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Musings from the Blonde Side
Issue 54, April/May 2008
Introduction…AKA the Blatant Self Promotion (BSP) of TL Schaefer & Keira Ramsay…
This month’s interview and excerpt…
This month’s OTHER contest…
G'bye...
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Please feel free…no, feel COMPELLED to forward this on to all of your friends, enemies and acquaintances! |
Visit me at www.tlschaefer.com or www.keiraramsay.com And blog with me at |
Sorry for disappearing last month…my guest author got called out of town and I didn’t anticipate how much energy our inspection (dreaded day job) would take out of me, even though I’ve been through it many times before. In happy news, we passed, so now everyone is in their comfy place again!
On the writing front, because work sucked so much life out of me, not much in the new word count department, though I have great news when it comes to already-finished work. Are you ready?
Breath of Heaven, the last novella in the Runequest series, published last week! This is the story of Rhiannon and Liam (yes, the villain from
Also, The Saints of Midland is now available in print! Whoohooo! If you’re looking for a copy, I’d suggest Amazon, because it’s a smidge less expensive there.
Congrats to Linda Gates, who won the box of mondo Sees Candy last month. Stay tuned for more fun contests…I’d like to do one at least quarterly, so I’m looking at picking a winner before I head to the RWA Convention in July, and grabbing that winner a bag o’ books and goodies!
Okay, enough of me… Four winners this month, since I spazzed in April: Big1Mama, Catslady5, SuzyQ and FillerLady
That’s alllll folks! Ate lago!!!
Terri/Keira
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This month I’ve got a massive treat for you…and interview with smokin’ hot new author Jordan Dane. Her series of three romantic suspense books wowed the folks at
MftBS: What's the coolest thing that's happened to you as an author?
Finishing my first manuscript was a milestone I always want to remember. I actually cried, but hearing Sharon Sala’s voice on the phone saying, “Honey, where do you have this out?” She’d read my unpubbed manuscript for NO ONE HEARD HER SCREAM in one sitting and loved it so much, she pitched it to her house and her agent. Sharon scored me her agent and kick started the auction process where I sold to Avon. She’s my guardian angel. You can read more on my website’s FOR WRITERS section, my FIRST SALE story.
MftBS: If you were trying to describe your work to a new reader, what would you say?
Lately, I’ve been calling my books Romantic Suspense on Steroids. I love having elements of romance in my books, but they are definitely not for the faint of heart. I love forensics and like my suspense gritty. I frequently shed light on truly heinous real crime stories.
MftBS: Who are two of your favorite writers & why?
Robert Crais and Dean Koontz are real comfort reads for me. I have countless others I enjoy too, but these authors have affected my writing the most. When I first read Crais’ The Forgotten Man, I finally saw where I wanted to be as a writer—for the humanity in his characters, his subtle blend of humor, and his narratives. His version of Butch & Sundance – P.I. Elvis Cole and ex-cop/partner Joe Pike – are really unforgettable.
And Dean Koontz keeps getting better. He’s an amazing storyteller with a great sense of pace. His narratives and use of metaphors and similes compel me to read pages over again for pure enjoyment. His first Odd Thomas book really blew me away and I’ve been following the series.
MftBS: What is your oddest habit while writing?
Whenever I hit a wall on plotting (I never plot—just fly by the seat of my pants like you, sweetie), I intuitively stop and don’t write through it. I hate wasting time. And I find that if I can walk away to clear my head, my brain will keep working on the problem. The last time I did this, I watched an old Christian Slater movie called Gleaning the Cube, about skateboarding. And while I was watching it, I came up with the solution from a facet of that goofy movie. I made notes and wrote the rest of my book. I’m thinking of creating a writer’s workshop called – The Six Degrees of Christian Slater.
MftBS: Last but not least…what tidbit of BSP (Blatant Self Promotion) would you like to share with my devoted, die-hard fans?
I used to work in energy sales and hate BSP. But for YOU, I’ll give it a go.
I’m hoping to find readers with an open mind who would allow a new author to stretch. My work crosses genre lines into mystery, suspense, and romance with a touch of forensics, police procedure and unexpected dark humor thrown in for good measure. I hope readers will try my debut series – NO ONE HEARD HER SCREAM (Apr 2008), NO ONE LEFT TO TELL (May 2008), and NO ONE LIVES FOREVER (Jun 2008) – my back to back releases from Avon HarperCollins.
My next three books will be romantic thrillers (my Sweet Justice series) with the first book scheduled for release in Feb 2009 – EVIL WITHOUT A FACE. I’m completely jazzed about creating the world of Jessica Beckett, my bounty hunter. And I’m currently writing my fifth book – THE WRONG SIDE OF DEAD, but here’s an announcement that was posted on the series in Publishers Weekly:
“An illusive web of imposters on the Internet lures a deluded teen from her Alaskan home and launches a chain reaction collision course with an unlikely tangle of heroes. This is the initial driver to a new 3-book series from suspense author Jordan Dane and Avon HarperCollins. With an international setting, these romantic thrillers will focus on the lives and loves of three women—a bounty hunter operating outside the law, an ambitious vice cop, and a former international operative with a mysterious past.”
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And now, because Jordan was nice enough to answer my nosy questions, here is a bit of NO ONE LEFT TO TELL to tickle your fancy:
Chapter One
Warehouse District - South Chicago
On the trail of money, Mickey Blair sniffed out opportunity like most men chased skirts--one led to the other but cash never got a headache. The piece of paper fluttered in his hand as a brisk wind caught its frayed edge. He scrolled it with spread fingers to read his own scribbling and looked up, squinting against the cold to verify the warehouse number. The place was a pit. He stuffed the crumpled paper into his overcoat. He'd hoped for better arrangements from his potential new client. The email he received late yesterday had been cryptic, but he was confident the job would be simple and the money irresistible. The best kind of incentive. A glance at his Rolex assured him he wasn’t late.
With the sun fading into the layers of dark clouds along the horizon, the bite in the air stung his cheeks. Large, wet flakes accumulated on the ground, defying the swirling gusts. With a sideways glance, he caught sight of his black Mercedes parked to the left. His latest toy. He’d soon have it stored for winter. Time to break out his SUV. His work provided a nice little nest egg. Images of white sand beaches filtered through the cold. The imagined scent of coconut teased his senses. He pictured grains of sand clinging to his dark skin slick from tropical oils. Before long, he'd be set for life.
Killing was a lucrative business.
Safely locked away until he needed it for a job, his custom made Heckler & Koch sniper rifle had been a good investment. At his age, he had cultivated a dependable, discreet reputation over the years. Mickey enjoyed the best of both worlds--flying below the radar of law enforcement while reaping all the benefits of his deserved notoriety. The art of assassination provided him a life worth living. He loved irony, when it suited him. A smile influenced his swagger as he approached the side entrance to the building. His unfastened overcoat buffeted in the breeze. Instinctively, he felt for his gun, a Sig Sauer secured in its leather holster under his suit jacket.
After a tug at the metal door, he rubbed his palms together to wipe away the rust and dirt, careful not to soil his coat or Armani suit. Once inside, he shortened his breaths to lessen the intake of stale air and surveyed the carcass of the old deserted warehouse. But his next breath morphed into an instinctive gasp when the door slammed shut behind him. He turned and heard a key slip into the lock. The deadbolt slid into place. And he caught the distinct sound of someone running away. He yanked at the door, the filth of the cement floor crunching underfoot. Locked.
“What the hell?” he muttered under his breath, then called out, “This isn’t funny, you sick bastard.”
Slowly, he gaped over his shoulder into the cavernous space. In the split second his eyes oriented to the murky and cluttered interior, the lights went out. Complete darkness. His equilibrium distorted, he couldn’t see his damned hand in front of his face. He raised his weapon, fingers tensed against the grip.
“If this is some kind of joke, someone's gonna get shot!” He raised his voice, covering his tension with attitude. “I don’t have time for this.”
“Make time.” A low voice assumed familiarity. An echo disguised its origin. “I made time for you.”
The sound mutated to a whisper, prickling his skin.
“Do I know you?” Mickey swallowed hard. His eyes searched the dark for anything at all. No answer. The man wasn’t giving him a chance to locate his hiding spot, offering a target for his Sig Sauer.
A glimmer toward his left drew his attention. Heading toward the flicker of light, he felt his way along a barrier of varying height, stubbing the tips of his shoes. In no time, he lost his way. He couldn't tell where he had entered the old building.
Thud! Thwack! Two rounds hit his chest. A burst of liquid burned his nostrils. Vapor stung his eyes. Silenced gunfire? His hands reached for the sore spots under his suit, rubbing the welts. Anger got the better of him. He returned fire. Pointing his gun into the dark, he shot twice before thinking. Muzzle flash blinded him. Fingers pressed against his eyelids, he squeezed his eyes shut and listened to the ricochet.
“Who are you?” he shrieked. Spittle ran down his chin. Feeling like a cat with nine lives, his hostility bristled. If the pellets had been real bullets, he would’ve been dead. “What kind of game are you playing here?”
The air was stagnating and thick. Sweat trickled from his brow, nearly blinding him with its sting. He leaned against something firm. All he needed was time to think. God, think!
"Who the hell are you people?" he shouted. More than one person hid in the dark. Strange animal noises erupted overhead. The muffled sound of laughter mocked his torment, his only reply.
Although he couldn't be certain, it appeared they were herding him through a maze of obstacles. They pounded him with pellets of some kind. The animal calls only got worse--clamoring all around him. Primal instinct kicked in and panic gripped him hard, squeezing his chest. Remembering to close his eyes, Mickey fired two shots, reminding them he would be dangerous up close.
"There's been a mistake. I was asked to come here. Some guy had a job for me," he cried, trying to reason with his faceless attackers.
What the hell had he done? The irony wasn't missed on him. Normally the predator, now the tables were turned. This time, he would be hunted.
Blood boiled under the surface of his skin. He shrugged out of his overcoat and kicked it aside. Tugging at his tie, he pulled it over his head and hurled it into the dark, not caring where it landed. Only a week ago, he'd bought the designer tie, more impressed by its price tag. Now, he didn't give a rat's ass about any of it. His fingers slick with sweat, he yanked at the collar of his shirt. Buttons popped off onto the warehouse floor.
He squinted in every direction. Nothing but blackness. Emptiness magnified the sound of his heart. Another blast from above. Something slapped him hard. It burned the skin of his neck. He winced and shrugged a shoulder. An object stuck to his body, then slid under his collar and down the inside of his shirt. His fingers followed the path, but he gave up trying to find it.
"What the hell--? Jesus. What's wrong with you people?"
With these bastards tracking him in the dark, it meant only one thing. He had to find a hole to hide, unsure where that might be. Feeling his way on all fours, Mickey crawled to change positions. His fingers felt along a wall. But he didn't know if he'd be heading for the door or deeper into the maze. One way might be his salvation. The other would be certain death.
Thwack! A round hit above him. On instinct, he covered his head with an arm. A damned sitting duck!
No time for doubt. He had to move. Slowly, he stood and picked a direction to run, a hand out in front. He trusted his luck for a lifetime. Surely, it wouldn't fail him now.
Thud! An explosion against the side of his temple sent swirls of blinding light through his head. His eyes on fire, they burned like acid. Chills of shock ran through him. When he slumped to the floor, his gun skittered across the cement, lost in the darkness.
Stunned, he only needed a moment to catch his breath. Only a moment. He pushed against the wall behind him, struggling clumsily to his feet. But a deathlike stillness seized him. A presence eased closer. Slowly, he turned his head, tears rolling down his cheeks. Someone was…
An arm gripped his chest, cradling him in the grasp of someone standing behind him. He smelled alcohol on the man's breath.
"You're mine now." The intimate whisper brushed by his ear. It shocked him. The familiarity sounded like it came from the lips of a lover. "Don't fight me."
For an instant, Mickey relaxed long enough to hope--maybe all this had been a mistake. Then he felt a sudden jerk.
Pain … searing pain!
Icy steel plunged into his throat, severing cartilage in its wake. A metallic taste filled his mouth. Its warmth sucked into his lungs, drowning him. Powerless to free himself, Mickey resisted the blackness with the only redemption possible. He imagined high tide with him adrift. He struggled for air, bobbing just beneath the ocean surface. The sun and blue sky warped with a swirling eddy. Mercifully, sounds of surf rolling to shore clouded the fear when his body began to convulse. Dizziness and a numbing chill finally seized him. And the pounding of his heart drained his ability to move at all.
Then a muffled gurgle dominated his senses--until there was nothing.
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May Day Contest!!
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May 2008 prizes! |
May 2008 questions! |
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Autographed copy of Jasmine Haynes’s |
Jasmine Haynes/Jennifer Skully/JB Skully http://www.skullybuzz.com/ Question: What breed is Jasmine's dog, Star? (hint: it's on the "About the Author" page) |
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IN HEAT e-book download |
Leigh Wyndfield http://www.leighwyndfield.com/ Question: In ICY HEAT, what does the hero wear? |
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Ain’t Your Mama’s Bedtime Stories download |
Question: In Ain't Your Mama's Bedtime Stories, the kid visiting the detective's office meets Richard (Dick) Hammer, but who did he go to |
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BREATH OF HEAVEN download |
TL Schaefer/Keira Ramsay http://www.tlschaefer.com/ Question: In the Breath of Heaven excerpt, where does Rhiannon end up? |
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Autographed copy of NO ONE LEFT TO TELL |
Jordan Dane Question: In NO ONE LEFT TO TELL, what does Father Antonio say when he turns on the light fixtures at St Sebastian's Chapel? |
Here’s how the contest works!
When: It runs the first of the month through the 20th of the month. We’ll choose one winner on the 21st and make the notification. The next contest will then begin on the 1st.
How: To enter, simply go through each of our sites, find the answers to our monthly questions, then send an email with your answers to skullycontest@... The winner will be chosen at random from amongst the entries with the correct answers. We will contact you, ask for your snail mail address and you’ll get lots of presents!
Who: Jasmine Haynes/ Jennifer Skully,
Newsletter: We’d love to keep you updated on our new releases so we will be adding you to our newsletter lists unless you specifically tell us not to in your email entry.
Restrictions: You MUST be 18 years or older to enter and US residents only.
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