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Monday, March 3, 2014

Virtual Book Tour: The Tarot Card Killer by Greg Strandberg.

Note: Greg will be awarding a $20 Amazon GC to a random commenter! 

Please welcome Greg Strandberg to my blog! He was kind enough to answer some questions about himself and his writing life.



I grew up in Helena, Montana, in the 80’s and 90s – really the kind of place where there’s nothing to do.  After kicking around college for the better part of a decade I got a degree in History and in 2008 headed to China for a year to teach English.

I ended up staying for 5 years, and moved back to Montana in June, 2013, with a Russian wife and a young son.  Now I primarily ghostwrite for others and do a lot of ho-hum web content for others, you know, sites trying to get you to buy stuff you don’t need.

The Joys (?) of Writing

No one wants to write – you need to.  For me writing is a job, but when I started seriously back in 2010 I just wrote for myself.  Actually, I think I wrote to one-up this author who forced me to read three, in my mind terribly boring, fantasy novels.  Hey, the covers pulled me in!

I had a routine of 2,000 words a day, and always hit it, missing but 20 days, give or take that year.  Now I write everyday, and low days are 1,500 words or so.  Writing non-fiction, like advice for teachers on my ESL website (English as a Second Language), makes it easy for me to write a lot each day.

The Front and Back Burner

If you visit my site you’ll see anywhere from 10 to 12 word count meters.  I always have a lot of things on the back burner, but right now I’m focusing on the following:

l  G.I. JOE:  Amazon Kindle Worlds is starting up a new line of G.I. JOE books, you know, those action figures and cartoons kids were wacky about in the ‘80s.  Well, people reading this stuff will love many of my other books.

l  SEO and 80’s Movies:  This is a book I’m working on for people to understand SEO better (Search Engine Optimization).  I do this by talking about all those 80’s movies you loved, and applying them to SEO principles in ways you can actually understand.  The movies?  Well, how many cheesy 80’s movies can you name?

l  Vigilante Justice:  This is an ongoing series of novellas, all about 20,000 words, that focus on crazed urban vigilantes rising up against the powers-that-be.  The first book focuses on a race killing, the second stolen pensions in Detroit. The third book I’m writing now joins those two characters as they build a team to take on social injustices.  Maybe a female glass-ceiling-breaker next?

l  Ale Quest: This is a short novel set in medieval times.  A knight has to bring ale back to a castle under siege.  Along the way he finds love, trouble, laughs, and a hideous plot to upend the kingdom.  There’s also ale drinking, although unfortunately our hero hasn’t a drop.

My Advice to You

If you’re a writer I’d say write everyday, even 250 words or so.  Write about non-fiction things you know well when nothing else seems to come.  Write a huge list of weird topics, and come back to them.

If you’re a reader I’d say take some chances – try to pick up one book outside your comfort zone each month.  I bet you’ll be pleasantly surprised, and perhaps look at old things in a new way.

 

And now, for his book!

 Blurb:



Jim Sharpe is sick of life, sick of being a cop, and most of all sick of Hong Kong. He’s one of the few not on the take, yet he’s being charged with corruption. By the end of the week he’ll be kicked off the force – no matter what.

All that changes when a dead body’s found next to Victoria Harbour, a bloody Tarot card in its hand. Jim’s called onto the case, and what he discovers promises not just to upend his world, but the whole city as well.
  

Excerpt:

 
Jim pulled the Cutlass up to the curb a few blocks from Tarot of the Stars, about as close as he could get to the shop this time of day. Andy got out on the other side and they were soon walking in to see Madame Chu for the third time. The bells on the door chimed and the incense in the air assaulted their senses immediately upon entering.

“Back again so soon, eh?” Madame Chu asked. “Another killing?”

She seemed alarmed and Andy nodded.

“Last night, right here in Central.”

“And you want to know what the card means?”

“That’s right,” Jim said. “It was the Six of Pentacles this time.”

“And did you check to see how it was laid out?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

Jim smiled. “Of course! What do you take us for, the mainland police.”

Madame Chu frowned. “And?”

“It was the Six of Pentacles, and it was face up and upright,” Andy said, “whatever meaning it has should be just the face value of the card.”

“There’s never any face value when it comes to the Tarot,” Madame Chu said, whirling about. “It all depends on the querent.”

“Well the querent’s dead,” Jim said. “It was another police officer, a woman this time.”

Madame Chu’s eyes narrowed. “I only read about the man.”

“We kept most of the details about this third killing quiet,” Andy said. “The papers already had quite enough with Donald Chow that they didn’t nibble too hard on this one, though I’m sure there’ll be a lot more information come tomorrow.”


AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Greg Strandberg was born and raised in Helena, Montana. He graduated from the University of Montana in 2008 with a BA in History.

When the American economy began to collapse Greg quickly moved to China, where he became a slave for the English language industry. After five years of that nonsense he returned to Montana in June, 2013.

When not writing his blogs, novels, or web content for others, Greg enjoys reading, hiking, biking, and spending time with his wife and young son.



 



Monday, February 24, 2014

Virtual Book Blast Tour: Struck by Clarissa Johal



Welcome to Clarissa Johal's book tour!
Be sure to comment here and at all other sites for her tour - because...

Clarissa will be awarding an ecopy of STRUCK to three (3) randomly drawn commenters during the tour. 

Here is the schedule for her tour. Comment and win!

And now, the plot! 

The shadows hadn't been waiting.
The shadows had been invited.

After a painful breakup, Gwynneth Reese moves in with her best friend and takes a job at a retirement home. She grows especially close to one resident, who dies alone the night of a terrific storm. On the way home from paying her last respects, Gwynneth is caught in another storm and is struck by lightning. She wakes in the hospital with a vague memory of being rescued by a mysterious stranger. Following her release from the hospital, the stranger visits her at will and offers Gwynneth a gift--one that will stay the hands of death. Gwynneth is uncertain whether Julian is a savior or something more sinister... for as he shares more and more of this gift, his price becomes more and more deadly.

Excerpt

A bolt of blue-white lightning snaked from the sky and hit the ground in front of her. The thunderclap that shattered the air was deafening. Gwynneth slammed on her brakes and skidded. It was a slow skid, or it seemed to be. Spinning around and around in a circle, she felt like she was watching herself from afar. Time felt like it was slowing. Oddly enough, she found herself wondering if there would be white or red flowers on Hannah’s casket. Or maybe none at all.

Gwynneth’s face smacked against the steering wheel. Reality hit her along with the pain. She had forgotten to wear her seatbelt. She pressed her fingers lightly to her throbbing temple and winced. “Shit!” Thankfully, she was in one piece. Gwynneth opened the car door. Lightning lit the area and bathed her senses in a flash of blue-white. Icy rain hit her skin. Stupid! You left your jacket back at the funeral home. She ran around the car and checked all the tires. The back one was flat, and on top of that, her car was quite obviously stuck in a ditch. “Great.” She had no spare tire, she knew that for sure. She also had no idea which way led back to the retirement home. Her headlights cast a weak glow through the rain. Soaked to the skin and shivering, Gwynneth peered into the darkness. A muddy road meandered across saturated fields and off into nothingness.

She sloshed back to her car and quickly turned the engine off. She certainly didn’t need a dead battery on top of a flat tire. “Okay, Gwen,” she said aloud, “you need to figure out what to do.” Rain ran in rivulets down her face and her tie-dyed T-shirt stuck to her like a second skin. I’m a soggy, shivering rainbow. She started to walk and cursed the fact that her cell phone wasn’t charged. Seth was always bugging her about that. “Suck it up, Gwen. It rains in Oregon too.” The inky blackness was disconcerting. Lightning intermittently illuminated the area like the flash of a camera. A snapshot of a road to nowhere. Gwynneth hoped that she was at least walking in the right direction. Her teeth were chattering so hard she was in danger of biting her own tongue. Thunder rolled up her spine and along her scalp like probing fingers.

Her thoughts wandered back to Hannah. A diary. I wonder what she wrote about? She wouldn’t read it, of course, it was private. I’m sure she just wants me to throw it away so her children don’t either. A pang of loss sliced through the cold and Gwynneth shook it off. They had spent countless hours chatting and Hannah never mentioned a diary. She bit her lip. If she could only turn back time, Gwynneth would have told her how much their time together had meant. Hannah had always encouraged her to start painting again, but also understood why Gwynneth couldn’t.

A loud ‘crack’ sounded and an iridescent white light surrounded her. Two things registered: a searing pain that ripped down her back and the ground which seemed to be pulled away from her at an alarming speed.

* * * *

Blackness.

Pain shot through the back of Gwynneth’s head as she opened her eyes. Somebody was standing over her. She tried to focus on the face, but it hurt too much. A cool hand slid across her forehead. She opened her eyes again.

Pale, almost white eyes. High cheekbones, aquiline nose, and a well-shaped mouth. Long, white hair. Ageless. Beautiful, like a Michelangelo. All of those details registered with clarity before agony ripped through her body. She arched her back and cried out. The man murmured something into her ear which she couldn’t understand. She could feel the vibration of his voice and his breath on her neck as he gathered her in his arms. She opened her eyes and saw lightning fork to the ground silently behind him. She blacked out again.

Author Info!


Clarissa Johal has worked as a veterinary assistant, zoo-keeper aide and vegetarian chef. Writing has always been her passion. When she’s not listening to the ghosts in her head, she’s dancing or taking photographs of gargoyles. She shares her life with her husband, two daughters and every stray animal that darkens the doorstep. One day, she expects that a wayward troll will wander into her yard, but that hasn’t happened yet.






Buy Links for STRUCK