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Showing posts with label Thriller. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Thriller. Show all posts

Kimberly Shursen Shares an #Excerpt from HUSH @KimberlyShursen #Thriller #AmReading #Goodreads

Minneapolis, Minnesota - August 21

Twenty-eight-year-old Ann Ferguson covered her ears to avoid the imminent, deafening roar.

“Pass the salt, pass the salt, pass the goddamn salt!” the crowd shouted, waving hands overhead as Buffet’s “Margaritaville” resounded through the speakers.

Just another typical Friday night in downtown Minneapolis—the lighting in Donita’s Pub dim, the air thick with pheromones while blenders zapped ice, lime, and tequila into margaritas.

“Feisty crowd tonight,” Jess said to Ann, pushing her long, naturally curly, strawberry-blonde hair behind one ear.

“Always is.” Ann took a sip of white wine.

Stiletto heels, form-fitting jeans, lips lacquered in hot pink or ruby red mingled with Brooks Brothers’ suits, dress shirts, and silk ties. Looking for soul mates or one-night stands—all the hoopla bored Ann.

“This thing tickles.” Ann lifted up the sticky-backed, fake hair and scratched under her nose.

Noted for their creative fundraisers, tonight the money collected at the door of the bar to purchase faux moustaches would go to prostate cancer research.

Ann leaned back against the paver brick wall of the renovated warehouse. Standing room only, members of generation X and younger were squashed shoulder-to-shoulder, rear end to rear end.

Ann pushed her bangs back off her forehead. It was only last week that she’d held her breath as her thick, dark, shoulder-length hair was cut into a pixie. Dark eyes raking the room, she wished she was home curled up on the couch, watching a movie.

Jess cocked her head to the side. “You need to get out more.”

“And you need to find another playmate.”

Ann and Jess had lived together for three years, and though polar opposites, they’d become best friends. Growing up in a small town in southern Minnesota, Ann offered the pragmatic side of the friendship while Jess added the excitement. At five feet two, Ann was small boned and petite. Jess, with her full hips and robust breasts, towered over Ann by a good six inches. Unlike Jess who enjoyed showcasing her breasts with low-cut, scooped necklines, Ann was comfortable in her faded jeans and tank tops.

“Picture, ladies?” A roaming photographer asked, decked out in a white shirt and red bowtie.

“Absolutely.” Jessica squished her cheek against Ann’s, a margarita glass clasped in her hand. 

“Photographer from Minneapolis-St.Paul Magazine,” Jess whispered.

“Great,” Ann said sarcastically, “my parents will be so proud to see their daughter in a bar.”

“Hey.” The deep voice startled her, and Ann turned around quickly. “I hope you don’t think I’m too forward, but you look familiar.”

Jess tapped Ann’s knee nonchalantly.

Ann stared at the handsome man blankly. “I don’t think we’ve met.” However, there was something familiar about him. Dark hair parted to the side, a few strands fell casually over his forehead. He grinned, giving way to a dimple in his right cheek.

“You come here often?” he asked.

“Second time.” Men had come up and struck up a conversation when Jess had dragged her to a bar before. But, just like the others, once this hunk found out Ann wasn’t into one-night stands, he’d move on. Ann took a sip of her wine, and the phony moustache toppled into her wine glass. “Oh no.” 

Feeling her cheeks grow warm with embarrassment, she quickly reached into the glass and pulled out the sopping wet hairpiece. She wrinkled her nose. “Disgusting.”

He grinned, his dark eyes settling into half moons. “Oh…so, that isn’t real?” he asked poker-faced.

She shook her hand until the small fluff let loose of her finger and fell to the floor. “I forgot I had it on.”

“Whoa! There’s my song,” Jess said excitedly and started to shoulder her way through the crowd to the strobe-lit dance floor.

Ann watched Jess disappear, knowing she’d purposely left her alone with this stranger. She wasn’t good at this and, again, wished she were home.

“Ben.” He offered Ann his free hand, the other wrapped around a Samuel Adams.

Ann pointed at her ear and shook her head, signaling she couldn’t hear.

He leaned into her. “Ben Grable,” he said over the noise.

“Ann,” She slipped her hand into his, eyeing him. Suit coat draped over an arm, his tie hung loose around the open collar of his light blue, dress shirt.

“You wanna dance or—” He got out before someone shoved him, spilling his beer down the front of his shirt, droplets falling to Ann’s sandals.

“Whoa”—she picked up her foot—“that’s cold.”

Ben took a few steps back, brushing the beer off his tie. “Sheesh, I’m sorry. You okay?”

Where had she seen him before? She waved a dismissing hand. “I’m fine, but this noise is a killer. I think I’m going to call it a night.”

“Wanna get a burger or something?” Ben blurted.

“If you’re asking if I will go with you in your car,” she said, raising an eyebrow, “the answer is no thanks.”

“If I am asking you to go two doors down to grab a burger,” Ben asked with a sheepish grin, “what would the answer be?”

“Sure.” Her eyes lit up. “If it’s quieter than here, I’m game.”

Ben followed her through the maze to the dance floor. After Ann found Jess and told her she was leaving, Ben put his hand in the small of her back, sending a tingle up her spine.

Groups of men and women passed them on the sidewalk—their inebriated laughter echoing through the brightly lit streets.

A foot taller, Ben looked down at Ann. “You must think I’m pretty cocky just walking up and introducing myself.”

“Actually, I’m glad you did. Definitely not my scene.”

“Well, you looked as uncomfortable as I was.”

Ben opened the door of the tavern for her. Tally’s was crowded but not nearly as loud. Peanut shells speckled the black-and-white tile floor, and men wearing denim shirts and cowboy boots waited for a turn at a video game. A trio of middle-aged women with painted on smiles huddled together on the barstools, their puffy eyes darting from man to man. The aroma of burgers and onion rings filtered through the long, narrow space, making Ann even hungrier.

“Not much ambiance here,” Ben apologized as the shells cracked beneath their feet.

“But a much tamer crowd.”

Ben stopped at an open booth. “This okay?”

“Perfect.” Ann slid in.

“Want a beer or something?” Ben asked, sitting down across from her.

Ann thought for a couple of seconds. “I’d rather have a Coke.”

“Me, too. Diet or real?”

“Diet?” Ann made a face. “Yuck.”

“I’m with you.”

“What can I get you two kids?” a waitress asked, her weathered face giving away her age.

“Two real Cokes”—Ben glanced at Ann—“and this young lady is starving.”

“I would love a cheeseburger, American cheese, medium-well,” Ann said. “And is that onion rings I smell?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The waitress smiled proudly. She folded her arms over her red-and-white checked shirt. “Best in Minneapolis.”

“Great,” Ann said. “Oh…and ranch dressing on the side.”

The waitress turned to Ben.

“Exact same thing for me,” Ben told her.

Ann leaned back in the high-backed booth. “Most guys take their burgers medium-rare.”

“Not into E-coli.”

“Smart man.”

“So,” he said, locking his hands together and placing them on the Formica tabletop, “what’s your story?”

Ann waited for the waitress to put the drinks in front of them. “Do I have to have one?”

“Everyone has a story.”

No one had ever asked what her story was. For some reason, Ann didn’t feel as uncomfortable as she usually did when she first met someone. She tilted her head back, her eyes focusing on a stain in the ceiling. “Pediatric nurse. Raised in Worthington—”

“Ah…the turkey capitol,” Ben said casually.

Ann’s eyes grew wide. “How’d you know that?”

“Big turkey fan,” Ben answered with a straight face.

“You are not.”

“Love their combs.”

Ann giggled. “You’re putting me on, right?”

“I was in Worthington for a conference once.”

“There was a conference in Worthington?” she asked as she tore the wrapper off the straw.

“On that one, I’m not fibbing. Had to take a class.”

She raised an eyebrow. “In…”

“Law.”

Ann wrapped her hand around the soda glass, not taking her eyes from him. “You’re a lawyer?”

“Hello?” Ben grabbed his tie and waved it a few times. “Don’t I look like one?”

“Do they all look alike?”

“According to all the lawyer jokes, we do,” Ben said.

The waitress served the burgers and onion rings with two sides of ranch dressing. “Anything else?” 

The older lady put a hand over her hip.

“Mustard,” Ben and Ann said at the same time.


hush

Soon after Ann Ferguson and Ben Grable marry, and Ben unseals his adoption papers, their perfect life together is torn apart, sending the couple to opposite sides of the courtroom.

Representing Ann, lawyer Michael J. McConaughey (Mac) feels this is the case that could have far-reaching, judicial effects -- the one he's been waiting for.

Opposing counsel knows this high profile case happens just once in a lifetime.

And when the silent protest known as HUSH sweeps the nation, making international news, the CEO of one of the top ten pharmaceutical companies in the world plots to derail the trial that could cost his company billions.

Critically acclaimed literary thriller HUSH not only questions one of the most controversial laws that has divided the nation for over four decades, but captures a story of the far-reaching ties of family that surpasses time and distance.


*** Hush does not have political or religious content. The story is built around the emotions and thoughts of two people who differ in their beliefs.

EDITORIAL REVIEW: "Suspenseful and well-researched, this action-packed legal thriller will take readers on a journey through the trials and tribulations of one of the most controversial subjects in society today." - Katie French author of "The Breeders," "The Believer's," and "Eyes Ever To The Sky."

Buy Now @ Amazon
Genre – Thriller
Rating – PG-13
More details about the author
Connect with Kimberly Shursen through Facebook and Twitter

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Richard Parry on Characters Wanting to do the Right Thing @TactualRain #AmReading #AmWriting #Fantasy


You ever seen one of those villains in a movie that cackles with glee, rubbing their hands together at the downfall of the heroes?  Just being a bit of a dick?
The thing is, people are dicks all the time, but only super rarely do they wake up in the morning and say to themselves, “You know, it’s Tuesday: I’m going to be a dick today.”
If we start from there, it gives us our first hint on how to make our characters more real.  Start with them being human, and having human drivers.  People are “evil” or “good” because they want to achieve a set of outcomes that we perceive — through our own lens of morality — to be good or evil. Hitler?  Giant dick, right, I know.  But he didn’t wake up wanting to be a dick: he wanted to change the world and put Germany at the top.
When I write my stories, I start with the people.  I need a motley cast of people, good and evil and the run in between, to tell the story with.  They’re the stars of the show, and they need to have motivations for getting up in the morning.  Those motivations need to be real.
I try and start with my characters wanting to do the right thing, whatever that might mean for them.  In Night’s Favour, Val’s idea of the right thing is no more or less advanced than putting one foot in front of the other, going through the motions.  He drinks himself to sleep, lives on cheap take-out, and has just one friend.  Elsie’s view of the right thing is to save her daughter’s life, and in the process change the world with a revolutionary new medicine.  Which one of them is good, and which one is evil?
The consequences of their actions and how we interpret them makes them believable.  Val’s just an ordinary guy who gets the chance to be less ordinary, to change it all.  If you were him, what would you do?  Elsie’s needs for her daughter trump all others.  If you had a daughter who was dying, is there anything you wouldn’t do for her?
Good and evil is subjective, but it’s the motivations that make people in stories real.  They become our heroes and villains, our saints and sinners, because of how we see them.  We relate to them because, on some level… Well, we understand where they’re coming from.

Valentine’s an ordinary guy with ordinary problems. His boss is an asshole. He’s an alcoholic. And he’s getting that middle age spread just a bit too early. One night — the one night he can’t remember — changes everything. What happened at the popular downtown bar, The Elephant Blues? Why is Biomne, the largest pharmaceutical company in the world, so interested in him — and the virus he carries? How is he getting stronger, faster, and more fit? And what’s the connection between Valentine and the criminally insane Russian, Volk?
Buy Now @ Amazon
Genre – Action, Thriller, Urban Fantasy
Rating – R16
More details about the author
 Connect with Richard Parry on Facebook & Twitter

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@MarcADiGiacomo on Why He Wrote IN A SMALL TOWN #AmReading #Thriller #BookClub

What inspired me to write In A Small Town?
I always believed I had a book somewhere within my warped brain. Its one thing to have that feeling about yourself but to actually write that book is a story within itself. How do you motivate one’s self to follow through on a conceptualized idea? For me, I have three small children. Only my oldest will remember the late night/early morning calls from the police department notifying me of the latest crime to occur within our boundaries. He would watch his father leave with bright, wide opened eyes fully believing I would return as soon as I could. Truth be told; it was very difficult to leave him, but I had a job to do, a responsibility to others I was sworn to uphold.
When I retired from the police department after a string of back injuries and surgery, I needed to set a new course for myself. My back injury makes it difficult for me sometimes but it was just another challenge I needed to overcome. What started off as a memoir of a small town cop’s career quickly grew legs and became an organized crime thriller. I had a very unique police career working for such a small town; I wanted to emphasize to others even though I worked for a small town, big crime still happens and needs to be solved.
The encouragement I received from my oldest son was all I needed. His face upon seeing In A Small Town, was a priceless memory I will never forget. He’s only eleven, and will not be reading any of my books for quite some time, but his praise and reassurances have motivated me to write more. So, I write for my kids, and one day, when they read my books, they will know a little piece of their father is alive and well within those pages.

The shotgun blast catches Detective Matthew Longo by surprise. His world unravels into a nightmare that seemingly won’t end. Murder, rapes, pedophiles, the small town of Hutchville, N.Y. is changing. It is up to him to make a difference.
While partner Donny Mello is in Italy attending a funeral for a family member who is connected, to say the least, a beautiful F.B.I. agent waits to question him about his family business. Can Matt keep from answering the Agent’s questions? More importantly, can he hide a potentially career-ending secret from his community, his brother, and most especially Agent Cynthia Shyler?
Buy Now @ Amazon
Genre – Thriller
Rating – R
More details about the author
Connect with Marc A. DiGiacomo on Facebook & Twitter

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"Depth & Substance mashed up with #Fringe Science" DOUBT by Anne-Rae Vasquez @Write2Film #YA


Outside the building, she welcomed the fresh air. She stood still for a moment, taking in deep breaths, hoping to relax. She looked around. People were scattering on the streets like the fire ants that used to seek safety from the garden hose she used to wield on in the backyard of her childhood home.
“There is no signal,” a young man said to her. He was waving his cell phone. “Do you have a signal?”
She shook her head, knowing full well that her cell phone was working fine. It was connected to a satellite and not on a regular cellular network. Harry had made sure that all the Truth Seekers were able to communicate with each other at all times.
A group of teenagers on the corner were pointing towards the sky. She tilted her head to see what they were looking at. Something was very different. Angry strokes of crimson red with charcoal rain clouds hung above them. What was strange were the streaks of lightning that were crisscrossing each other like an intricate woven rug. If she squinted, she could make out an image, almost like a painting. Odd, very odd.
She began walking down West 34th Street, hoping to find a cab. Abandoned cars were making the normally traffic congested street even more difficult for cabs to get through. She started picking up her pace. She was going to have to walk to GN, which was on Lexington and East 33rd Avenue. It was probably a good twenty-five-minute walk.
She walked past pockets of people. She noticed one thing they all had in common. Their eyes were opened wide, blinking fast as they raced past her. A woman with snow-white hair and clear blue eyes caught her gaze. She was walking towards her, clutching her black purse. Her shoes were black with thick heels. Each step she made was like a crack of thunder in her head. She covered her ears, but it didn’t stop the sound. Walk past her. Look away.
She tried to avoid making eye contact, but her eyes were drawn back to the woman. They were now face to face with each other.
“You. It was you,” the woman said in a quiet voice.
Standing in front of her now, the woman seemed fragile and small.
“I think you are mistaking me for someone else.”
She took a step to the side intending to walk around her.
The woman grabbed her arm.
“I saw you in my vision…when the earth was shaking.”
Cristal stopped and turned slowly towards her. Her skin felt like fire ants crawling up her arms.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, half believing her own words.
The woman continued, “It was you. There was a bright light coming down from heaven through your body into the earth.”
She clutched the gold cross around her neck with her left hand.
Cristal shook her head and said firmly, “No, not me! It wasn’t me.”
She yanked her arm away from the old woman and started running down the street. Her heart was pounding; her palms sweating. Her backpack bounced against her and the straps rubbed against her shoulders.
She kept running, oblivious of the people bumping into her. The words repeated in her head like a mantra.
“It wasn’t me. It wasn’t me!”
She looked up and realized that GN was at the next corner. She dodged traffic and ran across the street. As she ran up to the busy intersection, another voice entered her head.
“But it was you, darling.”

Do you love shows like J.J. Abrams’ Fringe and read books like Cassandra Clare’s City of Bones?
“Doubt” mashes fringe science, corporate espionage and paranormal encounters to catapult you into an out-of-this-world experience.
At 21 years old, Harry and Cristal are fresh out of university with their PhD’s. Labeled all their lives as being ‘weird’ and ‘geeky’, they find true friendships with other outcasts by playing online virtual reality games.
Harry Doubt, a genius programmer and creator of the popular online game ‘Truth Seekers’, has a personal mission of his own; to find his mother who went mysteriously missing while volunteering on a peacekeeping mission in Palestine. His gaming friends and followers inadvertently join in helping him find her; believing that they are on missions to find out what has happened to their own missing loved ones. During Harry’s missions, Cristal and the team of ‘Truth Seekers’ stumble upon things that make them doubt the reality of their own lives. As they get closer to the truth, they realize that there are spiritual forces among them both good and evil, but in learning this, they activate a chain of events that start the beginning of the ‘end of the world’ as they know it.
Doubt is Book 1 of the Among Us Trilogy. Among Us is a book series which delves into the world of the supernatural and how it intersects with the everyday lives of seemingly ordinary young people as catastrophic events on earth lead to the end of times. Among Us weaves the theme of a young man and woman, who while not fully understanding their ‘abilities’, are drawn together in their desire to find out the truth about the world they live in which is similar to themes used in J.J. Abrams’ TV shows Fringe and Lost.
What readers have to say…
As a big fan of the show Fringe, this book appealed to me tremendously. The writing was well done, and the way the “supernatural” forces were introduced was great.
A good, clean read for any age.
It was an excellent story that I’m sure both adult and teen urban fantasy fans will enjoy. You don’t have to be a gamer or know one to identify with the characters. They’re very well developed and definitely feel like people. I would definitely recommend it to a friend and I’m really looking forward to the second book.
…the novel is written in such a languid style, it moves on effortlessly and absorbs the reader into the story completely. Although the story itself revolves around the online gaming industry, one does not have to have an in depth knowledge as it is ably explained and discussed within the plot line.
OMGosh! I just finished reading “Doubt” INCREDIBLE! I couldn’t put it down.
˃˃˃ >>> Depth and Substance mashed up with Fringe Science. Will entertain young and old alike.
This book is intended for mature young adults and new adults. Ages 16 to 45 +
˃˃˃ >>Inspired by real Truth Seekers Aaron Swartz and Harry Fear
The main character Harry Doubt was inspired by Aaron Swartz, internet prodigy and activist, co-founder of the Creative Commons and Reddit, and Harry Fear, journalist, documentary filmmaker and activist whose coverage of the conflict in the Middle East was seen on UStream by millions of viewers.
Buy Now @ Amazon
Genre - Young Adult, Paranormal, Science Fiction, Thriller
Rating – G
More details about the author
Connect with Anne-Rae Vasquez on Facebook & Twitter

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Beyond Neanderthal by Brian Bloom @BrianB_Aust #AmReading #Thriller #GoodReads

Visit to a Blue Amber Mine

As Tara alighted from the vehicle, she found herself facing a ghostly white haze of wispy, low-lying clouds that hung as if suspended in time above the undulating hilltops. The peaks rose from the variegated emerald and olive valley below and stretched into the distance amid a virginal mixture of lush equatorial undergrowth. She drew a deep, involuntary breath.

‘Wow!’ There were no other words to describe the feeling of awe-inspired privilege that washed over her. The vista was about as far removed from Central Park as a New York city skyscraper was from the little pastel coloured huts lining the Carretera Turística.

Aurelio smiled. Intuitively, he seemed to understand that the most appropriate response to this magnificent sight was silence. It was a full two minutes before Tara gathered her thoughts.

‘Let’s get going,’ she said.

They made their way carefully—gingerly climbing over dead logs, negotiating their way around rocky outcrops, and grabbing onto available plant life to steady themselves as they walked and stumbled their way towards the valley below. On either side of the track, a mixture of tall, fronded plants grew in an array of shapes and sizes beside stunted and gnarled old trees with deep green foliage. Tara thought of the trees like friendly bystanders, their leafy branches protectively shading Aurelio and her from much of the glaring sunshine above. They came across a trickling stream, which they followed for a while; Tara ever mindful and vigilant, watching for any sign of wildlife in the undergrowth. Except for the background humming of insects, the occasional noisy squawking of a flock of parrots flying past overhead and, once, the silent imprint of a shoe sole on the muddy banks of the stream, they seemed to be alone.

Then, in a clearing, they came across a group of young men standing seemingly relaxed and chatting. A few feet away, under a lean-to made of branches and palm fronds, one of them squatted while cooking something on a small paraffin or gas stove. Aurelio and Tara had arrived at the mine.
Again, there was a short conversation in Spanish. Again, there was a wrinkling of noses followed by broad smiles of understanding and agreement. There were also some side comments and laughter amongst the men. The word ‘gringa’—foreigner from America—came up a couple of times. Tara thought she also heard the words ‘bonita’, and ‘sexual’, but she couldn’t be sure. She decided to keep a slight distance for the time being. They were in the middle of nowhere, miles from the nearest civilization.

Aurelio walked back towards her. ‘They will be happy to show you around, but we should remember our time limitations. We cannot spend more that half an hour here if we are to return to Santo Domingo before dark.’

‘Are you trying to protect me from these guys?’ she asked with a smile. Aurelio looked embarrassed.
‘What’s he cooking?’ she asked to change the subject. ‘It smells great.’

‘That is called arroz con abichuelas, a mixture of rice and beans. He is probably cooking some small pieces of beef with it, but it could be any meat.’

‘Can one buy that in a restaurant in Santo Domingo?’

‘Of course, but not exactly the same. This is a local dish for locals. To sell food like this to tourists would be like offering leftovers to your guests. It would not be right. In the restaurants it is much more carefully presented and is usually served with salads.’

The word ‘dignity’ popped into Tara’s mind. Aurelio seemed to have it, and that was what she had seen on the faces of the fruit vendor and the amber polisher and, now, even the miners as she approached them. Other than their initial jocularity, they seemed to consider her as their guest and themselves as hosts who happily welcomed visitors into their world. The men were just being men.

As they approached the entrance to the mine, a happy looking miner wearing a backward facing baseball cap sat with a short-handled pick in one hand, a lump of soft rock in the other.

‘Hola, señorita,’ he said, grinning broadly.

She smiled back at him, lifted her hand in greeting, but continued to follow Aurelio to the mine entrance. It was like standing at the entrance to the burrow of a large animal.

Beyond Neanderthal
Buy Now @ Amazon
Genre – Thriller
Rating – MA (15+)
More details about the author
Connect with Brian Bloom on Twitter

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@Stone_Rik on Self-Publishing & Selling Your Book #AmWriting #Thriller #SelfPub

Every writer needs an author platform and that starts with social networking… it’s important because readers need to know you exist before they can buy your book. Don’t wait, start now. Use Twitter; weave into your tweets without labouring the point that you’re working on a novel. Tell them its title and what it’s about. Make the Tweets interesting and you have a number of potential customers who might also tell their friends to look out for your work. I mention Twitter, but there are plenty of other networks out there.
Okay, you’ve built a social group and your book is written. Do you aim at the traditional publishers or go indie? Well, the traditional hill is a difficult one to climb and I feel agents and publishing editors might sit back to see which products appeal to the audience, EL James is a good example. If I’m right a successful indie campaign will give you every chance of getting that elusive traditional publisher, if that’s what will make you happy.
But is the indie option an easy one? Far from it, going down this route means you have to do the promotion and marketing yourself, so if you’re not willing to sign over your life completely, think again… Okay, you’re happy to do it, good, but you’ll soon learn that when you wrote ‘The End’ it was the biggest piece of fiction in the book; it’s actually the beginning. First base, you need a publicist. First question, can you afford one? No, go to second base. Yes, then research the prospective business partners thoroughly, there’s a lot of snake oil out there. Oh, if you do use a publicist you’ll need to publish in paperback as well as eBook. Second base, virtual tours, you’re reading this so you’re seeing part of one of them, I hope you’re impressed. Other than paying out for TV adverts, these tours seem to attract the most eyes.
I won’t go on too much, as I don’t want to take advantage of my kind host, but there is one statement I must make before you get your book out there: The presentation of text, the cover, and the quality of the work is of paramount importance to sales. The indie path is a medium that allows anyone to publish anything, don’t subscribe to ‘that will do’ if you want to gain public respect and retain their interest, you’d only be letting yourself down. Even if it nips at your budget give your work every chance by having professionals improve the quality and presentation. Editing, format of text, creation of cover picture and uploading the work onto your chosen medium is not overly expensive and you want a book to be proud of.
One final comment, Monty Hall wasn’t a writer, he was a TV celebrity, but his words are relevant: “Actually, I’m an overnight success, but it took 20 years.” So whatever you learn and whatever strategies you might want to use, the real secret is to keep at it, and never give up!

Set against the backdrop of Soviet, post-war Russia, Birth of an Assassin follows the transformation of Jez Kornfeld from wide-eyed recruit to avenging outlaw. Amidst a murky underworld of flesh-trafficking, prostitution and institutionalized corruption, the elite Jewish soldier is thrown into a world where nothing is what it seems, nobody can be trusted, and everything can be violently torn from him.
Buy Now @ Amazon, B&N, Kobo & Waterstones
Genre - Thriller, Crime, Suspense
Rating – R
More details about the author
Connect with Rik Stone on Facebook & Twitter

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