Today you get to meet Nathaniel Koszer, author of the sci-fi biotech Latency, which is part one of the Energy Crisis series. He's also sharing an excerpt from the book. Ask him more questions in the comments section and then follow the tour for even more fun. Best of luck entering the giveaway!
Author Spaulding Taylor is here today to give us a peek inside her new speculative thriller, Last Star Standing, and a little peek inside her life. Enjoy this excerpt and author interview and feel free to ask more questions in the comments section! Download your copy and follow the tour for more. Best of luck in the giveaway!
He’s a notorious flirt, so she lays down a challenge she’s sure she’ll win.
When playboy police lieutenant Ryker Lange stops Kitt Boynton for driving on the wrong side of the road, his attraction to the feisty Irish lass is immediate. Yet, despite the sizzling chemistry between them, Kitt quickly turns him down.
Kitt has moved to River’s Edge for a fresh start and is ready to focus on her new marketing job at her cousins’ winery. She’s done with players, and vows she won’t let the local sexy cop distract her, but Kitt, a flirt herself, is definitely tempted. To keep her sanity as she prepares for several Valentine-themed winery events, she and Ryker make a bet: for the next three weeks, neither of them can flirt with the other.
The game starts out lighthearted, but when the town takes sides, Ryker and Kitt must choose between winning a wager or finding lasting love.
A lot of us dream about what it would be like to go into space and especially to Mars. If and when that time comes, though, that doesn't mean that there aren't going to be problems along the way. John Andrew Karr has created the Mars Wars science fiction series. Find out about the books and take a sneak peek inside. Get to know the author a little better in this interview. Follow the tour for more and be sure to download your own copy. Best of luck in the giveaway!
The barren red face of Mars grew before them.
The space shuttles of two centuries earlier had orbited Earth at roughly five miles a second. Doubling that speed, even tripling it—and in a hurry—was within easy capability of the PS-class shuttles.
Devans threw in a series of mild doglegs to make it a little interesting for Wagner. He had to admit, the youth had staying power. An hour later and Wagner hadn’t even taken a bathroom break. Two blips showed up on the main hologram of the planet below. They marked tunnel locations T1 and T2 as yellow-highlighted lines that shot straight down. Both had tiny right angles at the ends where the bombs were housed.
As they approached the space over T1, the surface camera feeds showed nothing but a mass of gray-and-red dust. Very little wind speed. It was thick but gentle, like a snow globe after its been shaken.
“Raise shields, Nuro,” Devans said. “Shannon, how about splashing our entry on the big monitor here and the feed to the crew?”
The shuttle’s shields warded off the entry heat and they entered the anemic Martian atmosphere.
“Withdraw shields, Nuro.”
“Withdrawing.”
“Nice sandstorm,” Devans said, gazing at the roiling wall hundreds of feet high.
“Dust storm!” Trent Wagner said over his shoulder as he leaned back and forth on the table as if shredding the galaxy’s longest wave. “This is the tail end of it!”
“How long until cleared?”
“Two or three.”
“Couple, three hours, not so bad.”
“Weeks,” Wagner said.
“And here I just had this thing washed. Let’s go to the dark side for now.”
The sun cut a divide on the red planet’s surface. PS-9 easily outdistanced the storm and raced over the desert surface to the dark side. The second blip beckoned them on the navigation screens. Near total darkness pushed against their vessel lights.
This was the eve of the moment they all had labored for…One last manual check and they would attempt to resurrect Mars with synchronized thermonuclear explosions at the core.
At least, that was the plan.
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Excerpt :
Wax-face seemed to notice Isaac for the first time, widening his eyes - which Isaac saw were gray with cataracts, streaked with red - and leering at the librarian with a predatory fascination. His jaw slowly fell open, a stream of blood flowing down his chin to the floor.
Isaac attempted to flee, but his feet were giving his brain the silent treatment. The best he got out of himself was turning his head to look over his shoulder. Two more lumbering, waxy, blood-dripping freaks limped out from behind bookshelves and toward Isaac.Our hero would claim for most of his life beyond this event that the sound he emitted was a leonine roar as he suddenly found the courage to fight his attackers off and escape.
However, he knew completely well that the noise which escaped his lungs was a high-pitched, birdlike screech as he attempted to mediate a debate between Panic and Rage over the course of a second or two;
Oh fuck, zombies.
Don’t be ridiculous.
Find a weapon!
You don’t even know how to use any.
Find one anyway!
It’s a library, are we going to papercut them back to death?
Do we think this is the zombie apocalypse?
I feel like we’re wasting a lot of time here.
Panic ceased its babbling and made a noise not unlike a police siren. Rage decided now was as good a time as any to hop on a dream-bus and see the world before the useless skin-sack they inhabited got himself killed, offering Isaac no more survival pointers.
Isaac jerked back around to face the original zombie (a word he was still hesitant to use but had now become the only discernible thought he could latch onto).
The monster had completed its examination, raised its raspy wheeze to a blood-curdling shriek, and made a mad dash for its prey, blood flying every which way from his gaping mouth. Isaac could hear the two behind him do the same.
Well, there you go you useless lump, you went and got us killed.
It’s not his fault, there was nothing in orientation about an after-hours zombie attack.
The argument in Isaac’s head descended into a cacophonic volley of insults, mocking tones, and detailed instructions for the other to misbehave with a tree.Isaac reminded his debating thoughts that they were all part of the same person, so tree sap on one’s privates is tree sap on the others. Also, he added that the zombies may have been close enough that he could smell iron on their breath, but the well-dressed gentleman with silver hair in the doorway seemed calm and ready to help. By all laws of logic and probability he was aware of, Isaac would be dead in three and a half seconds anyway, so no need for extra stress.
Panic and Rage stared out through Isaac’s eyes. They agreed that there was indeed a rather pale man with silver hair and an incongruously cheerful smirk standing at the fair end of the room, absent the blurry gray doppelganger Isaac normally saw with people and seeming to emit a faint glow. He was dressed in a white suit with vague green specks all over it, with a feathery gold and silver cape to go with it.
Whoever he was, he seemed more-or-less qualified to handle such an unexpected threat.
The new arrival was pointing the palm of his left hand at the scene, his thumb extended at a right angle. He twitched his hand down at the wrist and every molecule in the room sang out in unison, connected by static electricity.
“Dí’prætä.”
A razor-thin hemisphere of light erupted in a three-foot radius around Isaac. The zombies, all of whom had just taken a flying leap for his neck, landed on the bubble and bounced off.
They each landed on their backsides with a dull thud, totally incapable of processing this development. They caught the pale man’s scent and turned on him, assuming he would make a decent meal as well.
The suited man shut his eyes and delicately pressed his fingertips together, then his palms before he turned them toward the zombies. He intoned a series of syllables in a steady waltzing rhythm, continuing to use the molecular structure of the library as a network of loudspeakers.
“Tä’gläcí äy æ’chévän.”
They all froze, and a few of Isaac’s rapid heartbeats later the monsters disappeared into thin air. As they went, the electric buzz throughout the area died down until it vanished entirely, along with the bubble around Isaac.
Without a word, the new arrival sniffed the air like a bloodhound while wandering toward Isaac. He stopped every few steps and screwed up his face in concentration. He finally followed his nose to Isaac and began sniffing the young man’s scalp, seeming to not notice there was a person under the hair. He jumped back in surprise when he finally did.
“Oh, I am so sorry! I did not realize that you were a person.” The new man said with a grin and an accent with traces from most of Western Europe. His voice, though still bouncy and full of life, had lost the musical quality it had when the entire building spoke for him.
“Who are you?” The stranger asked.
Isaac stared at him without blinking, “Uh…Buh” floating through his mind again. He waded through a mess of scattered vocabulary to find a coherent response until he finally landed on, “I-Isaac Falc-cone.”
The activation of the various anatomical components required for speech set off a domino effect which rattled every other bit of their host, who began to shake violently as tears once again fell down his face.
The newcomer twitched slightly. “Just a fair warning, Uh-Buh, you ought to take care not to give away so much of your name to strangers. I mean you no harm, but many entities may take it as an invitation.”
“Inv… Wha…” Isaac stammered.
The man with the silver hair smiled, grabbed Isaac’s wrist, and helped him to his feet. He swept some loose zombie dust from Isaac’s clothes, looked him in the eye, and spoke with extraordinary calm. Isaac couldn’t decide if he was comforted by or terrified of the stranger.
“Unimportant. Uh-Buh I-Isaac Falc-Cone, nice to meet you,” The visitor said, still holding on to Isaac’s wrist. “You may call me L’æon. Næ’vös shívæ!”
Author Zach Adams has had a passion for writing
and storytelling his entire life. However, he didn’t decide to pursue it as a
profession until he realized that working in retail was completely draining his
remaining life force. And so, Adams set out to create a fascinating and
captivating novel, which he achieved in his debut work, “Dead Man Walking”.
Having a general distaste for his current reality, Zach aspires to escape into
the science fiction and fantasy worlds that he creates. And by doing so, he
aims to share this escapism with his readers (who are probably also incredibly
tired of the current state of things).
Zach was raised by an anthropomorphic ostrich, and is a seasoned time traveler.
Coincidentally, he also enjoys making up utter nonsense about himself.
Currently, Adams lives in Alaska with his cat Gamora (who he does not plan to
sacrifice on Vormir).
https://www.adamsvalentine.com/
https://www.facebook.com/VadamsAlentine
Tour Giveaway
5 winners of an ecopy of “Dead Man Walking”
will be chosen randomly from those who join the mailing list
during the tour time frame
Welcome to the Name Before the Masses Tour for I Can Still Hear You by Nicole Black. Today I have an excerpt for you, as well as my thoughts on the book. You can also get to know the author better in this brief interview. Be sure to follow the rest of the tour for even more. Best of luck in the giveaway!
I gazed up at the ceiling in quiet disbelief, as if I’d see my father looking down on me. Carefully, I removed the map from the box. It was yellowing and old, and the paper was as thin as tissue, so I took care in opening it. The map had some faint lines on it, some solid, some dotted, but no place names, no markings at all to tell what exactly it belonged to.
“Great, Dad,” I muttered aloud. “This is super helpful.”
But the second I said it, as had happened a dozen times in my life when I’d been presented with a puzzle, my father’s voice said, I’m not going to give you all the answers. Where’s the fun in that?
“This is one big party,” I muttered again. I had no idea where to even start. The only thing that made sense was to contact my dad’s friend living in Hawaii.
Hawaii.
He couldn’t possibly mean that he wanted me to go to . . .
No. That was impossible.
I read the letter, again and again. The more I did, the more it seemed as if, yes . . . that’s exactly what my father wanted.
Peering in the box again, I hoped that wad of cash would present itself. Or at least the stopwatch. But neither did. The box was empty.
Fans of fantasy will want to check out this interview with Claudia Blood as well as an excerpt from her book Company Assassin. Be sure to also follow the tour so that you can find out even more! Remember to leave your questions and comments along the way. Best of luck entering the giveaway!
Matilda from Chapter 4
Matilda sat at the table and threaded the needle. The demon alarm still buzzed in the background. She’d given the kids their assignments and tried to act as normal as possible. She didn’t want them worried about Duff or the demons since even the orphanage had company supplied protections. As long as they stayed in the orphanage, they should be fine.
Miss CuddleBug, Sheila’s doll, needed some surgery. Usually this sort of activity would calm Matilda. She checked her nails and saw the distinctive purple at the base that meant her nanites were activated. She took a deep breath and used the mantras her father had taught her.
Peace is within my reach.
Breathe and breathe again.
“Will Miss CuddleBug be well?” Sheila stood on her tip-toes to see her dolly on the table.
“I’ll get her fixed up.” Matilda stroked Sheila’s hair. Sheila’s complexion grayed. Matilda snatched her hand back. She had to be careful with the little ones when she was this worked up.
Iceland is one of those places that I would love to visit one day. And personal stories are the best ones to read, especially WWII and post-WWII stories. Check out an excerpt from this memoir and then get to know the authors better in a fun little interview. Be sure to let them know what you think in the comments! And follow the tour for even more. Best of luck entering the giveaway!
Read an excerpt:
One memorable incident took place [in 1968] during our drive through Anbar province in Iraq. The place was unheard of when I motored through, but after the U.S. invasion of Iraq in 2003, this Sunni stronghold of Saddam Hussein’s became world renowned for insurgency and suicide bombings. Even during my days, traveling in this neighborhood was dicey. While guessing my way through the desert of Al Anbar, we passed a ghastly sight. It was the charred remains of what looked like a small industrial complex. The scene evoked news articles about an Israeli air raid on an Iraqi nuclear research facility. I knew we shouldn’t be there, but there was no other way out than to keep driving. Soon after, a military patrol pulled up alongside. I stopped the car, and we all got out to show them exactly who we were, a family of dumb, lost foreigners.
A soldier peered into my car. He started shouting angrily in Arabic, his finger jabbing at the camera on the back seat. They hustled us all back into the Peugeot, I in the driver’s seat, Monika next to me, while Steinn shared the back seat with the soldier. I felt something hard poke at my spine. I glanced at the rearview mirror and realized the object was the muzzle of the soldier’s machine pistol. The drive lasted an hour at most, but it seemed like eternity. To prevent an accidental burst from the gun, I took it slow and easy on the desert tracks.
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Welcome to the book tour for the Sons of Cuba series by Ellen W. Martin! Today you're going to get a peek into her books and then get to know her a little bit better. Follow the tour for even more! And best of luck entering that giveaway.
BOOK II – SONS OF CUBA – HOMECOMING
TANGI rushed over and picked up the now hysterical Andrés. Her eyes widened. Standing at the front door was that same disgusting soldier that had harassed her at the plaza; three others were behind him, rifles in hand. Once again, he leered at her. She looked down; her blouse was still open. She buttoned the top button and held Andrés close.
Ramon Miguel stepped between Tangi, Fernando, and the soldier. “What can we do for you?” He asked.
“I told you, I’m looking for Fernando Reyes. Are you he?”
Ramon stared at the soldier; his eyes narrowed. “Maybe, but tell me first why you’re here.”
The soldier waved a piece of paper in front of Ramon’s face. “This is about you turning your farm over to the government.”
Fernando pushed Ramon aside and snapped, “I’ll do no such thing. That land has been in my family for generations. Besides, what would the government want with a few meager acres?”
The soldier looked first at Ramon, and then at Fernando. “Okay, which one of you is Reyes?
Fernando yanked the papers from the soldier’s hands. “I told you I am. What is this?” He asked, shaking the papers in the soldier’s face.
“It’s the deed to your land. Sign it; sign it now without argument. If you don’t, we have a prison cell waiting for you.”
Ramon Miguel took the papers from Fernando’s trembling hands, and glanced over the legal document. He turned his back on the soldiers and pulled the old man aside. “I’m afraid you have no choice,” he whispered. “You wouldn’t survive a week in jail, and I can’t go to prison for you. Who’d take care of Tangi and the baby?”
