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Writing in the Modern Age


Writing & Guest Author Blog

Guest Book Review: V.B’s Take on Rosemary’s Beach House by Linda Heavner Gerald

6/9/2023

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​Please welcome our guest reviewer today! Let’s see what she has to say. Take it away, Virginia…
 
Thank you! ♥
Rosemary's Beach House
​by Linda Heavner Gerald
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https://books2read.com/u/4EEd6o
I wish I knew what work this book was based on or mimics. I would classify it as suspense or romantic suspense. Rosemary grew on me over time, and Malcom was a charmer. Lucy and Josh are notable characters as well. I enjoyed watching Rosemary and Malcom’s romance grow while the mystery and tension grew. 
 
The first three-quarters of the book are about Rosemary’s life and then her life with Malcom. The last quarter covers her devastation after Malcom’s death. The suspense starts when she and Malcom marry, and the danger is only revealed when the “intruder” finally comes to finish Rosemary off.
 
The mystery is solid. Bountiful clues and foreshadowing keep you guessing. The characters feel real and play their parts well. Also, there was a lot of referring to God, and a thread of Him keeping Rosemary safe by “closing her mouth,” but I wouldn’t call this an inspirational mystery. I recommend reading this book for the story—just to see how it turns out in the end.
 
The writing was a bit tedious for me to read. The MC tells us the whole thing. Only the dialogue feels natural. The rest is a narration. The one POV we never get is Malcom’s. We get his words and actions, but I’m not really sure he loved Rosemary. I think he did, and she “said” he did, but we get none of his thoughts. This could be my bias. I was so busy looking for clues in the mystery that I became suspicious of the love story. 
 
Finally, I’m tired of vilifying mental illness by making the murderer “crazy.” Anger, betrayal, and jealousy are all good enough reasons to kill. That said…I know that plenty of “craziness” causes death, but using a diagnosis to explain “why” cheapens the worth of those diagnosed as such.
 
NOTE: I was provided a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review. 
 
I give this book 3 stars because the MC survived awful events with her soul intact, and supported those around her.
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Image by Masadepan on Freepik.
Book Blurb:
Rosemary Lewis divorced her husband after she discovered him with another woman. Suffering from depression at her loss, the young woman threw herself into work as a registered nurse. Then, she met Malcolm Beach who represented her dream. Together, they did enjoy a perfect life. Devotion from her new husband thrilled her as they traveled all over the world. Sailing became their pastime until the sudden death of her love. Once again, Rosemary found herself devastated and alone.

Suddenly, an unknown foe threatened her very life. Why did this begin after the death of her husband? Slowly gleaning bits of information, she discovers that Malcolm's previous lover was insane. Is this the one who makes her life hell? Now, a wealthy widow, Rosemary must fight to survive in the beautiful home named  'Rosemary's Beach House'.


Universal Reader link: https://books2read.com/u/4EEd6o

Here’s an excerpt from the book…

Although I attempted to appear as confident as I looked, my hands shook. Before Malcolm arrived, I cut fresh flowers to display on the foyer table. They were beautiful. My problem was I forgot to lay the scissors down, so I held them in my left hand.
Just as I opened the door with my right hand, my left one tried to hug Malcolm. Instead, the scissors became entwined in the strap of my dress. Panic overcame me. Spastically, I pressed the blades of the scissors together cutting the strap of my new dress. It was slightly large on me. The entire right side of the stunning dress fell exposing my nakedness. I didn’t wear a bra. Since the outfit was strapless, my breast glowed innocently at Malcolm from my red doorway.
My prince looked from my face to my right boob in shock. Moments passed as we stared at each other unsure of the correct response.
“Oh, well, I say, RM, you have a welcoming way about you. Never, in my life did I receive this sort of welcome! It is the best! Way to go, RM! I have to say that your boob, which you seem proud to display, looks as succulent as my gift to you. This was a joke, my bag of onions, but your boob outdoes my meager attempt at humor. I mean, I guess this is supposed to be funny, right?” Gently, he smiled while thrusting a huge bag of Vidalia Onions in my face.
I knew that I should have closed the door and let this relationship melt away. We weren’t meant to be.
Instead, I threw both arms around the good doctor’s neck. Malcolm smelled faintly of intoxicating cologne. Staggering into him with the scissors still in hand, I jabbed them into his right temple. Not very far, mind you, but enough to nick the skin. Now, his beautiful white shirt displayed pinpoints of bright red blood.
Will he still smile at me? Dumb as this sounds, that was my thought. I pulled from Malcolm’s embrace to see him hesitate.
Oh, no, this is it. My dream is going to walk away.
Not knowing what else to do, I cried.
This brilliant man was not only famous and accomplished, but he was kind. “Now, now, RM, these things happen. Don’t cry. Someday, we will laugh at all the drama.”
Did he say someday? Do we still have a future? I promise not to make another mistake.

​BOOK INFO:

AUTHOR: Linda Heavner Gerald
TITLE: Rosemary’s Beach House
GENRE: Mystery/Suspense
RELEASE DATE: January 9, 2019
PUBLISHER: Lime Pie Publishers
ISBN/ASIN: B07MM67SCH
OUR RATING: 3 Stars
REVIEWED BY: V.B. “Can Do Indie Author”

Guest Blogger/Reviewer Bio: 
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VB is an indie author who writes romance and Sci Fi and voraciously reads anything (with some limits). When she’s not reading and writing, she’s working a day job to pay for her truck habit and puttering around her house.

​


​Awesome. Thanks for this, V.B., and for stopping by the blog! :)


​
Check out our latest Writing in the Modern Age blog post here.

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Guest Book Review: Ginny’s Take on Raising Kane by Susan Lynn Solomon

5/9/2023

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Please welcome our guest reviewer today! Let’s see what she has to say. Take it away, Ginny…
 
Thank you! ♥
Raising Kane by Susan Lynn Solomon
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https://books2read.com/u/bPLJNz
We start our story with reporter Libby Bridgeman going to interview a one-time star Alicia Kane, who has been in seclusion for many years. Her boss wants her to fly out to do an interview in person. However, Libby does not want to go. She would rather do the interview over the phone and get it over with.
 
She gets ahold of a friend who does some digging into Alicia’s background and finds out that she was arrested during a student riot during the 60s. So, she thought that she had enough information, and she could just fill in the gaps with a phone call.
 
When she arrived at the house, she was greeted by a very happy to see her older woman whom she was not expecting, but she was ready to get the interview over with so she could be on her way.
 
Alicia wasn’t interested in talking about the one topic that Libby was ready to start with and it made her feel uneasy. She was there to do a job and Alicia was not making it easy on her. She got her interview back on track and they continued.
 
After she had returned home, she was sitting on her bed getting all her interview notes in order when she got a message to call the Niagara Falls Police Department. She was not prepared for what she was about to hear on the other end of the phone conversation. The detective that she spoke with gave the news of Mrs. Alicia Lawrence
’s death and how they did not expect foul play.
 
Though Libby was warned by several people – including her family – to let this investigation go, she kept researching it and was set back by what she had learned of this mysterious woman, whom she had met once.
 
I was able to finish this book in one day, it was a great, easy read that held my attention the entire time. I recommend this book without a doubt. 
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Image by Mohamed Hassan from Pixabay.
​Book Blurb:
 
Libby Bridgeman, a stringer for the Village Voice, balks when Max Howard, her editor, insists she interview Alicia Kane. Though, campus rebel, a rock superstar and an icon in the 1970s, Kane hasn’t been heard of in forty years. A Brooklyn court case involving a Black Lives Matter protest seems far more relevant. But you don’t say no to Max Howard.

While writing the article about the interview after meeting Kane, Libby receives a call from a detective—Alicia Kane is dead. Accident or suicide, the detective tells her, but Libby believes she was murdered. When Max insists that she drop the story, she’s certain he knows more than he’ll tell her.

In Greenwich Village, Chicago, Niagara Falls, a Manhattan recording studio, Libby interviews people who’d known Kane. Like Max, each seems to hide something. A connection to her family? Then, one tumultuous night she learns Alicia Kane’s complete story, and this flips her world.


Universal Reader link: https://books2read.com/u/bPLJNz
 
Here’s an excerpt from the book…
 
“A lioness of the 60s and 70s,” I said with a sardonic laugh as I sat before my make-up mirror.
 
I have a habit of thinking out loud. In fact, some- times words fall from my mouth before I realize they’re in my brain. This can be embarrassing—not lady-like, my mother often told me. While in my mind, I listened to my mother chastise me for this untoward trait, I had another idea. “Ira!”
 
I picked up my phone and punched in the number of a friend who worked at a collection agency. Phone, gas, electric bills, charge accounts, speeding tickets, arrests, even most birth records—every bit of a person’s life seemed to be logged in some computer’s database. My friend had access to those. After a few minutes on hold, listening to Latin music, he came on the line.
 
“Ira?” I said.
 
“What do you want now?”
 
“Do I have to want something to call an old high school pal?”
 
“You always want something,” he said. “I give, you take, and I don’t hear from you again until you want something else.”
 
I sighed. This was definitely not one of my better days handling men. No surprise. I’ve never handled them very well. I tried again. “I just thought maybe you could find me a little background on―”
 
“Giving you a little background could get me fired.”
 
“Ira, don’t be this way,” I said in the most helpless voice I could muster. “I don’t need anything as deep as last time. No bank records. I’m really stuck for a place to start on my new assignment. You’re the only one I can turn to.”
 
BOOK INFO:

AUTHOR: Susan L Solomon  
TITLE: Raising Kane
GENRE: Mystery/Suspense
RELEASE DATE: January 18, 2022
PUBLISHER: Solstice Publishing
ISBN/ASIN: ‎ISBN: 979-8404780031/ AISN:  B09QQ9YCJK
OUR RATING: 5 Big Amazing Stars
REVIEWED BY: Virginia (Ginny) Frick
 
Guest Blogger/Reviewer Bio: 
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I am a military wife, a mom, and a Gigi. All of which I would never change. I have a deep love for reading, and if I was given the opportunity, I truly believe I could do it all day. I decided to start reviewing books one day while I was reading some posts and thought, I can do that. So I commented on a few posts and next thing I know, I am reading some pretty amazing books. My cousin and I started a review blog (www.cuzweread.wordpress.com) and a bookstagram (@cuz.weread.books). 

Awesome. Thanks for this, Ginny, and for stopping by the blog! :)
Check out our latest Writing in the Modern Age blog post here.
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New Release Feature: Fiona Tarr’s romantic suspense DEADLY DECEIT and Sale on Book 1

12/3/2021

1 Comment

 

Hi, readers! We have a real treat in store for you today, a new release by Fiona Tarr, a talented author! 
 
Congratulations on your latest book! 
 
Let's check out the details, shall we?

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Book Info
 
Title:  Deadly Deceit - Book 3 - Foxy Mysteries Series
 
Author:  Fiona Tarr
 
Genre:  Mystery/Crime Fiction/Romantic Suspense

 
Blurb:  

How much will the truth cost?

When Liz Jeffreys changed career paths from high-class escort to PI, she knew it would be exciting. What she never expected was to be investigating the attempted murder of Detective Jack Cunningham’s powerful father—not after everything the corrupt Judge had done, especially sanctioning a hit on her.

Jack is close to cracking the case, until his apartment is raided by a specialist task force investigating outlaw motorcycle gangs. When they find drugs, Jack finds himself on suspension and under investigation. Despite their past and his father’s history with Liz, Jack must turn to her to clear his name and solve his father’s case.

With their budding relationship heating up, Liz will do anything to uncover who framed Jack and help clear his name. But is she willing to lay her life on the line to save his father, after everything he’s done?

Curl up, grab a cuppa and indulge yourself with this mystery, slow burn romantic suspense novel. For lovers of J.D Robb, Janet Evanovich and Melinda Leigh.


Release Date:  December 1, 2021

Genre:  Mystery/Crime Fiction/Romantic Suspense

Sounds like quite a reading experience here!

Purchase Link: https://books2read.com/u/mlEqPW

Also, book one, Death Beneath the Covers, is on sale for a limited time until December 7th, just for 99 cents!

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Check out the whole series!
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Don't miss this new release...

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About author Fiona Tarr
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Fiona's stories are Captivating, Bold, Passionate Suspense reads no matter the genre, from her Historical Fantasy to the most recent Mystery suspense series, these themes prevail. 
It turns out writing is in the blood. Fiona's Great Uncle was Australian Literary author George Johnston (My Brother Jack) and although her style is different, her Uncle's social commentary tone is evident. 
Fiona lives in Noosa Australia with her husband, and not far from her two adult sons. A self-confessed people watcher, Fiona loves to interpret body language and social cues, which you'll find evident in her character development. 
Recently compared to Melinda Leigh and Janet Evanovich, Fiona's mystery/romantic suspense novels have been well received.
Join Fiona's Reader Team and discover what motivates her stories, the process she uses to research and to be the first to know about future releases. Just copy and paste this link. 
https://www.subscribepage.com/c8s0o4_copy
 
Links:
 
Bookbub profile
https://www.bookbub.com/authors/fiona-tarr
 
Facebook
https://www.facebook.com/fionatarr.atime2write
 
Instagram
https://www.instagram.com/fionatarr/
 
Website
http://www.atime2write.com.au
 
Goodreads
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8423164.Fiona_Tarr

​

Wow, this looks riveting!

Thanks for stopping by to tell us about your new release, Fiona. Get your copy of this romantic suspense novel, readers! 
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Check out our latest Writing in the Modern Age guest article here.

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1 Comment

New Release Feature: Michael Aronovitz’s THE SCULPTOR!

9/10/2021

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Hi, readers! We have a real treat in store for you today, a new release by Michael Aronovitz, a talented author! 
 
Congratulations on your latest book! 
 
Let's check out the details, shall we?

 book cover image for The Sculptor by Michael Aronovitz depicting a distorted sad female sculpture with a red background hinting at a horror theme

Here is the book blurb for The Sculptor.

At age seven, Michael Leonard Robinson commits his first murder, turning tragedy into an aesthetic. By the time he turns eighteen, he has become an expert with computers, gaming systems, and the art of video imaging. And now in his forties, fully realized, he has long erased his digital footprint. He is thirty years ahead of our most advanced scientists, military ops tacticians, and elite information tech specialists. He is a master of disguise. He can invent projected realities.

Of course, Michael Leonard Robinson could work his dark vision on a global scale, yet he doesn’t need “the world” for a fetishistic thrill, just a police captain, his receptionist, a detective, a rookie junior officer, his sister and mother, and a lot of dark theater. 

Robinson appears to these characters in disguise, film clips, and flashes as he torments them. Their multiple viewpoints are puzzle pieces.

When they fuse to finish the puzzle, the final sculpture becomes clear.

Release Date:  E-book - September 7, 2021 /Paperback - October 12, 2011

Genre:  Serial Killer Mystery

 

Publisher Link:  https://www.skyhorsepublishing.com/9781949102543/the-sculptor/

Universal Reader Link:  https://books2read.com/u/mdDdAw

 

Here is an excerpt...

 

Chapter 24

Beauty in the Eye of the Ripper’s Beholder

 

Captain Canfield ran into the storm. Cold stingers to the face, the front lawn was muddy, his clothing lay on him like lead. It was dark, the wind shaping the rain in what looked like the billowing cloak of some massive dark horseman, with intermittent moonlight coming through the road foliage and cemetery border trees.

Canfield took a position in the grass, gun leveled. He didn’t have a clear shot, not as a sniper would have had with a rifle with a scope.

Across the street on the sidewalk was the huge figure. He was smiling. His feet were spread, his left arm clamped around Erika’s waist, his right palm pressed to her mouth. She was straining hard, arms pinned to her sides, feet kicking insane bicycle pedals against his thick legs. Her T-shirt had ridden up; you could see the shape of her waist. Her ponytail had come loose, and wet strands were plastered to her forehead and jawline like skull-fissures.

The big man spoke. His hat pushed a shadow across his forehead, but below that his skin looked bad—spoiled and cracked like a leper’s. It was the caked-on makeup. The moisture out here had begun to erode it.

“Captain,” he called. “Advantage perp. You can’t risk discharging your firearm. And your prerogative is clear. As the first officer on the scene, you are to look after the safety of the victim before securing the arrest. And if the citizen endures physical harm at the crime scene, you are obligated to care for the injured before arresting the offender.” His grin became monstrous.

“Officer,” he said, “I’d like to report an injury.”

He took the hand covering her mouth and groped it up the side of her face. She squirmed, kicking harder, and he pawed at her, fingering. She jerked her head, and he smeared the cat’s eye makeup in a hash-mark up her left temple. He pulled back across, and she let loose a gargled scream, kicking like a frenzied horsefly held by the wings. He mashed his hand-heel into the other side of her face, slipping down along the bone like wet marble, and this time he streaked thick mascara onto her cheek, hooking down like an athlete’s smeared eye-black. He made an adjustment, and with the base of his thumb, his ring finger, and pinkie he cupped her chin, holding her still. He had to work it like the old Spock Vulcan “live-long-and-prosper” sign, but he spread his middle and index fingers back across the bridge of her nose, then started spider-crawling them up toward her right eye.

Canfield screamed “No!”

The monster’s two fingers were poised like a claw, uneven tongs.

He pushed in, over the eyeball, deep into the socket. Blood squirted up over his middle knuckles. She screamed herself raw, her kicking went nuclear. He let go of her mouth so he could work in the thumb, forming a pincer-grip. For a bare moment it cleared the horrific sightline; he dug in his fingers, and Canfield could see Erika’s eyeball slip from one side of the socket to the other as the monster worked in deep, trying to get to the back of it. Blood wept down his wrist, but the rain washed it away, making the effect seem ghostlike and illusory. He yanked, her head jerked forward, give, but no climax. He couldn’t pull it home, stubborn muscles and nerve fibers proving their elasticity, and he re-angled his elbow, bunched, set, and ripped that eye straight out of its socket.

She stopped kicking.

Thick blood welled in the dark crater and poured down her cheek. The rain doused and diluted it, ebbing down her face with the beat of her heart, tendrils and threads gyrating there on her cheekbone like algae floating off coral in a current. She was twitching, hanging there in his arms. He slapped her cheek and she jolted awake, shrieking incoherently, body in spasm, the broken doll, the lunatic stage-puppet.

He set her on her feet in front of him, bending his knees so she was still mostly blocking the line of fire. Both big hands moved to her hips to steady her, and he walked her back to an oak tree.

He whispered something in her ear. It took a moment. Then he smacked her hard on the ass and barked:

“Go!”

He ducked behind the wide tree and she ran, faster than one would have ever expected, moaning and crying, lumbering desperately away toward Sproul Road.

Canfield pounded after her, grass to driveway. Cutting across the corner of the neighbor’s lawn, he noticed quite academically that they had been gardening, planting shrubs. Passing through the line of them at the perimeter, he stepped on a trowel. It hurt, fucked his rhythm, and his ankles banged together; he went down. He hit the street, skinned an elbow, quick-rolled, and somehow managed to cradle the gun without having it blow a hole in his stomach. He didn’t allow himself time to recover. He sprang up and broke into a straight sprint, thinking, “Knees high, push hard, strong kick, arms in sync,” and by the time he caught up, she was almost to the streetlamp. She stumbled and collapsed, trying to grab hold on her way down, and he caught her from behind just in time to save her from falling onto her face. He went to the ground with her, held her, turned her so he could look at her.

She’d been truly violated, disfigured, it was real, no illusions. She had two faces now, the left profile all sleek cuts and angles, the makeup bird-winged up off her left eye giving her a futuristic look like a runway model, yet turned to the right, her profile was that of a ghost-witch, her long skull and jawline accented by the rough crater peering at you with blank recognition. She looked very much like the kind of thing you bought in an island hut, stuck on a voodoo stick with beads hanging off of the fist-guard. She was sobbing, still convulsing.

Canfield wanted to comfort her, but he didn’t know the words. He wanted to give her some kind of gentlemanly reassurance, but he didn’t know that song either. What came out was mechanical, almost programmed.

“What did he say to you?” he said softly, flatly. He felt terribly about it, but he was who he was.

“What?” she said. “What? When, Bill, what?”

“Easy,” he said. “What did he say to you in your ear? Just now. I’ll catch him, but I need all the data.”

She started weeping again and buried her face in Bill Canfield’s chest, shoulders shaking.

“He told me,” she said, voice muffled, “that I had to run hard, I had to run like the wind, toward Sproul Road. He said that I had to run straight into traffic. He said he was going to flush my right eye down a toilet, and if I didn’t run as fast as I could he’d hunt me down, find me at the hospital, at work, in the parking lot, the grocery store, my apartment.”

She pulled back and looked up at Canfield with her left eye.

“He promised he would give me round two,” she said. “He promised he’d rip out the other one.”

 

So, what are readers saying about this book?

★★★★★ “The Sculptor is one of the most grimly terrifying serial killers in recent literature.” - Horror scholar and editor ST Joshi

 

Whoa...what a disturbing teaser!


Get your copy of this serial killer mystery today, readers!

 

About the Author:

 

Michael Aronovitz is a college professor, rock critic, and author of dark fiction. His published novels include Alice Walks, The Witch of the Wood, and Phantom Effect, his collections – Seven Deadly Pleasures and The Voices in Our Heads. Aronovitz has published more than forty short stories, and has appeared in magazines and anthologies such as Weird Tales, Searchers After Horror, and Apostles of the Weird. His short story titled “How Bria Died” was featured in The Year’s Best Dark Fantasy and Horror, 2011, Prime Books, and currently, Aronovitz has much of the above-mentioned work being translated into German and re-released by Firma Edition Barenklau. His lifetime collection of novellas and short stories, titled Dancing with Tombstones, will be published by Cemetery Dance Publications in the fall of 2021, and his fourth novel titled The Sculptor will be released by Night Shade / Skyhorse in the fall of 2021.

Author Links:

Website: michaelaronovitz.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/michael.aronovitz

Twitter: https://twitter.com/michaelaronovi2

Amazon Author Page: http://amzn.to/2yprVlr

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/551323.Michael_Aronovitz

FictionDB: https://www.fictiondb.com/author/michael-aronovitz~99909.htm

Check out our latest Writing in the Modern Age guest article here.

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Interview with Author DJ Swykert

7/22/2013

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My guest today is DJ Swykert. Hello, DJ! Welcome back to Writing in the Modern Age! It’s such a pleasure to have you here again.

Can you tell us a little bit about your latest book? When did it come out? Where can we get it?
book cover image for The Death of Anyone a mystery thriller novel by DJ Swykert depicting a beautiful dead woman lying on the ground with a film noir impression on the gray background and book title  

My new book, The Death of Anyone, introduces readers to a DNA search technique not in common use here in the U.S., Familial DNA. A lot will be written on this subject as the real life trial of Lonnie David Franklin, The Grim Sleeper, unfolds in California this year. The book also introduces a new character for me, a female homicide detective. It's not the first time I've written from a female POV, but she's the first in this role. I’m hoping the book will appeal to an even broader audience than Children of the Enemy, or Alpha Wolves. There is a romance along with the mystery in the plot and some real science.

The Death of Anyone was released by Melange Books in Minneapolis the end of February. It’s available at: Melange Books, Lulu, Amazon, and Bookwire.

Is there anything that prompted your latest book? Something that inspired you?

I first heard about Familial DNA Searches while working as a 911 operator in 2006. It came up in a conversation with officers. I thought at the time it would make an interesting premise for a book. I began writing the mystery some three years later after leaving the department. I had just finished editing a first draft of The Death of Anyone in the summer 2010 when news of The Grim Sleeper’s capture in Los Angeles was released. I read with interest all the information pouring out of L.A. regarding the investigation and the problems confronting prosecutors. All of which are explored in The Death of Anyone.
 
This sounds fascinating!

So, when did you know you wanted to write? Or has it always been a pastime of yours?

I don’t know if I ever actually 'decided' to be a writer. I remember the first thing I wrote, a bad poem to a pretty girl, I was a teenager, and Tennyson’s "Flower in the Crannied Wall" gave me the idea to try my hand at poetry. I still recite Tennyson’s poem. I think my desire to try writing novels came from reading them, in particular Hemingway and Fitzgerald, and when I was younger, Mark Twain. I simply enjoyed the storytelling, and think I inherited a little storytelling ability from my grandfather, who was really good at spinning a tale. 

My grandmother did the same thing.  LOL. 

Do you have any favorite authors?

I’ve already kind of answered this; Tennyson, Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Mark Twain. You can add Byron, Auden, Chekhov and Annie Proulx to the list. Oh, hell, there’s a host of great writers, my list could go on for pages. But these always have stuck in my head. 

I know what you mean.  I have WAY too many to count.  

So, do you write in a specific place? Time of day?

Currently, I write mornings on a desk in the garret, as my girlfriend calls it, on the third floor of our townhouse. But I’ve written just about anywhere I can find something to write with, even on a bunk in the Houghton County Jail, er… that was just once, for a short while on a traffic violation. 

Are there any words you'd like to impart to fellow writers? Any advice?

Keep typing, and submitting. I believe in the old Hindu saying: Given enough time, coincidence is inevitable. There is a measure of coincidence in finding a home for your writing. You have to have skill, a good story, but also some luck. You can improve your odds by applying The Law of Large Numbers, which allows prey species to survive by reproducing in large numbers. Your writing can survive in the same way, get it out there, and keep putting it out there. Be productive. And keep your fingers crossed.

Good advice. 

So, readers, here is the the blurb for The Death of Anyone.

Detroit homicide Detective Bonnie Benham has been transferred from narcotics for using more than arresting and is working the case of the killer of adolescent girls. CSI collects DNA evidence from the scene of the latest victim, which has not been detected on the other victims. But no suspect turns up in the FBI database. Due to the notoriety of the crimes a task force is put together with Bonnie as the lead detective, and she implores the D.A. to authorize an as yet unapproved type of a DNA Search in an effort to identify the killer. Homicide Detective Neil Jensen, with his own history of drug and alcohol problems, understands Bonnie’s frailty and the two detectives become inseparable as they track this killer of children.

Here's an excerpt from The Death of Anyone. 

Benham arrived first, no sign of Russo or Jensen. She got a table and told the maitre de to send them over when they arrived, and that there would be a third party, a Detective Lagrow. As he seated Benham, the maitre de informed her, “The show starts at about 12:30 pm. We have a couple of new dancers."

Benham screwed up her nose, gave him a curious eye. “Dancers?”

The maitre de nodded. “Yes, belly dancers. We have a new one I’m sure your friends will appreciate. She’s very good-young, friendly.”

Benham just shook her head. ”I’m sure they will,” she said as she sat.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

Whoa, the brake in her head told her. You know you, you know your history. You know what a slip can do to you. Doctors, psychologists, treatment, rehab, counselors, AA, each and every one of them flashed across her head as her mind absorbed the offer. “Just a coke, or, actually, would you just bring me a black coffee.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Benham sipped her coffee and looked through her brief notes of the case. They were very brief, there was little to put in them. A young girl, perhaps ten, dead, strangled, almost for certain assaulted, lying in an alley for a few hours. And it had only been a few hours—Pierangeli seemed pretty sure she hadn’t been there long. She was found at around nine-thirty am, so she died maybe around eight am. She lay there, choked, defiled, beautiful, and dead, and nobody was looking for her. She had to have been taken pretty early this morning, so it’s been about five hours she’s been gone, and nobody loves her enough to miss her. Benham could feel the anger rising from within, from the source where feelings come from, from deeper but inclusive of the stomach, from the birthplace of emotion.

A hand touched her shoulder and startled her. “Me and Jensen are here, bring on the dancing girls,” Dean Russo bellowed, joyous almost, and that irritated Bonnie a little. There was nothing to be happy about this day.

“You’ll get your wish. The belly dancers will be here in a few,” Benham said, with a bit of obvious disdain that Russo picked up on.

“You picked the place.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bonnie answered, feeling a little sorry now she sounded so disapproving. “Yeah, I picked it. Didn’t think about belly dancers, but, hey, we’re here, and I love pastitio, and they have the best. Sorry if I sound pissy, it’s only because I am. Once you see the girl, you won’t be dancing in the street either.”

Russo quit laughing. “How long you been in homicide, Benham?”

Bonnie could see she rubbed something, “A couple of months.”

“You were in narcotics?”

“Yeah, I was in narcotics. I was in it and it—I was narcotic.”

There was a pause. Jensen looked across at Russo, glared a little, trying to shut him up with a look. And out of the corner of his eye let Bonnie know he saw her, too. He wanted her to keep this cool.

But it was a little late, and Bonnie was a bit volatile. “You know fucking well I was in narcotics. And you fucking know why I’m in homicide. I got myself transferred out for becoming more narcotic than narc. Quit beating around the bush. What’s your point?”

Universal Reader Link:  https://books2read.com/u/4A52gA

 

Author Bio
  photo of author DJ Swykert

I’m a blue collar person from Detroit. I’ve worked as a truck driver,dispatcher, logistics analyst, operations manager, and ten years as a 911operator, which was the very best job of them all. I write stories like you’d watch a movie and put them down on paper. I have written in different genres; crime, romance, literary and The Death of Anyone, which is a
mystery/suspense story with romance and science in it. 

The last sentence in my writing bio is always: He is a wolf expert. I am not a biologist. I raised two arctic hybrids, had them for eleven years, and have written two books in which the wolves join the other protagonists. 

I have been fortunate enough to have my writing appear in: The Tampa Review, Monarch Review, Sand Canyon Review, Zodiac Review, Scissors and Spackle, Spittoon, BarbaricYawp and BULL. The other books I have written are Children of the Enemy, a novel from Cambridge Books, and Alpha Wolves, a novel by Noble Publishing.

Links:

Blog: www.magicmasterminds.com

Facebook:  http://www.facebook.com/david.swykert?ref=ts&fref=ts

LinkedIn:  http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=193494247

Other Links:  http://www.gypsyartshow.com/2013/03/the-death-of-anyone-by-dj-swykert.html

http://www.omnimysterynews.com/2013/01/please-welcome-novelist-dj-swykert.html

 

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Interview with Author Sally Carpenter

6/17/2013

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My guest today is Sally Carpenter. Hello, Sally! Welcome to Writing in the Modern Age! It’s such a pleasure to have you here.  

Can you tell us a little about your latest book? When did it come out? Where can we get it?

book cover for The Baffled Beatlemaniac Caper depicting a broken microphone with a speaker which has bullet holes and rainbow music notes on a sky blue background
The Baffled Beatlemaniac Caper is a humorous mystery released in 2011 by Oak Tree Press. The book was a Eureka! Award finalist for best first mystery novel in 2012 at Left Coast Crime.  Print and ebook versions can be ordered from Amazon.com or BN.com.

“Baffled” is the first book in the Sandy Fairfax Teen Idol mystery series. Sandy is a 38-year-old former ‘70s teen idol who starred in the hit TV show Buddy Brave, Boy Sleuth but his career stalled after cancellation. Now he’s a recovering alcoholic seeking a comeback and solving mysteries along the way.

Is there anything that prompted your latest book? Something that inspired you?

I’m a huge Monkees fan and that got me interested in teen idols in general, their lives and careers and how one copes with fame and fortune. Teen idols are interesting characters but writers were ignoring them.

I also love those 1970s TV detective shows that were short on police procedural but long on personality and charm. I thought it’d be interesting to write a character that started off playing a detective on TV and ended up as an amateur sleuth solving real cases.

Wow! So, when did you know you wanted to write? Or has it always been a pastime of yours?

I’ve always enjoyed reading. I spent most of my childhood summers at the public library. Growing up I often received books as presents. Some of my grade school teachers read books aloud to the class. As a child I made up stories about the characters on my favorite TV shows. That’s probably why my series protagonist is a former TV star.

I’ve written on and off over the years, sold some short pieces over the years, but became more serious about writing in the mid-1990s. I started writing mysteries in 2008 after I attended a panel of mystery authors hosted by Sisters in Crime.  

Do you have any favorite authors? 

Arthur Conan Doyle, of course. Richard Levinson and William Link, who created many of the great TV detective series. I have a number of friends who write. I hate to single out anyone but lately I’ve read Steve Hockinsmith, Stephen Brayton, William Doonan and Jim Callen.

Do you write in a specific place? Time of day?

I write at home. I can’t concentrate in coffee houses or other places that are noisy and busy. I work a full-time day job to pay the bills, so I write some evenings and mostly on weekends. I run errands during the week so on weekends I can focus solely on writing.

Are there any words you'd like to impart to fellow writers. Any advice?

Don’t start writing with the expectation of instant fame and fortune. A few authors hit the jackpot with big sales, but most don’t. If you’re writing only for the money, you’ll be disappointed. Your first book is the “calling card” that gets your name out there and will probably earn little money. Authors increase their sales by writing more books. As more product is available, sales and interest will increase, but promotion is a slow, on-going process.

Here is the blurb for The Baffled Beatlemaniac Caper.

In the 1970s teen idol Sandy Fairfax recorded six gold records and starred in the hit TV show Buddy Brave, Boy Sleuth. Now it's 1993 and he's a 38-year-old recovering alcoholic desperate for a comeback. An easy gig as the guest celebrity at a Beatles fan convention in the Midwest turns deadly when a member of the tribute band is shot. When the police suspect Sandy, the boy sleuth is back in action to find the killer.

Here's an excerpt from The Baffled Beatlemaniac Caper.

            I turned to face the formidable flatfoot. Braxton pounded questions at me as I rubbed my bloodshot eyes. I couldn’t concentrate.

            “Look, detective, I’m exhausted. I’ve had a long day that started before sunrise three time zones ago.” I glanced at my wristwatch: nearly 1 a.m. Pacific or Central time? I couldn’t remember if I reset my watch after my flight landed. “Can this wait until tomorrow? I mean, later today? The body can’t get any more dead than it is now.”

            Braxton glowered at me so hard that if looks could kill, he’d have a second stiff on the floor. “You claim the victim was still alive when you came in the room?”

            “Yes, sir.” I squeezed against the wall so the paramedics could carry out a stretcher with a black body bag strapped to it. As much as I wanted to look away, I couldn’t peel my eyes off the corpse.

            “Did the victim do or say anything that might identify the murderer?”

            “Yes, sir.”

            Braxton waited, his pen poised over his notebook page. “Well? What was it?”

            I licked my dry lips. I felt terribly thirsty. I knew Braxton would hate my answer. “He said, ‘Rocky Raccoon.’”

            Sure enough, he frowned at me. “Is that a joke?”

            “No, sir. That’s exactly what he said.”

            “Is that the name of the murderer? An animal? What’s a Rocky Raccoon?”

            “It’s a song.” Bunny stepped up beside us as she closed the zipper on the pouch that hung from her waist. “By John Lennon and Paul McCartney. Paul sings lead. It’s on disc one, side two, track five of The Beatles’ 1968 double record ‘White Album,’ which isn’t the name, but everyone calls it that because it was issued in a plain white cover with no artwork. I have a 1978 French import reissue with the records in white vinyl.”

            Braxton stared at her, too stunned to take notes, but I took it in stride. Fans possess encyclopedia knowledge of the minutest trivia.

Universal Purchase link:  https://books2read.com/u/b6vvAJ

  

Author Bio

picture of author Sally Carpenter  

Sally Carpenter is a native Hoosier now living in Moorpark, California.   

She has a master’s degree in theater from Indiana State University. While in school her plays “Star Collector” and “Common Ground” were finalists in the American College Theater Festival One-Act Playwrighting Competition. “Common Ground” also earned a college creative writing award. “Star Collector” was produced in New York City and also the inspiration for her book.  Carpenter also has a master’s degree in theology and a black belt in tae kwon do.    

She’s worked a variety of jobs including actress, freelance writer, college writing instructor, theater critic, jail chaplain, and tour guide/page for a major movie studio. She’s now employed at a community newspaper.

Her first book in the Sandy Fairfax Teen Idol mystery series, The Baffled Beatlemaniac Caper, was a 2012 Eureka! Award finalist for best first mystery novel. The second book, The Sinister Sitcom Caper, will be released in late 2013.   

Her short story, "Dark Nights at the Deluxe Drive-in," will be published in the 2013 SinC/LA anthology, Last Exit to Murder.  

She’s a member of Sisters in Crime/Los Angeles chapter and “mom” to two black cats.

Links:

Website:  http://sandyfairfaxauthor.com

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/sally.carpenter.54?fref=ts

Amazon Author Page:  https://www.amazon.com/Sally-Carpenter/e/B007TX0QW8

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Interview with Author Nancy Wood

5/13/2013

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My guest today is Nancy Wood. Hello, Nancy! Welcome to Writing in the Modern Age! It’s such a pleasure to have you here.

Can you tell us a little bit about your latest book? When did it come out? Where can we get it?
book cover for Due Date by Nancy Wood which depicts the outline of a pregnancy lady with a backgdrop of a barren tree and a desert sunset

My latest book is my first book. It’s called Due Date and it was published by Solstice Publishing in May, 2012. It’s a thriller: there are no dead bodies, but it will keep you on the edge of your seat! You can find it on Amazon, Barnes &Noble, Smashwords, and in the Solstice store. 

Is there anything that prompted your latest book? Something that inspired you? 

Due Date originally started out as a story of an open adoption and the somewhat difficult relationship between the intended mother and the birth mother. I took this book to a publishing workshop, where I was encouraged to change it into a mystery. At first I was skeptical. I had no idea how to write a mystery. Where to start it? How do you plant clues? How do you keep tension? But I started reading exclusively in the genre and began to study how mysteries and thrillers are put together. Now I’m hooked: I seem to gravitate toward this genre and rarely read or write anything else! 

Great! So, when did you know you wanted to write? Or has it always been a pastime of yours?
 
I’ve been writing for a long, long time. In fourth or fifth grade, I started writing a mystery with a friend of mine. I’d love to find that manuscript now! I’ve been writing in earnest for about twenty-five years and have a few unpublished books under my belt: a memoir and two novels. I have published a few short stories over the years. Due Date took about five years from start to finish, so I’m pretty slow!

Do you have any favorite authors? 
 
I’d have to say that mystery/thriller authors are now my favorite authors. As I mentioned above, when I decided to write a mystery, I dove into the genre, and started out by reading the First Novel Edgar nominees for the past several years. I was floored by all or it: the characters, the settings, the plots. An Edgar nominee that I read and re-read is called A Field of Darkness.  The author is Cornelia Read. The protagonist, Madeline Dare, is funny, brave, heroic, and complex. The novel has nuanced characters and a strong sense of place. But the writing was the best: Ms. Read’s writing just sparkles. A Field of Darkness made me understand the genre could hold anything a writer wanted to make of it.

Do you write in a specific place? Time of day?

Every morning, before breakfast, and before other family members get up, I’m at the keyboard. I try to write for an hour first thing, every day. I sometimes sit on the sofa with my laptop, but lately I’ve taken to writing in my office. The window looks out on the huge palm tree in our front yard (yes, here in Santa Cruz in Central California, there are palms), and I can watch the day begin. On good writing days, I’m reluctant to switch computers (I have two – one for writing, one for work) and start on whatever technical documentation is at hand. On bad writing days, I’m so thankful I can get to something that’s structured and known and knowable!
 
Are there any words you'd like to impart to fellow writers. Any advice?

Read everything you can in your genre. And keep writing. That’s key. Just like everything, your writing will get stronger with practice.

Here is the blurb for Due Date.

Surrogate mother Shelby McDougall just fell for the biggest con of all—a scam that risks her life and the lives of her unborn twins.

Twenty-three year-old Shelby McDougall is facing a mountain of student debt and a memory she’d just as soon forget. A Rolling Stone ad for a surrogate mother offers her a way to erase the loans and right her karmic place in the cosmos. Within a month, she's signed a contract, relocated to Santa Cruz, California, and started fertility treatments.

But intended parents Jackson and Diane Entwistle have their own agenda--one that has nothing to do with diapers and lullabies. With her due date looming, and the clues piling up, Shelby must save herself and her twins. As she uses her wits to survive, Shelby learns the real meaning of the word “family.” 

Here is an excerpt from Due Date. 

Chapter One

 

The Beemer driver, right on our tail, tapped his horn a few times, and sat on it. My brother Dexter swerved the SUV toward the dented guard rail separating the gravel shoulder from a steep drop into the Santa Cruz mountain valley below. But the BMW driver didn’t take the hint. He just edged closer, veering in and out of the lane, still trying to pass. 

“What the...?” shouted Dexter as the Beemer’s right front fender hooked our left rear with an explosive crunch.

Suddenly we were sliding out of control, skidding across the narrow road as if it were black ice. Dexter fought the wheel and pumped the brakes, but the pedal plunged to the floor. Yelling “Hold on,” he yanked the parking brake. 

Metal screeched and our CRV fishtailed to the right, jerking to a halt inches from the cliff. Dexter turned the ignition off and there was welcome silence.  

He whacked the steering wheel with the palm of his hand.

“I am so dead,” he groaned. “Jessica is going to kill me.”

He reached over to unclip my seat belt then looked at me, horrified. “Jesus, Shelby, we need to get you to a doctor.”

“I’m fine,” I said, cradling my substantial belly with both hands. “Thank God the airbag didn’t go off.”  

“If I ever catch that asshole...” Dexter tried to start the car but the engine just whirred, clicked, and died. He swore, wiggled his phone out of his pocket, pressed the on button, and swore again. He shook it, as if that would help. “Can I try yours?”

“If you can find it,” I said.

I gestured behind me, where my entire life was crammed into boxes, suitcases, and duffel bags. 

“Don’t have that much time. Gotta get you and those babies to a doctor.”

He opened the car door. “I’ll be back in a half-hour, tops,” he said. “Don’t go anywhere.” 

He grinned at me. We both knew I wouldn’t.  

I watched his bright red t-shirt disappear through the redwood grove up the twisting road, under the blue California sky. He’d be at least an hour. Dexter never could tell time. 

I angled the seat back and was rewarded with the familiar poke of a baby foot between my lower ribs, then another on my left side. See? I wanted to tell Dexter, we’re all fine. All three of us. And just because you’re my big brother, you can’t always tell me what to do. 

I reserved that privilege for Jackson and Diane Entwistle, the intended parents of my unborn twins. Although we didn’t know each other that well yet, Diane insisted on taking me in now that Jessica, Dexter’s pushy wife, had kicked me out. So instead of being shoe-horned into an all-purpose office-guest-craft room, I’d have my own cottage. Six hundred square feet all to myself on their expansive Santa Cruz mountain ridge-top estate. Even though the arrangement would only last a few months, until the babies were born, I was looking forward to quiet country living.

I locked the doors, twisted around in the seat for my purse, and busied myself in a fit of organization. I excavated gum wrappers, used movie tickets, wadded up tissues, balls of hair from my brush, bits of broken shells I’d collected on my morning beach walks, keys to Dexter’s house that I wouldn’t be needing anymore, and a dangly red and white African beaded earring I’d assumed was long lost. The trash went in one pile, the earring in my coin purse, and I stashed the keys to my former life in the glove box. 

I’d just have to remember to tell Dexter they were there.

 

* * * *

Forty-five minutes later, I was flipping through the Sunset magazine I’d found under the passenger seat when I smelled smoke. 

Campfires weren’t unusual up here in the hills, where there were at least three state parks, and at first the tendril of what looked like mist winding through the upper redwood canopy didn’t worry me. I was reading about kitchen makeovers, something I couldn’t yet imagine at twenty-three, but maybe someday, after the babies were born, after I finished graduate school, after I found that perfect guy. 

Then I started coughing. And I looked up again. The smoke was as dense as beach fog on a summer morning. This was no campfire. 

I felt a sudden surge in my throat: on the side of the road, near the hairpin curve where Dexter had disappeared, licks of red and orange flame were traveling lazily up the trunk of a spindly shrub. I jumped as it ignited with a crack, sparking in fiery traces like a welding torch. 

As quickly as I could, I unlocked the door and eased out, trying not to look down. A slope as steep as a ski jump yawed beneath my feet. Only an inch of slippery gravel lay between the toes of my flip-flops and the lip. I baby-stepped around the car, taking peeks up the hill, hoping I’d see Dexter running toward me, arms outspread in a victory lap. 

If you wanted something enough, the universe would provide, right? But only a backdrop of flames glowed through the swirling smoke. 

Now whole trees were hissing in the distance as they burned. A power line sparked in a deafening pop. I looked around for my best escape route. I couldn’t follow Dexter. No one could navigate that path, not even a fully-suited firefighter with an oxygen tank. I knew Dexter was somewhere safe by now. Probably as worried about me as I was.

I waddled fast downhill, and ten minutes later, I was in almost-clear air again, the blaze just a memory clinging in sooty, sweaty rivulets to my hair and clothes. My eyes still burned and my tongue felt singed, but a familiar blue sky arched above and the feathery ash only floated down occasionally, gentle as mist. 

I knew it would be just a matter of time before the fire caught up to me, though, and I couldn’t walk forever. 

As if my prayer had been answered, the faint whine of an engine percolated the still afternoon. Gears ground as the vehicle labored up the grade. I dodged off the road and crouched behind a tree. Maybe it was the hormones, but paranoia had been a constant companion since I signed my surrogacy papers. Nobody liked surrogates, I’d learned, especially once they realized the amounts of money involved. 

But I needed a lift. Shaking off my worries, I straightened up, ready to flag down the vehicle. “Shelby Emma Stearns McDougall,” I said. “Get a grip.” 

Above me, a pair of crows squawked, raspy and piercing. I adjusted my huge belly, leaned back against the tree trunk, and waited.

 

Author Bio
a smiling photo of author Nancy Wood

Nancy lives in Santa Cruz, California, with her family, where she’s been lucky enough to make writing her career. For many years she made her living as a technical writer, working in software documentation. About six years ago, she set up her own shop and is now a writing consultant and contractor, happy to spend every day grappling with words and sentences. 

Due Date is Nancy’s first published book and she’s now hard at work on the second book in the Shelby McDougall series.


Connect with Nancy here:

Website: www.nancywood-books.com

Facebook Fan page: http://www.facebook.com/NancyWoodAuthor

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6452303.Nancy_W_Wood

Twitter: https://twitter.com/NancyWoodAuthor

Awesome!  Thanks, Nancy, for visiting Writing in the Modern Age today!  Your book sounds interesting!

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