Sunday, October 30, 2011

Double Standard-LV Cautions- (Story Sunday)


"Thud thud thud!”


I shoved the bloody knife under the couch cushion before wiping my red hands down the left
side of my jeans, then went to answer the door, sure it was the police. My neighbors were more than nosey and the fight had been loud.


I caught a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror as I neared the door and took a quick look to
see what impression I would give. Bare feet, shirt half unbuttoned, hair mussed, framing red
eyes. Except for the thick smear of blood on my shirt and jeans, I looked a little drunk. Perfect.

"Thud thud thud!”

“Open up, this is the Cleves police department." 

 I looked back at the expensively decorated living room. Nothing. As long as they didn't get near the couch, they wouldn't see the body.


"Can I halp you?" I burst into drunken giggles as I said it, opening the door to reveal two very

serious looking cops, dressed in full gear.  "I mean, help you."

I giggled a bit more, leaning against the door as if for support and watched them exchange a quick glance. Their sharp eyes went over me, judging me just the way I had myself. Until they saw the blood. Then the alarm was blaring, the questions forming, and I knew I'd have to be careful as the older man slid a hand to the unstrapped butt of his gun.

"Are you okay, Miss?"

"Is that blood?"

I looked down like I hadn't known it was there, hand swiping at it.

"Someone had an accident." Their frowns became scowls at that.

"Who?"

 "Do they need an ambulance?"

I shook my head, thinking it was much too late for that.

"Me." I let out another cackle, holding out my left hand, and was pleased to see them both back up from my dripping wound. Their expressions relaxed, as much as police ever do anyway, and I shrugged, let myself lean on the door a bit more.

"Maybe I need stitches?"

"What happened?"

One officer questioned, while the other moved into the hall to call for medical assistance, and I tried to smile at the shrewd eyed cop but my stomach twisted at that moment, turning it into a perfect grimace. Easy. Careful.

"I wanted a sandwich." He didn't believe that's all it was and I knew right then that some of the truth would have to be told.
"He wanted a sandwich an I wanted to read. We argued." I held my hand out a bit further. "Felt bad after he left. Was gonna make it and call him." I shook my head. "Guess I should waited to sober up." The cop rolled his eyes at me then and I knew I was in the clear. With a few sentences, I’d told him there was no threat here and I swallowed my grin.


The big officer helped me, the paramedics on their way, and I closed the door to the murder scene with calm hands. My husband hadn't thought I would be home tonight but I'd known he would. And I'd known he would not be alone.


I pretended to stumble as we stepped from the curb, the officer catching me with another of those eye rolls and then we were in the ambulance and the two cops were standing by their car, watching. We pulled out a few minutes later, I did indeed need stitches, and while I hoped the cops would not hang around long enough to hear it was a defensive wound, I wasn't worried about it.  After they stitched me up, I would head out one of the many exits and be gone. I grinned and the paramedic asked me if I was all right.


"Fine as frog fur." I replied, slurring. And I was. My husband now, that was a different story and before dawn, his secretary would not be either. Cheating was a killing offense where I came from.


I appeared to be passed out for most of the ambulance ride, thinking I would have to slip out before any blood test results came back or they would want to know why I was covered in someone else's blood.


The cops left me at the hospital, not filing any charges, and I breathed a sigh of relief as their twinkling taillights faded into the night. Country cops were often dumb but those two had been on the fence about me, I was sure of it and I made a mental note to keep off the main roads when I slipped out.


The time in the emergency room passed so slow, I really did fall asleep for while and when they stitched me up, surprised at my refusal of drugs, I was left alone with no guard. The doctor who sank the needle into my forearm seven times didn't talk much but his one comment made me glad I wasn't hooked up to any machines.


"This looks defensive." His dark eyes studied my paling face, instantly drawing the wrong conclusion, and when he began to tell me of places that would help an abused woman, I hid a smile and told him I would think about it. He gave me a card as he left, along with a searching look I tried not to squirm under, and then I was free to go. To Miami Avenue.


It was only half a mile from here and I thanked the nurses politely as I went out the glass doors. I didn't have a weapon but I carried my hatred deep and I headed through the backwoods to her one floor ranch home.


Marguerite lived by herself, a failed actress trying the 9 to 5 scene, and I lurked in the tall bushes beneath her window, waiting. Her lights were on, television blaring out the news of yet another wave of oil washing onto oceanfront property and then I could feel the night around me still. The darkness slid further over her home, the news changing to the late show, and when her lights finally went off, I eased from my hiding place. After tonight, she would have no need of a married man or anything else.


I had already chosen my point of entry, the doggy door I was slim enough to squeeze through, and I was careful to touch nothing I couldn't wipe off afterwards. My husband’s body wouldn't be found but sweet little Marguerite would appear to be the victim of a home invasion.


The house smelled of sex and candy, the cheep, plastic tasting kind, and I grimaced at the odor as I passed through her tiny kitchen and headed up the hall stairs. I had staked her place out for a week before I made my move, making sure I knew where she'd be, and I took the stairs with a quiet caution any ninja would have admired.


Her bedroom door stood open, a reading lamp on, and I moved toward the light with hate in my heart. None of those other tramps had meant anything to my wandering husband but this tart had wormed her way into his heart with her desperate actress routine and a quick call to the lawyer had confirmed my suspicions. Her name had replaced mine on the will, the inheritance. The entire empire we'd built together, would go to her. My smile in the darkness was sharp. Maybe to her relatives or a local charity. She wouldn't be around to spend a dime.


I dropped to the ground as I neared the door, she wouldn't be able to see me if I stayed low, and I waited on the threshold, listening to her deal herself one last pleasure before drifting off to slumber. My heart tightened as she murmured a man's name in the darkness and I slid into her bedroom without making a sound.

I crawled around the edge of her bed, heart thumping and when she let out a soft snore, I almost screamed. I clamped the sound inside my throat, swallowing it, and then I was lunging upward, my hands flying toward her neck.



An hour later, I was back in my own luxury high rise, struggling to get my husband's lean body into the garbage chute. I had already aimed the bottom gutter toward the furnace and the fact that it was kept fired continuously made my heart beat calmly. The body would be burned along with all the other trash and all I had to do was clean up the mess.

I heaved hard, arms screaming with the effort and his corpse slowly started sliding down towards the inferno.


He made a lot of noise on the way and I winced at each bang and thump but my ears told me it wasn't any worse than the bags of bottles we usually dumped at night, just a bit heavier sounding. After I hit the fire button, a smell drifted up, one that made me gag and I quickly opened my air vent, turning on the fan. I had not counted on the smell and my stomach rolled as I cleaned the bloody couch. The floor, I had covered with a tarp before the fight started and I sent this to the furnace as well as my own clothes, not bothering with a shower yet. I still had a lot to do.


I bleached the stains from the white sofa and it left a very noticeable mark but after a light coat of finger paint, it blended right in and I turned my attention to the odor. My neighbors would complain about it, remember it. Unless it was not coming from my apartment, I realized.


The penthouse was empty right now, the upper floors under construction, and I moved toward the stairs at a calm pace, trying not to imagine how many people might be watching me pass. The stairwell was dim, as was the hallway, carpenters tools littering the various benches, and I chose the apartment furthest from my own. On my way, luck shined on me and I scooped up the dead rat with hands that did not flinch.

I turned the chute toward the furnace and placed the huge sewer rat on the floor nearby, hoping anyone investigating the odor would think its mate had fallen into the furnace, producing the stench. I moved back to my apartment, running the checklist through my head. Body? Check. Weapon? Check. It was currently burning along with the other evidence. Witnesses? None. It was perfect. I had committed two murders and would never face justice for it. I was avenged and free.


"Then how come you're in here, on the Row?" I shook myself from the flashback as more questions followed.

"Yeah. How'd you get caught?" I leaned across the wooden table, aware that my last hour of freedom, of breathing, was quickly drawing to a close but I did not regret my actions or my last wish to spend an hour talking to the other inmates.

"The Dic turned me in."

"Time's up, Collins." The guards tone was cruel. "The Padre's waitin for ya." I stood carefully, my ankle and wrist chains rattling, and I flashed a sickly smile at the listening women, some of whom would be making the walk too before long.

"My husband had hired a PI to follow me around right about the time I started staking out his whore. He thought I might be cheating."

Friday, October 28, 2011

One Year and 10,000 books sold!...

One Year and 10,000 books sold!...: Exactly one year ago, The Survivors was uploaded to Amazon. In 365 days, it has sold almost 10,000 copies! It has been as high as #2 on ...

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Nuclear (Dark Fantasy Tuesday)


Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
We conquered this great land
Now keep it, we must
By any means, wrong or just


How? A weapon
Full of arrogance
We helped it evolve
Working equations
Man wasn’t meant to solve


Envisioned for defense
Created to cause massive death
We call it security, safety
But of that, there’s little left


Now, the whole world suffers
No one in control
For money and power
We’ve damned our souls


Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
We’ve destroyed this great land
Now watch it rust

Chaeck out this book

Sunday, October 23, 2011

Soul Mates (Story Sunday)


We'd gotten away clean.

My death grip on the steering wheel eased but I didn't slow, instead, switching to an empty lane so I could go faster on the dark highway. I'd expected the police to be chasing us by now and my heart gradually returned to normal. We'd gotten away!

My eyes went to his face in the passenger seat and I grinned, unable to believe it was finally happening. We could be together now! I took another exit at top speed and forced myself to slow and blend into the light traffic as we crossed the state line. It wouldn't do to draw attention right now.

I patted my lover's hand comfortingly, able to smell his aftershave and the leather of his coat. He'd played hard to get for a long time, saying he wanted me but it wasn't right, telling me he loved me, touching me, bringing me pleasure I hadn't known existed, and then backing away, saying he couldn't leave his wife. My grin widened. It didn't matter now. She was gone and we could be together!

I drove smoothly despite my excitement and I couldn't wait to be alone with him. The things I had planned! I took another look at his face. He was incredible to me, even in profile. I'd been in love with him for years and the affair had slowly consumed me until my job and family had faded from view, and then, The Plan. How could we be together had been the question but I'd answered it. Now, we were.

The two lane dirt road was full of deep ruts and I was careful not to let the wagon bounce too much. Always working The Plan, that was me. The farmhouse was dark and would be cold but it was out of the way and I had my lover to keep me warm. I parked by the back door and patted his big hand again.

"Wait here for me."

I chuckled as I dug the white tarp out of the back, leaving the blow gun responsible for my success, and I covered the wagon completely. With a few dozen shovels of snow on top, it looked like the vehicle hadn't been moved since before the last winter storm, and I turned my attention to the tire tracks.

I went all the way to the bottom of the driveway, ignoring the cold and the screaming of my arms and back. There'd be time to rest later. Right now, I had to stay on Plan. I worked with careful eyes as I went back to the wagon, making sure it didn't look like anyone had been here for a long time. It didn't and the nearest neighbor was an Irish Dog Kennel. They'd never hear the screams.

I pulled the cellar door up with a grunt and lowered the plank I'd had to cut twice to make a perfect fit for rolling and sliding things down the steep stairs. No way he was going to be able to walk it. 

I rolled back the tarp on the passenger door and when I opened it, I smiled comfortingly into his dazed green eyes.

"Don't worry. We'll be safe here." 

He mumbled, drooling, and I changed direction, heading for the back and the blowgun. He couldn't come out of it yet. I still had to get him below, get him chained, and recover the cellar door with snow. The Plan wouldn't work if he escaped before learning to love me. 

I moved toward him while loading the dart. Things would be just perfect once he understood we were Soul Mates.

Sunday, October 16, 2011

Closer (Story Sunday)


She knew she was being followed and her heart pounded, mind racing.

Echoes came to her. She was outnumbered.

Her steps faltered and she took a quick look over her shoulder to verify it but the street was in total darkness except for a dim, cloud-covered moon and her tiny flashlight. 

She moved a bit faster, sure it was the four men from the stadium. She'd only needed a moments escape from the thousands of tensely beating hearts crammed into the Super Dome and instead, had found a young girl's abused body and her attackers standing nearby, talking about how to hide it. All fresh from the act, they'd turned to see her and when she'd fled, they'd followed. Now, they were stalking her, getting closer.

The New Orleans street was debris-covered, empty except for broken tree limbs and power lines, and she heard the footsteps on her trail change. They'd split up, she realized, trying to surround her, herd her. She walked faster, sharp eyes still unable to pick even a single shadow from the darkness but it didn't really matter. She was a witness. They couldn't leave her alive.

Soft laughter rang out on her right and she flinched to the left, almost running now, and hit something heavy lying in the street. She fell hard, light flying out of her grasp and smashing against the ground. Blood dripped from her hands and she pushed herself up began to run through the total darkness.

A shape appeared on her right and she spun left again, running through a muddy yard, and glass crunched under her feet as heavy footsteps echoed openly, closely. 

She threw herself over a high fence and hit the ground again, almost dazed from the impact. She stayed still, hearing them close in, and then she was surrounded, looking up at four angry leers. 

Her cloak had fallen open to reveal a short, black dress over pale, flawless skin, and she felt the air shift. Their eyes darkened with need and she closed her eyes, listening to them decide who would be first and how they would clean up after.

Shadows moved silently in the darkness as the first man knelt in the mud, and unseen hands moved toward for his companions as he dropped his body onto hers. The woman immediately slid her hands around his neck.

"Closer." She whispered hungrily, lips searching, and then she was plunging her fangs into his sweaty skin and he was screaming. Her grip was like stone, relentless, and the shrieks of the other men echoed his as the small family of Hunters fed.

The woman belched loudly and giggled at herself as she pushed the body over and staggered to her feet, intoxicated with her meal. Hunting during the aftermath of human suffering was always the best. Few lights to give them away, no authorities patrolling every alley, and best of all, a perfect food supply. Tragedies brought out the worst mankind had to offer and with no one to protect their rights, these remorseless Killers were finally serving a purpose and getting what they deserved at the same time.




Friday, October 14, 2011

How the choice of setting can supercharge a novel (A Guest Post from Tim Taylor)




When authors are interviewed about their novels, they usually talk mostly about their characters. There’s a good reason for this: characters are what readers relate to most easily; they are the emotional route into the story. But there are other dimensions to a novel too, one of the most vital being setting.


When, in 2004, I started writing what turned into a pair of science fiction novels called My Future in the Past, I thought about how I could bring a new twist to stories about time travel. Before I’d even written the first chapter, I decided that I must first have a vivid sense of place, and that place needed to be unusual — something different from New York City or London, or a space station or future metropolis from central casting. I found that not only did my choice of setting provide background — a place for the characters to act out their story — but it started to fundamentally alter my original plan for the novels.


My previous story had been about a tsunami striking Boston. Thanks to the internet, I could recite locations, give the name of taxi companies, and write about the Big Dig. I even had a critique partner who had lived in Boston and corrected my Bostonian speech. Perhaps I did a good job on the Boston setting, but I could never know for certain because it wasn’t somewhere I could go.


For my new novel, I wanted somewhere I could visit easily, somewhere contemporary where I could hide a time station without anyone noticing. Tricky! I settled on Elstow Abbey. One of the useful things about Elstow Abbey is that it doesn’t exist, not any more. Henry VIII dissolved the monastery in 1539. What if I brought it back? After all, you can play such tricks with time travel.


My wife was born and bred in Elstow and told me of the stories they used to tell when she was a girl, of the ghosts of the nuns who still guarded the monastery’s treasure buried deep underground. Well, what if that wasn’t entirely nonsense? What if there really was something underground: a time station?


So I set my story in Elstow, a tiny village that is being slowly swallowed by the neighbouring big town of Bedford. Other than the abbey, there is one other thing Elstow is famous for: John Bunyan, who lived and preached there. I knew about Bunyan, all right. When I moved to the Bedford area twenty years ago in search of work, everything in the area was named Pilgrim this or Progress the other, after Bunyan’s famous book. I even used to meet my friends in a pub called the Pilgrim’s Progress, which featured a cupola with a stained glass frieze of scenes from the book, and cask-conditioned De Koninck (but that’s another story entirely).


As I wrote the first draft, I made the appalling mistake of slipping in annoying facts about Elstow and Bunyan.


See the children playing tipcat on Elstow Green, just as Bunyan did when he felt the call from God. And, by the way, did you know this is where the original Vanity Fair was held? Marvel in my research!


You know the sort of guff. Well, I grew out of that phase and cut out almost all of these facts. But I did keep one thing. As I wrote about Bunyan and his Pilgrim’s Progress, I felt an uncanny resonance. I read Bunyan’s book and was spooked by the parallels with my own. Bunyan’s character, Christian, was facing similar challenges to my own characters. Instead of splitting the books into parts, I now split them into stages, just as Bunyan did, naming the stages after his. One of the key characters in the sequel to the Pilgrim’s Progress (yes, they had sequels even in the 17th century) was Mr. Great Heart. It’s no coincidence that my publishing business is called Greyhart Press, though to explain more would be giving far too much away...


One of the strangest things to explain to non-writers is the exciting feeling we get when a novel starts to write itself. It sounds like sloppiness, like a writer not in control of the story. In reality, it happens when the characters, setting, plot, and themes become so vivid that the writer sees new connections and enticing possibilities that were hidden when the story was first planned out.


And now my story was telling me to rewrite, to emphasise the thematic parallels with The Pilgrim’s Progress. Bunyan’s book set an obstacle-laden allegorical path for the main character to follow, with spiritual fulfilment as the ultimate destination. And that is now the theme for my novels. They feature two main characters, one human and one not, who exist in parallel worlds. Each faces similar challenges on their path from Slough of Despond to Celestial City. Except a happy ending would be too easy. These parallel realities are at war with each other, and by the end of the books, one must be erased from existence. That’s now woven in as an integral theme that, hopefully, leads to some powerful scenes as the reader begins to suspect that one set of characters is doomed.


So thank you, Elstow. If I hadn’t chosen you for a setting, my novels would have been poorer for it.


The first volume of My Future in the Past will be published by Greyhart Press early in 2012. Check www.greyhartpress.com for announcements.


You can find more about Tim at www.timctaylor.com or tweet @TimCTaylor


2012, My Apocalyptic View- (Guest Post-Win a $10 Amazon Everything card!)


2012! Will it come? Is this the End? I have a plan that when this fated month arrives, I am going to throw a party. The theme: It’s the End of the World---wear what you want, eat what you want, and all confessions legal.



But how? How will it come? What will happen? Being that I am a nurse and an author, I draw from my experiences in the real world. I used to work in an Intensive Care Unit. There were days that people would come in with illnesses that could never be explained. We did everything we possibly could to save them. We ran every test, did every scan and more. These people would mysteriously die: Cause of death: Unknown.
My views on the Apocalypse are simple. If it ever comes, it will be in the form of a VIRUS!

Believe me when I say that many medical institutions are taking this possibility very seriously. I have personally participated in drills. Supplies are being gathered and protocols devised. This scenario is a very REAL possibility, but take comfort in the fact that they are preparing. All I can say is this: Wash your hands!


Bio:
Laura was born and raised in Scotland and moved to the US in her pre-teens. She loves having a cup of tea while writing and is an avid camper and hiker.

In college she spent two years writing poetry and didn't discover that she loved writing longer works till her late 20's.

She is currently working on a psycho-thriller, a book of poems and another children's book.


Contest



To Win, email me the very last sentence of Laura's book, Delivered To Eternity!
a7777777Angela@yahoo.com, subject; Contest Answer.

Sunday, October 9, 2011

Mother Sarah (Story Sunday)


Sarah was a puritan healer who worshipped the Goddess Isis and yet, shunned the heathen rituals of her friends and neighbors. Barren since birth from illness, she wore no garlic strands or crosses and feared not to walk in the night, even after the attacks started. She believed she was under the protection of the goddess and could often be seen strolling the main paths, as if to prove her outrageous claim.

And so it was she found him on the side of the dirt road, a bloody pile of charred robes and skeletal hands, and instantly recognized him for the creature he was. Vampyre.

Instead of trying to finish him off, as her fellow townsmen would have no doubt done, she stepped to him lightly and began examining his wounds. Weak, dying maybe, he still tried to grab her, glimmering eyes attempting to seduce but Sara was a sturdy girl of even sturdier determination and she simply shoved a potion down his throat and waited.

When he slept, she painstakingly took him home, to the area she’d prepared, unable to believe her good luck. On her first try, she had gotten what she wanted and it had only taken three lives. She’d expected that number to be much higher.


The emaciated Vampyre came awake all at once and Sarah could feel his sunken black eyes suddenly watching as she took rats from one wire cage and placed them in another. She chose only the plumpest specimens and the last, she kept a hold of, turning to look at her captive.


"Blood for blood."
The weak creature hissed his rage, his denial of her offer, and she shrugged, puritan brown eyes shrewd.

"You will give me what I want or you will never leave here."

He really struggled then, twisting and shouting gibberish threats and curses. His thin body tensed against the chains, testing them but he found no weakness, nor would he. These restraints had been forged with just this purpose in mind.

Sarah moved closer, gentle fingers calming the nervous rodent in her grip.

"Blood for blood!" With a vicious jerk, she snapped the rats neck and kept twisting, pulling hard, and its head came off with a wet, sickening crunch, sending scarlet drops of lifeblood splattering across the Vampyre’s pale face. It gushed against the bars of his cage, close enough to drip, to allow for only a taste and the rest poured onto the dirt floor of his underground cell.

"Nooo!" The Vampyre slammed himself against the chains, head straining to get his forked tongue on the splatters, and Sarah laughed at his obvious desperation.

"I will come back in a few days to ask again." Seconds later, she was climbing the wooden ladder, pulling it up behind her.


His furious struggles ceased to exist as soon as she lowered the earthen plug and the young widow moved toward the well to wash, humming happily. John would be very pleased with how far she had gotten with the research. He had never been able to capture a live specimen to experiment on, had died trying, but Sarah had done it simply by following the notes in his journal.

"Vampyres are solitary and will often attack any of their kind who threaten to expose them."

Sarah had understood this would apply to even rumors and it had been her tools that plunged into those girl's necks, not a Vampyre’s fangs, her own mouth that had removed the coppery blood and dumped it far from the attack. After two deaths, the village people had started hunting and more than one night walker had been staked, burned, and decapitated. Not to mention the innocent villager that had been mistaken for a creature of the night.

The townspeople had been near panic then and all she had to do was watch and wait for whatever black sheep the rest of the Vampyres believed to be guilty. With John's sleep potions in her apron, she had prowled the woods and met with success. Her specimen was weak, likely why the others had thought him guilty in the first place, and she had no doubt he would relent under her torture without the month's long battle of wills that she had prepared for.

Sarah smiled, a hard, glinting grin of triumph. With the Vampyres willing donations, she would have the blessing of Isis and the transformation would heal her barren womb and create a new species of monster. She would be their maker, their Mother.

Her hand rubbed at her empty belly, eyes glittering with insanity. It was the one thing John had not been able to give her. Children of her own.

Friday, October 7, 2011

Meet Smilodon!- Alan Hayes Guest Post


Thank you, Angela, for the opportunity to introduce readers to my next release. SMILODON is due out the second week in October, and is what I term a creature thriller. I’ve always found the subgenre entertaining and the stories—whether in book version or movie—never fail to capture the public’s attention. Popular examples are JAWS, the ALIEN movies,  RELIC,  JURRASIC PARK, and many more. You get the picture. 

Since publishing THE UNNATURAL, my first creature thriller, I’ve been dying (pun only intended) to pen another one. SMILODON is my terrestrial JAWS so to speak. I’m excited about this one. Like the huge prehistoric predator in the story, this book will grab on to the reader and not let go. The story blurb is a giant cat terrorizes a small town in the Pacific Northwest. 

I’m thrilled to give your readers a sneak peak at the cover art and synopsis for SMILODON. Hope you enjoy it.
Synopsis

Seven years after a near-fatal mauling by a grizzly bear, in which his only son was killed, Jason Bristol, a one time prize-fighter and expert animal tracker, is back in the woods tracking again--when he’s not nursing the nearest fifth of whiskey.

     Then Jason’s best friend and mentor is discovered half-buried beneath a mat of pine needles.  The prospector’s mangled corpse has been mauled virtually beyond recognition.  A rancher loses a prize thoroughbred and suddenly the nightmare responsible for Jason’s downward spiral is rekindled as Jason is thrust back into the wilderness on the trail of a predator that defies belief.

     The time clock has begun for Norah Phelps, too, daughter of multimillionaire real estate developer Richard Phelps whose recent purchase of the 95,000 acre former Clarksdale Animal Preserve has pitted environmentalist and wildlife biologist daughter against capitalist father.  Norah, responsible for relocating the local wolf population, remains unconvinced a pack of marauding wolves are accountable for the attacks and enlists Jason’s help in her quest for the real killer before the spate of killings can jeopardize not only her future but also the future of her father’s prize development project.

     Against the majestic pristine backdrop of Idaho’s Bitterroot Wilderness Area, the story unfolds.  Jason, with Norah’s assistance, soon discovers the ghosts of his past are nothing compared to the battle he’s undertaken.

     Smilodon.  A saber-toothed cat.  He’s angry, he’s frightened, he’s hungry, and he’s 12,000 years from home.

Look for SMILODON this October at an ebook store near you!

Alan Nayes was born in Houston and grew up on the Texas gulf coast. He lives in Southern California. He is the author of the critically-acclaimed biomedical thrillers, GARGOYLES and THE UNNATURAL. His most recent release is BARBARY POINT, a love story. He has two other novels that will be published soon. SMILODON is about a huge cat that terrorizes a small town in the Pacific Northwest. In early 2012, Samhain Publishing will release his erotic horror story GIRL BLUE. GIRL BLUE is about a terminally ill sculptor who becomes haunted by his last work.

         An avid outdoorsman and fitness enthusiast, he is one of only a few individuals to  ever swim across Wisconsin’s chilly Lake Winnebago. When not working on his next project, he enjoys relaxing and fishing at the family vacation home in Wisconsin.

Alan Nayes books can be found at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Smashwords.

BARBARY POINT 
Amazon http://amzn.to/jwaVbN
Barnesandnoble.com http://bit.ly/j4mUlk
Smashwords http://bit.ly/kZwoq7
GARGOYLES
Amazon http://amzn.to/nUMXs4
Barnesandnoble http://bit.ly/nBThYm
Smashwords https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/77758

THE UNNATURAL
Amazon http://amzn.to/oXRiNV
Barnesandnoble http://bit.ly/oxjm4S
Smashwords  https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/80711 

Readers can contact Alan Nayes at:

Website http://anayes.com/                     
Goodreads  http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/527589.Alan_Nayes
Facebook http://on.fb.me/mflYEU
Twitter http://twitter.com/#!/alannayes
Blog   http://alannayes.blogspot.com/ 

Again, thank you, Angela, for having me on your blog.