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With so many wonderful writers in various groups to which I belong, it’s only natural that we get into some fascinating conversations. The hot topic for over a year now has been The E-Book Phenomenon, of course. Everyone has such diverse opinions that I decided to pose the question of how e-books have changed their lives to eight of the finest writers I know. But before they share their reasons, I’ll relate mine.
I can honestly say that e-books have made my writing journey easier, quicker, more fun and much more economical. I now get more royalties for one small book than I got for a full-length novel from traditional print publishers. All that and there are no dead trees, no ink and no postage. The postage alone used to kill any joy I had in getting a meager ten percent royalty. Yay for e-books and double yay for the e-readers. Love my Kindle Fire too.
Author Wayne Zurl: A Dinosaur Rolls Over
I’m a dinosaur and proud of it. I worked long and hard to attain that status and wear a lapel pin to prove it.
Electronic publishing is advanced technology and I’m techno-phobic. I shy away from anything new. I still use a spinning reel purchased in 1964 and wish I had never bought a personal computer. (laughs)
What does this have to do with how e-books changed my life? I’m getting’ there…
When I finished my first full-length novel, A New Prospect, I began the epic chore of querying agents—a dozen or so at a clip. Agents spend hours a day writing blogs telling potential clients how busy they are. The process of getting their rejection letters took ages. After a hundred of those buggers sent me “not interested” notes, I attacked publishers willing to accept submissions directly from writers. That process was even slower.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I began writing shorter stories, novelettes, for practice. I needed a creative outlet in my retirement and manuscripts seemed a lot easier to store than model airplanes or oil paintings. Somewhere along the line, I ran across a publisher who wanted novelettes, stories between 8,000 and 11,000 words, to create one-hour audio books and e-books. I submitted something called A Labor Day Murder and a month or so later, I received something new and different—an acceptance letter. That began my career as a fiction writer.
So far I’ve seen twelve novelettes accepted, recorded by a professional actor and simultaneously turned into Kindle, Nook, Kobo, Sony and other e-book formats I never heard of. The things I’ve written can be listened to or read on eReaders, personal computers, iPads, iPods, iPhones, Blackberries, blueberries and gooseberries. (laughs)
Thanks to all the formats available and the low prices, ($1.99 or less) e-books outsell the audio versions. Thanks to e-books, the Sam Jenkins mystery series made it to the publishing map. Eventually, I found a small publisher who would take a chance on A New Prospect. It’s not only in print but in all variations of e-book, too.
This dinosaur rolled over and accepted a bit of technology that helped boost his ego and kept him interested in writing.
http://amazon.com/author/waynezurl
Ann Swann Never Dreamed Her First Book Would Be an E-book
Who knows what future opportunities lie in store for authors and readers? All I can say for sure is that we’ve arrived in the era of e-books ever after–lucky us!
I first discovered e-books three or four years ago when my handsome hubby, Dude, bought me a Sony reader for Christmas. I fell in love with it because I have so many books that I am always dusting, needing to dust, or sneezing my head off while complaining about the dust. (laughs)
Mind you, I do miss turning pages late at night when Dude’s working and I’m reading in bed with my dogs at my feet and my cat, Maggie May (yes, that Maggie May), curled up under my arm. It just isn’t the same when I doze off and the e-reader—I’ve graduated to Kindle now—falls over on my face and bonks me in the nose. Paper books don’t bonk, they just sort of slither. But enough bonking already, Betty asked how e-books have changed our lives as readers and authors.
As an author, I never dreamed my first book would be available just as an e-book. When I sent it in to Cool Well Press, I was so used to rejections that when the acceptance e-mail came, I could scarcely read what it said after the line “We like it! We want it!” (Okay, maybe it didn’t say that exactly , they are professionals, after all, but that’s how my brain interpreted it.)
So, was I disappointed when I learned that the novella-length Phantom Pilot qualified only for e-book status? Perhaps for a moment, but after we discussed the possibility of a series of Phantom books, I was satisfied. I’ve just signed the contract for Book Two: The Phantom Student. It will be novel length, thus qualifying it for both print and e-book status.
So, Betty, I guess the main way digital changed my life as an author and as a reader is this: it made me a little greedier. Now I want all my books, the ones I read and the ones I write, to be available in print and digital. I don’t think that’s too much to ask, do you? (laughs)
http://facebook.com/annswann.author
Author John Zunski: Invigorated by Writing E-books, Loves the E-readers
Easy as A, B, C… You know, another blog concerning d’em e-books. (laughs)
“ ‘ey hair farmer,” he cried stomping snow from his boots. “Put down that library machine and get me a beer, huh ennit.”
Translation from Montanan: Mr. Bartender, when you finish with that portal into worlds infinitely more interesting than drunken prattle, would you find it in your heart to pour me a fine, mass-produced libation, please?
Somewhere I’ve heard that the customer is always right, and in this case, he is! It’s wonderful carrying a library in the palm of my hand. E-readers have reinvigorated my reading experience, or more accurately, have provided literary crack-cocaine to a once on-the-wagon book junkie.
On-the-wagon not only because I was running out of shelf space, but the words on the page were harder to read. So, why don’t I build another shelf and get reading glasses?
The short answer – I’d rather live with my wife than bunk with the librarian and my ego had a difficult time admitting needing glasses. E-readers, you have given me the best of both worlds: I can resume collecting books and never have to worry about losing my glasses. Font control is a wonderful thing.
Plus I will never get back strain from lugging around the equivalent of the New York Public Library. Yes, how great is life that with a push of a button one can go from shivering on the soaked streets of London to baking in the Egyptian desert, or go from experiencing the world of an innocent child to understanding the motives of a mafia don?
E-readers are better than any TV remote control I know; not only do I control the picture, but there’s no flippin’ commercials. But, what is really cool, in someone’s portal, a reader is slipping into a world I’ve created and is experiencing it through the eyes of my characters. That has truly rocked my world.
Author Barbara Watkins Changes Mind about E-books
I have to admit when I first heard of e-books I thought to myself, this concept will never fly. Boy was I wrong!
My publisher insisted that it was the wave of the future. Boy was she right!
My first full-length novel Hollowing Screams was released in e-book format October 31, 2011 and sales fared quite nicely. The print version was released a few weeks later with disappointing sales. Not much has changed…
When a reader can purchase an e-book copy of their favorite author at a fraction of the cost of the print version, more times than not they will choose the less expensive path. For me, as an author, having these options of selling in e-book format, as well as print, improves my odds tremendously when it comes to sales.
What does this all mean for the readers? A reader can place a book in print in their hands, turn the pages, and when finished, strategically place it on the shelf. However, a reader that purchases an e-book can download that same book onto their kindle, iphone, nook tablet, computer, ipad, and other electronic devices…again for the fraction of the cost.
There will always be a place for paperback and hardback versions of your favorite authors. Imagine for a moment that you could no longer purchase the best-selling book in the world in physical print: the Bible. However, having the choice to purchase literary works in physical form or as an e-book download to your electronic device… Well, it’s a win, win situation for both reader and author.
http://www.barbarawatkins.net/
https://www.facebook.com/barbienell.watkins
Husband-and-Wife Writing Team Matt and Danielle Drake
Founded Kourageous Kids for Ill Children to Star in Own Books
Danielle: When Matthew and I first started writing we finished our first manuscript, then set out to find an agent. We were excited, until the dreaded query letter came along.
Matthew: We were part of several writing groups, forums and critique clubs. It seemed everyone had the “right” way to do a query letter. However, none of the “right” ways agreed. Felt like religion or politics…
Danielle: (laughs) Don’t encourage him. It was rather painful. We wrote and re-wrote the query what… ten times…?
Matthew: Closer to thirty, I think!
Danielle: We only got form rejections, so we trunked the novel. Gave up…until we discovered e-publishing… That first novel still rests in the back of the hard drive, but we are now learning everything we can about editing, writing and being our best.
Matthew: Most days I would be happy to never admit that first manuscript even exists. The grind really made me hate that book. (laughs)
Danielle: After so many changes…yeah… It’s toast. Honestly, I prefer the freedom to write the stories I want to, not the ones that agents think they can sell.
Matthew: I do think that e-books will revolutionize writing in much the same way that Youtube revolutionized indie film-making. I have really enjoyed the exposure to artists I would have never had an opportunity to discover on my own.
Danielle: It isn’t about selling; it’s about reaching readers. We have amazing stories to tell. I don’t want an agent to tell me they “love the idea, but don’t think they can sell it.”
Matthew: Also I wanted to say it seems fitting that our “coming out” interview is on Betty Dravis’s blog.
Danielle: She inspired us to be our best. She put us in our place, but did so in a kind manner and helped us get better.
Matthew: When she told us how horrid our writing was, she took the time to explain why and get us the writing guides to fix it.
Danielle: Matthew! No, you are right… (laughs) It was horrid, but those are your words, not Betty’s.
Matthew and Danielle: Couldn’t have done it without you, Betty!
Special Note from Betty Dravis: Since Matt and Danielle wrote the above, they have shelved their former books until they can have them properly edited, but something magnificent came out of this delay: They had been reading about terminally ill children and came up with the idea to write books for each individual child, making them the heroes of their very own picture book. They named their group Kourageous Kids and have already written several books that they’ve presented to some of the kids whose parents contacted them…or vice versa.
Needless to say, Matt and Danielle’s project has already blessed a number of children and their families. I’m so proud of them and encourage all our readers to check their websites and perhaps join their efforts. And please send them the names of ill children you think would like their very own book. Following is the Kourageous Kids Storybooks Mission statement:
Our goal is to bring hope, joy and laughter to children fighting cancer and other terminal illnesses. We write picture books for children and their siblings depicting them as the heroes and heroines they really are. Whether they are braving the pouring rain, or being part of a heroic Search and Rescue team, or learning sign language to befriend a lonely girl, our stories carry messages of strength, love, compassion and courage. To personalize the messages, the main characters’ names are those of the children who are living with and fighting their diseases. Included in the short stories are these brave youngsters’ favorite foods, their dreams and their aspirations. We want to give the children an opportunity to live through the stories we create for them.
Matt and Danielle are also gifted book-cover designers, graphic artists and illustrators. Check out both their websites.
http://www.wix.com/kourageouskids/storybooks
http://www.covercreations.blogspot.com
Tess Thompson Hardwick’s ‘Riversong’ No. One at Barnes & Noble
As a writer, the rising popularity of e-books has helped me tremendously. Last October my debut novel, Riversong, rose to the #1 spot on the Nook Book bestseller list. As an unknown author, without the popularity of e-books, I would never have had the opportunity to have such success.
As a reader, ironically, although I own a Kindle and love it, I still find many books at the library. As a mother of two on a strict budget, I love the library; I still feel like an awestruck child when I enter a library and realize I can take any book home I want. When I was young and single and making more money, I used to buy a lot of books, feeling that it was important to support writers however I could. Now, similarly, I love my Kindle because I can find all my favorite indie authors and read their novels, which are almost always less expensive than a latte.
Bio: Tess Hardwick is a novelist and mother. She lives in western Washington with her husband, two young daughters and their puppy, Patches. She writes a blog called, Inspiration For Ordinary Life at and is currently working on her second novel.
Author Melanie Saxton: ‘It’s a Smorgasbord Out There’
What isn’t there to love about e-books and the wonderful tools we use to read them? After all, the advent of e-books has loosened the stranglehold of traditional publishers, allowing emerging authors across all genres to bloom and e-publish. The number of books available to readers has risen exponentially, almost all at prices we can afford. Without even owning a Kindle or Nook readers can still download books in PDF format right off Smashwords, while iPad owners can simply download free Kindle and Nook apps. Perhaps people are reading more than ever due to this phenomenon . . .and that’s always a good thing!
E-reading devices are near and dear to my heart, especially since they also work with many magazines. As a contributing editor for six publications, you can bet this delights me. We are still in the Wild-West days of e-books and e-publishing and the only downside is the minor risk involved in buying an e-book that hasn’t been properly edited. But then again, I’ve read hardbacks that could use some help in that department. The point is that works we’d never, ever otherwise read are now available without the blessing of the brick and mortar publishing houses. We can choose our books all by ourselves, and it’s a smorgasbord out there!
Link to Melanie’s interview of former First Lady Barbara Bush:
http://houstonlifestyles.com/?p=4302
https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1700954844
Author Joe Perrone’s E-books Earning Big Bucks;
E-reader Saving His Eyesight
When I published my first novel, Escaping Innocence (A Story of Awakening) I’d never even heard of e-books. It wasn’t until my son-in-law, Brad, told me about them that I decided to investigate them, which I did—extensively!
Now, nearly four years later, I have published a total of five books, and all of them are available as e-books—in both Kindle versions and multiple other formats through Smashwords.com.
Thanks to e-books, my life will never be the same. I am earning in excess of $25,000 a year in royalties, more than 80% of that coming from—guess where?—yep, e-books! Just last weekend, I elected to offer Escaping Innocence and my latest Matt Davis Mystery, Twice Bitten, as free downloads through the Kindle Select Program. In two days, readers downloaded 2,132 free copies of the books.
As for reading, I am so grateful to have my Kindle. I have had two detached retinas, which left me with some minor double vision. Thanks to my Kindle, I am able to read for hours on end by utilizing the font size option.
So, my answer is that e-books and the associated reading devices have changed my life forever—and for the better!
For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you.
Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Kahlil Gibran
Chapter 1
Fragrant flowers pelted the clustered group as they made their way toward the idling bus. Behind wooden barriers, fans chanted, “Giki,” the name of the rock star they had paid precious dollars to watch perform that night’s concert. Natasha walked close to the rock star, her eyes scanning all directions in search of potential threats to her client. She fought the urge to duck her head, hoping any roses thrown would be thornless. Although the screaming voices conveyed frenzy, the crowd remained behind the posted barricade, and Natasha allowed herself a moment’s relief. So far, the concert had gone smoothly and it looked like this gig was going to be not only easy, but fun.
White, cottony fabric smacked into her face, entangled in her hair and around her neck. Natasha peeled it away, trying not to breathe in. What was that smell? Bile rose in her throat when she realized she held a large pair of men’s jockeys in her hands. With a shriek, she dropped the underwear and swiped her face with her jacket sleeve, making phhht noises with her mouth. She froze when she noticed the others stuttering to a halt watching her. This was not how a professional bodyguard reacted. She should be ready for anything.
“Keep moving.” Natasha gestured for the group to close rank, continue onward. She thrust out one hand as she strode along. “Somebody give me some liquor.” A silver flask slapped into her palm. She unscrewed the top, tilted her 
head back, and splashed the contents of the phial over her face. She held her breath to keep from inhaling the fumes as the sour odor of whiskey wafted over her. Damn, as potent as this stuff smelled, it had to have some heavy alcohol content, should kill any living germs. She poured the brown liquid on her hands and scrubbed her lips with her fingers. She swallowed hard, her stomach churning at the thought of what might have been on the underwear. No way was she going to do such a sissy-ass thing as throw up. A bodyguard never displayed weakness in front of others. She shoved the flask in her jacket pocket and picked up her pace.
Heat pierced her thigh a fraction of a second before a loud pop sounded nearby. Her leg gave way beneath her and she lurched to the side. She reached out to steady herself, locked onto Giki’s arm. The rock star stumbled and both went down, Natasha landing on top.
Warm fluid trickled down Natasha’s leg, pain flared along her thigh. Her hand explored her jeans, where a jagged hole oozed blood. Shock surged through her body like a jolt of electricity. She needed to get Giki out of here—now! The hard, rigid feel of her firearm as she pulled it free helped calm her rising panic. She struggled to stand, forcing her leg to move, and bit down hard on the inside of her cheek when the world began to tilt beneath her. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth, but it worked: images sharpened and her mind cleared. Using her body as a shield, she helped Giki to her feet.
One hand gripped her gun pointed at the ground, the other clutched Giki’s arm. “Move.” Cameras strobed in the darkness, fans converged on them in a rush. “Now!” She pushed Giki toward the bus.
Once inside, Natasha collapsed on the floor. Her eyes could not maintain focus—a buzzing sound filled her head. A man yelled, “Call 911,” his voice bleeding pitch, fading away. Blackness descended over her, as dark and impenetrable as an executioner’s hood.
#
Natasha opened her eyes, confused at the array of masked faces hovering over her body, the clipped voices jangling in her ears. The sharp stench of ammonia stung her nose and she vaguely wondered if she had peed on herself. A cold, metallic pressure running up her leg pierced the fog laying heavy in her mind. She lifted her head and watched a large pair of scissors bite into her jeans.
“Hey,” she croaked, waving away a latexed hand holding an ammonia wand. “Those are my favorite jeans. Can’t you just pull the dang things off?”
It grew quiet around her. She moved to rise but the effort was too great. Her torso felt weighted down, as if a heavy bar rested on her chest. Pain flared in her leg, conquering her muddled state. She looked down, saw blood trickling from a ragged trench in her jeans. “Daiben.” Everything receded into blackness.
#
Natasha regained consciousness in the same room, the doctors and nurses replaced by Giki and her manager, Lonnie Bales, speaking in hushed voices. Over the roar in her head, Natasha could detect excitement in Lonnie’s voice as he talked about what great publicity this would be for the tour.
The world swam into focus when she heard Giki say, “Don’t you think we should tell her about the threats?”
Natasha struggled to sit up, feeling as unsteady as a toddler standing for the first time.
Giki turned a concerned face to Natasha. “Quick, Lonnie, call for a nurse.”
Lonnie yanked the door open and bellowed, “Nurse,” into the hallway. His face turned red from the effort, a vein bulged in his neck.
With a slight sense of trepidation, Natasha pulled the sheet away from her leg. She stared at the bandage covering most of her naked upper thigh, bemoaning the loss of her jeans. The ones she had broken in just right, the only jeans she possessed comfortable enough to sleep in if the need arose. Well, at least they had left her panties intact. She plucked at the blue-and-white checkered hospital gown. What the hell had happened to her jacket and tank? Surely they hadn’t cut those up, too.
Her gaze returned to Giki. “How bad is it?”
Giki patted her head, as if she were a dog. “Oh, love, it’s minor, thank God. Just a chunk taken out of your leg by the bullet, that’s all.”
Black dots danced in front of Natasha’s eyes. She eased back onto the pillow. “A chunk?”
Lonnie waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “A small chunk.” He turned and yelled for the nurse once more but forgot to open the door, and his voice boomed in the small room.
Natasha’s eardrums seemed to bulge. “Dang, Lonnie.”
He gave her an embarrassed shrug. “Sorry.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
“Only you, love.” Giki pressed her cheek against the side of Natasha’s face. “You’re a hero, you know that, Nat? I understand we’ve made national news.”
“Shoot.” This was not good. Striker would have heard by now and was probably heading her way at that very moment. His overprotectiveness had been bad enough while they were dating, but since their engagement, it seemed stuck in high gear. If he saw her injured—well, she didn’t want to think about the confrontation to come. And Nashville was just under four hours driving time from Knoxville, which didn’t give her much time to pull herself together.
Natasha wrinkled her nose, thinking it smelled like a brewery in there. Remembering why, she placed her hand over her mouth and jerked upright.
Giki snatched up a plastic pitcher from the counter and rushed over in time to catch the spew. Lonnie made a sympathetic retching sound, turned his back and clamped one hand over his lower face.
Natasha lay back with a groan, wiping her eyes. She didn’t know why, but she cried every time she threw up.
Holding the pitcher as far away from her body as she could, her head turned away from the smell, Giki took delicate steps backward, as if handling a stick of sweating dynamite. She placed the putrid container on the counter next to the sink and stepped back with a repulsed shudder.
Standing nearby, Lonnie’s face paled at the odor drifting from the pitcher. He rushed over to the sink and, with a loud “bleching” sound, regurgitated.
Natasha turned her head and covered her mouth.
“Shite.” Giki put her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut.
A young woman dressed in hospital scrubs shoved open the door and barely managed to avoid colliding with Lonnie’s extended butt. She put a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“Are you all right?”
A pale Lonnie gave her a weak nod as he waved his arm toward the pitcher. The nurse glanced at Giki, pinching her nose shut with her fingers, and Natasha with her hands clamped over her mouth. She nudged Lonnie out of the way with her hip as she emptied the contents of the pitcher into the sink. Although it was obvious she tried to hide her disgusted look behind a mask of professional indifference, she failed miserably.
Lonnie made a choking sound but managed to control himself. He shuffled a few feet away, doubled over, and put his hands on his knees, breathing through his mouth.
With quick efficiency, the nurse wet a couple of paper towels and tossed them toward Lonnie. They landed on the back of his neck.
“Oh, gosh, thanks.”
The nurse dampened several more and handed them to Natasha.
Natasha draped the towels over her forehead with a weak, “Thanks.”
The nurse picked up Natasha’s wrist and concentrated on her watch.
Natasha watched her for a moment. “Is there any chance a person could get AIDS from dirty underwear?”
The nurse gave her a curious look, as if she thought Natasha might be delusional. Apparently satisfied with Natasha’s rate of pulse, she drew the sheet away to check the bandage.
Natasha tried to read the nurse’s nametag, but mascara had gotten into her eyes and everything looked blurry. “Y’all know who the doctor is?”
Giki and Lonnie glanced at one another.
The nurse patted the sheet back into place. “Dr. Stratton.”
“I’d like to speak with him, please.”
After darting a flustered glance in Giki’s direction, the nurse scurried out of the room.
Natasha shook her head. “And there goes another awestruck fan.” She turned her attention to Giki. “Is the bullet still in there? Did they take it out? What happened?”
Lonnie’s eyes glittered with unsuppressed excitement. He appeared to have forgotten all about the urge to throw up. “From what I understand, the bullet grazed your leg, nicked a vein or something. Nothing major,” he went on, seeing her panicked look.
Natasha nodded with relief. She propped up on elbows and took a moment to gauge how her body reacted to this movement. The black dots did not return, the room didn’t skew.
“Did y’all see the size of those jockeys?”
Giki’s mouth twitched. “Is that what it was?”
Natasha nodded. “Don’t tell me that’s going to be part of my job duties, fending off dirty underwear.”
Lonnie grinned. “That usually doesn’t happen, so I wouldn’t worry about it.”
Natasha gave Giki and Lonnie a suspicious glare. “What the hell did you guys neglect to tell me?”
Giki looked caught before exchanging glances with Lonnie.
“Well?”
Their mute interchange seemed to decide Lonnie would be the one to reply.
“Understand, we weren’t deliberately keeping this from you. In fact, we weren’t even sure if the threats were intentional or just bogus threats all rock stars have to put up with. I mean, this has happened before.”
“What threats?”
“Before the tour started, Giki received several messages through her website, someone who said they disapprove of her songs, the way she lives her life, her manner of dress.”
“And?”
“Well, this person made the threat that they intend to stop her.”
“Are you talking about a death threat?”
Lonnie cut his eyes in Giki’s direction in an effort to convey the need to protect her from hearing such things. “That’s probably a bit extreme.”
The black dots were back and multiplying at a fast rate. Natasha fell back onto the pillow. “Striker’s gonna kill me when he hears this.”
“Who’s Striker, love?” Giki asked.
“My overprotective fiancé.” Natasha looked at Lonnie. “Why didn’t you tell me about this when I signed on?”
“Because the messages stopped before we hired you. Anyway, we figured they weren’t serious. Like I said, this has happened before.”
“Still, I hope you alerted the police.”
“They didn’t seem too concerned about it. Treated it like it was some nut who would eventually focus on another celebrity, which is what we thought happened.”
“What about the email address? Did they trace it?”
“They tried but it’s one of those free ones you can get with Yahoo.”
“So you just took their word for it?”
“Well, no. I hired an investigator, but he didn’t get very far. Whoever it was used a bogus name and changed computers every time he emailed, mostly from libraries. And unless it falls under the Patriot Act, most libraries consider their patronage list confidential.”
All startled when Natasha’s cell phone rang.
Giki squeezed her arm. “Do you want me to get that, love?”
“Yes, please.” Natasha felt weaker than a marathon runner crossing the finish line. How much blood had she lost?
Giki dug through a plastic bag on the table beside the bed, located the phone and flipped it open. She listened to the person on the other end for a moment, then put it against her chest.
“It’s Striker, love. Do you wish to speak with him?”
Natasha gritted her teeth against an expletive as she held out her hand. “I guess I better.” She placed the cell to her ear and forced a smile on her face in an effort to sound chipper. “Hey, darlin’.”
Striker’s voice crackled in her ear, a good indicator he was in a moving vehicle. “Are you all right? Are you hurt? What happened?”
His concerned tone elicited guilt feelings. Natasha wondered about that, when she hadn’t actually done anything to warrant getting shot. So what the hell did she have to feel guilty about?
“Natasha? Are you there, baby?”
“I’m fine, sweetie. How are you?”
“Where are you?”
“Um, at the moment, I’m, well, in a hospital examining room. I think.” She shot a questioning look at Lonnie, who nodded in response.
“Are you injured? Were you shot? I heard you were shot! What the hell happened, Natasha, and why didn’t anyone call me?”
She darted a look at Giki and Lonnie. Their expressions revealed they had heard every word.
“Everything was so unstable, I don’t think anyone thought of it. I’m sure they would have, sooner or later. I’m fine, really.”
“Okay, I’m heading that way. I should be there in the next couple of hours, and if the doctor will release you, I’m taking you home.”
“Home?”
Giki and Lonnie, huddled together whispering, turned toward her.
Natasha put her hand over the mouthpiece. “Could you two try not to listen, please? This is kind of private.”
Lonnie gave her an understanding smile. “Sure. We’ll just step out into the hall.” He curled his fingers around Giki’s elbow and herded her toward the door.
Natasha moved to get out of bed, but her throbbing leg kept her in place. “I don’t think so.”
He turned back to her. “Why not?”
“I’m her bodyguard, Lonnie. I can’t protect her out there when I’m in here.”
“Actually, love, I don’t think you’re in good enough shape to protect me in here,” Giki said.
“Oh, believe me, if I had to, I would.”
Lonnie put a protective arm around Giki and drew her close. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll watch her.”
“Not good enough.”
Lonnie gave her an offended look. Natasha stared back, letting him know she wasn’t going to back down.
Lonnie blew out a resigned sigh. “The guys from our opening act are here. I’ll ask them to help. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she’s protected.”
Natasha thought about it. The fellows from Navar did look like they could be tough opponents if things got hairy.
“Where do you plan to take her?”
“We’ll be in the waiting room. You can send the nurse for us if you need anything.”
“Really, love, I’ll be all right,” Giki said.
“Okay, but don’t leave the hospital.”
Giki blew her a kiss. “Don’t worry, love.”
After the door closed behind them, Natasha returned the phone to her ear. “I’m not going home, Striker, and if that’s the only reason you’re coming here, then just turn around and go back.”
He didn’t answer right away and she knew he was making an effort to control his anger. “Listen, I’m not hurt bad; just a graze, is all. It’s nothing. I’m sure they’ll release me in a few minutes, so, you know, it’s okay.”
“It is not okay,” Striker said, a hard edge to his voice. “You could have gotten killed if that bullet had hit you right and you know it.”
“I know.”
She listened to Striker’s heavy breathing for several moments before he spoke. “I’m still coming, and you and I are going to have a long talk about this.” He disconnected without telling her he loved her—a bad sign.
“Mierda.”
#
A tall man donned in the proverbial doctor’s white coat stepped into the room. Natasha squinted against the glare reflecting off the crown of his smooth, bald head, bouncing from his eyeglass lenses. He studied her with the curious intensity of a small boy watching a cat go crazy after clipping a clothespin to its tail.
“Dr. Stratton.” He extended his hand.
“Natasha Chamberlain.” She returned his handshake, thinking she had never seen fingers this long on anyone.
Stratton gave her a respectful look. “Well, you’re quite the hero. A female bodyguard. I’ve never met one before.”
“How bad is it? Can I walk? Am I going to have to remain here? What did you do?”
Slipping into a professional mode, Stratton drew the sheet away from her injured leg. His index finger hovered over the bandage. “The bullet entered your thigh here, then traveled a couple of inches and exited here, creating a shallow furrow which looks worse than it actually is. You did lose some blood, although it never became life-threatening.”
“Whew.”
He gave her a faint smile. “We repaired the damage, patched you up, and you’re ready to go.”
“You mean I can leave? I don’t have to stay here?”
“Well, I’d rather you stayed a couple of hours more so we can observe you, make sure there’s no more blood loss. But after that, you’re free to go. Be sure to change the bandage daily, use the antibiotic ointment I’m going to give you, and have a doctor recheck the wound in seven days.”
“What about a scar? Will there be a scar?”
“I’d say so, but I’m not sure how noticeable it’s going to be. If it bothers you, you can always have a plastic surgeon take a look at it.”
Natasha secretly hoped there would be a scar; a battle wound, if you will. She caught a whiff of vomitus, reminding her of the cause, and told the doctor about the underwear incident.
His eyes danced and a smile played around his lips. “That happen a lot?”
“I don’t know. This was the first concert. Up to that point, it was cut flowers and chocolate candy. A man’s underwear was something I definitely wasn’t expecting.” She gave him a worried look. “You think there’s a chance I could get AIDS from that?”
“Is the owner HIV positive?”
“I have no idea, but if he is, I need to know if I’ve been exposed.”
Stratton grinned. “You didn’t chew on them, did you?”
Natasha’s brows drew close together. “I’m serious here.”
Stratton leaned near and studied her face. “I don’t see any open lesions. They didn’t go in your mouth, did they?”
Her stomach rolled and saliva filled her mouth. She clenched her teeth shut and fought hard not to vomit. Dammit, why was she being such a sissy-pants? “The underwear didn’t go in my mouth. It just hit me in the face and on my head.” She winced, wondering what she could use to disinfect her hair. “I have got to take a shower.”
“Later, but for now, you need to rest.”
Natasha lay back. “I do feel awfully tired.”
“That’s to be expected. You went into shock, lost some blood. That’s a normal reaction.”
“I think I’ll sleep for a little while.” Natasha pulled the sheet beneath her chin.
“I’d encourage you to.” He gave her foot a consoling squeeze. “I’ll send the nurse in to give you a pain shot.”
She sat up, eyes wide. “Pain shot?”
“Well, yes. The local anesthetic’s going to wear off in a little while, and believe me, you’re going to need the shot.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Stratton gave her a knowing grin. “Don’t tell me a tough bodyguard like you is afraid of needles.”
Natasha’s panicked expression belied her stated, “Of course not.” She settled back on the bed and watched him cross over to the door. “Dr. Stratton?”
He turned to look at her. “Yes?”
“My fiancé, Jonce Striker, is coming in from Knoxville. Could you be sure he knows where to find me?”
“I’ll see to it.” He turned off the lights on his way out.
#
Elton John’s “Rotten Peaches” woke her up an hour later. Natasha groped around in the darkened room, located her cell phone on the table next to the bed, and fumbled it open.
“Hello.” She glanced around, groaning when she remembered what had happened and that Striker was heading her way. Her mother’s shrill voice got her attention.
“Oh, hey, Mom, I was just fixin’ to call you.” She mouthed Sorry to the ceiling for the lie.
Natasha spent the next fifteen minutes assuring her mother she was okay, and no, she didn’t need to come to the hospital, Striker was on his way, and yes, she would call her as soon as she got settled into her hotel room. Natasha keyed off, more exhausted than when she fell asleep.
She held onto the side railing as she eased off the bed. The room shifted sideways and that weird buzzing sound filled her ears. She tilted her head toward the floor and waited. Once the lightheadedness passed, she hobbled over to the small, recessed sink. Ended up dragging her injured leg behind her—the dang thing felt like it weighed a ton.
Natasha turned on the cold water and stuck her face under a faucet shaped like a question mark, hoping this would help clear her mind. A bottle of antibacterial liquid soap caught her eye. She squirted some onto her hands and scrubbed her face, counting to sixty by one-thousands. Then blended hot water with cold and dipped her head under the flow. Pumped more liquid soap into her hand, lathered it onto her scalp and hair, and rinsed under water close to scalding.
Back to cold water, Natasha inserted her mouth beneath the faucet and gulped down the cool liquid until her thirst was quenched, ignoring the raw soreness to her throat. She took more water in her mouth and swished it around to get the god-awful taste of vomit out of her mouth.
She turned off the water and stood upright, fighting the dizzy sensation that kept threatening to overtake her. Leaning against the counter, she used paper towels to blot the excess moisture out of her hair. Her leg began to throb, sending sharp pain spurts into her groin. She lifted the hospital gown and grew alarmed at red blossoming against the pristine white bandage. She better lay down quick.
On her way back to the bed, she held onto objects, terrified of falling or passing out. And being found by Striker. She rolled onto her back and pulled the sheet up to her chin, telling herself, be strong, be strong, be strong. At the first sign of weakness, Striker would throw her over his shoulder and haul her home so he could take care of her. That was not going to happen.
Her leg pulsed in protest when she shifted to a more comfortable position. Shoot. She should have taken that pain shot. But she wanted to have a clear mind by the time Striker arrived. She needed to make him understand she was not going to go home with him or stop being a protection specialist. The fact that she had gotten shot on her first official day as bodyguard to a rock star was going to make it even harder for her to convince Striker, once more, that this was the right field for her.
Although Natasha kept telling herself there wasn’t much danger to being a bodyguard, especially with the cases she had chosen before now, she wondered if maybe she was jinxed with this vocation. It seemed she kept ending up in hospital emergency rooms while on the job. This was only her third time out and she had required emergency medical treatment five different times.
The door opened, leaking muted hospital noises into the room. Natasha’s heart lifted and she smiled at the large, masculine form silhouetted against the light from the hallway.
“Hey, darlin’, thanks for coming.”
Striker crossed over to her, leaned down for a kiss. Natasha put her hand against his chest. “You might not want to do that. I got sick.” She grimaced. “Shoot, I can’t believe I threw up. And in front of Giki and Lonnie.”
Striker drew back, his eyes tight, his mouth in a thin line. He trailed a finger along her jaw.
“How bad are you hurt?”
“A bullet grazed my thigh, that’s all. It’s nothing serious, just a matter of wearing a bandage for awhile.” She tried not to relay the pride she felt over this battle wound. Something she could brag about in her old age.
Striker raised the sheet and placed his palm over the skin above the bandage. Her stomach clenched and a fiery sensation shot from her abdomen to the tip of her toes. Would she ever not feel this way when he touched her? Oh, she prayed that never happened.
He reached above her to turn on the light over the bed. “I hate to tell you this, darlin’, but you smell like a distillery.”
Natasha struggled to sit up. “Tell me about it.”
He propped the pillow behind her back. “Something to deaden the pain?”
“More like to kill germs.” With a grimace, she told him the underwear story.
“Damn.” Striker shook his head. “That’s nasty.”
“I can’t believe I threw up. I still fight the urge to gag every time I think about it. I’m such a sissy. You think I could get AIDS?”
“What’d the doctor say?”
“He said I’d have to chew on them first.”
A fleeting grin crossed Striker’s lips. His look sobered and he gave her a flustered look.
Natasha grasped his hand between both of hers. “I hope you didn’t come here to argue over this. I’ve missed you so much it hurts, and I don’t want to spend time with you mad at me.”
He stepped back from her.
“I know you’re scared, so am I. But it wasn’t fatal or anything. In fact, they’re going to let me leave in another hour or two.” She gave him an impish smile. “You are going to stay tonight, aren’t you?”
“I want you to go home with me.”
“I told you I can’t do that.”
“Damn it.” Striker rubbed his hand over his face and began to pace.
“I signed the contract, I can’t back out.”
He turned to face her. “The very first concert, you get a bullet in the leg. What was it you neglected to tell me when you signed on for this job?”
She shook her head. “I told you everything I was told. It wasn’t until I got shot that I found out there’s more to this than playing nursemaid to a Madonna wannabe.”
“Which is?”
“It seems that before the tour started, Giki received some threats over the Internet. Lonnie says they didn’t think it was serious and the police nixed it as some nutcase who would go on to another rock star when they grew tired of threatening Giki. Since they haven’t received any lately, they figured the police were right.”
A knock on the door drew their attention. Striker glanced at Natasha, his eyebrows raised in a questioning way. She shrugged in answer. He opened the door wide enough for the person standing on the other side to step through.
A short, burly man with rust-colored hair in a military-style buzz held out a badge first to Striker, then Natasha. “Collins with gang crimes. Are you Ms. Chamberlain?”
Natasha nodded. “And this is my fiancé, Jonce Striker.”
Striker eyed the badge. “Gang crimes?”
“Yep. Just wanted to let you know, Ms. Chamberlain, we’re pretty sure the bullet that hit you wasn’t meant for you. Seems two rival gangs got into a rumble across the street and one of the members started firing his piece. A stray bullet must have come your way.”
Striker’s eyes narrowed. “You’re sure it was from the gang member?”
“We found the bullet, and it’s the same caliber as the gun he was shooting with. We’re pretty sure it will match up.”
“How soon will you know?”
Natasha glanced at Striker. She could tell from his tone that he wasn’t buying this.
“It became a priority once we knew Giki was involved. We hope to have an answer by morning.” Collins lifted his shoulders in a go-figure shrug. “Anyway, we should be able to wind this thing up by tomorrow. Hopefully won’t delay the tour too long.” His gaze traveled to the door. “Any chance you can tell me where Giki is?”
Everybody’s a fan, Natasha thought. “I think she’s in the waiting room.”
After Collins left, Natasha gave Striker a look of appeasement. “See, darlin’? It was nothing. I’m not in any danger here, so there’s no need for you to be concerned.”
The hard set to his mouth told her he didn’t believe her. “Where’s Giki, for real?”
“Lonnie said he was going to take her to the waiting room.”
He turned away.
“Where are you going?”
Striker shoved the door open. “To talk to your doctor, then your client.”
“Dangit.” Natasha lay back, closed her eyes and drifted off, lulled by the sound of bees buzzing in her ears.
#
A short time later, the door to her room squeaked open. Natasha opened her eyes with an automatic, “I’m okay.”
Striker entered with Giki in tow, Giki’s petite, compact frame overwhelmed by Striker’s tall, muscular one. Her copper-colored hair, cornflower-blue eyes, and milky complexion contrasted with Striker’s black hair, coal-dark eyes, and warm-colored skin tone.
Natasha was surprised to see Giki smiling. Striker looked irritated.
“Nattie, love, I’ve talked to your fiancé and we’ve come to an agreement that it might be a good idea to have two additional bodyguards around me, what with the threats I’ve been receiving and all. He’s suggested two of your mates, I believe they’re called Pit and Bigun.” She glanced at Striker to confirm this.
He gave a grim nod.
“What do you think, love?”
Natasha suspected the real reason Striker wanted to bring in Pit and Bigun was to protect her. But she still felt shaky, along with a heavy dose of homesickness, and having her two Samoan friends around would help.
“I think that’s a good idea.” Striker’s relieved expression made her feel better.
#
Pit and Bigun arrived while Striker roamed the halls, hunting down a pair of scrubs for Natasha to wear out of the hospital. The two cousins were the most in-demand bodyguards at Striker’s firm, Investigative Services, Inc. Although pussycats at heart, they tended to frighten those who didn’t know them. Most mistook their large, muscular statures and shaved heads for the Aryan thing.
The two men crowded into Natasha’s room, inspecting her bandage and offering their own war stories until Striker returned. Although happy to see her friends, fatigue showed in the shadows beneath her eyes, pale cast to her skin. Striker herded them out, telling them they could talk later. He helped Natasha dress, then guided her to the bed and told her to wait while he instructed the two bodyguards regarding Giki.
As soon as he left the room, Natasha collapsed onto her back and stared at the ceiling and all those pesky little bugs buzzing around above her, listening to them inside her head.
#
Once the doctor released her, Striker drove Natasha to the hotel Lonnie had reserved for the tour’s stay. Still woozy, she had to use every reserve of strength to remain upright, not slide down into a limp puddle. If Striker detected the least hint of weakness, he would pick her up and carry her. While he booked a suite, she leaned against the wall and concentrated on trying to decide whether black dots or black bugs danced in front of her eyes. Striker pocketed his key card and, without saying a word, bundled her against his side as he walked her to the elevator. Once inside, he picked her up in his arms. With a resigned groan, she put her head on his shoulder.
In their suite, he tucked her into bed and insisted she swallow a pain pill and sleep. She didn’t offer any resistance.
Sunny’s Tips for How To Read Tea Leaves
1) Have the person you are doing a reading for (the seeker) brew the tea.
2) Never use tea bags; use loose tea leaves instead. (Note: the bigger the tea leaf, the better the shape.)
3) Have the seeker place the loose tea leaves in a tea cup.
4) Next, have the seeker boil water in a teapot.
5) After the teapot’s whistle blows, have the seeker pour the water into the tea cup.
6) Now, have the seeker stir the tea with a spoon as it brews and set the spoon on a saucer when the tea is ready.
7) You (the seer) should watch carefully during this process. (Note: a skilled seer can interpret signs right from the start of the brewing process. For example, if any tea leaves spill it’s a good sign.)
8) Have the seeker drink the unstrained tea and think about exactly what it is they wish to know. When there is only a teaspoon of liquid left, have them stop.
9) Tell the seeker to hold the cup in his or her left hand and swish three times in a counterclockwise motion, then tip the cup upside down on the saucer, allowing the excess liquid to drain.
10) After all liquid is drained, have the seeker hand the cup to you the seer.
11) The seer takes the cup and holds it with the handle pointing toward the seeker, then studies the pattern of the tea leaves.
12) Start at the handle and work your way around the cup in a counterclockwise motion from the rim to the bottom.
13) Leaves to the left of the handle represent the past, and leaves to the right of the handle represent the future.
14) Leaves at the top of the cup near the rim represent the immediate future, while those at the bottom represent the distant future.
15) Tea leaves provide two sets of patterns. Images that appear in the white space are positive and good, while the images that appear in the tea leaves are negative and bad.
16) Now you are ready to read the tea leaves.
17) Write down what shapes you see in the tea leaf patterns.
18) There are too many tea leaf symbols to list here, but if you do a search on the internet for tea leaf symbols, a ton of sites will show up that list the shapes with their meanings. Have fun J
Email me and let me know what the future has in store for you karileetownsend@gmail.com
DISCLAIMER: I am not an expert on reading tea leaves. There are many variations tea readers use. These tips were pulled from my research for the book and are simply meant for the reader’s entertainment.
Kari Lee Townsend lives in Central New York with her very understanding husband, her three busy boys, and her oh-so-dramatic daughter, who keep her grounded and make everything she does worthwhile…not to mention provide her with loads of material for her books. Kari is a longtime lover of reading and writing, with a masters in English education, who spends her days trying to figure out whodunit. Funny how no one at home will confess any more than the characters in her mysteries!
Kari writes fun and exciting stories for any age, set in small towns, with mystical elements and quirky characters. You can find out more about her on her website www.karileetownsend.com and also on the group mystery blog she cohosts, called Mysteries and Margaritas, at www.mysteriesandmargaritasblogspot.com
TEMPEST IN THE TEA LEAVES: A Fortune Teller Mystery
In the fortune telling business there are a lot of pretenders, but Sunshine Meadows is the real deal—and her predictions can be lethally accurate…
Sunny is a big city psychic who moves to the quaint town of Divinity, NY to open her fortune-telling business in an ancient Victorian house, inheriting the strange cat residing within. Sunny gives her first reading to the frazzled librarian and discovers the woman is going to die. When the woman flees in terror, Sunny calls the police, only she’s too late. The ruggedly handsome, hard-nosed detective is a ”non-believer.” He finds the librarian dead, and Sunny becomes his number one suspect, forcing her to prove her innocence before the real killer can put an end to the psychic’s future.
“And think not you can direct the course of love,
for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.”
Kahlil Gibran
CHAPTER 1
Her mother always warned her, be careful what you wish for because you just might get it. She should have listened to her mother.
Natasha’s day at work began like any other, same-old rote duties she performed day in and day out as office manager for Investigative Services, Inc., never suspecting her career was about to end when her office door opened. A faint squeaking of hinges drew her attention, and she glanced up from her computer to send a distracted smile toward the person framed in the doorway. She watched Scott Thomas, the managing partner, turn to a nerdy looking guy standing behind him and grew curious at the unspoken signal that seemed to flash between the two men.
“Natasha Chamberlain, I’d like you to meet Roger Valentine,” Scott said, ushering Roger into the room.
Natasha held out her hand, wondering if Roger had just been hired for something or other. Roger stepped forward, gave her one quick, somewhat limp handshake, then retreated back behind Scott.
Scott gave Natasha a forced smile. “Roger’s hired us to, well, guard his body.”
“Okay,” Natasha said, unsure where this was going.
“And Roger here is asking us to provide him with a female protection specialist, as well.”
Natasha frowned. Female bodyguard? They didn’t have any female bodyguards. Then she got it. ”Oh, no.”
Scott turned to Roger. “I’d like to speak with Ms. Chamberlain in private, Roger, if you don’t mind. Why don’t you go back to my office and wait for me?”
After the door was closed, before Scott could even turn back to her, Natasha said, “You’re out of your ever-loving mind, you think I’m going to guard that guy.”
“Well, now, let me see. As I recall, aren’t you the employee who keeps bugging me to let you be more active in this firm?”
“Well, yeah, Scotty, but that’s for the investigative part. I don’t have any desire to place my body in front of someone else’s in order to, you know, stop a bullet or something.”
Scott sat down in the chair in front of her desk and gave her a bland stare.
“Come on, Scotty. You know I want to be an investigator. I’ve taken courses in criminal justice, plus all the self-defense classes you’ve recommended, gotten a gun permit and learned how to use one properly. I don’t know why you and Striker can’t just once give me the chance to show my skills.” Striker was the founding partner, the one who made Natasha’s knees weak and her mouth drool.
“You’re getting your chance. This is it; take it, show us what you can do.”
“As a bodyguard, and I don’t want to be a bodyguard.”
“Start off as bodyguard, we’ll move you up to investigator if you do this well.”
“If I don’t get killed is what you mean.”
“Whatever.”
Natasha gave him an exasperated look.
“Striker’s the one who wants you in on this,” Scott said, dangling the proverbial carrot.
Natasha brightened at this bit of news. “Striker does? Um, where is he, by the way? I haven’t seen him in a few days.”
Scott shrugged. “Down in Florida doing whatever Striker does down there.”
Natasha wondered, as she always did, why Striker was such a mystery man. Other than the fact that he was 
wealthier than all get-out, no one in the office knew much about his private life, including Scott. There was constant discussion about Striker and was he married or had he been married, and did he have any kids. And the favorite subject: what did he do in his other life?
As office manager, Natasha was privy to the personnel files, but there wasn’t one for Striker. She was curious about his first name, which seemed to be another well-kept secret, but as far as she could detect, there was no paperwork trail divulging that information. Not even the payroll roster since the income he withdrew from the firm was direct-deposited into a charitable trust. And if Scott knew what it was, he wasn’t telling.
Natasha had had a crush on Striker since she joined the firm three years before. His Cherokee lineage obvious by raven-black hair, coal-dark eyes, and pale-bronze skin tone, his tall, muscular frame seemed to ooze testosterone from every pore. Known for his expertise with firearms and the martial arts, there was gossip that Striker had been a mercenary at one point; others swore he was with the CIA. Every summer, he disappeared for a month, and it was rumored he would travel into the Smoky Mountains, strip naked, and live among the wild animals, fasting and waiting for a vision to appear. He scared the crap out of Natasha every time he looked at her.
Natasha tried to act like she wasn’t really interested. “So, is Striker going to be overseeing this or what?”
Scott gave her a knowing grin. “Yep. He’s coming back this afternoon, said he’ll handle this baby.”
“Okay, I’ll do it.”
“I knew you would.” Scott stood and headed for the door.
“Wait a minute.”
Scott paused with his hand on the doorknob and turned back to her.
“Why does this Roger want a woman bodyguard anyway?”
“He wants you to pose as his girlfriend.”
Natasha’s mouth dropped open and her eyes widened, but Scott was gone by the time she could formulate any words of protest.
Natasha sat at her desk steaming, for a brief moment flirted with scheming, then began worrying. Wanted her to pose as his girlfriend. What exactly would that entail? Surely Striker and Scotty wouldn’t expect her to, eeeooouuu, go to bed with the guy. She shook her head. No way. That definitely would not be considered part of her job duties.
She stood and opened her door, intending to confront Scott about this, but he was busy talking to Roger. When Scott glanced her way, an amused look on his face, she resisted the urge to flip him the bird.
Natasha sat back down at her desk, chewing on her bottom lip, thinking about the offer. She was ready and waiting the next visit Scott paid her.
“Okay, here’s the deal. I don’t sleep with the guy. I’ll be his girlfriend but only in the surrogate sense. You got that?”
Scott took the time to settle into a chair.
“Well?”
“Okay, here’s the deal. You’re his girlfriend in the surrogate sense, that’s fine. I wouldn’t expect you to do anything else in that department.” He gave her a look. “That is, unless you want to.”
Natasha rolled her eyes.
“But you have to play the part of the girlfriend.” Scott raised his hands at her look. “Don’t worry. Pit and Bigun are going to be there, too.”
Natasha considered this while gazing at Scott, who was looking at everything but her. She could sense something was going on. “How long?”
Scott adjusted the crease in his trousers. “As long as it takes.”
“You mean as long as he needs bodyguards?”
“As long as your services are required.”
Something wasn’t quite right about that, but Natasha decided to drop it for now. She would worry about that later. “Who is this guy anyway?”
Scott was relieved she didn’t push him on the time span; they needed her tonight. “Don’t you recognize the name?” He waited for the appreciation to come into her eyes and nodded when it did.
“He’s not the Roger Valentine?”
“The one and only.”
“Omigosh. The billionaire computer guy, the one who designs software for those game thingies.”
“Among other things.”
“But why does he need a girlfriend? As rich as that guy is, women are probably crawling all over him.”
Scott gave her a look.
“What?”
“Did you happen to get a gander at this guy?”
Natasha shook her head. “I only glanced at him. Looked kind of nerdy to me, to tell you the truth.”
“Let’s just say he’s not very good in the social skills department.”
“Oh, well, who is?”
“You’ll see.” Scott rose and strode toward the door, then turned back. “Clear up what you need to here, then head on over to Roger’s.” He picked up one of Natasha’s business cards, wrote on the back of one, and handed it to her. “Here’s the address.”
“Wait,” Natasha said, delaying his exit.
Scott stuck his head back in her office.
“Why does he need a bodyguard anyway?”
Scott gave her his most engaging smile. “He says someone wants to kill him.”
“He what!”
Scott managed to get the door closed before Natasha’s planner collided with it.
Directing Frank Sinatra, Jr. in McKnight’s Memory
by Paul Kyriazi
Author/Director Paul Kyriazi
I had heard Frank Sinatra, Jr.’s audio commentary on three of his father’s movies, Robin and the Seven Hoods, Ocean’s 11, and Sergeants 3. His voice and articulation, as well as his respect for character actors, impressed me, so I approached Frank to do the narration on my full cast audio-book McKnight’s Memory.
It turned out that Frank was coached for voice work by the great voice actor Paul Frees. Frank also collected recordings of some of the great actors reading books–such as James Mason and Charles Laughton–listening carefully to them so as to perfect his narrating technique. Thus, Frank was very much interested in doing his first audio-book.
In his live concerts, Frank Sinatra, Jr. is known for his great story-telling on stage, so it was an easy jump for him to do the narration for a story. I asked him why he waited so long to do an audio-book. He said, “This project is a ‘story well told’, so I decided to do it.”
Frank Sinatra, Jr.
Frank requested his recording be done at night as that is when most singers feel their voice is the best. He gave a concentrated performance, only taking one break during the three hours as he wanted to stay ‘in character.’ On my other audio-novel I had Rod Taylor (The Time Machine, The Birds) do one take on his narration. Basically a continuous read unless he was unsure of a line, then he’d ask a question.
Frank, however, wanted to read a one-minute section of the text and then do two more takes of that same section, so I’d have a choice when it came to editing. After we finished, he said, “Most of the best takes will be the third take.” And with a couple of exceptions, that turned out to be true when I got to the editing the next day.
Frank found a few places where he asked if he could change the words. Since I wrote the text, I encouraged him to do so. All his additions were great. For example, there is a line that read, “The hit man was dead before his two-hundred-pound body crashed to the floor.” Mr. Sinatra changed it to: “The hit man was dead before his 200 pounds crashed to the floor.” When I heard that, I was overjoyed that this subtle, but powerful change had happened.
Then Frank said, “Okay, fellas, I’ll read it as written so that you’ll have a choice.” But I knew right then which reading I would use. This happened a few other times as well. I was in awe of his enunciation and how he sometimes ended a paragraph in an upward tone, leaving it hanging as if more would come. I don’t know what that’s called, but I loved it.
During our breaks, he talked about some of the now-classic movie sets that he had visited, such as Journey to the Center of the Earth and Them.
After hearing the final test product with sound effects and music, Frank said he had some additional ideas and I worked with him for three more nights, adding a lot more effects and music. The end result was so much more powerful… Frank has the Music Supervision credit on the project.
The McKnight’s Memory cast includes Robert Culp, Nancy Kwan, David Hedison, Henry Silva, Don Stroud, Barbara Leigh, Alan Young, Edd “Kookie” Byrnes, Gary Lockwood, and others. Produced by Larry Metzger, directed by Paul Kyriazi.
Endnote by Betty Dravis: In addition to McKnight’s Memory, Paul Kyriazi has written and directed the following full-cast audio-books with movie-like acoustics:
2007 – Rock Star Rising – Narrated by Rod Taylor, performed by Russ Tamblyn, George Chakiris, Robert Culp, James Darren and Kevin McCarthy. 3.6 hrs.
2007 – My Casino Caper – Performed by Edd Byrnes, David Hedison, Alan Young, Henry Silva, and Michael Callan. 77 min.
2007 – The King and McQueen – full cast Audio-Bio, with Barbara Leigh, David Hedison and Joe Esposito. 2.6 hrs.
2006 – How to Live the James Bond Lifestyle – Taught at The Learning Annex. 8 CDs or download. 8 hrs.
2005 – In the West – 90-minute travel production for Japanese company; appearance by Pat Morita.
1975 – 2004 – Wrote/Directed six feature films: Omega Cop, Weapons of Death, One Way Out,
Drawn Swords, NinjaBusters, and Death Machines.
Paul is now producing his audio-novel I Justice performed by Frank Sinatra, Jr. and cast. For more about this talented man, check his websites:
IMDb
http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0477495/
Website
http://www.paulkyriazi.com/
Other writers may be fortunate to have as their inspiration a muse that more closely conforms to one of the nine sister goddesses of learning and the arts in Greek myth. Me, I’ve got a reptile. It wasn’t as if I chose the creature to be the power that guides my writing, but it happened.
One of the first stories I wrote when I settled in rural Florida during the winter was the one that won me the Sleuthfest short story contest. In it, alligators loom large. You could say one even rescued my protagonist. Of course I entitled it “Gator Aid”. I gave a copy of it to a close friend who commented that I seemed to be hung up on alligators. Well, duh. They’re all over the place here. We often comment in this county that there are more cattle here than there are people. I’m convinced there are more alligators than people too.
It seemed perfectly normal to me to use the alligator as a source of inspiration because what drives my creativity when I’m in cowboy country is the setting. My protagonists are usually women who are winter visitors, otherwise known as snowbirds. If one snowbirds on the two coasts or in the Keys, the setting is all about the beautiful people, the sand, the sun, the waves, the color of the water, the perfect waving palm trees. It takes some kind of crazy juxtaposition to make murder out of that, but there are plenty of writers who manage it and manage it well.
Here on the range, set foot beyond your manicured lawn and you may be in for trouble. You could step on any manner of awful thing: horse poop, cow pies, reptiles without legs, sticky, prickly stuff like palmetto, or into swampy water inhabited by animals you don’t want to know about, and some of them are alligators. Of course, on the good side you could walk into the arms of a handsome cowboy who might pull you onto his horse and the two of you would ride off. . ., well, you understand what I’m saying. It’s quite simple here. The gators make for danger, the cowboys for romance. It’s the perfect blend of dark and light, murder and passion.
The place is so imposing that it’s hard to imagine writing here without writing the rural Florida setting. If I want to work on a manuscript set in upstate New York while I’m here, I have to consciously transport myself to that other world. I find it’s not done easily, and that’s where the muse comes in, because, really, I’m fortunate to have two muses. I have to. One for up north and the alligator for down here.
My northern muse? Oh, just a boring old ghost named Fred who likes to play tricks on me. His humor inspires my own as I’ve written on my blog, and his knowledge of my home on the trout stream inspires stories of tornados, drought, floods, hardwood forests, pine topped mountains, microbreweries housed in old dairy barns, a few curious bears, deep snow, craggy-faced hunters and farmers, and, of course, the occasional murder.
Think alligator, and I’m wrestling with humidity, hurricanes, burning cane fields, the citrus aroma from orange trucks, a pink and magenta sunset across the western side of the big lake, the neon sign in the form of a cross proclaiming “Jesus Saves”, the yelping of coyotes when the train comes through, air boats howling down the canals, and anhingas grunting to one another across the swamp. How could all of that not make one write setting, beautiful and possibly deadly?
So why am I not inspired by something less, well, ugly than an alligator? I do write murder mysteries, not romance, you know. An alligator is never the villain. I reserve that for humans. Usually when my reptilian muse is personified in my writing doing gatorish things like death rolls and snapping arms off, these unfortunate happenings are to bad people who deserve every toothy bite delivered.
Yeah, I’m hung up on gators because I love where I live, and I write what I love. What’s your muse like? Is setting important in your writing? Do you like to read authors whose setting is strong? Who?
My muse is an alligator and his name is George. Life is hard here. Sometime in his earlier life George lost one of his front legs, but he gets around, also an inspiration to me.
Dumpster Dying by Leslie Diehl will be released by Oak Tree Press soon. Ah, the golden years of retirement in the sunshine state. They’re more like pot metal to Emily Rhodes, who discovers the body of the county’s wealthiest rancher in the Big Lake Country Club dumpster. With her close friend accused of the murder, Emily sets aside her grief at her life partner’s death to find the real killer. She underestimates the obstacles rural Florida can set up for a winter visitor and runs afoul of a local judge with his own version of justice, hires a lawyer who works out of a retirement home, and flees wild fires, hand-in-hand with the man she believes to be the killer. Visit the website at www.lesleydiehl.com and blog http://anotherdraught.blogspot.com
“Honey, would you get the door please?” Ilene asked. She smiled at her reflection as she stood before the bathroom mirror admiring the results of her latest cosmetic surgery.
“Sure, I’ll get it,” said John, rolling his eyes.
John opened the door to a forceful morning sun. He shielded his eyes, blinded momentarily.
“Package for John Sullivan,” the man hidden by the brightness said.
“Thank you,” John said, extending his hands and taking hold of the large box offered him.
John closed the door and stood for a moment until his eyes could adjust to the dimly lit foyer. He then checked the box’s cover. All that was displayed was: Costume.
“Who was that?” Ilene asked as she met John in the living room.
“I guess it’s the costume I ordered for the Halloween party we’re attending. All it says is ‘Costume’ on the box.
“Well it’s about time. Mine arrived three days ago. Not a minute too soon with tomorrow night being Halloween,” said Ilene.
John found a pair of scissors and cut the binding on the box, saying, “Let’s make sure this is the costume I ordered.”
Peering inside the box, the corners of John’s mouth turned down.
“I distinctly told them the Superman costume.”
“Oh my, that thing is ugly,” said Ilene, putting her hands to her mouth.
John sighed, “Well. It’ll have to do. It’s too late to exchange it, especially since we ordered it from so far away.”
“You’re right there. Oh well, we don’t have to change into our costumes until we get there, thank goodness,” said Ilene as she used a hand mirror to gaze once more at her unlined face.
John closed the lid on the box, saying, “I think this is going to be the biggest and best party we’ve been to in a long time. The Jeffersons are known for their lavish bashes.”
“Yes, and to think we got invited. I bet there will be three-hundred people there,” said Ilene.
“Think they’ll notice my face-lift and breast enhancement?”
“How could they not with that revealing costume you chose?” said John as he turned and rolled his eyes again.
#
John and Ilene arrived via Limo, supplied to all guests of the Jefferson’s. Once inside the huge mansion a butler showed them the way to the changing rooms.
“I’ll meet you downstairs,” Ilene said, taking the box with her costume inside a large room with a gold ‘Female’ nameplate on the dark cherrywood door.
John glanced at his watch: 11:59, almost the “witching hour.” As he entered the lavish guest room, he looked out the large window. A sudden wind whipped at the oak trees near the balcony. Opening the box, he removed the costume, laid it on a nearby stand and got undressed. As he reached to pick the costume up, something leaped onto him, plastering itself to his body. It oozed under his skin, invading his body, his brain… his entire being. Thick, dark hair now grew all over him. The costume had sprung to life and some malevolent being had taken control of him. John screamed, but it came out as a loud, guttural howl……and then his thoughts turned dark, evil.
#
Ilene stood with the Jeffersons. Surrounding them, the large hall was filled with costumed guests. “I wonder what’s taking John so long?” she asked, impatience in her voice.
Mrs. Jefferson, in her Queen’s costume, barely able to cover her three-hundred pound body, said, “Oh, I’m sure . . . He’ll be down any minute.” Her words were interrupted as every light in the mansion suddenly went dark.
“Oh, Mrs. Jefferson, you are always so resourceful!” said Ilene with a chuckle.
The immense hall was suddenly filled with the loudest, most horrendous roar imaginable. It was as if a hundred lions had let the contents of their powerful lungs loose at once. Agonizing screams erupted from near the bottom of the stairwell which led to the second and third floors. Something hit the floor, sounding like a large melon dropped from five-feet or more. More thunderous roars and frightening screams drowned out all terrified inquiries as to what was happening.
The police arrived in caravans a few hours later. What they discovered sickened the most hardened of them. There were bloodied body parts everywhere. Heads lay on the crimson marble floor. One was Ilene’s, her eyes wide and her mouth opened in a silenced scream.
Upstairs, in the guest room, John opened his eyes. He lay on the floor, naked and drenched in blood. Near him was the box with the costume nicely folded and put away. Its wolf’s head staring out…
- The End -
RICHARD NEAL HUFFMAN served in the U. S. Army during the Vietnam War and later became a police officer, working his way from patrolman to assistant police chief; he also served as a village councilman and then a mayor of his hometown. He has published two books. Dreams in Blue: The Real Police and Rubal, a fascinating story about a Civil War soldier with mysterious powers of survival and longevity. “Dreams in Blue is my story,” Huffman says.
STORM SHADOWS
by Caitlyn Hunter
L&L Dreamspell
Friendsville, TX
ISBN: 978-1603182065
Long ago, four Cherokee cousins were cursed by the Shamans to eternal life after violating the laws of their tribe. Matt, Luke, Marc and Jon Tassel also possess psychic abilities and each can shift into the form of the animal they are destined to watch over. For years, Marc, a cougar shape-shifter, has had visions of a woman with storm-colored eyes tending to him at his death, but sometimes, in these dreams, the woman dies instead. Betty Sue Corn grew up under the shadow of a beautiful sister and considers herself merely ordinary, with a tendency toward awkwardness to the point of constantly having bruises and cuts from her stumbles. When Jon inadvertently causes Betty Sue’s suspension from her job, he offers her his cabin on Eternity Mountain, where Betty Sue hopes to chase a dream or two. When Betty Sue meets Marc by accident, the chemistry between them is intense. Marc, however, realizing Betty Sue is the woman in his dreams, tries to keep his distance from her due to his fear he may cause her death but finds this near-impossible. Betty Sue, tired of her prior timid existence, is not frightened by Marc’s ability to shift or his vision of death, and is willing to risk her life to prove this.
The genteel cadence of Hunter’s poetic prose draws the reader into a lovely story steeped in Cherokee legend, filled with romance sweet and heady and tantalizing. The plot excels, along with characters strong and vivid and intriguing. Betty Sue is fresh and fun, and many women will identify with and root for her. The four Cherokee cousins are not only endowed with pulchritude but each has an appealing persona readers will love. This well-written paranormal romance, book 2 in the Eternal Shadows series, rises above others of its genre due to the author’s unique voice as well as her prolific skill with characterization, dialogue and narration. Highly recommended.
Nashville Homicide Lieutenant Taylor Jackson is called to the scene of a homicide, where the body of a young woman, sans hands, has been discovered. When a hand is found near the crime scene, DNA proves it doesn’t belong to the murdered woman but to another woman, whose body was found in another state. This brings the FBI into play, via Taylor’s lover, profiler Dr. John Baldwin. The Southern Strangler, as the killer comes to be known, goes on a killing spree throughout the South, crossing state lines, leaving the bodies of young women behind, all missing their hands, but with another woman’s hand nearby. And his kills are escalating at a fast rate. Baldwin and Taylor team up to catch him although Taylor gets temporarily sidetracked pursuing a serial rapist named the Rainman while Baldwin travels in the killer’s footsteps. But soon the two are back together, hot on the heels of the killer.
Taylor Jackson is not your archetypical Southern Belle. A woman from a wealthy family, she chose the life of a cop over that of a privileged soccer mom. She’s well-educated, intelligent and tough mentally and physically, but her one weakness is Baldwin. The two are a winning combo and their personas complement one another. Peripheral characters are nicely developed, as is the chemistry between Taylor and Baldwin. The plot moves at a fast pace, with gut-wrenching suspense and plenty of action. Ellison’s smart writing places this one apart from other mystery series and is sure to garner a plethora of fans eager for the next book.
