, but Alexander could feel the old battle lust stirring within. The forest had gone too quiet, the howls of the wolf pack had died down. Goosebumps speckled Alexander’s body as the tension in the air thickened. Alexander knew why. A predator not of this realm stalked his forest.

Alexander silently crept through the forest. The snow crunched lightly beneath his weight; his senses screamed at him to turn back, but he ignored them and pressed on. It had been decades since he had felt the thrill of a fight, and he relished the feeling.

A bird pierced the silent forest with a loud squawk. He peered through the tangle of trees and branches; he could barely make out a blotch of darkness that seemed to be darker than the surrounding forest. As he moved closer, the air blew warm breaths on his face with each step. Alexander was within ten feet of the odd black blotch when he noticed that the snow had completely melted away. Steam rose from the freshly uncovered earth in a circle around the object. Thick drops of water splashed down from the tree branches above, puffing into steam upon hitting the forest floor.

Alexander continued to move slowly around the dark object but didn’t see anyone or anything. Creeping ever closer, his feeling of unease intensified. As Alexander stepped around the inky darkness, the heat had him sweating through his clothes. He stopped dead in his tracks. His blood ran cold. From the back, the round black object drank in all the available light, but now that Alexander was in front of it, he could see it opened up to a world of fire and lava. Alexander knew what he was looking at; he just couldn’t figure out why it was here. The dark blob was a bridge to another realm. However, it differed from any bridge he had used in his youth. This thing

was more like a rip in the fabric of reality. Whoever did this was immensely powerful. Peering into the gateway, memories from a lifetime ago came flooding back to him. Muspelheim, the realm of fire and lava. The home to an unimaginable evil. It was a place he had hoped to never see again.

As if in answer to his thoughts, something rose out of the molten river that lay beyond the bridge. Alexander’s stomach backflipped as he recognized the creature that was steadily stalking towards the bridge. It’s the beginning of the end, Alexander thought. Ragnarok is here.

As the being stepped through the bridge and into Alexander’s world, the frigid forest air hissed and steamed in protest to the fiery monster’s trespass into Midgard. Alexander stared up at the molten giant and thought he looked even taller than he had appeared decades ago. Alexander backed up, making sure he was out of range of the monster’s hulking sword. He knew a fight was inevitable. Alexander closed his eyes and freed the dormant Berserker, embracing the longforgotten thrill of the fight. Icy fire burned along his veins as his muscles grew and strengthened. Alexander knew, even in his enhanced state, that he was no match for the force of nature that stood before him. He only hoped to fend the giant off long enough to create an opening and run for help. Hopefully, with luck, he could lose the creature in the forest.

Alexander opened his eyes, filling his old frame and flooding his veins with the familiar icy burn of the Berserker. Any thoughts of running vanished as a thin red haze of rage colored the edge of his vision. Fear and doubt evaporated and was replaced with excited determination at the chance to cross blades one last time with a worthy foe. Who gives a damn that I’m well into my sixties? Alexander thought. “I am the last of an ancient and powerful Berserker clan, bestowed with the power of Thor, chosen to defend Midgard from invaders such as you. How dare you step into my realm, Surtr,” Alexander growled. “You aren’t welcome here. I will say this one time; return to Muspelheim or face my wrath.”

Surtr’s molten eyes studied Alexander. A voice Alexander had hoped to never hear again thundered in the clearing. The fire giant’s voice washed over Alexander like an oncoming forest fire. “You arrogant and foolish Midgardian. Do you have any idea who you are speaking too? Face your wrath? Don’t think I don’t remember you. You are one of the few beings who was lucky enough to escape me the first time we fought. You will not be so lucky this time. By Hel’s will, I have been given a second chance to finish the fight you started many years ago.”

“You think I’m afraid of you, giant?” Alexander boasted, “I have faced hundreds of enemies and killed them all. Last time we faced, we were in your realm, but now,” Alexander gestured around. “You are far from Muspelheim. I have the advantage here.”

Surtr laughed and pointed his massive sword at Alexander. “You truly don’t know what I am, do you? I cannot be killed by the likes of you.”

Surtr blurred, moving with a speed no normal human could track. But luckily for Alexander, he wasn’t a normal human. This also wasn’t his first fight. Alexander had been waiting for Surtr to make the first move and was ready for him. Surtr’s burning blade slashed through the air mere centimeters from Alexander’s face as he dodged out of range. A blast of scalding air washed over Alexander as Surtr’s blade sliced through the air.

Alexander rushed forward, relishing the speed his Berserker state granted him. Alexander hoped to throw Surtr off by attacking him head on. Slashing upward, Alexander attempted to split open Surtr’s unarmored stomach. Before the ax hit, Surtr lashed out, kicking Alexander square in the chest, causing him to fly backward. He slammed into a tree trunk with a bone crunching crack. Alexander felt the ancient pine sway back and forth from the impact. Snow rained down from the branches above, pelting him in wet kisses. Alexander struggled to catch his breath. Damn, that hurt. I can’t afford to take too many hits like that, Alexander thought. Struggling to his feet, Alexander felt every cell in his body struggle with the pain. He suspected a few of his ribs cracked, but nothing felt permanently damaged or out of place.

Luckily, years of training had taught Alexander to never let go of his weapon in a fight. Even in his old age, he still had the wherewithal to keep hold of it. Alexander used his ax as a crutch and looked up at Surtr. His enemy hadn’t even bothered to follow up his attack; he just stood there studying Alexander. “You’ve grown old, Berserker. You weren’t a match for me decades ago. You certainly aren’t one now.”

Alexander eyed the giant, “Ha, I’m just warming up, Surtr. Before long I’ll have you running back through that bridge, crying to whoever sent you here,” Alexander boasted. However, deep down he knew he was finished. That kick had hurt him more than he cared to admit. His back was ablaze with pain and his legs felt like wet noodles. I must have damaged my spine when I hit the tree, Alexander thought. “This fight will be over before I get a chance to heal,” Alexander grumbled.

Alexander eyed the fiery giant and quietly thanked the gods he had the foresight to leave a letter to his Berserker heir. He had wished he could have had more time with his daughter and grandson. He’d wanted to introduce them to the idea of realms, gods, and supernatural creatures slowly, but as with all great plans, it fell apart. Alexander could only hope they would find the journals.

There is no way this attack is random, Alexander thought. A being such as Surtr doesn’t leave his realm unless provoked, and for a bridge to open right in his backyard, linking Muspelheim to Midgard - it was too much of a coincidence. The gods were moving against each other; he could feel it. Wincing in pain, Alexander steeled himself.

Whispering reverently, Alexander breathed into the icy wind, “Odin, Allfather, my time on this mortal plain has come to an end. I, one of Thor’s anointed, choose to die with an ax in hand, and can only hope to be welcomed into the halls of Valhalla.” A raven cawed an answer to Alexander’s prayer somewhere in the trees. Even though Surtr was far stronger than him, Alexander couldn’t just roll over and die. That wasn’t the Berserker way. Taking a deep breath, Alexander took a two-handed grip on his ax, feeling the smooth grip of the handle form perfectly to his weathered and calloused hands. He charged, bellowing a war cry. Surtr moved in as well, sensing the fight was coming to an end. Surtr brought down his massive sword in an attempt to split Alexander in two, but Alexander saw it coming and blocked the attack with his ax. Sparks flew in all directions as the two blades met. Alexander’s ax blade chipped and bent along the edge where it met Surtr’s sword, but that didn’t faze Alexander. Quick as lightning, Alexander swung for Surtr’s outstretched forearm. Alexander thought he had scored a hit, but it merely bounced off Surtr’s thick hide. Alexander, unwilling to relent, swung a horizontal slash meant to take the giant in the knee, but Surtr’s burning blade materialized and Alexander’s ax slammed edge first into the flat of Surtr’s broadsword with a loud clang. The resulting tremor ran up Alexander’s hand and arm, causing them to momentarily go numb. Dodging to the left, Alexander averted a savage punch aimed for his head.

Alexander ducked and dodged Surtr’s onslaught. He never gave up, always looking for an opening to attack. Spinning the ax between attacks, Alexander continued to duck and dodge, waiting for the giant to make a mistake. Alexander knew he couldn’t keep this up for much longer, but he couldn’t waste his attack either. Alexander backed away. Overconfident, Surtr grew bolder with each attack and was swinging wildly. Just as he had hoped, Alexander’s opportunity came as he ducked under a slash meant to take his head off at the neck. Ducking under the smoldering blade, he stepped in as Surtr’s blade slammed into an ancient pine tree. The force of Surtr’s blow nearly cut the massive tree in half, but luckily for Alexander, the blade stopped three-fourths of the way through.

It only took him a second, but that was all the time Alexander needed. Alexander knew this was his only chance, and he swung with all his might. His blade hit Surtr in the stomach. Sparks fluttered to life as Alexander’s ax impacted Surtr’s hardened skin. A look of shock crept across Surtr’s face; Alexander’s blade carved out a shallow cut. Surtr blurred, attacking faster than Alexander thought possible. Not knowing where the attack was coming from, Alexander flung himself backward, but it wasn’t fast enough. Surtr’s blade buried itself deep into Alexander’s right shoulder.

Alexander crumbled, falling to his knees as Surtr pulled the blade free in a spray of blood. Alexander’s vision blurred. Through the pain, Alexander focused on a thin trickle of molten orange blood seeping out of the cut chiseled into Surtr. Surtr followed Alexander’s gaze and looked down. He dabbed lightly at the bleeding wound.

In his grave voice, Surtr intoned, “You are the first to injure me in decades. Be proud as you go to your death.” He heaved the sword above his head, “Give my regards to the Aesir. Their rule over the realms has ended. Ragnarok begins.” Reverently, he brought his sword down for the killing blow.

Alexander, broken and bleeding, moved on reflex, brought up his ax in an overhead block, but it wasn’t enough. Knowing that his time had finally come, Alexander hoped he had made his ancestors proud and that his family would be ready for what was to come. The Berserker mantle that he had held for so long would finally pass on.

A flutter of wings and a caw from the onlooking raven were the only sounds in the silent forest as Alexander slumped back, dead. Surtr took a long moment to stare down at his fallen foe before turning and disappearing through the bridge.

Excerpt from by .  Copyright © 2018 by . Reproduced with permission from . All rights reserved.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kevin D. Miller is an attorney in Southern California who spends his two hours a day commuting to work either listening to science fiction or fantasy books on Audible or plotting out the storylines for his future books. When he isn't working, Kevin can be found spending time with his girlfriend Amy and their two dogs Pepper and Riley. Kevin enjoys writing, playing video games, kayaking in Big Bear, and enjoying the ocean air in Newport Beach
.

Connect with Kevin:
Facebook  |  Twitter  |  Goodreads  |  Book trailer 
 
Buy the book:
Amazon

  

FEATURED CHARACTER: COLUMBKILL NOONAN'S APEP, GOD OF CHAOS

ABOUT THE BOOK


Barnabas Tew is a detective in Victorian London, although he is not nearly as successful as he dreamed he'd be. In fact, there are times that he fears that he may not be very good at the detecting business, after all. 

Everything changes, however, during a visit to the museum, where an encounter with a none-too-friendly mummy whisks Barnabas away from everything he knows. It seems that the Egyptian afterlife is in turmoil and the fate of the entire world is at stake, and Barnabas has been sent for by Anubis, the jackal-headed god of the dead, to save the day.

Barnabas is in over his head but determined to prove himself once and for all. With only his trusty assistant Wilfred at his side, will Barnabas manage to solve the case and save the Egyptian afterlife? Or will the dangerous and unpredictable Egyptian gods get the best of the intrepid duo?

BOOK DETAILS

Title: Barnabas Tew and the Case of the Missing Scarab

Author: Columbkill Noonan

Character’s full name: Apep, God of Chaos

Publisher: Crooked Cat Books (June 3, 2017)

Genre: Cozy Mystery, 1st in series

On tour with: Great Escapes Book Tours

ABOUT APEP, GOD OF CHAOS


Apep is one of the minor gods of chaos in the Egyptian pantheon. (Don’t tell him he’s a minor god, though, that is a sore subject!) He is reptilian, and his job is to sow discord in the world.

INTERVIEW WITH COLUMBKILL NOONAN’S APEP, GOD OF CHAOS

Apep, how did you first meet Columbkill?

I suppose it was just after the great battle with Bastet. She came around, asking a lot of questions, trying to find out what happened. Pretty nosy, really.

Want to dish about her?

Well, like I said, she’s nosy. And she seems to not like chaos and discord much, too. Who doesn’t like chaos and discord? So weird.

Why do you think that your life has ended up being in a book?

I’m in a lot of books, since I’m so very important, you know, so it doesn’t surprise me that I’m in this one. I’m on a bunch of hieroglyphics, too, just so you know.

Tell us about your favorite scene in the book. 

Well it’s certainly not the battle scene, that’s for sure!

What do you like to do when you are not being actively read somewhere? 

Why, sow discord and chaos, of course! That’s what being a god of chaos is all about. My favorite thing is to try to keep the sun from rising every day. I’ve never been able to stop it, but one day. . .

If you could rewrite anything in your book, what would it be? 

Definitely the battle scene.

Tell the truth. What do you think of your fellow characters? 

I sort of hate them, really. Do-gooders, judgmental namby-pambies…I really don’t have anything nice to say about them. Of course I really don’t ever have anything nice to say, as a rule.

If you had a free day with no responsibilities what would you do?
I’d probably just go around causing arguments, making people mad at each other, trying to end the world…you  know, the usual. Oh, and maybe go on a reality TV show. I think I’d be pretty good at that.



What impression do you make on people when they first meet you?
People tend to be afraid of my fangs. They think I’m going to eat them. And sometimes I do. And I’m really not sure what they think of me after I eat them. I’ve never asked, and I doubt they’d answer if I did.



What's the worst thing that's happened in your life? 
We’re back to the battle again. I learned to never underestimate a nervous little Victorian detective again. And cats. I learned I really don’t like cats.

Tell us about your best friend. 
I don’t have any friends, because I’m a god of chaos. Gods of chaos don’t really do friendship, you know?



What are you most afraid of?
Cats. Really, can we stop talking about this?



What’s the best trait your author has given you? 

The best trait she gave me was my pure evilness. She really did a good job capturing that.


If your story were a movie, who would play you?
Is Godzilla available?

If you could be “adopted” by another writer, who would you choose?
Nietzche, for sure. He’s so depressing.

Will you encourage Columbkill to write a sequel?
Only if she lets the dark side win for a change! What’s with all the “good triumphing over evil,” anyway? It’s not fair, if you ask me.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Columbkill Noonan lives in Baltimore, Maryland, USA, where she teaches yoga and Anatomy and Physiology. Her work has appeared in numerous anthologies and magazines. Her first novel, Barnabas Tew and the Case of the Missing Scarab by Crooked Cat Books, was released in 2017, and her latest work, Barnabas Tew and the Case of the Nine Worlds, is set to be released in September 2018.

In her spare time, Columbkill enjoys hiking, paddle boarding, aerial yoga, and riding her rescue horse, Mittens. 



Connect with Columbkill:
Website  |  Facebook  |  Twitter  |  Goodreads


Buy the book:
Amazon

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Cover reveal: Mobsters, Monsters & Nazis

Author Dan O'Brien has teamed up with artist Steve Ferchaud for a one-of-a-kind reading experience that will span six short books. Blending noir, hardboiled detective stories, and pulp comics, Mobsters, Monsters & Nazis follows private investigator Derrick Diamond as he searches for an elusive object: a strange device that the Nazis need for their nefarious experiments. Aided by Ava Harpy, a lounge singer at the Yellow Monarch, they dive deep into the underbelly of the city, uncovering a sordid plot that is much larger than they could have possibly imagined.

If you love illustrated works, pulp comics, and a little bit of Lovecraft in your stories, then what are you waiting for?

It is available for pre-order starting today, so be sure to grab and let everyone know about it! You can pre-order it for only $2.99 by clicking on the button below.

Featured Author: Dan O'Brien

You’re never too old to have one more adventure 

Brought to life by Steve Ferchaud’s vibrant drawings, this story for all ages by Dan O’Brien lets us know that it is never too late to have one more adventure. 

An Excerpt:

Robert Pendleton opened one eye as the light of a passing car flashed over the window, shattering the darkness into prisms. He rolled onto his back on the beat-up couch and yawned as he reached his hands up and rubbed his eyes unceremoniously. 

He looked out over the darkness at the digital clock. The red digits spelled out a quarter ‘til midnight––nearly fourteen hours of sleep. He smiled and grabbed one of the cushions of the couch, burying his head in it. Just enough sleep, he reminded himself. Robert felt that anything less than twelve hours of sleep was very nearly too little. 

He grasped blindly for the TV remote. 

Groaning as he lifted his head, he looked at the empty table––his eyes drawn by another flash of a passing car. He couldn’t see clearly, but he knew that the remote had been there before he had fallen asleep nearly half a day ago. 

“Could have sworn….” he mumbled as he pushed himself up and brushed his hand around the top of the table, finding nothing. “Where did….”

Another groan escaped his lips as he lifted his body to a sitting position and threw aside the cluster of pillows that he had gathered around himself. He reached out for the lamp, but instead knocked it to the floor with a resounding thud. 

Robert muttered as he stood up from the couch, and then sank to his knees to search around in the darkness for the fallen lamp. Reaching around on the shadowed floor, shards of the broken lamp scattered like pieces of light. 

He turned his head, peering beneath the large space underneath the couch and saw the reflection of the buttons on the remote. The off-gray piece of machinery was underneath the couch––only darkness lingered beyond it. He reached out as he spoke again. 

“How did it get all the way down there?” 

Robert flexed his hand and strained as he twisted his back to reach farther; yet, the remote remained just out of reach. He pulled his arm away with a huff and craned his neck to the side, staring underneath into the darkness below the couch. 

His eyes widened as he saw the impossible: there was something beyond the remote. He shook his head and closed his eyes, whispering to himself that he didn’t see what he thought he had.

“I saw a little man,” he whispered to himself as he opened his eyes once more and nearly gasped as he did so. 

The figure was closer now and he could make out the outline clearly. A tiny man rested just beyond the remote. 

“What in the name of…?”

“Not here in the name of nobody, laddie. I be a friend though,” crooned the miniscule figure as he interrupted Robert and stepped forward, placing a hand on the darkened and slick surface of the remote. 

A tam-o’-shanter crested his bright red hair, the shaggy mane blending perfectly into his equally crimson, neatly trimmed, beard. 

A billow of whitish smoke drifted from the long-stemmed pipe that he held clenched between his lips. 

Robert fell back and knocked aside the adjacent table. Rubbing his eyes, he spoke a single word: “Leprechaun.”

About the Author:

Dan O’Brien, founder and editor-in-chief of The Northern California Perspective, has written over 20 books––including the bestselling Bitten, which was featured on Conversations Book Club’s Top 100 novels of 2012. Before starting Amalgam, he was the senior editor and marketing director for an international magazine. In addition, he has spent over a decade in the publishing industry as a freelance editor. You can learn more about his literary and publishing consulting business by visiting his website at: www.amalgamconsulting.com. Contact him today to order copies of the book or have them stocked at your local bookstore. He can he reached by email at amalgamconsulting@gmail.com. 

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Would you like to win a remarked copy of Conspirators of the Lost Sock Army and Loose Change Collection Agency signed by the author and illustrator?

Simply follow the author here and here and a few winners will be randomly selected on March 20th!

Featured Author: Lou Aronica

Partners In Crime Tours brings Lou Aronica here today to talk about Differential Equations, a science fiction/fantasy novel, co-written by Julian Iragorri, published by The Story Plant, an independent fiction publisher. Lou was kind enough to bring an excerpt from the book that you won't want to miss.

About the book:

This evocative, moving, and gorgeously detailed novel is the story of Alex Soberano, a contemporary man in crisis. A tremendously successful New York businessman, Alex finds it difficult to embrace joy and accept love. When his life threatens to boil over, he escapes for a brief respite on the West Coast. What waits for him there is something he never could have imagined.

Intertwined with Alex’s story are the stories of three people from different times and places whose lives affect him in surprising ways:

• A woman from the South American city of Anhelo in 1928 that everyone knows as "Vidente." For decades, Vidente, has been one of Anhelo's most celebrated citizens because she has the ability to read colors that speak of a person's fate. However, during one such reading, she sees her own future – a future that includes her imminent death.

• A man named Khaled who left his home in Bethlehem in 1920 to seek fortune in the South American town of Joya de la Costa. He has barely begun to gain a foothold when he learns that the wife and three children he left behind have been murdered. When a magical woman enters his life, he believes that destiny has smiled on him. However, destiny has only just begun to deal with Khaled.

• A nineteen-year-old student named Dro who flies from the South American country of Legado to Boston in 1985 and immediately walks onto the campus of MIT expecting instant admission. Dro's skills at mastering complex, ever-changing differential equations intrigues the associate admissions director. However, the person he intrigues the most is the celebrated US ambassador from his country, and his relationship with her will define his life.

How the stories of these four people merge is the central mystery of this arresting work of imagination. Differential Equations is a story that will sweep you up in its magic, enrich you with its wisdom, and compel you with its deep humanity.

Interview with Lou Aronica

Lou, what inspired you to write Differential Equations?


Julian and I were inspired to write this novel by the great magic-realists. Julian grew up in South America reading García Márquez, Amado, and Cortázar and I was growing up on Long Island doing the same. When we met and started comparing notes, we realized we both wanted to write this kind of novel. Differential Equations was the result.

What do you hope readers will get from this book?

At its heart, Differential Equations is a novel about a fractured soul coming to terms with the experiences that caused him to lose his way. I think many of us have a moment in their lives that separates “then” and “now” and try to survive without ever understanding that. Maybe this novel will turn a light on for some of them.

How did you come up with the title Differential Equations?

Among other things, Julian is a mathematical genius. He mastered differential equations when he was a teenager, which is so far beyond me that I have trouble even understanding what he understood. A differential equation is a formula with multiple variables and it dawned on us that this was an apt image for the journey the characters go through.

Do you outline or write by the seat of your pants?

I’m a dedicated outliner. I storyboard every novel before I start writing. I’ll still make changes as I go, but I find this structure an essential part of the creative process. By doing this kind of planning up front, I can be free to concentrate on the prose and the characters while I’m writing.

This was especially important with a collaboration. Given the range of our imaginations, it would have been very difficult for the two of us to stay on track with this novel if we didn’t have a strong structure in place.

Do you have a routine for writing? Do you work better at night, in the afternoon, or in the morning?

I tend to write in three-hour slots. I find that I can’t spend more than three hours a day on a novel because the work gets very poor after that. I spend the rest of the day working on my publishing company and writing nonfiction. I don’t write fiction for a fixed three hours, though. I tend to move things through the day to keep them fresh.

Name one thing you couldn’t live without.

This is probably going to come across as cheesy, but the one thing I couldn’t live without is my family. My wife and four kids are the foundation of everything I do and when I’m away from them for even a few days I feel diminished.

Would you rather be stranded on a deserted island or the North Pole?

That depends. Is Santa’s workshop on the North Pole?

Of course. Although right now might be a bad time to visit. Do you ever get writer’s block? What do you do when it happens?

I think every writer experiences some form of writer's block at some point. What I’ve come to realize is that the best thing to do when it hits is just accept it, avoid stressing too much, and switch gears in some way, like editing existing work or even reading some of my older material.

I totally agree. Is there anything in particular that you do to help the writing flow? Music? Acting out the scene? Long showers?

It’s funny that you mention this because I was at a conference last weekend and another writer showed up late for a meeting saying that she’d started talking to her characters in the shower and lost track of time. I’ve tried writing with music, but I find it breaks my concentration, though there’s always something playing in my head. My favorite thing to do is meditation. I find that clearing my mind in this way makes writing substantially easier and often allows me to see story complications in new ways.

If you could take a trip anywhere in the world, where would you go? (Don’t worry about the money. A publisher is paying. Oops, that's you. Well...pretend.)

Since I don’t have to worry about the money, I think I’d love to go to India or the Far East. I’m fascinated with ancient cultures and my most memorable trips have always involved virtual excursions into the distant past. I’m also a foodie and, since money is no object, I would love to explore these cuisines at both the fine dining and street level.

Excerpt from Differential Equations

Anhelo, Legado, South America, 1928



With her eyes closed, all she could see were waves of brown. The woman sitting across the table from her wasn’t troubled or damaged in any particular way, as that color sometimes indicated; her spirit and her future simply seemed featureless.



“Vidente, you have been quiet for a long time,” the woman said tentatively. “If you see bad things, you must tell me. I must prepare.

”

People had been calling her “Vidente” for so long that she couldn’t recall the last time she heard her real name spoken aloud. Some in the community preferred to call her “Tia Vidente” as a form of endearment. Even her sons called her “Madre Vidente” now, having long ago accepted their mother’s place in the lives of the townspeople. After these many years, she had even come to think of herself by that name.



She opened her eyes slowly and her vision began to fill again with color. The violet and red of the tapestry that hung on the far wall. The ochre and bronze of the pottery on the shelf. The cobalt and white of the figurines on the cupboard. The terra cotta of the antique cazuela and the copper of the chafing dish, both presents from a grateful recipient of her services, neither of which had felt fire in Vidente’s home. The saffron of the sash that billowed over the window. The crystals and pewters and golds and greens; the room was a rainbow visible nowhere else in the world – a Vidente rainbow. A rainbow for a woman who sensed color beyond her eyes and who liked those colors expressed in the finest things available. Vidente’s home was her palace, a testament to her station as one of Anhelo’s most prominent and prosperous citizens.



Finally, Vidente focused on Ana, the woman seeking her help who, in contrast to the brown that Vidente saw with eyes closed, wore a bright orange frock with lemon embroidery. Ana had called on Vidente several times in the past year and she’d encountered her at church and in the shops. At all times, Ana wore brilliant clothing. She wants color in her life, Vidente thought. How sad that she doesn’t seem able to hold any in her soul.



“I am not seeing bad things, Ana,” Vidente said, tipping her head toward the woman.



“But you have been so quiet.”



Vidente patted the woman’s hand. “Sometimes the images come very slowly. That doesn’t mean you have anything to fear.”



Vidente truly believed that Ana had nothing to worry about regarding her future – except that it was likely to be a life without incident. The brown was everywhere. Sometimes darker, sometimes lighter, but always brown. The color of inconsequentiality and an abundance of self-doubt. For reasons Vidente couldn’t discern, Ana wouldn’t absorb the colors she wore so boldly in her clothing, though she seemed entirely capable of doing so. There were places Vidente didn’t plumb, for the sake of Ana’s privacy, but she guessed that if she looked there she might find why the woman avoided what she so wanted.



Ana’s brow furrowed and she looked down at her hands. Vidente wanted to offer her something, some suggestion that days more vibrant lay ahead. Vidente never lied to anyone during a reading, even when she believed the person wanted to hear a lie. However, she had many times kept searching and searching until she found a way to offer something promising.



“I am not finished, Ana,” she said as the woman looked up at her. “I will use another technique with you today. I need to look farther with this technique. I may not open my eyes or speak with you for several minutes.”



“I will be patient, Vidente.”



Vidente closed her eyes again. Usually, what she saw in colors was enough to give her useful messages for those who requested readings from her. The colors had always been reliable to her. Sometimes, though, she needed to extend her vision. If she sent herself deeply enough into the space outside of herself, she could see actual images. Occasionally, entire scenes played out in front of her. Vidente had come to learn that these visions weren’t nearly as reliable as the colors; unlike the colors, they were mutable. Still, they sometimes offered direction when none other was available.



The waves of brown appeared again. Like molten chocolate wending its way through a sea of caramel. It was necessary for Vidente to look past the color. She focused intently on the darkest of the brown and in doing so made the message of the brown drop away. It was like stepping through the fog and coming to a clear space. Here, though, the space offered only shadow. She could see the faintest movement. Was that a man? Ana wanted a man so badly; one who would finally erase Oscar’s humiliation of her. The image Vidente saw here was so indistinct, though, that it could as easily be a deer, a sloth, or even a vegetable cart.



Vidente concentrated further, pushing her soul toward the shadow, encouraging her will to be in the same place as the shadow. Something was definitely moving around and she could now see that the shape was human. Male? Female? Young? Old? None of that was clear. Nor was it clear why there was such a veil over Ana’s future. This had nothing to do with the woman’s health. Vidente would have seen that in the colors. For some reason, the spirits did not want to offer the images they usually gave so generously.



She so didn’t want to disappoint Ana. Once a month Ana came to her, gaily dressed and bearing a tray of the delicious pastries she made, eyes gleaming with hope but shaded by desperation. Vidente always found a vision to encourage her; the visit of a favorite nephew, a celebration Ana would attend, the birth of a neighbor’s child. These visions were never what Ana truly wanted, but she always left Vidente’s house viewing the world with a little less desperation. And she always came back.



Several minutes passed, but the images remained indistinct. I must go beyond sight, Vidente thought. She rarely used the process she was considering, and she was not entirely comfortable with it, but she knew it was possible to close her eyes completely. To allow her other senses to tell her what her vision did not.



Vidente tipped her head slightly and felt herself falling backward. With this sensation of falling came absolute blackness. There were no colors here, no shadows, nothing nearly so brilliant as brown. It was as though she had never seen anything at all, ever in her life. The feeling of unease that always accompanied this technique rippled her skin. Vidente had never stayed long in this place and she knew she could not linger here now. However, there had to be a reason why the other techniques eluded her, and she would spend a few sightless moments here for Ana’s sake. She liked the woman too much to let her go away with nothing.



She felt cooler suddenly, as though someone had opened all the doors and windows of her home at once. The air was different. It was crisper and thinner. It smelled of loam and oak. Vidente knew, though she wasn’t sure how she knew, that she was somewhere very far away. Was Ana going on a trip?



Maybe to some distant mountains in Europe or even America? The only thing Vidente knew for sure was that no place in Anhelo or anywhere near it had air that felt this way.



Just on the edges of her hearing, Vidente found the sound of moaning. These were not moans of pleasure. Nor were they moans of pain or suffering. The moans held a sense of sadness and loss, but not the dissonance of true grief. As she extended herself to try to make more of this sound, Vidente felt a moist softness on her forehead followed by a silken brush across her face and then warm pressure. Moments passed and she felt the same series of sensations again. More moments passed and the experience repeated itself. Each iteration felt slightly different but materially the same.


As this happened for the fifth time, Vidente caught the scent of perfume. A floral and consciously unrefined smell, one that announced itself as its bearer entered a room and lingered for many minutes after the visit was over. It was unmistakably Ana’s latest perfume. No one else in Anhelo wore it. But the scent was not coming from the Ana who sat across the table from Vidente. It came instead from the scene Vidente sensed in her temporary blackness and it grew stronger as Vidente again felt the pressure on her body. Vidente heard a sob and then the pressure lessened. Soon the smell of Ana’s perfume diminished. It was then that Vidente realized that Ana was a part of this scene, but she was not the focus of it.



Vidente was.



Kisses on the forehead. Unreturned embraces. Repeated multiple times.



Vidente’s eyes opened involuntarily, causing the colors in the room to close on her vertiginously.



“Vidente, your expression; it frightens me.”



Vidente tried to stop the swirling of colors, tried to fix her eyes on Ana without scaring her further. “You have no reason to be frightened,” she said.



As her vision corrected, Vidente saw Ana’s hand go to the cross at her neck. “How can I believe that when you go into your trance for a long time and then come back looking like the devil was chasing you?”



Vidente took Ana’s free hand and clasped it with both of hers. “Believe me when I say that I didn’t see anything that should cause you fear. I just couldn’t get a clear image for you and this frustrated me.” Vidente stood abruptly, holding the side of the table to guarantee that she wouldn’t stumble. “I am sorry, Ana, that I could not do better. Maybe next month.”



Ana rose slowly, thanked Vidente, and left, her eyes more clouded and confused than when she entered. As soon as the woman was gone, Vidente sat down again, feeling the need to close her own eyes once more, but worried about what she would experience if she did so. If what she’d already felt was true – and it was important for her to remember that only the colors were always true – she would soon take a journey that would send her to a place of crisp, oaken air.



And then, before Ana changed her perfume again, Vidente would die.

About the author:

Lou Aronica is the author of the USA Today bestseller The Forever Year and the national bestseller Blue. He also collaborated on the New York Times nonfiction bestsellers The Element and Finding Your Element (with Ken Robinson) and the national bestseller The Culture Code (with Clotaire Rapaille). Aronica is a long-term book publishing veteran. He is president and publisher of the independent publishing house The Story Plant.

Connect with Lou:
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Buy the book:
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Julian Iragorri lives in Manhattan. He has worked on Wall Street since the early nineties.

Featured Author: Genevieve Fairbrother

Paranormal, suspense, romance, adventure, mythology...Genevieve Fairbrother's Eleusis has it all, and she's here today to tell us about it. Don't miss her guest post and book excerpt following the interview.

About the book:

Macy needs a break to sort out her life. Her parents are dead and now a moody trespasser has set up camp on the property she has inherited. When the stranger confesses himself to be an ageless sea-god and tells Macy she has been guarding a secret she never knew existed, her simple life takes a drastic turn. Just when she thinks it can’t get any stranger,  a back door to the Underworld opens up and it’s time to run like hell.

This fast-paced adventure romance novel explodes as the dark forces tracking Macy surface to capture her. In the transatlantic chase that follows, she learns of her forgotten past and an ancient connection to the sea-god who helps her escape.

As events challenge Macy, she must come to grips with her past, determine what she wants in life, and become a force in her own right. Family betrayal, sinister plot twists, and unlikely friends fill this exhilarating story of one woman’s journey to forge her own path as she learns her true identity.

She soon realizes that to gain real freedom and become legend, she must reject her assigned place in history and risk everything in the process.

Interview with Genevieve Fairbrother:

Genevieve, how long have you been writing, and how did you start?

About three years ago, my husband, who comes from a family of writers, talked about wanting to write a book. I had never considered writing a book but it made me think, why not? I had an idea for a story that had been rolling around inside of my head for a long time, and I decided to get it out of my head and onto paper. It started out as brain purge and ended up as a novel.

What do you like best about writing?

Through writing, I like to witness a character coming to terms with a new idea or a situation and then use the character’s conversations to share those ideas as they form. I like the feeling when I know I have successfully written a wild and suspenseful scene.

What’s your least favorite thing?

Commas...I insert them where I think there are natural pauses in an idea or conversation. I never learned the rules for commas. They make no sense to me...I need editors to tell me where they’re supposed to really go.

How did you come up with the title Eleusis?

When Persephone was released from the underworld she joined her mother, Demeter, in the ancient city of Eleusis.
 
Do you have another job outside of writing?

Yup. I’m a full-time obstetrician gynecologist. I work at the largest maternity hospital in the United States. I’m also chief of the medical staff of 2,000 doctors, so this is a true departure from my “real” life. I believe I surprised a lot of people with this book.

How would you describe Eleusis in a tweet? (140 characters or less.)

A goddess escaped from the underworld centuries ago. Hades hunts for her still but times have changed and she’s done running.

How did you create the plot for Eleusis?

I had several ideas (The Persephone mythology, women in society, and the allure of immortality) that were important to me, and I melded them together into a story.

Do you outline, write by the seat of your pants, or let your characters tell you what to write?

I have a rough idea of the map but a clear idea of my characters and their motivations. I know where I want my characters to start, and I know where I want them to end up. There are points of interest along the way that I’d like them to stop and visit in order to progress through the story. There is an order, but if a character needs to meander off of the path or go to a Point D before a point C, I let them.

Did you have any say in your cover art? What do you think of it? 

Yes! I took the photograph that was backdrop for the cover. The artist used my concept and took it to a different level so out of my league it is wonderful.

How do you get to know your characters?

They live in my head, and I imagine conversations that they might have with one another. I can see where they go, what their home looks like, what secrets they’re hiding and why.

Sophie’s choice: Do you have a favorite of your characters?

I, like most authors, could probably tell you who their least favorite character is before their favorite. I am sympathetic to all my characters even if they do terrible things because I understand their motivations.

When you start a new book, do you know what the entire cast will be?

The main characters, yes! I have a murky idea of the peripheral characters, then as the tale unfolds, they either crystalize and become clear or wither out of focus and I cut them out.

Which character did you most enjoy writing?

Artemis

I’m constantly on the lookout for new good names. How do you name your characters?

I looked for names that had meaning for their character either emotionally or linguistically.

How would your main character describe you?

Honest reliable, unflinchingly loyal.

Are any of your characters inspired by real people?

Aren’t all characters a mixture of the people in your life?

Eh...not always. I like writing characters who do and say things I never would, as well as characters who do and say things I wish I could. Do you have characters who fit into one of those categories? Who, and in what category do they fall?

Heck yeah! My characters have power over the natural world, and they’re immortal. Need I say more?

No. That about covers it! If you could be one of your characters, which one would you choose?

Probably Artemis.

With which of your characters would you most like to be stuck on a deserted island?

Are you kidding, Jason?!
 
Hmm...I don't know Jason, but now I want to! What song would you pick to go with your book?

"The Heavy’s Short Change Hero" and Jason Mraz’s "I won’t give up."

Which author would you most like to invite to dinner, and what would you fix him? Tom Robbins.

How do you handle criticism of your work?

It really doesn’t bother me. Most problems in life and in writing are a result of lack of communication. The kind of criticism I’ve encountered is usually a result of a misunderstanding. I look past any emotional content in a criticism and try to find the disconnect and fix it. It’s worked for me so far.

Where’s home for you?

Atlanta

Is there anything in particular that you do to help the writing flow?

Going for run really focuses the mind, as does a shower.

What’s one of your favorite quotes?

"The truth doesn’t change, only our understanding."

If you could take a trip anywhere in the world, where would you go?

Morocco or Prague, I’m not picky.

Excerpt from Eleusis:

When she lifted her eyes to look out, the view silenced her mind. A ground mist blanketed the field outside the barn all the way down to the surrounding tree line. It was ethereal. She grabbed her mug and stepped outside. This time she chose the path that led from the upper field and wove through the trees to the lower pasture that bordered Little Choestoea Creek above the waterfall. The mist stretched out across the field, undulating over the dips in the terrain. It felt like walking through a cloud. The birds’ morning chatter and the gurgling and chortling of the stream at the far border of the field broke the quiet. Gentle winds whispered among the dry autumn leaves. She crossed the field and joined the path that edged the stream and followed it to the waterfall. The mist overflowed the field and slipped down the bank, hovering over the stream.

At the head of the waterfall, the water rushed over the mossy rocks and curved around the massive granite boulders. The stream cascaded over the falls and flowed down the cove to join the lake in the distance. Macy decided to follow the cove out to the end, where she could see the mist floating like a blanket over the water. She picked her way along the side of the cove, climbing up and over boulders of granite as they sloped down to the water’s edge. Sometimes, when the terrain was too difficult, she clambered up into the tree line and walked along the edge of the forest. Shortly she came out onto the beachy area at the head of the cove.

The sun was starting to rise over the hill to her back, and golden light began to stream through the trees. She looked out over the mists to the far side of the lake, where the light was hitting the far shore. The trees, some deciduous and now nearly naked of leaves, created a wall of mottled brown and olive. It was hauntingly beautiful in the cold light of the early morning. She sank to her haunches and wrapped her arms around her knees. Brown and desiccated rushes crackled in the light breeze just below her perch. Macy gazed out across the misty cove and took in the view.

A hawk glided in lazy circles over the water. Across the small cove, three deer stole out of the woods, tasting the air. Macy held her breath and kept perfectly still.

Suddenly, from the middle of the lake, a man crested and soared high out of the water and turned a graceful arc in the air before arching backward and falling through the mist, diving soundlessly into the water.

Macy gasped. The deer fled. She leaped to her feet and spilt what little was left of her tea. What the hell was that? An Olympic water-polo player couldn’t get that kind of air. Immobilized, she kept her eyes glued to the place she had seen the man dive back into the water. It seemed to take forever. Did she just imagine it? Then again!

This time he came corkscrewing out of the water and shot up out of the lake with the mist trailing behind him. He whooped as he spun up and around, and Macy inhaled sharply, clasping her hand over her mouth as he disappeared under the water. Almost instantly he rose out of the mist. She stood very still. He turned slowly until he faced her, then began moving toward the shore. He had spotted her.

She started to back up, stumbled over a rock, and dropped her mug.

He appeared to be gliding on top of the water, picking up speed. Turning, Macy ran as fast as she could and fled for the tree line. Her heart pounded, and sudden fear twisted in her stomach. It was obvious he hadn’t expected a witness.

Macy hit the trees, scrambling through them. Her heart convulsed sickeningly. She didn’t dare look back. The forest grew a little denser as she made her way deeper into the woods. Her pursuer was already crashing around below her in the tree line. He had reached the shore very quickly, and she couldn’t outrun him. Macy passed a low bush behind a fallen tree. It concealed a hollow, and she wedged herself in the corner. She hunkered down as low to the ground as possible and listened. She heard wind rustling through the trees and the disturbances that little lizards make flitting through the undergrowth. Soon the sound of the man tramping through the woods faded.

Genevieve's Guest Post

What are the challenges of writing a book that mixes mythology with today's world?

Tom Clancy is credited with saying “The difference between fiction and reality is that fiction has to make sense.” The challenge for my writing is that mythology is the wild and fantastical reality around which I had to craft my fiction! My fictional “real world” had to seamlessly meld with an alternate mythologic reality that defies the laws of physics, ...all of the laws of physics, and I still need the story to be relatable to a contemporary audience. It’s fun because I can create situations that can defy gravity and mortality, but at the same time it's difficult because there is a fine line between ridiculous unbelievable fantasy and a paranormal reality that speaks to a person living in this earthly domain. Eleusis is a twisted mythology but what grounds the plot are the characters who share the easily recognized human desires for self-fulfillment, freedom, love and purpose.








About the author: Genevieve Fairbrother lives in Atlanta with her husband and two teenagers. She attended Wellesley.

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