Help Us Get Interested In Your Book

Sometimes it is hard for readers to find new authors.  Indie writers have a particularly difficult time in getting the word out about their books.  They also have to compete with many others in order to gain their readership.  Those of you that follow the Amazon forums know many types of threads have been started in order to help gain attention, but they are easily buried under all the other posts.

Today, I would like to give authors the opportunity to put up a page from their book here.  It doesn’t have to be the first page.  You can choose any one page that you believe highlights the style of your writing and what the book is about.  Help us to see if it is the book we have been looking for.  Maybe, we were not look for it, but will get interested anyway.  You never know, but this is the opportunity for you to try.

These are the things you should include in your post:

1)Author name

2) Book Title

3) Genre

4) Link to book

5) Excerpt from book (one page in length)

Without these details, it will make it harder on readers to find your work or gain interest, so make sure you add all five parts.  Also, some of you have multiple books out there.  In this case, if you would like to add more than one, just make sure to post each book in a separate comment.  That way everyone can see them individually.  I will look forward to seeing what you post!

~ by Suzie on June 21, 2011.

66 Responses to “Help Us Get Interested In Your Book”

  1. Hi, Suzie. There are advantages to being a full-time writer. One of them is being in front of the computer screen when most of your updates come in :-). When I first submitted “From My Cold Young Fingers” to my New York agent, he didn’t know what to think of it, so he sent it out to a book consultant who read the entire book and advised me, “The scenes in Heaven are great but the scenes on Earth really don’t work. I suspect because we had a movie proposal pending at Hallmark Studios, my agent really tried to work with me when I disagreed with the feedback. So, he sent it out to another consultant. This woman sent me a beautiful email that the scenes on Earth were sensational, some of the best she’d ever read, but the Heaven scenes just didn’t work. With mind jumbled and eyes crossed, I started work on a new novel…

    It turns out not everyone was as confused by this book as my agent and his book doctors. “From My Cold Young Fingers” is available in prerelease now. It’s a fantasy spiritual drama that doesn’t easily fit any one genre (much like my “The Santa Shop” novel). If you aren’t tied to tightly to a religious belief, and if you don’t mind a story shaking your tears loose before replacing them with a smile, you might like this one (available in Trade Paperback and Ebook formats).

    A first-time ever posted excerpt, “From My Cold Young Fingers”…

    I was somewhere between awestruck and terrified. The demon was indeed revolting, but the archangel was closer and bore such a powerful aura that I think I was nearly as afraid of it. Fear or not, I could not have moved if I tried.

    The archangel stepped toward the demon. Though they were about the same height, which is to say three times as tall as Ricky or I, the archangel’s mass made the demon look sickly and pathetic. Apparently, the vile creature knew it was grossly out-contested, because it trembled even as it stood its ground. The hatred, however, never left its red eyes.

    I wondered if the archangel would kill the demon? The appearance of both left no doubt in my mind that if he chose to do so he could. But would he?

    “Away, foul one!” the archangel said. His voice was like a powerful wind.

    The demon’s lips pulled back into a grimace, revealing rows of deadly sharp fangs.

    “That one is mine.” He pointed directly at Ricky.

    It wasn’t until then that I noticed Ricky’s shirt had gone from a light color of yellow earlier in the day to a dark shade of blue. His pants were now black, as were his sneakers. There wasn’t a spot of white or light-colored clothing left on him. Maybe playing spy hadn’t been such a good idea. I glanced down. Strangely the game hadn’t turned me at all. If anything, my sneakers were whiter than they had been earlier.

    “The other boy,” the archangel said, “should never have had to endure even the sight of your foul presence.”

    The demon’s eyes turned toward me and narrowed. I hadn’t seen such a look of hatred since Tommy Edd’s father had killed me. I shivered, though whether it was from the demon’s evil gaze or my brief recollection of my own last day on Earth, I couldn’t have said….

    Tim Greaton

  2. Richard Sutton

    The Red Gate
    (Historic Fiction/Fantasy)


    Ten months or so before the dismal funeral in Dublin and many miles away, a solitary, grey gull soared high above Western Mayo’s rocky shoreline crags as the surf surged far below. The morning updrafts had buoyed it aloft and shoreward as the rain-heavy wind rushed along. The wind carried with it a salty tang on its trip into the green heart of Ireland. Far below, a rough line of brush atop a series of jagged cliffs defined the edge of a wide green pasture. It sloped gently between a pair of fieldstone walls running uphill from the cliff’s edge, about a mile apart.
    Closer now, a few other gulls were seen. Their cries could be heard as they played the updrafts, dropping breakfast on the rocks from high above. The big bird’s journey had been a long one, from many miles out to sea and it felt its strength lagging. It needed a safe resting spot – not too close to the noisy rookery below (where it was a stranger), but still close enough to maybe steal some food.
    It dropped down lower, surveying the enclosed pasture sloping up to meet an abrupt, grey stone outcropping. Below the stone, a few groups of sheep huddled together against the damp weather. The rocks seemed like a possible spot to land. Its eyes followed the ground uphill, searching for any signs of trouble.
    The pasture ran further up the slope to another wall, much higher, where a rutted, dirt road made its way across the uplands. The gull noted a few wet spots that probably held runoff water, small rain-fed streams and puddles dotting the pasture, a few more thorn bushes and quite a few more sheep grazing in small clusters as it sighted a likely perch atop the outcropping.
    Across the road and uphill partly shrouded in fine mist lay a small, whitewashed stone farmhouse with a ragged, thatched roof and single chimney. Nearby, stood a little stone barn with a walled-in but sadly neglected garden. A well-traveled path led up the hill behind the house. The path passed some boggy spots and reeds growing above the garden, then ran upwards to another intersecting fieldstone wall. It jumped over a wooden stile into a higher pasture, before its top-most details became completely obscured in the swirling fog at the top of the ridge.
    Rain slid off the seagull’s back and wings as it swooped down to hover above the crest of the great stones. It fluttered momentarily in mid-air, and then lightly touched down upon the soft, moss-covered turf. Below, it heard a low human voice, making anxious, repetitious noises. The gull glanced down to where a sodden man stood motionless, up to his knees in a big, muddy puddle. Rainwater coursed in several rivulets into the pond from nearby, slowly increasing its size as the rain dappled its surface. The gull lifted its head and began to cry – or laugh aloud at the ridiculous sight below.
    Down in the center of the puddle, near a rain-washed ring of stones, Finn O’Deirg kept mumbling to himself as the rain fell about and upon him, “Stupid, stupid. Stupid eejit.” he muttered, bitterly. He should have seen it coming. All the signs were there yesterday. He heard the croaking of a gull overhead and glanced up to see the bird fly off away uphill, towards the top of the ridgeline. “That’s it – fly off. At least you can.” he called angrily after it.

  3. J. C. Allen



    The partners fixed and ate breakfast together while reading the newspaper. “Who is M.O.D.?” was the headline. The majority of the first section was dedicated to the subject in one way or another.
    Sheelia finished first and called her boss. Scott remained silently reading and eating until he heard Sheelia shriek, “You’re kidding!”
    He jerked his head to face her, “What is it?”
    Sheelia finished her conversation as Scott impatiently waited, then said, “More than 35,000 US troops disappeared last night, along with another few thousand ships, planes, tanks, missiles, explosives, etc. Not surprisingly, nobody knows where any of them went. Planes disappeared from radar, vehicles vanished from the road, and the people… nobody has a clue. That’s not the worst though.”
    Scott shrugged, “Nothing will surprise me at this point.”
    “Oh yeah? We lost over 800 field agents and a few hundred support crew, technicians, etc. The CIA lost contact with a fourth of their operatives. Even members of the Secret Service are missing. Some of these people had personal transponders embedded in their bodies and they still can’t find them. The Army and Marines have recalled all troops to defend the country. The Air Force and Navy have ordered all ships and planes to return as well. They’re calling up the Reserves, National Guard, and Coast Guard.”
    “We’re going to war with ourselves. Great,” Scott said lazily.
    “You don’t sound too concerned, Scott.”
    “What can we do, Shee? This is fast becoming a military affair. We’re FBI agents; our job is to try to catch the person or persons involved in a substantial federal funds theft, affecting interstate commerce or some bullshit. We don’t have any tactical missiles or stealth bombers, nuclear subs, aircraft carriers…”
    “Well then, we should do what we can to catch him before this escalates into a civil war!” she chided.

  4. Stella Deleuze]
    No Wings Attached
    Romantic comedy/Parnormal

    Dear Universe,

    May I kindly order the following…

    ­A well paid job which suits me in a kitchen
    -£300, £500, £1500
    A lump sum to pay off my debts
    A new flat with balcony
    An affordable house with garden
    A good bargain for Stomp and good places seats in stalls
    A lucky coincidence
    A holiday in the sun for free
    Good health
    A man …
    A loving tall man who is perfect for me
    Loads of sunny days
    A picnic in the park
    A perfect man for Emily

    All to be delivered ASAP.

    Kind regards,

    Celia Watson

    Chapter One


    There are good days and there are bad days. I’m having the latter. ‘Why do I have to do it?’ I ask. ‘Would you please stop giving me all the “devastated women” cases?’ I raise my voice a few notches, imitating a female voice, ‘Nobody loves me, my job is crap and I’m over thirty now – my life is over.’ I pause for a moment and when my boss doesn’t say anything I continue, ‘I really want to work on something else now.’ Christine flicks through her diary and without looking up she says, ‘Tom, you know the rules, you’ve been here long enough and you’re the most suitable to do this particular job. Remember, this is the only way to get promoted.’
    ‘Yes, but…’
    ‘I’m not negotiating. You failed with that desperate woman who needed a bit of luck. And what did you do? Delivered what? You can’t drive a tank in London! No wonder she freaked out.’ I open my mouth to reply, but she holds a hand up.
    ‘They wanted to bring her into a clinic, a person with no mental problems. Yes, she wanted a tank, but one to keep fish, not a military vehicle!’ Christine shakes her head, although her red lips pull into a tiny smile. I grin, pretending to look at the painting behind her.
    ‘What were you thinking?’ I can sense even she has trouble staying serious. ‘I had to send one of my best helpers to save the woman’s luck. Get this case right and we’ll see how we go from there. This woman, Celia, needs the basics first! The bosses expect you to succeed. See this as a chance to make up for the last time.’ I choke down my answer. I’d just misunderstood the wish. A tank’s a tank, isn’t it? The woman didn’t specify. And everything’s sorted now.

  5. Christopher Wright & Evan Shelley

    Candy Kisses and Bullet Holes Fill Her Up


    “I know who you are, so stop saying that,” Maybe it should be a relief that the monster I came to slay is just my extremely obnoxious, vaguely prophetic, former robot companion, but the problem is he’s EXTREMELY obnoxious. He’s always saying things like “I AM THE ROBORACLE” and “THE FATES SAY YOU ARE BONED”. The best part of being a space slave was not having to hear him every day.
    “I don’t have time for this. Where’s Emma?”
    “From outside!”
    “What? I’m not an odometer! Go measure for yourself.”

  6. Heather Cashman
    Speculative Fiction with a bit of Romance for good measure

    “How are you feeling?” Perhaps my behavior amused him.
    “You may be fine for now, but tell me how you feel . . . your emotions.” He sounded strangely sincere.
    “Angry.” My voice worked better than I had expected.
    “At me,” he mused.
    “No.” If he could make me angry, or feel anything for that matter, it would give him the ability to influence me. That was unacceptable.
    “Who then?” he asked, surprised. His cruelty in dragging this out enhanced my sense of control. Anger empowered me into open defiance. It felt good. My words were my weapons, not that they would change anything in the end.
    “Myself. Are you going to kill me or not?” I tasted the acid secreted by my hate filled words. I could feel my face tighten with resentment.
    “I don’t know.” He contemplated each word. “You are so . . . unique. It’s tempting to keep you as a prisoner for my own personal enjoyment. I did tell your friends I would keep you alive if they obeyed me.” Surprisingly, he sounded honorable.
    I caught myself staring at his flawless features, wishing Evil wasn’t so mesmerizing, so utterly enthralling. Evil was meant to be unattractive or faceless, like the men in the black masks. Perfection masking such corruption unsettled me, so I made the calculated choice to disconnect the majestic exterior from the inward man. It became unexpectedly easy then to admire the beauty and hate the man himself.
    “I will never enjoy satisfying you in any way, but I will enjoy seeing what happens to you afterward.” I could feel a smile actually slide across my face as I envisioned Kade severing the head from his body. I never expected to enjoy the idea of death, but there it was.
    “You seem quite anxious to get on with it, but I was wondering if you would humor me for a moment?” He studied me as he might analyze a rare gem.
    I shrugged.
    “Can I tell you a secret?” He continued to search my face with those beautiful eyes, but I didn’t know the question, the real, unspoken question.
    “Knock yourself out.” I meant it literally.
    He chuckled. “You are odd.”
    “That is not a secret.” My arms folded neatly over my stomach and my legs crossed leisurely, like I was listening to a story on a blanket in the grass.
    “Do you promise to behave while I tell you my secret, or should we remain like this, with my sword at your throat?” Hard, unforgiving eyes mirrored the angry edge in his voice.
    “I’m comfortable,” I mumbled half-heartedly.
    He stood up, exasperated, and swung his sword in a figure eight. The sword threatened to shred me into pieces while the blade hissed like an angry snake. My body petrified.
    “Will you be good?” His tone made it a demand, not a request.
    “I am good,” I growled. “There are no guarantees about my behavior. Kill me or release me!” I yelled. I had wanted to lie, to stroke his pride and weasel my way out from under the sword. Unfortunately for me, talking to Kliax was like talking to Kade. Lying was not just strenuous, it was impossible.
    “I won’t kill you or release you. Never forget that I am in charge.” His voice was not loud or angry. That would have been better. Smooth as velvet, the words seeped through me like poison, filled with scorn and malice. He stepped back a pace and dropped the blade to his side.
    “Fine!” I spat. I would escape. Meanwhile, I preferred a warden to an executioner.
    “I cannot believe I am about to do this,” he paced and forced out his breath, “to strip myself bare in front of you.”
    I sat bolt upright, turned my back toward him, and buried my face in my hands.
    “What are you hiding for?” he asked.
    “You said you were stripping bare.”
    He practically howled with laughter.

  7. Authors: David McKoy and Lynn Hallbrooks
    Title: Call Sign: Wrecking Crew (Storm Warning)
    Genre: Action/Adventure/Political Intrigue

    This excerpt is from Chapter 13:

    “Cool Razor, this is Warmonger, Dancer’s down and we need Eagle Feather now!”Mac says over the team comms.

    Crazy Larry jumps out of his dune buggy and looks Deb over. He only sees a few spots of blood on her shirt. He peeks under the vest and sees her St. Christopher medal caught by something. He knows the best plan is to leave the vest on. In order to keep Deb stable until medical help arrives, he devises a plan. He has his fellow team members support her on all sides. Deano on the passenger side can keep her from leaning right. Mac directly behind her to keep her from leaning back and with his arms gently around her waist to keep her from leaning forwards as well. Leaving J.T. and T.K. to rotate out, standing on her left side to keep her from falling out, T.K. is first up. As the men get into position, Crazy Larry retrieves the blood expanders from the other dune buggy. The medical personnel at FOB Sword were kind enough to give him this, everyone hoping that it would not need to be used at all. J.T. calls Major Ali on his secure cell phone.

    “Major Ali, this is J.T. Deb is down and we need someone with a medical degree as fast as possible. Crazy Larry is giving her some blood expanders as we’re speaking, but says this is way beyond any medics’ capabilities.”

    Major Ali says, “I am here with Mr. Wesson. I will tell him what is going on. Hold one.”

    In less than a minute Mr. Wesson has Major Ali’s phone and says, “What is your position?” J.T. gives his position as approximately 40 klicks from Baghdad. Mr. Wesson says, “Got it! Hang tight. Help is on its way.”

    Mr. Wesson phones BG Simons and explains the situation. Before the phone is completely in its cradle, Bull is out of his office running towards the Motor Pool. He swiftly gets the Military Police to assemble a convoy complete with doctors and a Stryker Mobile Surgical Unit.

    Meanwhile, the team is doing their best to keep Deb stable. Mac continually whispers in her ear, “Deb, darling you’re going to be …

  8. Hi!

    My name is Violet Yates and I am the author of Leaves of the Fall, a literary women’s fiction novella.

    Here is the link:

    I have 2 five star reviews at the moment.


    Rose brought her knuckles up to the glass window framed by the door and rapped twice. Nothing happened at first. Only the loud, disruptive honking from the ducks sliding about on the surface of the lake served as an interruption to the calm. She peered through a gap in the curtains, hoping for a glimpse of a friendly, familiar face, anything to put an end to this eerie silence. All within was dim and gloomy; only a tiny beam of light glowing within a fish tank kept the place from complete darkness.
    After Rose had waited several more minutes, she turned and began to pick her way through the grass, about to make a short cut to her car. It was then that she heard the thick, thumping footsteps of someone making their way across the cottage floors. Could it be the sound someone would make when using a cane or crutches? Her heart thrilled as she spun around, only to find an elderly woman had peeked through the curtained windows of the living room. The woman hefted one of the windows open and stuck her head out.
    “Yes?” The woman’s voice crackled, mighty loud for someone her age.
    Dumb-founded by the woman’s appearance, Rose found speech difficult, “I, I’m looking for someone. Ethan Hathaway.”
    “Why are you looking for him?”
    “I just want to see him. To know he’s okay,” was Rose’s lame response. She had never really thought out what she would say should a situation like this come up. In her fantasies, it was always Ethan who answered the door, not some strange old woman.
    “Why wouldn’t he be?” With her brow wrinkling, the woman took on the appearance of a witch, and it was all Rose could do not to flee from her sight.
    “I think I have the wrong house.”
    Just then, Rose felt another presence. A sound brought her focus to the dilapidated front deck, where a graying, elderly man stood on the top step, his hands on his hips.
    “You lookin’ for Ethan?”
    “Who are you?”
    “A friend.”
    “He’s gone. Moved. Used our address for mail for a while after he and Sherri split up. That’s all.”
    “That’s why I came here. I didn’t know where else to go. Can you tell me where he is?”
    With his beady gaze fixed on Rose, the old man wrinkled his forehead into a crease and pursed his lips, as if he were deep in thought.
    “What do you want with him, anyway?” he asked Rose.
    “He’s my friend. I want to see him,” Rose insisted. She hoped Sherri had not gotten to them first.
    “What’s your name?” The old woman inquired.
    “Rose,” Rose replied, thinking, oh great, Sherri had warned them.
    Instead of turning Rose away, the old woman ducked out of sight, coming back to the door a few minutes later. Cracking open the door just enough to slip a folded sheet of paper to the old man, she whispered something to him, before receding back into the gloom.
    “I don’t know what this is all about, but here. Ethan left this behind. Sorry we can’t help you more, but we haven’t heard from him in a long time.”
    Rose took the proffered paper and thanked the man. As she made her way back to her car, she opened it up and glanced at its contents.
    It was a list.
    Once she was back behind the wheel, Rose raised her eyes to the heavens, offering up a prayer of thanks.


    Real estate, Rose thought as she stared at the carefully written, tight script on the paper. Next to each address was a phone number. Rose sighed. At least she could be certain that Ethan had remained Upstate. That is, if this paper was any indication. But it was all she had to go on.
    Back home at her desk, Rose scanned the phone book and a New York State map, trying to get an idea of where the addresses were located. Other than the area code, the numbers were unfamiliar to her. After several minutes, she gave up and went online, pulling up a reverse number directory. Within no time at all, Rose had the information she needed. Two of the addresses were in Clifton Park, and three in East Greenbush. Both areas were influential, classy, and expensive, not at all what Rose would have expected from Ethan. He was the type of guy who would want to settle down in a remote, wooded area, isolated from the annoying quirks of neighbors. This, Rose surmised, had to be Sherri’s doing. At that moment, she hated her more than ever.

  9. Susana,

    I just wanted to say Thank You for doing this! You’re awesome.


    Violet Yates

  10. Violet Yates again…

    I would like to introduce another book, if I may…

    I have compiled a book of poetry entitled “Lost & Found.” It is confessional style, said to resemble Sylvia Plath.

    The link:

    An excerpt:

    The Fire (1999)
    In a twilight sky I stand alone tonight,
    Birds lie in shadow. I hide from sight.
    Alluringly, I almost feel your might.
    I am appealing to your darker side,
    The one you try so desperately to hide.
    I want to see you, my heart’s in ecstasy,
    Journey to the edge of euphoria with me.
    It’s mystical; it’s drifting; calling to us,
    Come closer to eternity tonight.
    Farther, farther, please feel me,
    It is destiny, do not fight.
    No one will know, hear my cry,
    Why must you stand so far?
    Don’t you see, must you justify?
    Come, come, my life is yours, feel my soul,
    Oh please stay don’t go.
    Love me hold me be mine right now,
    I want to be yours, I don’t care how.
    As the night sky creeps into day,
    Don’t hold your love away.

    Angels Fly (2001)
    Angels fly above you,
    On the wings of clouds.
    Where are you now; what is true?
    The light has been dimmed; there’s no end in sight,
    No fun or hope exists,
    They have taken flight.
    What has been, will always be,
    Though perhaps weaker.
    Once bold, now oddly meek.
    In a haze of cynicism, I sit tonight,
    Ironically plotting,
    To be what once was despised.
    Yet for survival, I plod wearily on,
    Attempting to glimpse,
    What I fear has gone.
    And still,
    Angels fly above you,
    And discover my wistful song.

    Thank you once again, Susana~

  11. From Space Turbulence
    by Alex Le Soum
    Genre – Science fiction murder mystery
    Price $2.99 from Amazon

    Aisha came onto the Freedom fully armed this time. She had a basket loaded with cleaning materials, rubber gloves, a large bin bag and Reeve to do the dirty work. She bent down and picked up an offending object from the floor, deciding to use the opportunity to instruct her young cousin on the importance of cleanliness in deep space.
    ‘Now, Reeve, what is this?’
    The boy stared at it in bemusement. ‘A very squashed half-eaten cheese sandwich?’ he offered hopefully.
    ‘No, Reeve. To a person inexperienced in space hygiene, it’s a very squashed half-eaten cheese sandwich. But we have to be more aware than that. What it is, Reeve, is a lethal concoction of salmonella and staphylococcus, lurking on our bridge floor waiting to contaminate the whole ship by seeding deadly microscopic organisms in our air conditioning system.’
    ‘Looks like a half-eaten cheese sandwich to me,’ Reeve muttered, dropping it distastefully into the bin bag.
    ‘Well, you’re wrong,’ snapped Aisha. ‘First of all, we have saliva. We can tell this because the sandwich is half-eaten.’
    ‘You just said it wasn’t a sandwich.’
    ‘Don’t be impertinent, Reeve. Alright, it’s a contaminated sandwich. Saliva carries an inordinate amount of germs, which have now been transferred onto the part eaten portion of the discarded sandwich. Then we have bacterial transfer from the fingers that extracted the sandwich from the plate and lifted it to the mouth. We have no idea where those fingers had been immediately prior to touching that sandwich.’
    ‘Why, what the hell do you think Hammer and Mysior were doing down here?’ Reeve asked curiously.
    ‘Nothing suitable for your young ears. The important point now is that we need to sanitise that area of floor where the sandwich was discarded.’
    ‘Contaminated sandwich,’ he corrected her. ‘You keep on calling it a plain sandwich, after you specifically told me not to.’
    ‘Reeve, you are being deliberately obtuse. Pass me the antibacterial swab and I’ll show you how I want you to sanitise the area.’
    She made him work methodically through a large area of the floor, patiently explaining the names of all the bacteria that might be lurking and the dangers they could cause if they entered the air conditioning system. Finally the floor was scrubbed and sanitised to her satisfaction. She stood back and surveyed their handiwork, smiling approvingly.
    The door swished open. Hammer nodded curtly to them and walked over to the weapons cupboard. ‘I couldn’t sleep, even though I’m dog tired,’ he said, hauling out half a dozen miscellaneous guns and knives impatiently when he couldn’t immediately find what he wanted. ‘Mysior thinks she’s homing in on the murderer, so I thought I’d get some extra ammo, just in case anything does kick off in the night.’ He moved to the next cupboard, throwing out a few filthy rags, a large and leaky can of gun oil, and some long brushes for cleaning barrels, caked in grease, before he found the box of bullets he wanted.
    An apple core, well into an advanced state of decomposition, slid in a straight line across the floor in the general direction of the bin bag, leaving a trail of slime in its wake. ‘Don’t know what that was doing in the ammo cupboard,’ he frowned. ‘Must have been Mal or one of the engineers. Carry on,’ he waved absently as he shoved the unwanted paraphernalia back into the cupboard and strolled casually out of the room.
    Aisha stared at the soiled floor. She looked up at Reeve dejectedly. ‘Of course, this is a working ship,’ she said with forced resignation, ‘so you have to expect a bit of dirt from time to time.’

  12. This is a great idea! Thanks!!

    I recently released a new paranormal romance titled Broken. Here’s the scoop:

    Author: David H. Burton
    Title: Broken
    Genre: paranormal romance

    A letter came by registered mail.

    It was from my mother.

    Had she not been dead for three months, it might have seemed less odd.

    The return address was care of the lawyer she had chosen to settle her affairs, but there was no mistaking the handwriting. The circular perfection of the “o” in Joan Gregory was unmistakable.

    I signed for the letter and thanked the courier, sending him on his way even though he lingered in the doorway. I don’t know if he was looking for a tip or waiting for me to play with his, but either way it wasn’t happening. I closed the door, perhaps a little too eagerly, and jiggled the envelope. Something slid around inside.

    It wasn’t like my mother to send something so late. The woman had conducted her affairs like she had everything else in life — calculated, efficient. I wasn’t sure what she could be sending so long after her passing. More than likely it had gotten lost in the lawyer’s office, and they’d just remembered to send it now.

    I plunked myself on the futon. The frame moaned a little — its time with me as a university student had not been kind.

    As I hacked open the envelope a key dropped to the parquet floor. A crisp letter awaited me, its message blunt.

    Dear Katherine,

    The key is to open a safety deposit box. The branch address and contact information is attached as well as the necessary legal papers granting you access. You will want to open it before your twenty-fourth birthday.


    Joan Gregory

    I tried not to roll my eyes at the fact she had formally signed the letter instead of the usual, ‘Your Mother’.

    A sigh escaped my lips. My twenty-fourth birthday was three days away. So it seemed her timing was impeccable.

    I sat for a moment, looking over the letter. Dancing around the back of my mind was the thought that this might be karma. Not the good kind either.

    The woman had left me nothing. Everything had been bequeathed to my brother, Geoffrey, with the exception of some shack in England. And that was only left to me because it was always handed down to the eldest child.

    I wish I could say that Geoff had shared some of his inheritance with me, but he’d kept it all. My mother had managed to successfully drive a wedge between my brother and me growing up — to the point that we rarely spoke now.

    I didn’t mourn her passing.

    I suppose that’s where the karma was coming back to bite me.

    I lay back on the sofa, stuffing a ratty throw pillow under my head.

    What the hell would she leave me in a box?

    As I pondered what plan the woman could have concocted, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I whipped my head in its direction. All I saw was the plant — a wilting ficus. The glance was instinctual — like when you think something’s there; like when you feel something is watching you; or worse, like when you’re convinced you saw a figure in the shadows, but you turn and it’s not there.

    Most people can brush it off.

    I can’t.

    I waited. For what exactly, I wasn’t sure, but I suppose I was expecting to catch sight of something that wasn’t really there. The pause had to have been nothing more than half a second, but it’d felt like ten. At the end of that seemingly prolonged moment I made a beeline for the kitchen. I tore through the cupboards searching for where I’d left my meds.

    Beside the cans of ravioli, the empty bottle waited.

    Trifluoperazine — it was the only thing that helped.

    The notion something was always looking over my shoulder had gotten worse lately. Hallucinations, the doctor had said. They’d become more frequent since my roommate’s brother had brought that blasted plant.

    It seemed odd I would blame a plant, but leafy greenness and I were not friends. Plants put me on edge. I was trying to let the thing die while Natalie was on vacation. I figured she’d be a little disappointed when she returned, but so be it. I couldn’t have a plant in here.

    I had another look at the ficus.

    Fortunately, there was nothing there. At its foot lay three dead leaves. I left them.

    At that point the phone rang.

    Although it startled me, I was relieved to be jerked back to reality. I shook my head, and tried to settle my nerves with a deep breath. Then I grabbed the cordless.

    Coincidentally, it was Chris — the guy who’d brought the plant.

    I hate coincidences. I almost didn’t answer, but he was a friend. And I tend not to think as clearly as I should around cute men with broad shoulders.

    “Hello?” I managed to choke into the receiver.

    “Hi, Katherine?” said the voice on the other end of the line. His voice was like warm sugar.

    “Oh, hey Chris, Natalie’s not here. She’s on vacation.”

    “Yeah, I know.”

    “Oh, did she call you? Does she need something?”

    “No. I was calling for you.”

    “Did I miss practice?” We played rugby together and I was pretty good about making practice regularly. But lately, my mind wasn’t where it should be. Again, I blamed the plant.

    “No,” he said. There was an awkward silence. “Um, I was just wondering if you wanted to go for coffee or something. With Natalie gone, I thought you might want some company.”

    Now, there was a surprise.

    It wasn’t the first time Natalie had disappeared for a prolonged period. In fact, she was rarely ever around. When she’d answered the ad for a female roommate, I never thought I’d have it so good. She paid her half of the rent and was almost never here.

    I wasn’t sure what her brother’s motives were, but something seemed a little odd.

    Chris was way out of my league.

    And I mean way.

    I play rugby and field hockey, so I’m not all that thin. My curly hair makes me look like Medusa on good days, and like I’d stuck my finger in a socket on the rest. I don’t generally wear makeup and I dress in what I like to call comfortable clothing. I don’t do demure and quiet. And I’m pretty sure I reek of man-repellent.

    That said, I did need some company.

    Besides, getting away from that plant in the corner wouldn’t hurt either.

    “Uh, sure,” I said. “When?”

    “How about now?” he asked.

    There was a knock at the door.

    My breath got stuck in my throat.

    Please don’t let that be him.

    I walked to answer it, curious if it was him, but hoping it wasn’t. It was a bit stalker-ish for my liking, even if he was cute.

    As I approached the door the ficus was calling my attention again. Like a magnet, it drew my eyes towards it.

    I nearly choked at what was there. I blinked, hoping it was just a reflection or trick of the light. Unfortunately, it was no use.

    Standing by the tree was a hairy, little green man with enormously large hands.

    I cursed myself for not having refilled my meds.

    Not a good time for a mental breakdown, Katherine. Pull it together.

    Chris cleared his throat on the other end of the phone, waiting for me to answer his question. The knock on the door got heavier. And the little man was motioning me towards him.

    I’m usually pretty good about picking my priorities, even under pressure. The first thing I needed to do was deal with Chris. It was only seconds I’d left him hanging there, but it couldn’t have been making much of an impression.

    “Uh, now’s not good,” I managed to say. “Eight o’clock okay?”

    I figured I would accomplish two things by putting him off until later. First, it allowed me to deal with whoever was hammering on my door. Second, it bought me some needed time to address the little problem that was perched under the ficus.

    There was hesitation on the other end of the phone before Chris finally said, “Yeah, that sounds fine. Casey’s okay?”

    The pounding on the door got more insistent.

    “No, Woody’s has better pool tables.”

    “Sounds good,” he said.

    I hung up, a little too quickly.

    Next was the door.

    I looked through the peephole.

    It was my brother, Geoff. I was sort of glad it was him. Surprised, but glad.

    “One sec!” I called. “I’m not decent!”

    I lied, but the knocking stopped which bought me a moment.

  13. Author: SB Jones
    Book: The Eternal Gateway: Requiem
    Genre: Sci-fi, Fantasy
    Amazon Link:
    B&N Link:


    Returning to the center command chair of the Colossus, Vincent gave the command to pursue Angela. Control engineers called into voice relay tubes to the engine rooms below. Workers moving fast pulled levers and applied breaks to the various systems of cables running throughout the massive airship that supplied power to the drive fans and navigation rudders. At the heart of the Colossus was a giant rune etched furnace. Inside contained a green fire that burned hot enough to melt iron. Long ago furnaces like this were used by master smiths with the aid of the Mage Council to forge weapons that would never break, or armor that was as light as cloth, but stronger than steel. Today only a small handful of rune furnaces exist, and even fewer who knew how to make them work.
    Bastiana stood at the front of the bridge. Her eyes were unfocused as she called out to the crew behind her where Angela was flying. “She is staying low between the buildings,” her arm pointed off to the east, “crossing the rail system and entering the business district.” Divination was one of the rarest forms of magic. Bastiana had a gift for the Divining art, a skill that had not gone unnoticed by Vincent when he found the girl years ago. Her ability to locate his enemies had allowed him to build a powerful criminal empire. Once word reached Vincent of anyone trying to establish their own territory or enterprise that interfered with his, they met a swift end. The same end the Keratin they were chasing was about to receive.
    “Increase altitude and cut her off,” instructed Vincent. “Bastiana, my dear, take a couple of men and go to the forward deck. You will have your new toy shortly.”
    Focus returned to Bastiana’s eyes as she sprinted to the lower decks to emerge on the front observation deck of the Colossus. The wind blew her short hair as light from the airship and city made it look like dancing dark flames. A fitting look, thought Vincent. It matches her youthful temper and the darker desires to have her own way, regardless of the cost.

  14. A.D. Bloom
    Bring Me the Head of the Buddha
    Science Fiction

    Here’s a taste:

    Two motorcycles rode in front of the limousine, and two kept guard in the rear. It was more security than was strictly necessary for a casual drive between the Reverse Cowgirl Club and the Baccha Bay City Georges Hotel, but the occupant of the limo had lived by the Rule of Overkill for years, and she wasn’t just concerned with security. A PornoPop megastar had image to consider, and the bikes Looked Good.
    The limousine was a piece of class itself, and its vintage, Bentley body had been augmented with a perfectly matching, custom-built extension to accommodate the dramatically increased length of the contemporary, extra-stretch frame underneath. It comfortably seated a driver and a bodyguard up front, and a party of twelve easily fit in the rear with room to get funky. The limo’s windows were the very soul of discretion and privacy and had been treated to withstand probing EM imaging bursts from anything less powerful than the main radar of a small warship.
    As this flagship of glamor cruised down the avenues of Baccha Bay City, it flew twin flags over the headlights. On each flag was a pair of gold breasts. Hi-5’s breasts. Tits, baby! You love ’em, I love ’em, and I’m so glad I’ve got ’em! Everyone knew the song. Everybody knew the flags. Everybody knew her tits, and Everybody knew Hi-5.
    Inside the limousine, speaking on a triple quantum encryption coms system sweet enough to make an NSA tech weep with joy, was the Queen, the King, the very Thing herself. She needed all the encryption because she was on the phone with Very Bad People, who paid Very Good Money. Hi-5 didn’t do it for the money, of course. She did it to be Bad.
    Since everything was allowed these days, most rock stars just didn’t have any Edge. In the Global Secular Alliance’s ultra-permissive world, even being the pioneer of PornoPop wasn’t Wrong enough to be Right. Rock was about Rebellion, and without it the shit just went flat. You had to work hard to be a Rebel these days.
    Hi-5 was down and dirty Spy-5 at the right times, but today she was workin’ for the Goddies. Her Hi-ness was on the encrypted phone talkin about,

    “Pickin’ up some Poor Little Lambs,
    Hi-5 is smugglin’ a Christmas Ham,
    For Morituri Friar Willi-am.
    If G.S.A. don’t like it, 5 don’t give a goddamn!
    ‘Cause Hi-5 won’t be held back like a dam holds Water.
    If you don’t think she should, then she bloody well Oughta.
    ‘Cause the gods of Rock don’t want to see no Nice guy, play-along Fool,
    They’d rather see a hot bitch piss in the Pool.
    While standin’ grand, bitch, ‘n grandstandin’.
    Hi-5 will break any Rule.
    Hottest bitch with a glock and a Tool!”

    Listening to Hi-5’s irrepressible flow, on the other end of the triple quantum encryption of her diction, was the Morituri terrorist Friar William, who was not a fan. When she finished her impromptu song, he set down the handset of his own triple-Q encryption station with relief.
    He hated talking to her.
    He couldn’t stand Hi-5, but he knew she’d bring him what he wanted, and what Friar William wanted was the Buddha. It had been a long day. Friar William hoped that killing Hi-5, and then the Buddha, was going to make him feel a lot better.

  15. Author: A.C. Douglas
    Book Title: A Deed of Dreadful Note (Kindle Edition)
    Genre: Mystery (Amateur Sleuth)

    === Begin Text ===
    “Oops,” he said.
    He said it quietly, almost offhandedly, with no trace of alarm, but it made Margaret Anne’s spine stiffen nevertheless. There was something evil-omened about that Oops.
    “Oops? What Oops?”
    “Go downstairs, Maggie. Now, please. Tell Mac to come up here.”
    “What is it?”
    “Margaret Anne….”
    “OK, OK, I’m going. No need to holler.”
    She returned in a minute with MacPherson in tow. He stepped ahead of her and walked over to Hirsch who again motioned his daughter to stay where she was, well away from the door. “What do we have, Sidney?”
    For answer, Hirsch, his hand still on the doorknob holding the door almost closed, pushed it gently open.
    The tranquil scene that greeted MacPherson’s gaze was appalling. The room was clearly the master bedroom, and in the murky half-light from the shaded single window it appeared undisturbed, everything neatly in place. Near the room’s center was a large, light-colored shag rug covering a portion of the planked floor, and on it could be seen the nude body of a woman, her form willowy, her skin translucently white. The body was set perfectly in a kneeling position, knees on the rug, feet together, her buttocks close to resting on her heels and from which there trailed something only dimly seen; something at once familiar and foreign. Her elegant back was sloped downward, her head resting on the rug face down, and her arms dropped on either side of her body slightly spread, the hands toward the feet palms up. Her hair was closely and roughly cropped, and across the side of her neck, starting just at the base of the skull and disappearing under the body at the jawbone, wandered a delicate rivulet of what appeared to be blood.
    MacPherson involuntarily sucked in a quick mouthful of air, and touching Hirsch on the shoulder to indicate to him to stay where he was, he stepped alone into the room. After viewing the scene at close hand, MacPherson walked quickly back into the hallway visibly shaken, the ruddy color drained from his face. “We’re not set up for this. I’m not set up for this,” he murmured. “I have to go outside to make some calls; I don’t want to use the house phone. Stay out of the room, Sidney, and don’t touch anything. You know the drill. I’ll be right back.” He turned and quickly went down the stairs.
    “I’ve been in there already,” Hirsch said softly to Margaret Anne, “but I have to go in again; in and out before Mac gets back. Stay right there, Maggie.”
    “I’m coming in with you.”
    “Margaret Anne….”
    “Don’t Margaret Anne me, Daddy.” Her words were measured; her voice indomitable. “I know you want to protect me from seeing whatever terrible thing is in that room, but I’m a full-grown woman in case the fact has escaped your notice, and you’re doing me no favor trying to protect me as if I were a little girl. I’m coming in with you, Daddy.”
    He started to protest again, then quietly shrugged his shoulders, and with arm extended, made a sweeping gesture of invitation toward the open door. “Keep your hands in your pockets,” he said as she entered past him, “and be careful where you step.”
    Margaret Anne’s mother had died in hospital, and she hadn’t been permitted to see the body, not even for a final goodbye. Following traditional Jewish custom, there had been no viewing, and at the funeral, also by Jewish custom, the plain pine coffin’s lid had been kept closed. This was the first dead person Margaret Anne had ever seen and it wasn’t likely she’d ever forget it, for the in-room view of the body revealed an added horror that could be seen only ambiguously from the doorway.
    === End Text ===


  16. This has me wanting to read. I have marked it. Great way to pull people in. It is very intriguing.

  17. Author Name: Kali Amanda Browne
    Book Title: Justified
    Genre: Crime


    “He pointed the gun at her and started shooting. Two, three times. I just can’t tell. It was so loud and up to then it seemed like the gun was a prop to make a point. I don’t think he meant to really use it. He just wanted somebody to listen. Then, he stared at her for the longest time. And I’m thinking, ‘I’m next.’ But he put it down. He put the gun down! Why would he do that, Sean? It makes no sense.”

    “There is no way to get into someone’s head, especially desperate people. Logic doesn’t factor into it, Ed.” Sean shrugged as he took more notes. “What happened next?”

    “I don’t really know. I see these pictures in my head and I see a dead body in there, but I’m not sure I believe everything in my head. I know I tried to grab the gun and when he realized I was going for it, he tried to pry it from me. The gun went off. I think I shot him. I know I got him off me and I kept shooting. I just kept shooting until it wouldn’t shoot anymore.” Ed shrugged pathetically, “And that’s pretty much it.”

    “Clarify something for me, Ed. When you were struggling for the gun, what exactly did he do?”

    Ed shook his head. “I don’t know.”

    “You don’t know? What the fuck do you mean you don’t know? What is that?”

    Ed looked frightened by the change in demeanor. “I had my eyes closed.”

    Sean stood there dumbfounded. He sat back down slowly. He opened his mouth but no sound came. He looked over Ed’s head. “Lieutenant, you have to listen to this!”

    Brass, it was getting serious now. Ed hunched his back and shoulders in an intimidated stance. He barely cast his eyes up to meet the new arrival.

    “This here is Ed Styles. He shot the gunman. But he cannot remember how it went down because he had his eyes closed.”

    The lieutenant looked straight at the detective and cocked his head questioningly. The men turned to Ed. “Why would you close your eyes, Ed?”

    “Well, Sean, I don’t usually handle guns. They frighten me and I was afraid I’d hit him,” Ed said. He sounded as naïve as you’d expect. The men clenched their jaws and you could literally feel the restraint they were engaged in just not to laugh.

    “I was afraid to die. I was afraid Paloma was dying or dead already and I just felt I had no choice but to start shooting. I just did not have the courage to face the man as I shot him,” Ed said and began sobbing again. The men’s faces hardened. “Today I killed a man. I woke up an average man and I end my day a murderer.”

    # # #

  18. That scene is actually funnier than you think, there is a bigger twist…

    • If you could, Kali, put your book up on the advertisements page (page two) so I can have all the info I need to post it in the genre section. I am sure some people might be interested.

      That goes for anyone else that didn’t advertise their book besides here. The page links for genres stay on the main screen permanently, but eventually this thread will fall down out of sight and only be accessible if someone searches for it.

  19. Thanks! I’ll be offline (it’s like being naked in public), but I’ll post later this evening. Thank you for giving authors this opportunity. Awesome.

  20. Thank you very much for giving authors an opportunity to promote themselves on your blog! I’d like to take the time to post information about my debut novel “The Necromancer’s Apprentice.” Here’s the info:

    1)Author name: R.M. Prioleau

    2) Book Title: The Necromancer’s Apprentice

    3) Genre: Gothic Fantasy

    4) Link to book:
    Barnes & Noble:
    CreateSpace (for the paperback edition):

    5) Excerpt from book (one page in length)
    (This is an excerpt from Chapter 5):

    The musty air of the dank caverns shifted as I noticed from my peripheral vision, the silhouette of a large figure moving around my fallen form swiftly as though assessing the situation. A snake-like hiss was heard moments later and I began feeling the weight of the rocks being heaved off of my broken body. When the last stone was hefted away, I felt my body get lifted and carried. I was convinced it was a humanoid creature; though, curiosity rose in my mind as to what sort of creature it was. The same putrid scent from earlier was also emanating more strongly from the stranger as my limp body was cradled in its arms. My eyes were barely open as I watched the darkness of the caverns transition into a natural, dim light that some of the cave’s minerals emitted.

    The creature walked with hastened steps to its destination, which appeared to be somewhat civilized. Several wooden cabinets and tables lined the walls of the small cavern I was carried into. Upon some of the tables were various types of potions and bottles that were haphazardly scattered about. I felt my body being placed upon a cool surface with my arms and legs spread apart and firmly secured in shackles. Moments later, once my eyes were fully opened, I found myself staring up at the stalactites above. Briefly, I stirred, attempting to move my body once more. The noise from the shackles inadvertently drew the creature’s attention, as well.

  21. I gave a friend the task of picking which page I should post, and they finally decided.

    Angela Wallace

    Phoenix Feather

    Paranormal romance

    Excerpt from Ch. 12:

    Aidan rolled over and hugged her pillow. She had stretched out on her bed to study and had fallen asleep. She had dreamed of fire—forest fires, hearth fires, battle fires. Dancing fires and roaring fires, weak candle flames and stealthy streams that snaked a path of destruction. Fire ran in her blood. She had felt a connection with the treacherous blaze the night before. She understood its power, like a vague memory of long ago. Sometimes she missed it, being able to live as she really was. She had grown so used to this form, this way of life. She thought of Trent and all those gloomy thoughts fled like shadows before a flame. She had wanted to be there the moment he got off work, but she had to work at the diner at that time, plus he would have been exhausted and in need of sleep. If she had learned anything over her centuries of chances and opportunities, it was patience.
    She heard a rapping at her door and rolled off the bed. Phoebe was supposed to be in class right now. Aidan opened the door to a head of large flowers. Trent looked around from behind the bouquet.
    “Hi,” he said.
    “Hi!” She opened the door wider so he could come in. “What are those for?”
    He lowered them so she could see his full face, which was still a little red, but he at least looked a bit rested. “A token to say I’m sorry I worried you last night. And because I thought it better not to put off doing nice things.”
    Aidan beamed in delight. The arrangement was gorgeous: gerbera daisies in orange and pink with darkened shades near the center, and mini yellow rosebuds, all arranged in a square ceramic holder with painted stripes in different light shades of similar colors.
    She took the arrangement from him and set it on the coffee table in her living room. They were lovely. “Are you sure you don’t just want a sneak peek at the cookies?” she said with a sly grin.
    “Would it get me one if I said yes?” he replied. His brown eyes danced with the playfulness he spoke with.

    • Really good Angela. The last couple paragraphs I thought you were Dee Henderson…which in my world is a high compliment.

      • Thanks Lynn! Actually, as part of my “research” for this book, I did study two of the O’Malley books and made notes on Henderson’s pacing, not just in the romance but also in balancing the romance with the suspense parts of her plots. I love those books too.

        • I’m reading “The Protector” right now. I’ve been looking at how she separates the different scenes as well as how she reintroduces things from previous books. I am hoping to incorporate some of that into our sequel once we get past the rough draft. Which I should get back to doing soon.

    • As you know, I have already read the book, but this is a good scene 🙂

  22. […] and upcoming books- Do you have one? A few months ago I had a blog post where authors could post excerpts of their books.  It went very well.  Now I would like to give […]

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