Stop by for a May 22 Teaser

Stop by May 24 for an Author Interview

Stop by May 30 for a Teaser

 

Okay… being a psychology major, I’m totally into classical conditioning. But is it me? Or has something gone horribly wrong with the dog in this experiment? My husband’s dog is starting to look like Kujo these days with all the facial hair falling out. Hubby says it’s allergies, but I’m starting to wonder…

Well, that’s another story. Today we have Thom Brannan with us as he shares a bit about his writing.

WEREWOLVES
Dr. Crispin has engineered the saviors of mankind: Pavlov’s Dogs, a team of soldiers capable of transforming into fearsome beasts. But when Crispin and his team welcome a new talented neurotechnician to the island, Dr. Crispin quickly realizes his masterwork has fallen into the hands of a man he does not trust.

ZOMBIES
Back on the mainland, Ken Bishop and his best friend Jorge get caught in a traffic jam on their way home from work. There’s a wreck up ahead. And something worse. The first sign of a major outbreak—and Ken and Jorge are stuck in the gridlock. They quickly realize they not only need to escape, but they also need to save as many people as possible on the way.

ARMAGEDDON
Now Dr. Crispin and his team must make a terrible decision. Should they send the Dogs out into the zombie apocalypse to rescue survivors? Or should they listen to the new neurotechnician, who would have them hoard their resources and post the Dogs as island guards?

Available at Barnes & Nobles || The Book Depository || Amazon

CAUTION: I TEND TO RAMBLE

Thom Brannan here. I’m one of the authors of Pavlov’s Dogs, with D.L. Snell, and would like to speak with the readers of this blog for a moment about my start in writing in general, Pavlov’s Dogs in particular, and why I should probably never do this.

I got my start with horror, even though I really want to be Robert B. Parker, he who created Spenser and Jessie Stone and Sunny Randall. Most of my early reading was icky boy stuff, like all the Robert E. Howard co-authored Conan stories, or Stephen King, or Isaac Asimov. Of the three, I didn’t think I could write a sword-and-sorcery thing, because while I had my fair share of being in fights (I was a minority in my school along the Texas/Mexico border) I didn’t have a lot of experience winning. And the science fiction was great, but I didn’t feel smart enough to make things work in a story. I was keenly aware of the difference between Star Wars and Star Trek, and I didn’t want to have to deal with people telling me I was wrong, physics doesn’t work that way.

But I knew what scared me, and other people. That, I had a solid hold on.

The time came to write something for English class, and my teacher (Mrs. Isela V. Gonzalez) had us working on something for The Canterbury Tales. Everyone was working on their character and the tale they were going to tell on the road with the other pilgrims, and I sat in class all week, wondering what the hell I was going to do. That Friday, I went home and looked at a 3-D poster on my wall of Dracula, flanked by a wolf and a bat, and I couldn’t stop smiling.

I would write a vampire story.

And so I did, pounding it out on my dad’s Commodore-64 all day Saturday. The stack of dot-matrix printed paper I brought into class was… hefty. And it was only marginally good, but I had been bitten by the bug. Unfortunately, the symptoms went into remission rather quickly, and I didn’t write again for a very long while. In the intervening years, I picked up a book called Double Deuce in the ship’s library of the USS Los Angeles (SSN-688) and devoured it cover to cover. I recognized the names on the cover, Spenser and Hawk, from the television show, Spenser: For Hire. I was hooked. When we pulled back into port, and I had time, I raided the book stores for the rest of the Spenser series.

This, this crime business. I loved it. And after finding that Parker had followed in the footsteps of Raymond Chandler and Dashiell Hammett, I had to read them, too. I had loved the Spenser television show, as well as The Equalizer, and I will but only briefly mention The Green Hornet Greenway show, because I have been known to run off at the mouth about that quite a bit. I loved it.

So when I sat down to write again, it was with a character that would fit in with those other Private Eyes I had read so much about: the Continental Op, Spenser, Philip Marlowe, Sam Spade, the Hornet. Except…

Things kept happening to him in the stories that never happened in The Maltese Falcon, or The Big Sleep. There was always something in the story that went bump in the night, and finally I just stopped fighting it. Horror Noir it was.

Fast-forward a decade, and now I have a book on the (virtual) shelves with D.L. Snell called Pavlov’s Dogs. But even now, I’m dragging my past with me. The book’s main regular-joe is a guy named Ken, and he’s read the same stuff I have, and he likes to see himself as a kind of character like Spenser, or even Conan. He’s got his own sense of wrong and right, and he acts accordingly, regardless of the personal cost. His best friend and employee Jorge isn’t any of those things, but he’s good on the inside, where it counts. Even though it’s hard to see through his layers of bullshit.

I should say D.L. Snell had a very large hand where it comes to actually fleshing out these characters. Without his clear vision and constant reminders that we need these characters to be people on the page, not just in my head, who knows how this would have turned out?

Thanks for letting me spend some time on your blog, and I hope it was okay, that I didn’t bore you. I tend to ramble sometimes, and that’s why I should never be allowed to have a blog. You should see me as I type this, all wincing and rubbing my hands together, trying not to run over my allotted space and just talk, talk, talk. It’s very difficult. I’m mouthy.

I remain,
Thom Brannan

About the Authors

THOM BRANNAN (est. 1976) has been a submariner, a nuclear operator, an electrician and now works on an offshore drilling platform. He lives in or around Austin, Texas, with his lovely wife, Kitty, a boy, a girl, a cat and a dog.

D.L. SNELL is an acclaimed novelist from the Pacific Northwest. Anthologies include Pocket Books’ Blood Lite series, edited by best-selling author Kevin J. Anderson. Snell’s first novel, Roses of Blood on Barbwire Vines, also attained critical acclaim from popular novelists such as New York Times bestselling author Jonathan Maberry. Visit his website at dlsnell.com.

Follow the rest of the tour!

05/20/2012 Kayla at Bibliophilia, Please Guest Blog
05/21/2012 Mel at Journey with Words Bio/Synopsis/Excerpt
05/22/2012 Reena at Ramblings of an Amateur Writer Guest Blog
05/23/2012 Jess at Wonderland Reviews Review
05/24/2012 Vanessa at The Jeep Diva Guest Blog
05/25/2012 Jessica at Wickedly Bookish Bio/Synopsis/Excerpt,
05/26/2012 Susan at My Cozie Corner   Review
 

Surprise!

Yesterday, MaryLynn Bast had an early release. Please welcome One Bite to Passion into the world! I’m going to have to ask Ms. Bast about the Chinese symbols on the cover. What does it mean?!?!

On a business trip to Japan, Paige has just found happiness with Casey, an exciting, young man with a passionate interest in Paige. After a night of wild sex, feels like a new woman. Drawn to Casey, Page can’t refuse him even though he says he wants to possess her and she learns he is a vampire. Then Paige’s unfaithful husband, Dalton, shows up. He has supposedly broken off his affair, but Paige suspects he is still seeing his mistress. Soon, Paige begins to notice disturbing things happening around her and discovers she has become the center of a battle between covens who consider her The Chosen One. But when she faces the greatest peril of her life, and Casey shows up to help, Page realizes she is willing fight the covens side-by-side with him, if it means the chance of a future with this vampire she has come to love.

Available at Renaissance

Upcoming Blog Tour

Mark your calendar, because a blog tour for One Bite to Passion is in the making. From June 3 – June 9, there be interviews, giveaways, and book reviews. Don’t miss out. :) For more information head to MaryLynn Bast’s blog!

 

Happy Release day!

The blog tour is over, but the fun’s just begun. Today marks the release day for The Talisman of El by Alecia Stone. Woot!

WHAT IF YOUR WHOLE LIFE WAS A LIE?

One Planet.

Two Worlds.

Population: Human … 7 billion.
Others … unknown.

When 14-year-old Char­lie Blake wakes up sweat­ing and gasp­ing for air in the mid­dle of the night, he knows it is hap­pen­ing again. This time he wit­nesses a bru­tal mur­der. He’s afraid to tell any­one. No one would believe him … because it was a dream. Just like the one he had four years ago – the day before his dad died.

Char­lie doesn’t know why this is hap­pen­ing. He would give any­thing to have an ordi­nary life. The prob­lem: he doesn’t belong in the world he knows as home.

He belongs with the others.

Available at Barnes & Nobles || The Book Depository

 

Today we have Janice Seagraves, author of Windswept Shores, here to share with us. :) First, I want to introduce you to her latest novel, Windswept. I totally love the colors on the cover.

The sole survivor of a plane crash, Megan is alone on a deserted island in the Bahamas until she finds a nearly-drowned man washed up on shore. Another survivor, this time from a boat wreck. With only meager survival skills between them, will they survive and can they find love?

Windswept Shores available for $4.95 at Barnes & Nobles || Smashwords || Amazon || Pink Petal Books

Guest Post by Janice Seagraves

Hi, my name is Janice Seagraves.

Someone recently asked me why I decided to write. I gave the usual flippant answer that the characters in my head wouldn’t leave me alone. Which to be honest is more or less true.

But actually I blame my insomnia.

As far back as I can remember I’ve had trouble falling asleep. My own grandmother used to say that I sleep less than any baby she knew, and Grandma was a mother of eight.

At a very young age I started making up stories to pass the time. I’d close my eyes and imagine I was someone else having an adventure.

The “what happened next” had started innocently enough. My parents had taken my sister and me out to a movie. On the drive home, I asked my mom, “What happened next.” She told me to make up an ending.

So I did.

It became a habit with me to think of an alternative ending to a movie that I didn’t like, or one that had a wimpy ending. Or just what happened next.

Then I started to think up brand new stories. I never wrote any of these down, but I would draw pictures.

Hey, I was young and truthfully I didn’t have a lot of faith in my grammar or spelling.

I finally started to write when I was twenty years old. The stories in my head had started to grow and I had to write them down just to remember them all. I’ve written short stories to larger pieces over the years, all having to do with the question: what happened next.

Then about eleven years ago I tried to take a class in accounting, but my daughter started to have trouble in school. My hubby and I decided I was still needed at home. Giving up the class wasn’t a problem. Apparently I don’t have “the right stuff” to be an accountant. Go figure.

Then I got the bright idea to start to write seriously toward publication.

I started to study the craft of writing. It was hard at first, because I hadn’t so much as taken a writing course. So I bought several books and got a couple of subscriptions to writing magazines. Then I took a correspondence course.

Later I finally got online and the whole world opened up for me. I got a blog, joined writing groups, writer’s forums, took (yippee) workshops and made friends with other writers.

Someone suggest I join a new group called Avoid Writer’s Hell, started by Faith Bicknell-Brown. The owner had written four books with the same title as the group, to help writers. (Sadly, the group no longer exists, but the books with Faith’s invaluable advice are still available.)

I learned so much from this group and had so much encouragement that I finally entered a writing contest. It was for a cover that I thought would fit a manuscript that I had wrote the year before, called Windswept Shores. It’s about what happened next after a terrible plane crash.

To my surprise I not only won, but I was also offered a contract.

Excerpt from Windswept Shores

If she had to spend one more day on this godforsaken island, she’d go stark raving mad. The thought spurred Megan into rolling a large log with one foot then the other, until it was near the bonfire. “God, this thing is heavy.” With a grunt, she lifted one end until it teetered upright then gave it a shove. It landed in the fire, embers swirling in the air.

Breathing hard, she flicked a glance at the teal-colored sea. She’d thought a vacation to the Bahamas would be the perfect getaway, would be a solution to the problems she and Jonathan had faced. She’d been wrong—dead wrong. Tears of grief filled her eyes. The never-ending crash of the waves on the beach and the cries of the seagulls seemed to mock her with the reminder she was utterly alone.

She’d felt like a tiny speck of sand last night when a violent storm had swept across the island. It had made a mess of her meager campsite, which had taken all morning to fix, and had demolished her seaweed SOS sign. She’ll have to recreate her SOS. Sighing, Megan trudged toward a pile of kelp. As she got closer, she saw a figure wearing blue jeans and a t-shirt. Her stomach lurched.

Oh, God, it’s another body washed up from the plane wreck. That would be number twelve. As always, she couldn’t help but wonder if the next one would be Jonathan. He hadn’t been wearing jeans on the plane, so she knew she’d been spared seeing his corpse this time. Thank God. She approached the body with dread. Tightening her resolve, she knelt. Suddenly the “dead body” coughed and rolled over. With a scream, Megan jumped back. She clutched her chest and pressed a shaking hand to her mouth.

He’s alive!

Biting her lip, she stared down at the still-breathing man. His drenched t-shirt molded against his broad shoulders and well developed upper body. Short, golden brown hair stuck out in all directions.

Megan, get control of yourself. Don’t wet your pants the first time you finally see a living person. She got on her knees, plucked the seaweed from him and wiped the sand from his face. His day-old whiskers scratched her palm. Reddened skin stretched across both cheekbones and over the bridge of his nose. Her thumb caressed his parched full bottom lip.

She patted the side of his face. “Hey, are you okay?” That’s a dumb question. He isn’t okay.

“Hmm?” Gray eyes fluttered open. He stared at her a long moment, frowning slightly. “G’day.”

“Hello there.” She hated the sound of her voice. It sounded rusty, unused.

Abruptly he rolled away from her to heave onto the sand, making a loud, ugly retching noise.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then looked at her. “Sorry, mate, I swallowed too much sea.” His gaze went over her shoulder in the direction of the bonfire which crackled and popped not far from them. “Mite big for a barbie.”

Sitting back on her heels with her hands folded in her lap, Megan followed his gaze, then back to him. “My signal fire.”

“Signal for what?”

“Help.”

His accent intrigued her. Was he English or Australian?

“G’darn,” he looked around, “where the bloody hell am I?”

“Don’t know. There’s no one here to ask.” Megan shrugged helplessly, but couldn’t contain her curiosity. “Are you from England?”

“Naw,” he rubbed his eyes, “I hail from Sidney, but my port of call these days is Fort Lauderdale.” He blinked up at her. “You?”

Ah, he’s an Aussie. “I’m Megan Lorry, from Anaheim, California,” she said, barely loud enough to be heard above the sounds of the surf and the roar from the fire. “Are you a survivor of Air Bahamas flight 227, too?”

“G’day, Megz,” he answered, struggling to sit-up. “Sorry, I’m not from your plane.”

Megan slipped an arm around him lifting his back off the sand. Turning his head to her hair, he took in a couple of short breaths. Megan pulled back staring at him. “What the—did you just sniff me?”

“Ya smell too good not to.” He grinned, causing his cheeks to dimple. “Name’s Seth Dawson.” Leaning back on one arm, he stretched out his hand to her. She clasped it as if it was just a friendly greeting between strangers back home.

“Me mate’s fishing boat hit a reef during the big squall last night. That’s when I took a tumble ‘T’ over ‘A’ overboard.” He took a deep breath, let it out slow, then glanced up and down the beach. “Somehow I made it here ‘out the back of Burke.’”

“Oh dear, that’s terrible,” she sympathized. Does he mean the middle of nowhere?

“Blimey, I’m weak as a babe.” Seth managed to get to his knees, before stopping to pant. He licked cracked lips. “Megz, do you have any water on ya?”

“Yes, back at my camp. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” Meg hurried off down the beach.

He called after her, “Where the bloody hell would I be going, eh?”

About Janice Seagraves

I still reside in the same small California town, where I was born and grew up.

I live in a hundred year old haunted house (not kidding) with my husband of 30 years with our just grown daughter.

We are owned by one cat and two birds. Of the later, one is a handicapped dove and the other a pigeon that is in love with my husband (also not kidding).

I write romance of various genres. My first book, which is a contemporary romance, called Windswept shores, came out in June 2010.

My website: http://janiceseagraves.org/
My book trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t_r2NXKT0Sg

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