Showing posts with label Mystery. Show all posts

Inside the Mind of an Author 

You don’t want to know what goes on in my mind. It will shock and scare you.

I was at a writers conference and heard  James Rollins tell a good story.

He said that most people wake up on Sunday morning and think about the golf game they’re going to play or the football game they want to watch. He lays in bed on Sunday morning and thinks of interesting new ways to kill people.

I’m kind of like that. I don’t make up my story lines. I get them from the newspapers and news reports. I couldn’t make this kind of stuff up. However, once I have the story line, I have to add enough sex, murder and mayhem along the way to keep my readers interested.

I have so much trash and dirt in my mind that it could never be published. Hmm . . . maybe I should take a short at the erotica genre. Seriously though, if you’re a girl, you may not want to date me. Most of my erotic scenes are from memories of “the women I have loved before.”

I’m always looking at people, places and situations and thinking how they could fit into a book. Many of my friends and co-workers have wiggled their way in to books. They may not recognize themselves, but little pieces of their personalities become quirks of my characters.

I have a character in The Mexican Connection, who did not know her husband was a drug dealer until the DEA knocked down her door. This really happened. I met “Lisa” many years after the incident, but it was still indelibly etched on her character. A story like that just had to end up in print.

My head is exploding with ideas, I will never be able to write them all down. I keep a folder on my computer called “Story Ideas.” I have files in it with little kernels that may or may not someday become stories. But I write them down so I don’t lose them.

I know the story line for the next two Ted Higuera novels. I just have to read the newspapers.

I hope someday to be able to write historical fiction. I have at least three stories that I would like to tell. The first is about my great-grandfather in the Civil War. The next is about how my maternal grandfather came to this country and how he met my grandmother. Then there is the story about the USS Kearsarge and the CSS Alabama. What drama.

My mind never stops. I just don’t know if I’ll be able to keep up.

If Clive Cussler had written Ugly Betty, it would be Hacker for Hire. 

Hacker for Hire, a suspense novel about corporate greed and industrial espionage, is the second book in a series about Latino computer security analyst Ted Higuera and his best friend, para-legal Chris Hardwick. 

The goofy, off-beat Ted Higuera, son of Mexican immigrants, grew up in East LA. An unlikely football scholarship brought him to Seattle. 

Chris, Ted’s college roommate, grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth. His father is the head of one of Seattle’s most prestigious law firms. 

Ted’s first job out of college leads him into the world of organized crime where he faces a brutal beating. After being rescued by beautiful private investigator Catrina Flaherty, Ted decides to go to work for her. 

Catrina is hired by a large computer corporation to find a leak in their corporate boardroom when the previous consultant is found floating in Elliot Bay. 

Ted discovers that Chris’s firm has been retained by their prime suspect. Now he and Chris are working opposite sides of the same case. 

Ted and Catrina are led deep into Seattle’s Hi-Tech world as they stalk the killer. But the killer is also hunting them. Can Ted find the killer before the killer finds him? 

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Genre – Mystery, Thriller

Rating – R

More details about the author

Connect with Pendelton Wallace on Facebook

Website www.pennwallace.com

Anna Gillis, the midwife and neighbour in Mattie's Story, has been found killed. The close-knit community is deeply shaken by this eruption of violence, and neighbours come together to help one another and to discover the perpetrator. But the answer lies Anna's secret, long guarded by Old Annie, the last of the original Selkirk Settlers, and the protagonist of An Irregular Marriage. Join the community! Read Anna's Secret and other novels by Margaret A. Westlie.

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Genre – Fiction, mystery, historical

Rating – G

More details about the author

 Connect with Margaret Westlie on Facebook & Twitter

Website http://www.margaretwestlie.com

It’s midnight. I wish there was time to be more social, but I’ve just finished up the 2^nd draft of the final book of my Land of Enchantment trilogy. There are two blog tours coming up, and a book festival 2400 miles away, all within a two month period. I have a short piece of fiction to edit, which I plan to publish in the next 3 weeks. And there’s a new novel that needs editing, which I hope to publish in 7 weeks.

After seven hours sleep, I walk the dog so my husband can sleep late. I feed my cat, Shakespeare, and then take 10 minutes for breakfast.

I drive to my Zumba class. I’m shaking my hips, moving my feet, loving the music, feeling relaxed and BAM! My brain decides to start writing one of three other books I’m hoping to do this year. My characters speak, or scream, or narration spills out of my head. They’re sentences, paragraphs, plot, or characters that will vanish forever if not put on paper. So, I leave the exercise line and look for paper in my purse. I walk out to the YMCA lobby, grab an exercise schedule and scribble on the back the gold my mind has just mined. I grab a few extra sheets, just in case. I run back to class.

I get home and throw the piece of new writing on top of a pile of others. I shower, and I’m back at it on the computer.

I stop for a 15 minute lunch during which time I watch Netflix streaming or Reign, which I’ve taped, or I watch The Bates Motel, or Once Upon a Time on Demand.

I clean up my dishes and make any pressing phone calls that can’t wait until evening.

I go back to the computer and write again, or damn myself for surfing the web and wasting time.

I go to dinner with my husband. Quick, I grab a napkin and scribble. We drive home and the new piece of writing on the napkin goes in the pile.

I get on the computer and do any personal stuff, like pay bills.

I start writing again.

I’ve promised myself that I’ll watch a movie at 8:00 or 9:00. I tell myself to only do non-writing book stuff, such as marketing, on Tuesdays, but some things can’t wait until Tuesday, such as that audio book and Best Historical Fiction award that came out four months ago which I’ve been meaning to email people about or post on Facebook. I manage an email to another group of mine and check it off my list.

I draft an email about my Books into Movies Award I received ten months ago for the first book of my trilogy, and about the Best Fantasy Finalist award I got for the second book three months ago. I hit the save button. I’m waiting a couple of weeks until the last book of my trilogy comes out to make all announcements together.

For the umpteenth time, I tell myself that I should faithfully post to my blog every week.

It is 10:00 now. I still haven’t gotten off the computer to watch that movie. I’m lost in my new novel, and that’s really the best place to be.

The last thing Miranda ever expected was to see her brother's ghost at the fallen Twin Towers.

It's bad enough survivor Christopher Michaels scares her with claims that if one dies violently, his ghost will haunt the place that holds his name. And to top it all, one of those thousands of ghosts follows Miranda to her hotel. The only certainty is the ghost grabbing her under the covers is not Jake.

Their parents' deaths separated Miranda from Jake when they were kids. Michaels insists Jake brought them together and it's no coincidence that of thousands mourning at Ground Zero, it's his best friend she bumps into. Some best friend. Michaels is more like a moocher. The cheapskate never has money, just a blood-stained wallet he broods over. Miranda has no choice but to hang out with the weird Michaels in order to unravel her brother's past.

As Miranda spends time with Michaels, she begins to wonder who he really is. Against her better judgment, Miranda becomes emotionally entangled with Michaels, a bitter alcoholic with a secret linked to her brother and that blood-stained wallet.

I Will Always Love You is part mystery, suspense and romance, a novel that will keep the reader turning the pages!

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Genre – Suspense, Mystery, Romance

Rating – PG

More details about the author

Connect with Belinda Vasquez Garcia on Facebook & Twitter

Website http://belindavasquezgarcia.com/

If you’ve read my author bio somewhere on the Web, you know that I live on a mountain ranch in Colorado and have a rather spirited Golden Retriever named Shelby. She follows me everywhere and wouldn’t give me a moment of solitude if I didn’t periodically assert my rights to be an independent being and do things like going to bathroom by myself. But I also have a wife who enjoys kanoodling with me from time to time, and it isn’t very romantic if a Golden Retriever is simultaneously licking your face. Fortunately, the young lady has her own, comfy bed on the floor. That would be the dog, by the way, not my wife.

As a writer, I clearly spend a lot of time at my desk, and Shelby is always nearby. She spends most of her time in the media room adjacent to my study staring out the French doors, monitoring our property for the multitudes of deer who frequently chow down on our landscaping. If I hear Shelby whining or barking in there, I know exactly what’s going on, and I’ll jump from my desk to let her out so she can chase them away. When she returns, she usually opens the door to let herself in and trots into the study looking like she had just saved the world from a nuclear holocaust.

You would think, since pushing down the door lever is a piece of cake for her, she’d also let herself OUT, but she doesn’t quite have the knack of pulling the door open yet. It’s so much easier to push from the outside. Then I have to get up and close the door again.

But Shelby’s favorite little caper is to come into the study periodically throughout the day and stare at me with a very clear message in her eyes: “Dad, I don’t know what you’re doing in here, but it’s quite boring, and I need you to stop it. Let’s go outside and do something far more entertaining like barking at things that don’t exist.”

These visits happen more frequently as the day goes on since we’re getting closer and closer to “quitting time” (or at least dinner time if I plan to return to work afterwards). Usually, after I spin around in my chair and see her staring me down, I’ll call her over and spend a couple of minutes giving her vigorous petties. That will pacify her for some indefinite period of time, after which she comes back for an encore performance, clearly hoping I’ll listen to reason this time.

I’m not saying we don’t take occasional breaks during the day to play, take a hike, exercise, or go for a ride in the car. We do all that. But I still adhere to a regimented work day, which means no less than 8 hours (and often 10 or more) at my desk, and that’s a lot of sedentary time for a dog to endure. Sometimes she’ll goof around outside without me for a while, especially if chipmunks or other nefarious creatures are in need of chasing around. But in no time she’s back at the study, and I need to get up and close the door, hopefully before those dastardly chipmunks scurry inside.

Oh, if you’re wondering why I harbor such contempt for chipmunks, just check out my author blog at GoodReads.com and read about our cutting-edge chipmunk relocation program. Then you’ll understand.

So it’s safe to say that Shelby has no understanding of why I fiddle with a four-screen computer workstation all day (I trade stocks, too), and I’m sure she thinks we’d both be better off if I did something else for a living. But my former career was in structured finance, which often entailed 60 to 80-hour work weeks with barely enough time outside the office to eat and sleep. If I went back THAT life, she would hardly ever get to see me, and I doubt that’s what she has in mind.

Sometimes puppy dogs just don’t think things through.

In this fourth action-packed thriller, Jack travels to Denmark for a business venture, but what seems to be a textbook transaction turns into a nightmare after he gets involved with Katarina, a vivacious Danish girl who apparently lacks a moral compass, not to mention an off button. After naively believing their liaison was just a random encounter, Jack discovers she’s connected to his business deal, and there’s a dangerous political group with skin in the game, too.

Katarina makes a convincing case of being a victim, not part of the conspiracy, but can Jack really trust her?

The firestorm gets out of control as Jack digs deeper, unearths the convoluted plot behind it all, and discovers that innocent people are being heartlessly killed. He’s not only horrified by the reason why it’s happening, but how it’s being done, and there appears to be no way to stop it from occurring again.

Then the scheme’s real objective emerges, launching Jack into action with intelligence operatives to prevent it. But that’s not so easy with assassins on Jack’s tail, forcing him to struggle for survival while trying to prevent Katarina from getting caught in the crossfire.

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Genre – Action, Mystery, Suspense

Rating – R

More details about the author

Connect with Kevin Sterling on Facebook & Twitter

Suddenly, a loud voice bellowed upstairs. “Bastard!”

Charles raced up to the third floor and found Arthur Hurst sitting at a desk, rummaging through drawers.  He clutched a piece of paper in one hand, shaking with rage as he looked up at Charles.

“Businessman, hah! This man, Black is a British agent! Here's the proof of his duplicity. Where is he? It's time to put an end to the vermin.”

Charles gasped in shock. The entire charade was unraveling! He tentatively leaned toward the desk and reached for the note. “What do you mean? What evidence?”

Hurst glanced down at one of the drawers. He reached inside and picked up a ledger. "Wait a moment. There's something else."

Charles' eyes darted toward the window, knowing Black lay outside, unconscious and defenseless. Quelling an urge to run, he pretended to be curious and slowly edged around behind the man, as if to look over his shoulder. What could he do? Desperately his gaze searched for an answer until he spied a letter opener. In one motion, he grabbed the dagger and plunged it into Arthur's back. The rotund body jerked upwards, dropping the notebook. He tried to turn around, but instead, slumped forward onto the desk.

For a moment, Charles stood shaking in disbelief at what he had just done to his sister's husband.

William Darmon and wife Elizabeth were powerful figures who in 1818 set society's pace from expansive grounds known as Mayfair Hall. When a family member is murdered, a mysterious pendant is found containing a long lost request by Napoleon Bonaparte for an American mission to burn down Parliament buildings. The couple sets out on an action filled pursuit of the killer. 

While interviewing Henry Clay in post-war Maryland about the failed mission, they uncover evidence of a conspiracy to free the Emperor from exile. The Darmons infiltrate the cadre, but a shipwreck off the coast of Scotland, a firestorm at the Darmon's Manor and a harrowing assault on the Island of St. Helena loom before the mystery can be unraveled.

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Genre – Mystery, Historical, Thriller

Rating – PG

More details about the author

Connect with Thomas Thorpe on Facebook

Website www.darmonmysteries.com

That night Harkin, Etch and I meet up at a military bar in Littleton called GI Jodie’s. It’s small, crowded, and bristling with sad, angry, hungry men like us. Ceiling caked in nicotine, head-shaped holes in the walls. On the way in we do the preliminary sweep, the three of us fanning into the room like wolves, eyes hunting, reading: non-combative, non-combative, drunk, aggressive, non-com, non-com. When we’re fairly certain that everyone is going to behave, and that everyone who isn’t, isn’t sober enough to be a serious problem, we snag a booth in the back corner. The waitress saunters over, the staccato crack of her gum popping like attraction dying on her bug-zapper face. Etch smiles politely, says, “Pitcher of Coors, please.”

She says, “Whatever.”

Harkin shouts: “Marry me!” as she’s walking away, and if she hears him, she doesn’t show it.

People noises hum through the bar, college basketball on the TV drowning in the country music piping through the speakers. For a few minutes, we sit in that comfortable silence that only people who really know each other can pull off. The Bug Zapper floats back over to the table, slaps the pitcher down in between us, three glasses, and floats away before anybody can, God have mercy on them, ask her for something else. No one can blame her for being hostile. Jodie’s works like this:

Active duty servicemen from Fort Carson and ex-military shitheads like the three of us come here to drink, which makes the place inherently dangerous. There’s been at least one fight every time I’ve walked into the place, and the bouncers generally just let whoever’s fighting work it out, and sweep up the mess when it’s over. Keep in mind that I refer to fights in terms of quantity and not quality. Military training does not make you a good fighter. I once had a Combatives instructor who told us that Military Basic hand-to-hand combat training teaches recruits just enough to get their asses kicked in a bar. What military training does give you, however, is a nasty temper, and a willingness to use violence, suddenly and efficiently, whether or not the occasion calls for it.

We work on our pitcher while the bar dissolves around us. Watch a navy derp get knocked O.U.T. by an Infantry derp. Watch both of them get tossed out by the general public around them. Etch is working on a new lead. Denver Metro’s 50 Most Wanted Sex Offenders was updated yesterday, and one of the asshats popped up on Myspace. He passes Harkin and me a napkin with the guy’s name (Joe Orenthal) and the URL for his Myspace page. Harkin’s gonna pick up the slack on the guy’s record; I agree to put together some leads on his whereabouts, and maybe stake him out for a few days. We pocket our intel napkins, order another pitcher. Over the bar noise I hear “Low Rider” by War, sharp and tinny, and Etch scrambles for his phone, wiggles it out halfway into the chorus and moves away from the table with his finger in his ear.

I ask Harkin how the Stacy situation is going. He says, “Nope.” He’s looking at the table.

I say, “Huh?”

“I’m fucking done.”

“What does that mean, though?”

“I’m breaking up with her.”

“Oh.” This is where you ask why. I don’t ask why. I know why. Because they’re both nuttier than squirrel shit, and fighting fire with fire only works on paper, and not with actual fire. Harkin is a retired Army Ranger, who, when asked why he joined the army will reply, “To shoot people in the face,” and when asked what he misses about the army will look at you like you’re stupid, because the answer is clearly: shooting people in the face. Stacy is… Well, Stacy is dating Harkin. I’m sure she has other reasons for being insane, but I don’t know them and, bottom line, it doesn’t matter. The two of them do nothing but scream at each other until the neighbors call the police and have make-up sex until the neighbors call the police again.

Harkin says, “I’m just sick of all the bullshit. I’m gonna dump her ass tonight. I already changed the combination on the gun safe.”

“Good thinking, man.” As Etch finds his way back over to the table, I add, “Hide the silverware, too.”

Etch is glowing, which isn’t an easy thing for a burly Mexican guy to do. Etch is on the other side of the spectrum as far as relationships go.

“That Jen?” I ask.

“Yeah.” He can’t seem to stop smiling, and Harkin looks like he’s trying to set the surface of the table on fire with his brain.

“How’s the hospital? She gonna have room in the ER for Harkin?”

“Fuck you, Parks,” Harkin spits over his mug.

“The question is: has she ever sewed a penis back on after pumping it out of a stomach?”

Jen was a dispatcher when Etch was a volunteer firefighter, before he joined up with the navy as a combat medic. They’ve been dating for about six years now and, unlike Harkin and Stacy, the two of them are happy with one another 90 percent of the time.

Etch asks Harkin what’s going on with Stacy and gets waved off.

“Don’t worry about it. Same old shit,” Harkin grumbles.  Asks, “What are you so happy about?”

“I’m not totally decided yet, but—”

Suddenly, there’s a Jarhead at our table. He’s swaying slightly, and his eyes are glazed and he wants to know if Etch is looking at his girl. Before anyone can respond, Harkin has stood, turned, and head-butted the fucker O.U.T.

The bar keeps moving. Harkin rolls the Jarhead onto his side, and we settle up the check.

Sebastian Parks is drowning in a flood of his own creation. Dishonorably discharged from the Army, he's wracked with night terrors and an anger that he can't abate. Unemployable and uninterested in anything resembling a normal job, Parks makes his living in fugitive apprehension, finding wanted felons on Facebook and thumping them into custody with his ex-military buddies John Harkin and Eric "Etch" Echevarria. When the body of a teenage Muslim boy is found in front of a downtown Denver nightclub Parks, Harkin and Etch are called on to do what they do best: Find bad men and make them pay. 

First-time author Kellen Burden serves up edgy humor, brutal action and characters you can't get enough of. Flash Bang will keep you turning pages until the end.

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Genre – Thriller, Mystery

Rating – R

More details about the author

Connect with Kellen Burden on Facebook

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