Tuesday, February 14, 2017

Book Feature: Sealed Up Virtual Book Tour & Win $25 Amazon Gift Card



Hot off the press! SEALED UP: THE COURSE OF FATE: BOOK ONE by Steve Dunn Hanson is available now! Steve will be on a virtual book tour January 3 - March 31 and will be giving away a $25 Amazon Gift Card PLUS an autographed copy of his book!  Follow his tour, leave comments and share this page in social networks for extra entries!



Title: Sealed Up
Author: Steve Dunn Hanson
Publisher: Independent
Pages: 402
Genre: Action/Adventure/Suspense 

The Da Vinci Code unsettles. SEALED UP shakes to the core!

UCLA anthropologist Nathan Hill, in a funk since his young wife’s death, learns of staggering millennia-old chronicles sealed up somewhere in a Mesoamerica cliff. This bombshell rocks him out of his gloom, and he leads a clandestine expedition to uncover them. What are they? Who put them there? No one knows. But, self-absorbed televangelist Brother Luke, who funds the expedition, thinks he does. If he’s right, his power-hunger will have off-the-charts gratification.

Striking Audra Chang joins Nathan in his pursuit and brings her own shocking secret. As they struggle through a literal jungle of puzzles and dead ends, she finds herself falling in love with Nathan. Her secret, though, may make that a non-starter.

When a shaman with a thirst for human sacrifice, and a murderous Mexican drug lord with a mysterious connection to Brother Luke emerge, the expedition appears doomed. Yet Nathan is convinced that fate—or something—demands these inscrutable chronicles be unearthed.
And if they are . . . what shattering disruption will they unleash?

Intricately layered and remarkably researched, this enthralling suspense-driven and thought provoking tour de force begs a startling question: Could it happen?

Amazon

Book Excerpt:

“How much farther?” Paul’s shirt was soaked from sweat.
Itzel looked at him and laughed. “Just like Torrance, huh?” Paul rolled his eyes.
“The cenote.” Ichika pointed to a three-foot-wide path that was recently cut through the brush. They followed it as it turned to the left then sharply to the right. The sinkhole loomed in front of them. The water, a huge blue sapphire, sparkled 15 feet below. Thick emerald-green growth reached down the sinkhole’s sides, but where they were standing, the vegetation had been cleared all the way to the water’s surface.
Paul stood at the cenote’s edge and stared down into the bowl. “You slipped here, you’d go all the way in.”
Itzel shuddered and pulled back; thoughts of her father overwhelming her. Was this what it was like where he fell? She trembled and turned away from the cenote. “Let’s leave.”
Paul looked at her and understood. He almost said something about his stupidity, but decided one foot in his mouth was enough. He motioned for Ichika to take them back the way they came. He put his arm around Itzel, and she leaned her head against him.
“Where are the ruins?” Paul asked. Ichika didn’t say anything, just pointed ahead. The brush and ferns that surrounded them were head high and prevented their seeing anything except along the trail. As they turned to go to where they first entered the path, Kish’s men stood waiting. Ikan, Muluc, and Yochi had machetes, and Gukumatz held a tranquilizer gun.
Paul and Itzel stopped. Ichika, her eyes fastened on the ground, kept going until she stood on the other side of the men. She turned back toward Itzel but wouldn’t look at her. “What’s going on?” Paul demanded in Spanish as he stepped in front of Itzel. Gukumatz raised his gun and shot a dart into Paul’s stomach. Paul flinched at the pain and looked down at his stomach. “What the ....” Paul yanked the dart out and threw it on the ground. A small circle of blood soaked through his shirt. He lunged at Gukumatz and swung his forearm around catching him on the bridge of his nose. Blood spurted from Gukumatz’s nostrils as he fell to the ground; a gash flaring open on top of his nose. Ikan and Yochi dropped their machetes and jumped Paul.
“What are you doing?” Itzel yelled in Lacandón. “Where is Kish?” Muluc grabbed her and threw his arm around her neck, holding her from behind.
“Don’t you hurt her!” Ichika screamed, as she advanced on him. Gukumatz stood up and wiped his nose with his sleeve; blood soaking through his shirt to his skin. His stare at Paul was chilling, and he swore at him in Spanish. Paul tried to get up to come at him. It was all the two men could do to keep him down even though his strength was ebbing. Gukumatz turned away from Paul and pulled a cartridge and a dart from the bag on his shoulder and loaded them into his gun. He walked to Itzel and shoved Ichika aside. He lowered the gun and shot the dart into Itzel’s stomach. She flinched at the pain and stared at Gukumatz. “You pig!” she spat.
Within a few minutes Paul and Itzel were unconscious. Gukumatz pulled the GPS trackers from their belts, turned them off, and slammed them against a rock. He grunted as he picked up Itzel and slung her across his shoulder. The other three men lifted Paul. They headed to the platform ruins.
The place of sacrifice.

About the Author


I've lived in places that grew me . . . from a small Idaho farm town, a run-down neighborhood in St. Louis, and a middle-class southern California community, to Sydney, Australia, and Bucharest, Romania. My experiences are as varied as the places I've lived. I have a hopper full of "reality" including being a volunteer jail chaplain and flying with a U.S. presidential candidate in his small plane when an engine conked out. And all of this is fodder for my writing.
My latest book is the action/adventure/suspense novel, Sealed Up.

WEBSITE | TWITTER | FACEBOOK

GIVEAWAY DETAILS:

Steve Dunn Hanson is giving away a $25 Amazon Gift Card PLUS an autographed copy of his book, Sealed Up!

Terms & Conditions:
  • By entering the giveaway, you are confirming you are at least 18 years old.
  • One winner will be chosen via Rafflecopter to receive both prizes.
  • This giveaway ends midnight March 31.
  • Winner will be contacted via email on April 1.
  • Winner has 48 hours to reply.
Good luck everyone!

ENTER TO WIN!

a Rafflecopter giveaway


Friday, February 10, 2017

NASHVILLE: Music and Murder, by Tom Carter


cover-low-resTitle
:  NASHVILLE:  Music and Murder
Genre: Mystery
Author: Tom Carter
Find out more on Amazon
About the Book:
Set against the backdrop of Nashville’s thriving country music industry, Nashville:  Music and Murder introduces an unforgettable protagonist: country music’s reigning queen for over two decades, legendary vocalist Maci Willis.
When the novel opens, Maci Willis has taken the stage at Bridgestone area. Performing an unbelievable string of hits to legions of adoring fans, Maci is back for her fourth encore…until a gunshot rings out in a shocking attempt on her life.   But who would want country music’s queen dead?  And why?
Beloved to fans, but widely known offstage for extraordinary talent and unnecessary drama, Maci miraculously escapes with her life—a life that quickly begins to spiral out of control.  Eager to do damage control for the scandalized starlet, Maci’s record label launches an extensive publicity tour in the wake of the shooting. But when an overzealous fan gets way too close for comfort and dies under dubious circumstances, Maci is forced to flee.
Out of the spotlight and on the run, Maci has to face the music.  As her carefully-constructed façade crumbles, Maci realizes just how empty, hollow, and meaningless her life has become.  But soon, Maci discovers a shocking truth:  there’s something sinister behind the music, and beneath the glittery veneer of fame and fortune lurks an unseemly underbelly of greed, deceit, and deadly intentions.  Could it be that Maci Willis is worth more dead than alive?  Seems like someone is poised to make a killing in country music…
Will Maci finally come to see the light?  Or will she even live to see the light of day?
About the Author: 
Bestselling author Tom Carter is a longtime Nashville who lives with his wife, Janie, a few miles from Nashville’s legendary Music Row.  
Connect with the author on the Web:
Chapter One
Singer Maci Willis faked another smile, then gazed wearily across a sea of 18,000 jubilant fans. Twenty years ago, she would have given her heart and soul to
draw a crowd this size. But tonight, the demanding masses were draining her of everything she had.
As her eyes scanned the room, she heard not the adulation of an army of admirers, but the deafening roar of a thousand lions that had just spotted a solitary gazelle named Maci.
Looking down, she told herself that she could hold her composure together for a few more minutes. The rhythmic stomping of feet told her what she already knew – that people were hungry for more musical manna – and were hoping for a third encore.
With her nod to the band, the opening chords of one of her signature hits filled the arena. Then, as a sea of smart- phones flashed at her, she waved her hand, a gesture to stop the music.
“You probably heard I’m not too big of a fan of these phones,” she said.
A few hundred fans who had seen the previous month’s tabloids hooted in approval. They’d read the story of how Maci, while dining at a riverside restaurant, was approached by a fan who tried to force her into an unwanted selfie. In one swift, nearly choreographed motion, Maci snatched the boy’s phone and threw it into the river. When the press called the next day, her only comment was, “I don’t know why they call it a smartphone when there always seems to be an idiot attached to the  screen.”
Now, in front of a capacity crowd, Maci decided to double down. Rather than address the entire audience, she turned her attention to a pudgy teenage girl in the front row, who was still squinting into her phone as she recorded Maci.
“Darlin’,” she said. “You. Open your eyes. You’re sitting beneath a thirty-foot Jumbotron. Me and my band are standing here in front of you, larger than life. And your mama paid two hundred dollars for that seat. And now, you want to squeeze us all down into a teeny, tiny, four-inch screen.
“Well, I’m waaay too big for a four inch screen!”
The crowd roared in support of Maci. When the Jumbotron captured the image of the young offender, it finally dawned upon her that she was the target of Maci’s  remarks.
“Honey, just look at yourself,” said Maci in a voice that blurred the chasm between sarcasm and concern. “You’re scarcely fourteen years old, and you’re already at least thirty   or forty pounds overweight, maybe more. That ain’t living, darlin’. Put down that stupid phone. Throw it out. Get out of your chair. And get up on your feet and   dance!
“In fact, everybody, put down your phones!” Maci yelled  to the audience. “Get up on your feet! You  didn’t come here   to see Samsung! You didn’t come here to see Apple! You came here to see the greatest female singer alive—and to hear the best songs in the history of country music! Now get up and dance!”
The band instantly ripped into the opening bars of the third encore. Maci had worked the crowd into such a frenzy that only a few noticed the glistening tears rolling down the chastised girl’s reddened face. Just as two other teenagers left their seats to console her, the Jumbotron cut away from her and back to Maci, and the cries of the crowd reached a new crescendo.
Winding down from two hours of singing and shuffling across a 40-foot stage, Maci took a deep breath. The sprawling screen above the platform magnified the sweat that beaded on her brow. Her normally erect posture was slightly bent, as if she carried not just the weight of the night’s performance, but of the entire world’s.
“Maybe not the entire world,” she thought to herself. “Just thousands of fans, a production crew of sixty, and five truckloads of equipment. Plus a sizeable part of the country music industry.”
Outside, additional Jumbotrons on the façade of Nashville’s Bridgestone Arena thrust Maci’s voice and image out to the throng of fans without tickets. Throughout the evening, she’d intermittently talked directly to the sidewalk followers, who for the most part were a bit more drunk that those inside. A drone-mounted camera occasionally panned the crowds who came to life each time they saw themselves on the massive screens. One man shot the moon to his fellow fans and a few women flashed their  breasts.
The frenetic sea of Maci’s fans stretched down Broadway for two blocks, nearly reaching the bank of the Cumberland River. From that vantage point, most could neither hear nor see Maci’s show; they’d come primarily to drink and mingle with other folks, and occasionally they’d contribute their own song and dance. Temporary beer stands had taken root in the middle of the road, which had been closed off to accommo- date the crowds. In each booth, bartenders poured a   steady stream of ice-cold lagers for the mob, who had come as much for the beer as for the  music.
“You folks outside should have scooped up some tickets from the scalpers,” Maci shouted into her microphone. “The cost would have been outrageous, but I’m worth the money!” The lilt in her voice hinted that her energy was waning like a jet aircraft leaking fuel. Even so, her little asides ignited smatterings of applause from both inside and outside the arena.
“How much more do these people want from me?” Maci mumbled off microphone. “How much more can I give? Let’s see what the old gal’s got left.”
Lifting the microphone to her lips, she blasted out the first few words of “Come and Get It,” her chart-topper from nearly fifteen years earlier. As the band joined in, the audi- ence once again rose to their feet. Maci crossed the stage, dragging the spotlight with her, toward her steel guitarist. Feigning astonishment, he leapt from his seat on cue, and Maci playfully pushed him away. Sitting in his chair, Maci sloppily played a three-string verse without a chorus, and then jumped atop the borrowed chair where she wobbled back and forth to the delight of her  audience.
Just as she expected, a hefty faction of the crowd mimicked her movements by jumping up and teetering on their seats. Unaccustomed to balancing on their chairs, people were laughing, spilling beer and falling like leaves in a windstorm. Holding her microphone to her waist, Maci made sure her admirers could see, but not hear, her exaggerated breaths, which were worthy of a boxer after going twelve rounds with Muhammad Ali. The theatrics once again worked the crowd
into blistering ecstasy as the lights began to  fade.
“Bye bye, folks,” she thought as the darkness embraced her. “I’m leaving my stage, leaving it without an ounce of remaining energy. Time for y’all to go back home to your bored and boring lives.”
Precisely as the curtains dropped, the room’s semi-dark- ness was shattered by the burst of the arena’s house lights which pierced the air like a thousand tiny suns. Their idol gone from sight, fans squinted into the glare, contorting their faces like animals surfacing from a long winter’s hibernation. Many hummed or sang as they headed toward the exits. Most were smiling, and a few were teary eyed from having finally seen a living legend. The Queen had left her throne. There was no High Princess in the wings. The music had silenced, and so had the listeners’ world.
Or so they thought.
Before the fans could leave, the arena was thrust into total blackness. Scattered exit signs eerily dotted the  darkness like flickering fireflies. Some fans wondered aloud if there had been a power failure. Then, in a flash, the surprised audi- ence released a collective gasp as spotlights sliced through the ocean of black. As the crowd slowly realized what was happening, their murmurings rose from unexpected joy, to unbridled jubilation to outright nirvana.
“Nobody returns to the stage four times!” shouted the announcer through the sound system. “Except for Maci Willis!!!!”
Like shoppers squeezing through a Black Friday turnstile, the departing fans wrestled madly to get back to their seats. “The show must go on—again!” yelled the announcer. “You won’t miss what you don’t see, so you’d better see what
you might miss!”
Shouts, sometimes profane, resounded from fans, espe- cially those bottlenecked inside the exit tunnels where ushers struggled to herd them back  inside.
Then she appeared.
Alone in seven spotlights, Maci stood motionless as she was lifted through the stage floor, bathed in an aura of pastel footlights. Then, as the band played the opening chords of another signature song, she began to frantically dance in place with the fervor of a barefoot child on a tar roof.
“You didn’t think I’d leave without singing my favorite song, did you?” she screamed into her earset microphone. “You ain’t getting rid of me that easy. I’d NEVER leave you!” Separated from their assigned seats, the confused audi- ence shifted like a jigsaw puzzle whose pieces had sprung to life. As the band began to play, Maci ripped away her designer gown, flashed her legs beneath her mini-dress and the musical madness became as loud as New Year’s Eve at Times Square. The crowd, startled yet joyous,   unanimously
wondered how long the show would actually go on. Except for one fan. He knew exactly how   long.
Having followed Maci’s touring extravaganza through  three cities, he’d memorized the show down to its smallest detail. He knew this encore was truly the last. He knew just when Maci would strut across the stage,  and  exactly  when and where she’d stop to pose for one last flurry of photos like   a gloating minstrel. Like a legend finally at rest.
Like a perfect target.
While the houselights had sent most of the crowd to the exits, he waded against the plethora of fans, working his way closer to the stage. He knew the arena well; the route back- stage, the nearest exit, the gateway through which he could sink safely and silently into the night.
Like a child seeking a hidden toy, he slid his hand gently under his black, all-weather coat to reaffirm the presence of his .357 Magnum whose steel jacket bullets could penetrate an engine block. Patting the weapon’s cold steel contours, he marveled at its sleeping power which he would soon awaken.
“The entire crowd’ll want to kill me,” he whispered to  no one. “But that won’t be personal. They’ll want to kill me because I killed  her.”
Like a salmon battling its way upstream, he wove his way through the widening flow of torsos engulfing him.
Still too far to see Maci clearly, he repeatedly glanced upward at the Jumbotron as he inched toward the stage. The face he saw no longer had the youthful glow that had filled her early album covers. He could see the streaked mascara and the tired lines on her face that resembled creases on silk. “Maci’s  exhausted,” he told himself. “She needs to   rest.
She needs . . . me.”
He drifted, lost in the crowd, moving slowly but methodi- cally closer to the stage. As the song entered its second verse, he smiled wryly, realizing he could now ignore the Jumbotron and look straight into Maci’s eyes.
“I love you, Maci,” he yelled, his voice buried beneath the blare of the music and the roar of the crowd. “I understand your songs better than all of these simpletons!”
As he continued his journey toward destiny, his excite- ment over seeing Maci was matched only by his disdain for the audience. They were fools. They didn’t understand Maci. They didn’t understand her or her songs. Not like he did. Idiots. All of them.
Maci and four backup singers slipped into an a cappella refrain as the band members raised their hands high to kindle a round of unified clapping throughout the arena. Not content to merely clap, the crowd began to stomp their feet in time with the music. Feeling their cadence through the soles on his boots, he knew the crowd’s emotions were rising. As were his. None of them realized how close they were to the end of Maci’s show, and of her life.
But he did.
An unimpressive row of security ushers, dressed in canary yellow sport coats, stood rigidly a few feet apart from each other, forming what passed for a protective line in front of the stage and the performers standing on it.
“Useless geezers,” he smirked aloud, safe  and  smug  in  the knowledge that his spoken words still could not be heard above the din and fray. He could announce his plans aloud and no one would hear. He shook his head at the inept, unintimi- dating guards. “A Girl Scout could get by you. Maci deserves better than a handful of escapees from an old folks’ home.”
His heart raced. He was now close enough to count Maci’s finger rings, and was more energized than ever. His voice beginning to rasp, he couldn’t hear his own words this close to the stage, no matter how forcefully he shouted.
Realizing he was no longer struggling amid the masses, he drew a deep breath as he turned to gaze at the people in the front row, who rhythmically danced in place. Like the Pied Piper, he would soon abandon everyone on the ground floor before scaling to his lofty perch, and taking his place onstage aside his beloved Maci Willis.
“I’m closer to Maci than anyone else in the hall except her people on stage,” he said, congratulating himself.
His starstruck eyes suddenly filled with lust, he barely noticed the nearby security guard waving at him. For a moment, he was tempted to leap up, grasp the lip of the plat- form, and pull himself onstage.
“Not now,” he told himself. “Move now and they’ll stop you.”
The guard continued to  wave.
“Me?” he mouthed as he pointed to himself, faking confusion.
The glorified usher nodded and signaled for the misplaced man to come to him.
Forcing a smile, he walked slowly toward the yellow coat and the old man wearing it. As if seeing a long lost friend, he thrust his arm around the fellow and pretended to yell into his ear. Moving stealthily, he slid his hand into his coat’s inside pocket. With a magician’s sleight of hand, he quickly found his Taser and dropped the guard.
Maintaining his grasp on his prey, he called out to two of the nearby guards.
“Need some help here,” he shouted. “Looks like heatstroke.”
The two guards discretely eased their companion to the ground, trying their best to not distract attention from the show.
A drunk from the front row, deciding that a dousing of liquid was the best way to revive someone, flung the contents of his plastic cup into the fallen guard’s face. Upon seeing this, two more guards left their posts to drag the drunk away.
With five guards out of the way, half the stage was now  his.
“Hell’s bells,” he shouted, his voice still inaudible to the crowd. “I was expecting a challenge. Seems like you clowns are actually trying to help.”
A shiver ran through him. “Like you’re trying to help,” he said. “Like it’s meant to be. Like it’s   destiny.”
Glancing at his watch, he counted in time with the beat as the music approached its bridge into the third  verse.
“Three . . . , two . . . , one . . . ,” he shouted. “Showtime!” High above the arena, a thunderous cloudburst exploded from the ceiling, raining colorful, vibrant foil confetti    upon
the crowd like blessings from Walmart.
Despite the full saturation of stage lights, he knew the torrent of tinsel would conceal his movements as he pulled himself onstage in one quick, coordinated maneuver.
There, behind the cascade of colored paper, illumination and glitter, he slowly rose, invisible to the audience. While the crowd was swept away by sensory overload, his focus sharpened. His entire world was now reduced to Maci, his gun and his hand.
Her back turned to him, he watched her take her first step to stage right. There, she’d halt to wave goodbye to fans, lingering for a moment in a frenzy of camera flashes. He waited until she struck a photo-worthy pose, which she’d hold for several seconds, just as he’d seen in her last two concerts. Inhaling slowly, he steadied his breath as she hit her mark at stage right. He vowed she’d never make it to stage left.
Holding his breath, he pointed his gun squarely into the back of her heart. His thumb cocked the hammer as he made a mental note to squeeze, not pull, the trigger. Resting rigidly on his knees, he felt his forefinger easing toward him.
The impact of the policeman’s tackle ignited the shooter’s reflexes. His elbow buckled and his grip tightened as the officer collided with his arm. The force knocked the stalker violently to the floor, sending the pistol sliding across the stage.
The officer had acted quickly—but  not  quickly  enough.  As his head hit the platform floor, the shooter saw a spurt of blood and hair from the left side of    Maci’s  head.
Amid the blinding spotlights and the relentless storm of tinsel, most of the audience had failed to see the three-feet- long flash from the weapon’s  barrel. Those who discerned   a policeman wrestling a man to the floor assumed it was another case of an overzealous fan trying to get too close to the star.
But onstage, it was a nightmare come to life. The stage- hands and musicians had been close enough to hear the cannon-like blast of the weapon. A few of them joined in the melee, helping the officer subdue the stalker. Others started to join, but were stopped mid-step by the sight of a fallen Maci Willis, whose head lay in a widening pool of crimson.
On cue, the thicket of confetti stopped. People in the higher seats, along with everyone viewing the Jumbotron, saw the ongoing skirmish taking place on the stage.
And they saw the fallen Maci.
The crowd emitted a bone-chilling chorus of shrieks, as  if the entire arena had been cast into an inferno. The music ceased, the house lights were raised, and everyone under the cavernous ceiling could now see the four-man fracas at stage right, violent and unexplainable.
As the shrieks gave way to shouts, sobs and pandemonium, Maci’s sparkling dress reflected the spotlights that were still swirling in time to the now-silenced music. Only the scurrying of first-responders was able to lower the arena’s volume, and a concerned, unintelligible murmur filled the air. In seconds, Maci was hoisted upward by emergency personnel, while the stagehands and musicians fumbled about helplessly, equally torn between the urge to look and the urge to look away.
From the first row to the top tier, confused and terrified fans fell into a hush. For the first time all night, the arena was silent.

Book Blast: Love on the Wings of War by John Livingston




Inside the Book:



Title: Love on the Wings fo War
Author: John Livingston
Publisher: iUniverse
Genre: Historical Fiction
Format: Ebook
It is 1967 in Egypt when the rebellious daughter of a government minster first notices a handsome American researcher. Desperate to break away from her powerful and conservative Muslim family, Nadia Kemal approaches Mark Adams one afternoon in the university library and changes her life forever.

Nadia and Mark soon fall in love. For a year, their forbidden relationship is fraught with danger and several close calls as they are nearly discovered. As Egypt is defeated in war and the possibility of civil government looms, Nadia’s father focuses on becoming the new leader. Meanwhile after Nadia and Mark secretly marry, they are preparing to leave the country when her father learns of the affair. With his career aspirations now threatened by his American son-in-law, Nadia’s father locks her in an asylum until she signs a divorce paper. As Mark battles for his own life, he frantically searches for Nadia while attempting to distinguish between truth and lies. With seemingly the entire world against them, Nadia and Mark are each left wondering if their love is strong enough to survive.

In this historical tale set in 1960s war-torn Egypt, a Muslim girl and an American man begin a journey together driven by forbidden love, danger, and an uncertain future.

Meet the Author:


John Livingston earned his BS at MIT and his PhD at Princeton University. He is currently a professor of Islamic History and Civilization and Modern Middle East History at William Paterson University. Dr. Livingston currently resides in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Love on the Wings of War is his fourth book.

                                        Giveaway

John is giving away a $25 Gift Card!


Terms & Conditions:
  • By entering the giveaway, you are confirming you are at least 18 years old.
  • One winner will be chosen via Rafflecopter to receive one $25 Gift Certificate to the e-retailer of your choice
  • This giveaway begins January 30 and ends on February 10.
  • Winners will be contacted via email on February 11.
  • Winner has 48 hours to reply.
Good luck everyone!

ENTER TO WIN!

Wednesday, February 8, 2017

Book Feature: Dominion: Fire & Ice by D.A. Hewitt




We're happy to announce D.A. Hewitt's DOMINION: FIRE & ICE is available now! You can find out more about his book below.  Please leave a comment to let him know you stopped by and you can pick up your copy at Amazon (link below)!


 

Title: DOMINION: FIRE AND ICE
Author: D.A. Hewitt
Publisher: Double Dragon eBooks
Pages: 372
Genre: Science Fiction

It’s the year 2075. Lunar mining and processing facilities have prospered near the lunar south pole, where the Moon’s largest city, Valhalla, rests on the rim of the Shackleton Crater.

Dominion Off-Earth Resources has beaten the competition into space and is ready to establish its monopoly with the opening of the orbiting space resort Dominion. But Pettit Space Industries has a secret plan to emerge as a major contender in the commercialization of space. The upstart company is training the first space rescue squad at a secluded off-grid site in Barrow, Alaska.

The rescue squad gets nearly more than it can handle when its first mission involves the Pope, who’s traveling to the Moon to establish the Lunar See. During the rescue attempt, they discover Earth is imperiled by an asteroid large enough to cause mass extinction. Using the unique skills taught during their training, skills emphasized by the great psychoanalyst Carl Jung, these Jungi Knights must elevate their game if they are to save both the Earth and the Pope—while not getting killed in the process.

Purchase at Amazon


Book Excerpt:
The girl shook her head impatiently, the ponytail swaying back and forth. “You don’t recognize me?” she asked.
I looked closer. “I’m not up on the latest supermodel scene,” I told her, “and I haven’t seen many movies lately.”
“Supermodel? Movies? What on Earth are you talking about?”
“You seem to think I should recognize you. I assume you’re a model or an actress, someone who would be easily recognized.”
She whispered something under her breath, and having a modest ability to read lips, thought she’d said, What an idiot. “I’m Jessica Thibideau.”
I thought Julia was going to leap out of her chair and try to strangle the girl. I reached over and laid my hand on her forearm with as much reassurance as I could muster.
Julia reached over, grabbed the back of my neck, pulled my head down, leaned in, and whispered, “She runs the science departments in DOER’s space program. She’s the daughter of Benjamin Thibideau.”
“Oh,” I whispered. “Yes, of course I’ve heard of her. Never seen a picture, though. Why would she assume I’d recognize her?”
“Even in the Ural Mountains, I’ve seen news pics of the famous Jessica Thibideau. Her spaceship designs incorporate integrated shielding generators. She’s responsible for the explosion of industry in space.”
“And on the Moon,” I added. “Maybe I have seen her picture. She looks different in person.”
Jessica Thibideau began tapping her toe. “If you don’t mind, I have things to do.” She waved her arm in a wide sweeping movement. “And in case you haven’t noticed, we have a problem here.”
I began straightening myself but Julia grabbed my wrist. “Be careful,” she whispered. “Her company practically buried yours. Some say the stress is what killed your father.”
“Yeah, well, my dad worked too hard.”
I pulled away and straightened myself in my chair and folded my hands in front of me on the table. “Are you referring to the street music?”
She snorted. “Of course. What are you, some kind of joker?”
“Just trying to communicate.”
She reached up and pinched her nose, equalizing pressure. “You stole my asteroid retrieval drone.”
My reaction caught me by surprise. I jerked back as though jolted by a cattle prod such was my surprise at being accused of something so off my radar that she may very well have accused me of being an alien in disguise. “What?” I managed to eke out.
“You must’ve sanctioned it, at least. There are only two players in space—DOER and PSI. And DOER wouldn’t steal from itself.”
“Are you accusing me of something?”
“A DOER asteroid interceptor-collector drone has gone missing. Not only that, a dummy drone was left in its place to camouflage the theft. Now tell me, Mr. Pettit, how many companies have the capacity to handle what an interceptor-collector drone can deliver?”
I held up two fingers, eyebrows raised with uncertainty.
She stared as though trying to melt me with her glare. After a few moments, she made a sound that resembled harrumph and placed her hands on her hips. “Anibal Sanchez is your stooge, right?”
She throws out big tomatoes and observes your reaction.
I realized that this woman believed she possessed the skill to discern changes in blood pressure, eye dilation, and other change indicators that revealed when a person was lying.
Interesting.
“Never heard the name before,” I told her. “And now that I’ve answered your question, Miss Thibideau, I’ll tell you that you’re in no position to judge me. You don’t know me, and I doubt you have the depth of field to see clear enough for me to even want to have a conversation with you.”
“We all make judgments constantly,” she shot back. “You’re judging me right now.”
“You’re the one who barged in on us.”
She took a step to her left, then to her right. She placed her hand on her chin, opened her mouth, then finger-tapped the side of her head. She looked like a frenzied shopper who’d lost her shopping list and was trying to recall each item in the order in which they appeared.
She reached up and pinched her nose. Instead of finding it annoying, I found myself attracted to it.
Here, let me help …
Finally she stopped fidgeting and looked at me. “Mr. Pettit, allow me to apologize, please. I just got back from Valhalla, and I’ve got a bit of the jitters. I’m jumping at conclusions.”
“I hear jitters can be a common problem for space-goers,” I said. I reached over and nudged a chair away from the table. “Have a seat.”
Julia jabbed me with her elbow. I leaned over and whispered, “Let’s see how much information we can get.” Then I kissed her neck and this seemed to appease her.
Jessica Thibideau glanced back at her sedan. “All right. I am starving.” She sat and whispered a command that brought up a translucent eight-panel octagonal grid interface that encircled her.
Impressive. But where’s the projector? An implant? No—more likely embedded in clothing.
Signorina Thibideau twirled her finger and jabbed at one of the displays on the panel to her left. She glanced at me. “How’s the pizza here?”
“Out of this world,” I said, trying to suppress the corner of my mouth from rising slightly. I failed.
Jessica closed her eyes, sighed, then placed her order.
Julia leaned in and whispered, “She seems flighty to me.”
“Jitters is typically temporary.”
“Permanent jitters, in her case, if you ask me,” Julia commented.

About the Author


D.A. Hewitt is an award-winning author of four novels and over a hundred short stories. One novel was awarded a gold medal from the Independent Publishers Book Awards for best regional fiction. He attributes his success to hard work, honing a skill and providing an outlet for his passion for writing.


Born in Michigan, he lived for 25 years in North Carolina before returning to live in his home state. In addition to enjoying sky diving and mountain climbing, he is a proud veteran of the US Marine Corps and has earned a degree in mathematics.

Mr. Hewitt admits to a fascination with the work of Carl Jung and of the Gnostic religion. He’d always thought intertwining these topics in a science fiction novel was a stretch, but one day the storyline of Dominion came to him. He wrote the novel in a stream of consciousness. “It makes sense, tapping into the collective unconscious,” Mr. Hewitt says, “very much like Carl Jung might have predicted.”

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Tuesday, February 7, 2017

Book Blast: Making It Home by Chris Clouse



Inside the Book:



Title: Making it Home
Author: Chris Clouse
Publisher: AuthorHouse 
Genre: Self Help/Personal Growth
Format: Ebook

We are cocreators, both directing and observing this movie called life. So are you cocreating this quest with me! Are you not producing a holographic image of this book, which contains words that we have manifested into time and space together? Like every book, this book, Making It Home, has already been written. The question you should ask is, "What part about these words and this book do I need right now in my life?" If you know the right question-or "quest you are on"-your mind will produce an answer out of the material of life itself, and the book becomes a catalyst for your own story. When you read-and more important, think-about the information in these pages, your chakras will activate, and new cognitions will be created about heaven. This of course depends on one condition: that you have a deep-seated desire to achieve joy, love, and peace in this lifetime.

About the Author

Chris Clouse leads a full career balancing two professional disciplines while maintaining an active lifestyle with his wife and three kids. In the field of project management, Chris has created Centres of Excellence for two world-class IT organizations. His longtime passion in life has been in the area of spiritual science, for which this book was created. As a certified master life coach, Chris brings his pursuit of excellence and passion into his classes, helping others find their power and purpose

Giveaway

Chris is giving away a $25 Gift Card!

 
Terms & Conditions:
  • By entering the giveaway, you are confirming you are at least 18 years old.
  • One winner will be chosen via Rafflecopter to receive one $25 Gift Certificate to the e-retailer of your choice
  • This giveaway begins January 30 and ends on February 10.
  • Winners will be contacted via email on February 11.
  • Winner has 48 hours to reply.
Good luck everyone!

ENTER TO WIN!

a Rafflecopter giveaway


Friday, February 3, 2017

Book Blast: Political Straight Talk by H. John Lyke



Inside the Book:




Title: Political Straight Talk
Author: H. John Lyke with Kathryn L. Robyn
Publisher: iUniverse
Genre: Political
Format: Ebook
In writing the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution, our Founding Fathers established a democratic republic with a solid political basis. What they wrote was the political map that future representatives would need to follow to conduct the people's business in an efficient and effective manner. As long as they faithfully carried out the people's will, our democracy and republic would function in a way congruent with our forebears' wishes.

What in the world happened?

H. John Lyke, a board-certified psychologist and professor emeritus at Metropolitan State College of Denver, and the author of multiple political psychology books, suggests that ever since George Washington retired as captain of our ship of state, subsequent presidents and members of Congress have failed to use the sailing chart of the Constitution. Instead, they've chosen to pursue their own and their political parties' self-interests.

Lyke uses psychological principles to explore the reasons why our government has fallen so low, and in the voice of a kind but determined therapist, he offers simple and viable solutions to get us back to following our map.

Meet the Author:


Dr. Lyke earned his master's degree in clinical psychology at Temple University in Philadelphia and his doctorate at Michigan State University. He is a board-certified psychologist and professor emeritus at Metropolitan State College of Denver, and was a clinical psychologist for the State of Colorado for many years. He has written the political psychology books The Impotent Giant and What Would Our Founding Fathers Say: How Our Leaders Have Lost Their Way, and co-authored a psychology self-help book, Walking on Air without Stumbling. He lives in Denver and has three grown children and four grandchildren. To find out more, please visit lykeablebooks4u. com, where you can read more about him as well as follow his current and archived blog posts.

More important to John, however, is that you join the discussion at lykeablebooks.wordpress.com, where the blog originates and you can post your comments.

Giveaway

H. John Lyke is giving away a $25 Gift Card!


Terms & Conditions:
  • By entering the giveaway, you are confirming you are at least 18 years old.
  • One winner will be chosen via Rafflecopter to receive one $25 Gift Certificate to the e-retailer of your choice
  • This giveaway begins January 2 and ends on January 13.
  • Winners will be contacted via email on January 14..
  • Winner has 48 hours to reply.
Good luck everyone!

ENTER TO WIN!