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Tuesday, October 23, 2012

Wicked After Dark Blog Hop Begins!

Explore more bloggers here!

Well, it's that time again and there are lovely Halloween prizes to win that definitely go bump in the night. I am offering both Mortal Death and The Supernaturals Collection Number One as prizes in the new blog hop. Who could resist vampires and werewolves? Plus it's perfect for the season and little paranormal naughtiness never hurt anyone, have they?

The prizes are as follows:




So, what do you have to do to enter? Well look below to find out!


a Rafflecopter giveaway

Monday, October 15, 2012

A few changes in the Book Schedule...

After a very successful and very fun blog hop, I thought I should update my book release schedule. I need to update them in the tab section as well but I have been spending a lot of time revamping old books, writing new ones and generally being my own one person business. I need an assistant (and should be getting one too) but until then, here is the schedule:

October
Cling to Darkness (The Supernaturals)

November
Atonement, A Novel (The Atonement series) Contemporary Romance
Killing Desire (The Ties That Bind Trilogy) 

December
Queen of the Immortals
The Dusk of Darkness (The Supernaturals)

As you can see, the list is a bit thin on the ground but it is a lot of long hours working on two full length novels at once and as you can see, I am drifting more and more towards contemporary romance/romantic suspense.

Does that mean I won't be doing paranormal? I will still write paranormal but it will take a backseat to my contemporary romance and romantic suspense books. As you can see, nothing much changes. My stories will be as edgy as ever (if not edgier) and I will still write books that some people will love and others will lament is "throwaway garbage their fourteen year old could defecate out in five minutes". 

I do this because I LOVE writing and the fans I've made along the way. The money is nice but without you gals and guys to read my material, this wouldn't be nearly as fun to do. Thank you again for all your support and have a wonderful week!

BONUS: Leave a comment telling me which book you are looking forward to the most and I will send you a free novella of your choice! Don't forget to leave an email address and tell me whether you have a Kindle, Nook, iPad or other type of e-reader device!


Tuesday, October 9, 2012

Hot In Handcuffs Blog Hop!

Keep Blog Hopping by Clicking Here!

I am extremely excited to be a part of the Hot in Handcuffs Blog Hop! As a participant, I am offering two of my steamy erotic romance books to the pot! Three lucky winners will win free copies of the following books:





Both are steamy as hell and filled with sexy good times but if you are looking for a bit more hardcore BDSM then please feel free to check out my new novel, Killing Time (now on sale for $2.99 at Amazon for a Limited Time), available at all the usual e-retailers! 




a Rafflecopter giveaway

Saturday, October 6, 2012

Indie Writer Ethan Jones takes over!

Mr. Jones, the author behind the exciting thriller novel,  Arctic Wargame has taken over my blog and he wants to tell you all about his new release coming up: Tripoli's Target! Don't forget to leave a comment and you will automatically be entered in a contest where several copies of Tripoli's Target will be given away courtesy of Mr. Jones!




Blurb

Justin Hall and Carrie O’Connor, Canadian Intelligence Service Agents, find themselves in lawless North Africa on the trail of an assassination plot. The target is the US President, and the hit is scheduled to take place during a G-20 summit in Libya’s capital, Tripoli. But the source of their information is the deceitful leader of one of the deadliest terrorist groups in the area. Ambushes and questionable loyalties turn an already difficult mission into a dark maze of betrayal and misdirection.

Forced to return to Tripoli, Justin and Carrie dig up new intelligence pointing to a powerful Saudi prince bankrolling the assassination plan. What’s worse, Justin and Carrie realize something crucial is very, very wrong with their plan. The summit is only forty-eight hours away and they still have to stop the Saudi prince, dismantle the assassination plot, and save the life of Tripoli’s target.

Tripoli’s Target promises to take the reader through a great story as it becomes the next international bestseller. Fans of David Baldacci, Vince Flynn, and Daniel Silva will love this high-octane spy thriller.



Excerpt




“An army of sheep led by a lion would defeat
an army of lions led by a sheep.”

“It is better to die in revenge than to live on in shame.”
Arab proverbs


Prologue

Tripoli, Libya
May 13, 6:15 p.m. local time

Satam, the driver of the fifth suicide truck bomb, turned onto Ar Rashid Street, merging with the warm evening traffic. He rubbed his sweaty palms against his short khaki pants, his gaze glued to the silver BMW Suburban in front of him. He heaved a wheezing sigh and tapped on the brake pedal. A red traffic light halted the five-vehicle convoy.
A stream of cars rushed through the intersection leading to the business district of downtown Tripoli. Tall skyscrapers rose over most of the city’s old colonial-style buildings. The green and gold banner of Jacobs Properties—one of the major British real estate developers in Libya—beamed from atop the glass-and-steel façade of the newly finished Continental Hotel. The same logo had been painted hastily on the left side of the BMW packed with Semtex explosives. Walid, its driver and a Jacobs subcontractor, had exchanged his blue coveralls for a business suit and the promise of martyrdom.
A glance at the dashboard clock told Satam the synchronized explosion would take place in ten minutes. The thought of the coming carnage drained the last drop of courage from his heart. He rolled down the window, but the humid air—blended with the aroma of fried falafel, onions, and lamb donairs from a nearby street vendor—made him nauseated. He gasped for air, sticking his head out of the window. He coughed and struggled to catch his breath. The drivers in the other vehicles shot him curious glares. Behind the truck, the driver of an old Mercedes honked his horn twice. Satam swallowed hard and wiped the sweat off his narrow forehead. He waved at his audience to show them he was doing all right.
“Satam, what’s the matter, brother?” the radio set on the dashboard crackled. He recognized Walid’s gruff voice.
Satam looked at the BMW. His watery eyes met the reflection of the driver’s face in the rear-view mirror of the Suburban. The driver’s usual wicked smirk stretched his lips, revealing his large buckteeth. Walid waved his hands wildly. Satam could not see behind Walid’s black aviator shades but assumed his eyes were ablaze with rage.
“Nothing’s wrong. Just needed some air,” Satam replied over the radio.
He rolled up the window before Walid could scold him with another howl.
“Great. Now that you’ve closed the window, open your eyes!” Walid barked. “You’re not a coward like the infidels, are you?”
Satam shook his head.
A third voice came on air before he could say anything.
“Cousin, I pledged my honor so you could be a part of this mission. Don’t you back down now!” Satam’s cousin said. He was driving the Toyota at the head of the convoy.
Satam sighed and paused for a couple of seconds. “I’m not backing down. You can trust me. I will not disappoint you or the brotherhood.”
“That’s my flesh and blood who is soon to be a martyr,” said the cousin in a relaxed tone. “Our families will be proud of us, and our reward will be glorious.”
“It’s easy for you to say, since tonight you’ll be welcomed to paradise,” Satam said.
He noticed the traffic lights changing and stepped cautiously on the gas pedal. The truck jerked forward a few inches before the ride turned smooth again.
“Won’t take long before you join us there,” Walid said.
“Yes, but not before being dragged through the secret police hellish cells…” Satam’s voice trailed off.
“Allah will give you strength, cousin, and soon he’ll take you home.”
“He will, brother, he will.” Walid revved the BMW’s twelve-cylinder engine. “For sure, I’m going to miss this ride.”
“There will be plenty of rides up there to keep you and everyone else busy,” the cousin said with a quiet laugh. “Now may Allah be with us all. Over and out.”
Walid nodded and turned left toward the Continental Hotel.
Satam’s destination, the Gold Market, was to the right. He steered in that direction. He zigzagged through a few crooked streets and slowed down when reaching the Old City. The blacktop disappeared, and the uneven gravel crackled under the tires. Old cars, horse carts, and pedestrians came into view, along with whitewashed stores selling gold and jewelry. The streets narrowed into barely a single lane.
Satam rolled down the window for sideways glances to avoid brushing against planters, chairs, and vendors selling all kinds of junk. A stomach-churning stench from days old fish, fried grease, and sweat overwhelmed him. Satam felt his head grow heavy, and he hit the brakes.
The street vendors lost no time peddling their wares. A crowd of young boys swarmed his truck. He yelled and shoved away a few of the bravest salesmen waving handfuls of souvenirs in his face. He kept brushing away the hagglers, when suddenly a pointed metal object was shoved against his forearm. Startled, Satam withdrew his arm inside the cabin. He glanced at one of the boys holding a string of scimitar replicas, the sword tribesmen in North Africa carried in ancient times. The curved blade was dull with a rounded point to prevent accidental stabs. Still, the swift jab at his forearm summoned awful visions of the future.
He saw himself hanging upside down in a dark, grim dungeon, tied to the ceiling beams, while three secret police agents “interrogated” him. They would use various methods to “jog” his memory and break his psyche. Sleep deprivation and intimidation by police dogs were just the welcome package. Other techniques included breaking fingers and simulated suffocation with plastic wraps and water boarding. I will tell them everything right away before they even touch me. He struggled to wipe the vivid images from his mind.
Satam slammed on the truck’s horn to clear a path through the crowd. The blaring horn startled him more than the boys and the occasional onlookers. He glanced at the dashboard, realizing he had less than two minutes to reach the busy marketplace square five blocks away. It will be impossible to make it on time.
He blasted the horn again and stepped on the gas. The truck moved slowly, and Satam wrestled to make a left turn. The alley grew wider. The truck sped up, its wheels dipping and climbing in and out of the potholes. He rushed straight ahead, inches away from oncoming taxis, their honks protesting his unsafe speed. A few sidewalk vendors dove out of the way, their overflowing baskets of bananas and grapes spilling all over the place. Tires screeched as he turned right, jumping the curb and narrowly missing a large bronze planter outside a soap store.
The Mediterranean Sea was now visible to his right, through palm trees, coffee shops, and fruit vendor stands. Satam stared ahead at the wide square, one of the busiest markets in El Mina, the ancient city. The bazaar rumbled with vendors squabbling over a few dinars with tight-fisted tourists. I made it. Yes, I made it. He turned his gaze to the left, toward Tripoli’s skyline, and slowed down before parking the truck in front of a small restaurant. He took a deep breath and dabbed at his forehead with the back of his hand, wiping off a sea of sweat.
The dashboard radio crackled and he picked up the receiver.
“Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar!” The loud voice echoed over the radio. Satam recognized Walid’s shouts.
A second later, a loud explosion rocked the entire square. Satam’s gaze spun toward the business district, where a cloud of grayish smoke billowed around the Continental Hotel. Chaos erupted among the street vendors who scattered and forgot about their produce and the evening’s clients. The patrons of coffee shops rushed to the streets, staring in disbelief at the sight. Cries of hysteria overtook the growing crowd. Elderly women beat their heads and chests with clenched fists. Young men pointed and shouted, their bodies restless. The sharp siren of an ambulance sliced through the cacophony of terror.
With a quick movement of his wrist, Satam consulted his watch. Just as the digits registered 6:31, another explosion shocked the crowd. This time, the bomb hit closer, much closer, merely five blocks away. From inside his parked truck, Satam looked at the bright yellow glow of the blast. High flames leapt at a ten-story office building. A thick cloud of black smoke began to swallow up the tower. The crowd broke into smaller groups. People scurried in all directions. Some ran back to their shops and apartments. Others simply circled the area, perhaps unsure of the safe way out.
Satam knew his time had come. He revved the engine and stomped on the gas pedal. The truck arrowed toward the vendors’ tables. The market was mostly empty, and the truck crashed into crates of fish, baskets of grapes, and barrels of olive oil. Produce scattered everywhere as the truck rampaged through plastic tables and chairs.
A police truck zipped toward him. Satam steered around, not to escape, but to meet the approaching vehicle. The two policemen in the truck ignored Satam. They were going to drive past him, but Satam swerved hard. The right fender of his truck smashed into the left side of the police truck. The police truck jerked to the other side. He pulled over and stopped less than thirty feet away. The other policeman rolled down the window. Satam stared at the muzzle of an AK-47 assault rifle.
“Don’t shoot. Don’t shoot,” Satam shouted and opened his door.
A quick burst of bullets sent him ducking for cover in the front seat. A shower of glass shreds fell over his head.
They’re going to kill me before I even have a chance to open my mouth. Or one of the bullets will blow up the truck. I can’t let that happen.
He looked at the back of the truck. Thirty pounds of Semtex explosives wired into a homemade bomb were stored inside the seat compartments. He noticed the cellphone on the floor mat by his left hand. He reached for the phone. All it would take for him to set off the explosives—and pulverize himself and the policemen—was to tap three preset numbers. His fingers hovered over the phone, but he remembered his family’s honor and the reward waiting for him in paradise. He dropped the phone to the floor, buried his head in the seat, and locked his fingers behind his head.
A minute or so passed before the shooting stopped, but the screaming continued. At some point, he heard the distinct thuds of combat boots marching down the street. The police were approaching his truck. He looked up slowly as a policeman pulled open the driver’s door of his truck and aimed an AK-47 at his head
“Don’t move!” the policeman ordered.
Satam nodded.
Without a word, the policeman juggled the rifle in his hands and slammed its buttstock hard against Satam’s head.

Available Now on Amazon!


Biography 

Ethan Jones is the author of Arctic Wargame—the first spy thriller in the Justin Hall series, released in May 2012, and Tripoli’s Target—the second book in this series, released on October 4, 2012. He has also published several short stories. Ethan is a lawyer by trade. He lives in Canada with his wife and son.


Links

My blog: http://ethanjonesbooks.wordpress.com is the place to learn about my future works, to enjoy exclusive book reviews and author interviews.



I love readers' feedback. They can get in touch with me via e-mail at this address: fictionwriter78@yahoo.com  I promise to write to each and every one of them.

My works can be found here:







Don't forget to leave a comment to automatically be entered for a free copy of Tripoli's Target. Ethan is also running a free promo on Arctic Wargame on Amazon on October 9th through 11th. On the 11th, we'll announce the winners of the contest of Tripoli's Target! 







Wednesday, October 3, 2012

The Diagram of a Murder Mystery

When I initially came up with the concept of Killing Time, I knew the comparisons to the Fifty Shades Trilogy would eventually follow, especially since I decided to turn it into The Ties That Bind Trilogy. However, what I have noticed lacking from a lot of romance novels (especially contemporary romance novels) is the lack of a cohesive plot.

Usually the love affair and the angst that accompanies said love affair is the plot but I was determined for The Ties That Bind Trilogy to be different. Under the tab dedicated to the trilogy is an excerpt which includes the whole prologue and what you will find there is a mystery that will be solved but is also a running theme throughout the series as a whole.

This was not an easy endeavor to start because one of my favorite shows (and the drama that took America by storm) was the series, Twin Peaks. Many people loved the series but were sorely disappointed by the film and I could understand a lot of their frustrations. Many of the characters who were on the show were played by different actors in the film and it seems like an amalgamation of sorts where all the plot points brought up in the show are not fully addressed.

If there is anything I hate more as a writer (and a reader), it's when an author decides to throw in plot points (many times to lengthen  the book) but they are not resolved by the time the series is completed. It is important for me not to take the novels off on a tangent without finishing and wrapping up the plot points (not to mention finally revealing who murdered Tresor DeMarche, the main character's dead sister who is always there despite her death early on in the book).

So, how do I classify Killing Time and The Ties That Bind Trilogy? I could have easily slid it into erotica due to some of the very racy sex scenes but the category wouldn't have done the book or the series justice. There is a method to my madness and although I would be the first to admit the book ventures into erotic romance territory, I do not consider it a true erotic romance novel.

In the end, I settled on Romantic Suspense and Contemporary Romance. Perhaps Contemporary Romance should be changed to Contemporary Women but I will keep the categories as they are for now. I do believe that although it is romantic in its context, it is a series both men and women will enjoy.

So, without further ado, I ask the question to my fellow blog followers? What makes the perfect romantic murder mystery to you and what would keep you interested in such a trilogy to follow it to the end? 

Everyone who answers the question can enter themselves into the contest found here and if this is a trilogy you think you will be interested in, I strongly recommend you to pick up a copy of the novel at any of the e-retailers that are stocking it, including Amazon, Barnes & Noble, All Romance, Smashwords, Amazon Paperback and CreateSpace.