I am so thrilled to be in this fabulous anthology with, among others, Mike Resnick ( the man’s been nominated for 37 Hugo Awards—a record for writers—and won five times!) and one of my heroines, Jane Yolen. I’ve been a fan ever since reading Briar Rose.
Maybe I’ll meet them- and all the other wonderful authors, amazing editors, and everyone who had a part of this anthology
This is Bob, he is the founder, you can tell he’s liberal because of the rainbow unicorn. Screaming Yam’s face. It is one way to tell the Pussy grabbers from the pussycats.
“B Cubed Press was founded in the throes of desperation, as, like so many Americans in 2016, I searched for an outlet for the anger and frustration that came from seeing the America I grew up with torn from my heart.
As an unapologetic liberal, I asked myself what could I do.”
So Bob began Cube B Press.
I am grateful for so many reasons, especially because it makes me feel like my voice can be heard. It makes me feel part of a greater good, it prevents me from sinking into despair. I hope you buy it because it’s fabulous. Also, I can use the money. Cat toys aren’t free. Also, it’s currently the #1 New Release in
Poor Neil, he’ll never know the thrill of being in an anthology with him.
Join Zoetic Press for a fun evening of readings, audience participation, and more!
Neil Gaiman won – so I’m in another book with him.
Also- Please check out – Enter The Rebirth – It’s a great anthology.
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In fact, you can find all my audiobooks here !
or check below:
As for resistance, I’m very pleased to announce that my piece:
I’m Dreaming of a Red Xmas– is part of The War on Christmas Anthology
The Faithless Angel– Alternative Theologies– this is part of the More Alternative Truths: Stories from the Resistance (Alternatives) series
In still other news, I’m raising baby birds with the help of my kitties and trying to survive the heat and the news
The cat with the collar is wearing a Bird be safe collar.
They really work and have the added benefit of making your cat look ridiculous.
With such beauty all around, it is easy to believe that the future will be bright. Surely under such skies, only happiness will come.
Young lovers pause beneath the gold and purple arch as if under mistletoe. Teenagers ditching school look at the tarot cards certain that they predict wealth and success. It is clear that they are headed in the right direction; all they need to do is to follow their hearts, even the dust on the windows glisten like stardust and hope. Old ladies, backs bent, hobbling along the twisted streets feel expectation, as if various outcomes might be possible, as if all roads did not lead to the same end.
“Why just the first three pages? A book either captures a reader in the first three pages, or it doesn’t.”
“KEY WEST, FLA. (PRWEB) MARCH 15, 2018
Whodunit Mystery Writing Competition.
The winner will claim a book-publishing contract with Absolutely Amazing eBooks, free Mystery Fest Key West 2018 registration, airfare, hotel accommodations for two nights, meals and a Whodunit Award trophy to be presented at the 5th Annual Mystery Fest Key West, set for June 22-24 in Key West, Florida.”
I’m going early so I can dive and snorkel- If it was the Bakersfield Award I wouldn’t.
“Candidates are invited to submit the first three pages (maximum 750 words) of a finished, but unpublished manuscript.
“Why just the first three pages? That criterion is a nod to late author Jeremiah Healy, a world-class mystery writer and a great judge of mystery writing,” says Shirrel Rhoades, co-founder of Mystery Fest Key West. “Jerry’s opinion was that a book either captures a reader in the first three pages…or it doesn’t. The competition judges all agreed with that assessment, and decided to use it as a yardstick for the competition.”
Below is the very beginning of the first three pages, maybe a page and 1/2.
Below is the beginning of the winning pages.
The Hollywood Portal
By E.E. King
LA is a desert in a party dress. Despite miles of green lawn and chlorine oasis, the air is full of sand, grit, and hope so tangible you can feel it in the wind. Perhaps it is our thirst that makes us so isolated. Even the LA River is a highway. A drop of rain falling onto the paved thoroughfare in the San Gabriel Mountains ten thousand feet above the City can reach the sea faster than a speeding car. We are a city of twelve hundred thousand gold diggers prospecting on concrete banks.
It was unusually muggy, the air warm and heavy with moisture, the sky low and white. There was no horizon. In the Midwest weather like this might mean tornados, in the mountains a sky so pale signaled snow, but here the blurring of perspective felt like a premonition.
I’d been home for a couple of weeks. No cases to investigate, only the continual nudging of electricity in the air, speaking in whispers and signs that only Max-cat and I could understand. It’d been just about eight months since we’d been struck by lightning; eight months since the universe had begun to vomit its secrets into my unwilling ears.
I sat at my desk, staring into space. It stared back. We could relate to each other. We both had too much emptiness and nothing to fill it.
I poured a cup of coffee. It was black, and too bitter. I looked in cupboard hoping for some sugar, but all I could find was a jar of honey so old it had crystalized. Maggie had probably bought it. I closed my mind to memory and dumped a couple of sticky spoonfuls into the mix making it bitter-sweet.
I hadn’t drunk anything stronger for six months, two days and three hours. It wasn’t easy. Once liquor has your number it calls you often and makes more promises than an old lover. It nudges you when you’re lonely, whispering that it will ease your pain. It tempts you when you’re happy, swearing it can make you feel even better. It’s there late at night when all the world is sleeping. It guarantees that this time will be different, this time things won’t get out of control. You start to forget all the bad times. The headaches, the nights you can’t remember. All you recall is that the world had softer edges when you were together. All you can think about is that dusky glow wrapped around you like a cloak. You reconcile, you tell yourself that you can just be friends. By the time you remember why you broke up it’s too late. By the time you realize that the promises are lies you’re hooked again.
I sipped my honey-coffee, opened a can of tuna for Max, and watched him drink, his rough tongue scooping the liquid up like a dipper. As usual he refused to touch the flesh. Max likes his fish distilled.
Despite the humidity I decided to go for a run. If you’re going to let heat stop you, you shouldn’t live in a desert. I put on some old sweatpants and a discolored tee. A lot of men in Hollywood wear matching jogging suits made of terry cloth, or velour. It doesn’t seem to bother them. I’m not big on fashion, but I don’t like wearing matching clothes made out of towels. And I donated my velour to an artist for his Elvis masterwork.
Outside tiny damp pads of moisture prodded me. I ignored them and began to jog down Braham Blvd toward the Hollywood Knolls that rise above Universal Studios. I didn’t jog for the exercise. I ran so that the pounding of my feet on hard pavement, the gasping of my lungs and the beating of my heart would drum all thoughts from my head, leaving it empty and still. Thinking is overrated. It fills you with hope, fear and memories, all of which I could do without.
I turned up Wonderview Dr. that led up to the Hollywood reservoir. Large white Spanish houses with red tiled roofs fringed by green lawns and exotic flowers lined the narrow streets that wove up the hill like veins. Up here you’d never imagine that LA was a desert and that water was in short supply. But then, up here there were no shortages. Enough greenbacks and blue chips can buy green yards and blue pools.
I invested with Kindra after my mother died. She set me up in an annuity that lost me a lot of money.
It gave me a tiny monthly income but would lose me the money that the annuity cost. I would have to live well into my 90’s to get out what I had put in.
Also, she took non-taxable income and made it taxable.
I pulled out and lost almost 20k – but it was worth it.
I invested with a great firm – Douglas Herdt CFP & John A. Brinkerhoff. Last year my investment earned roughly a small monthly income, BUT I did not lose the original investment, which is growing.
Also, I owe no taxes.
Kindra is very personable and will make you think she’s your friend- but keep your hand on your pocket!
Ms. Sailers has a 65 Securities License. That means passing one exam.
That’s less than the 9-month course required to be a hairdresser.
These programs take a few hours, or at most two days. In other words, Ms. Sailers graduated from the class of three o’clock.
I was not wise. Ms. Sailers completely convinced me she was my friend and could invest my money so that I could get a monthly income, which would increase and was safe.
Ms. Sailers told me that, if I should need it, most of my money was in “liquid cash.”
When I tried to access my money, Mrs. Sailors said, “I said that was what you have to pull from, not what you can take.”
My advice is, don’t let someone with only a single license plan your retirement or invest your money
There are good insurance agents in your community. A few of them do offer a wide assortment of investment products. Most don’t. The same could be said of stockbrokers who are generally selling stocks and not doing planning.
If you want a planner, you need to find a CFP – certified financial planner or a ChFC – Chartered Financial Consultant. They are trained to help you make the best investment decisions.
The best is a CFP or ChFC who is also a RIA – registered investment advisor.
The “alphabet soup” of financial credentials and confusing terminology such as fee-only vs fee-based (sounds similar, but actually very different!)
Sadly, almost anyone can call themselves a “Financial Advisor”. And almost anyone does.
If you read all these great reviews it makes me sad- these are people just like me who ” are from people like me,- To quote Amanda C. ” I honestly have no idea, the market is hardly predictable and I do not have time to learn and master it. ”
Maggie S. ” She’s a great listener and as we started to work together and have gotten to know Dillon and the whole “family”.”
That’s what she does- take you in, make you feel part of the “family,” and take your money.
I had a lot of trouble believing she had ripped me off – but finally, through the advice of CFP, I got it.
Get a second opinion.
Blood Prism Is coming out soon on audible- I love the reading by Emily Emerson.
It’s so nice to fall in love with a book I wrote – Thank you, Emily!!!
Someone reading blood prism
From Blood Prism:
“Let’s get something straight… I’m not. And I come from the kind of family that’s a whole lot happier seeing their son cradling a gun than another man, funny how you’re a paragon if you kill a man, but a pariah if you love one. I never told them I was gay…
I met Mark and fell in love. People seem to think that gay men have sex and straight man fall in love… that’s not true. I’ve had a lot of sex, but only a couple of loves… I think that’s probably true for most…
I still dream of Mark sometimes…I like remembering him, though… tumbling into my ancient Ford. We were like wild creatures, so in lust and so in love… It was like a fever. The windows of the car clouded with passion thick as a Thule fog…
Mark reached over me. I could smell him. I can smell him still. He smelled like longing and memory, hot chocolate and love. Onto the perspiring glass, with long, extended finger he drew roses and the silhouettes of birds flying skyward. The drops wept into silver lines. For months afterward, driving alone in a certain light, I’d see the ghostly outlines on the window, plastered across the sky like a memory of love.
We joined a theater company and I met other men. But, it’s never the same as your first… I ran a little wild… did some drugs… lots of drugs, actually. Mark and I both did. It was like stepping into a magical kingdom together… nothing will ever be the same again… nothing will ever be as good… Say what you will, drugs are fun. Only people who never tried them think they’re not. It’s why those anti-drug campaigns never work. Reality sucks.
I’ve had friends who say, “As long as I have books and sex, (or ‘love and wine,’ or ‘music and sex’…) why I would try drugs? I’m happy. That’s all I need.” … and maybe they’re lucky… never knowing what they missed. I’m fairly content now too… but it doesn’t mean I don’t remember.…
At the beginning, it seemed like doorways into new worlds were opening, the ‘doors of perception.’ You feel like people on the other side are duller, less aware, less open.
The world will never be as simple as it was, how can it? How can you trust that what you see is real after the alterations of acid? How can you hear music in the same way after becoming part of a melody with Mary Jane? How can you not miss the exuberant mind-sharpening acuity of coke or meth?
It’s kinda like climbing a mountain. It starts off like a nice hike; beautiful, new, a time of discovery… then you get too high. The air so thin you can’t breathe. You still have to come down, but now it’s night, supplies are low. You don’t have any water. That wonderful place you just explored is dark and cold…All the friends you hiked up the mountain with are gone, some turned back, some fell and those who are still there are fighting over provisions….”
On another note- two of my other books have just come out on audible too,
Electric Detective read by the incomparable Christopher Graybill. Not only did he do a bang-up reading ( it is a detective tale) he gave me some fabulous input that I incorporated into the book. Thank you, Christopher!
And the wonderful, talented Miranda Reading-Spring made The Truth of Fiction come alive.
None of my work is easy to read – so I am more than grateful to these wonderful talents who have lent their voice to work –
Also , Simon Prebble- who makes anything sound good, the wonderful Derek Perkins,
the velvet- tongued Brandon McKernanBest Seller
So don’t just sit there, buy something:) Cat food ain’t free ya know.