Don't Touch EBook Release Day!

Don't Touch is available on Smashwords today!

Blurb
Dr Ryan Reign has unlocked a gift she calls a curse. Detective Jackson Prince and his partner need her help to stop a serial killer before he murders again.

One problem Dr. Reign can't touch or be touched. She's become a recluse never leaving her home for fear of what she might'see'. Jackson knows he has to help her accept her gift or there will be more deaths. 

It takes a woman's touch to catch a killer. 

Excerpt 

 It had been months since she had ventured outside of her lawn. Ryan didn’t understand what was happening to her at first. Since the incident on her last day at work, she has tried to make sense of it. Or at least find out what it was and how to stop it.

            She sat at the computer nursing a cup of cocoa February in Florida was the dead of winter. It would be up in the seventies in another week but right now it was in the forties. Ryan was searching the net for the gazillionth time. VISIONS, VISIONS BY TOUCH, PSYCHIC were the search words she used. The screen blinked and an all too familiar list popped up. Near the bottom of the page was something different. “The Circle.”

            Clicking the link she waited not expecting anything. The site came up and they had all the usual. Tarot, crystals, books, psychic readings. “Usual BS, I could have just gone to Cassadaga for that.”

            Cassadaga fancied themselves the psychic capital. Might be, the entire town was palm readers, mind readers, astrologists, numerologist, you name the psychic brand and there was a store front for it. In the past they have had to block the town off on Friday the thirteenth and Halloween due to all the traffic and weirdness.

            Just as she rolled over to exit the page she saw a flashing box. “Have a question about your gift? No, I have a question about my curse though.”

            She typed in a brief description of her problem. When I touch stuff I see things. Am I crazy? Hitting send with her email, attached Ryan sat back and felt the sting of tears. How much more can she cry? Every day for the last who knows how long now she cried. About to sign off her mailbox blinked.

Hi Ryan,

            My name is Barbara. I have a gift like yours, it is called psychometry. Or object reading. You can see bits of others lives by touching things they touched. Especially when the emotions are strong.

            Ryan blinked psycom-a what? Object reading? Barbara went on to explain the positive and negative hands, one leaves an imprint the other can read it.  She shook her head and clicked reply. “I don’t care how it works. How do I turn it off?” Send. A few minutes later.

            You can’t turn it off. You can learn to control it. Which hand is your positive hand? The one you “see” with. It is usually the hand you write with. Use the opposite one more until you get control of your gift.

            “Get control! I want it gone!” She screamed furious. She hadn’t been able to go anywhere or even touch her sister without some kind of vision haunting her. Angry, she signed off and paced the floor.

           

            They pulled up into the driveway of an old Victorian home on the lake. Not many of these homes lasted through the ages but this one had been kept pristine. The detectives walked up the porch and noticed the furniture was covered in plastic sheets. Maybe the good doctor was gone on holiday, or playing a round of golf.  Thomas knocked on the door. The door opened a crack, he held up his badge. “Good afternoon, I’m Detective Thomas Lord and this is my partner Jackson Prince, is Dr. Reign home?”

            Ryan stepped back and wiped her face then opened the door a bit wider. “I’m Dr. Reign, is there a problem detective?”

            Jackson stepped closer to the door. “Dr. Ryan Reign?”

            Her eyes narrowed a bit. “Yes, Dr. Ryan Reign. Want to see my drivers license, Detective Prince or should I give it to his lordship?”

            Thomas shot Jackson a look then turned back and smiled warmly. “That won’t be necessary, I apologize we were uh… under the impression that…. Well what we’re here for is to ask you about one of the last cases you worked on.”

            She tilted her head a bit and glanced at the folder. “Which case?”

            Thomas opened the folder where she could see. “The murder of Jillian Hilliard.” The men watched as every bit of blood drained from her complexion. Ryan swayed and caught the door to stay upright. Jackson reached a steadying hand and she jumped back away from him.

            “Don’t! Don’t touch me! I’m… I’m sorry I can’t help you.” She slammed the door. Ryan leaned against the oak and slid to the floor sobbing hysterically as the vision she saw that day replayed its self. Only now it was worse she had a name to go with the horror she had to witness.

            Jackson shook his head as Thomas headed down the steps behind him. “I don’t understand, Jack, you were only trying to keep her from falling.”

            “I don’t’ think that was it. Every drop of blood drained from her body when you opened that file. What ever happened to her that day has that lady terrified.”

            That night Jackson couldn’t sleep. He had the sinking feeling this was going to get much worse before it got anywhere at all. 

 Grab your copy on Smashwords  for $.99 launch week special March 25th through 30th! 

Want to get a paperback copy or meet the author. Come see me March 30th at the Authors in the Park event Spring into Art! Get all the details here Events and Appearances  or AIP on Facebook 

Don't Touch the Author in the Park

Don’t Touch is in its final stretch on it’s journey being revamped for re-release. At the time of this books original release I was still new to this publishing world. Now that I’ve got a few notches in my belt of knowledge I decided to go back and give my beloved stories a fresh polish and new life.

It’s given me a chance to fall in love with the story and characters all over again. Don’t Touch will relaunch the first week of March! So keep an eye out for the big release announcement. Here’s a the blurb and revamped cover!

Blurb:

Detective Jackson Prince has to find a serial killer before he strikes again. Reclusive ex- forensic pathologist Ryan Reign is the only one who can help him. One problem, she can’t touch without experiencing sometimes frightening visions. Can Jackson find a way to touch her heart so they can stop the killer? 

You’ll be able to find both Don’t Touch and myself at the Authors In the Park event on March 30^th in Mt. Dora, Florida from 2:30pm until 8pm selling and signing books. I’ll be joined by 11 other Lake County authors. There will be free appetizers of wine and cheese from One Flight Up Café, live entertainment and a gallery walk of local artists.

It’s going to be a fantastic day so mark your calendar to come and join us!

Now for my ROW80 goals.With the preparation for this event and working to get Don’t Touch I’m making a few revisions to the goal list. I have to say ROW80 has been an awesome and encouraging experience to share and see other's posting about their own goals and progress. Okay here we go new goals for this week...

Goals for week 5:
Edit like mad
Work on getting promo and table items for event

Start putting together flash collection number one! That’s right keep your eyes peeled for two upcoming collections of flash stories on Smashwords and Amazon!

For more about Authors in the Park and the other authors attending with me check out their FB page: Authors in the Park on Twitter you can look for #AIP and #DontTouch for release news.  

Whew, I’m worn out from just thinking of all that. Are you making progress on your goals? 

One Word/60 Seconds: Texture

The detective rolled the over body. The texture of the tile and pooling of blood under the skin made markings on her body that looked like tribal paint. The tribe of death, she died too young and he was getting too damn old for this kind of case.


OneWord.com is a website for getting the muse warmed up. Each day you get one word and sixty seconds in which to write what it inspires.This is my entry for today's One Word. What's yours? For more of my past One Word entries check out my One Word Profile EliseV

A Grand Murder Giveaway and Author Chat with Stacy Verdick Case

The Ludis welcomes author, Stacy Verdick Case to the arena for a chat about her latest release A Grand Murder, and to give away a signed print copy to one lucky reader! To enter just comment below for your name to be placed into the hat. The winner will be chosen  and announced on Saturday, January 21st.
Now it's time to lean back in your chair with a nice hot cuppa and enjoy our chat with Stacy.

Tell us a bit about your book A Grand Murder.

A Grand Murder is the first book to follow Catherine O’Brien a St. Paul, Minnesota homicide detective with a monstrous coffee habit, frequent bad hair days, and in irreverent outlook on life. It’s a fun, fast paced mystery, so if want to read something hardboiled you’ll have to keep looking. 

Did you learn something new about yourself or the writing process while working on A Grand Murder?

Yes, I learned I was homicidal.  Prior to this, I was writing romance. I thought I was a lover not a fighter.

You have both fiction and non-fiction works published. How is writing one different than the other?

Non-fiction is about writing with clarity, and a singular topic in mind. For instance when I write articles on creating a hook at the end of your chapter or scene to keep readers turning pages I don’t go off on a self-editing tangent.

With fiction you get to be a little bit looser with focus. You have your main plot of course which carries through the whole thing but you can also throw in several subplots or vignettes throughout.

The language is different too. Writing non-fiction for me takes on a more formal tone, unless it’s a blog post, where with fiction I get to have a little fun with my word choices.

Non-fiction is faster for me to write, because I don’t have to invent the wheel. It’s all facts. In fiction you have to create time and place, which is a much slower process.

Where did you get the inspiration for A Grand Murder?

I wanted to kill my former boss.  See, I told you that I learned I was homicidal! He absconded with a large sum of my money, and it was the first time I believed that I was actually capable of killing another human being, so I did, on paper. I think that’s healthier than actually killing someone.

I felt a lot better about that instinct after a former detective told me that, for women, the number one reason they commit murder is money. I would have thought love but no. Apparently, steal my man and I’ll bounce back, but steal my money and may God have mercy on your soul.

The whole process was very cathartic for me. I no longer wish to harm that person.

Do you have a daily writing routine or process?

Yes, I write for a half an hour every morning before I leave for work. I also carry my notebook with me everywhere so I can sneak in writing time whenever I have a chance. Doctors who are running late, oil changes, long bank lines, are all a blessing to me. I got a whole chapter written during a really boring meeting once. I probably shouldn’t have said that.

Tell us three little known things about Stacy Verdick Case

1)      I don’t think anyone outside my family knows that I’m extremely sentimental. I have every card my husband’s ever given me.

2)      I cry at the drop of the hat. My family’s nickname for me is the weeping willow.

3)      I’m afraid to fly but I once flew a plane for the experience of it.

If you could spend the day in your book would you? And what would you do?

Yes, I would love to be an observer in my book. Maybe an office worker at the precinct, so I could watch the interactions of Catherine and Louise the two main characters. I think that would be fun.

Do you have a favorite part of A Grand Murder? If so please share it with us and why it’s your favorite.

I love all the interactions between Catherine and her husband Gavin. I think it gives a different perspective on the character and shows her softer side. Of course, there’s also a scene where Louise accidently knocks a man unconscious that I think is funny, and Catherine get’s a lot of mileage out of it in the book.

Most writers are also avid readers, what are you reading now?

I always have one print and one audio going at the same time (my commute would be miserable without audio books). The print book is Web Thinking: Connecting, Not Competing, For Success by Dr. Linda Seger. All of Linda’s books are like gold to me, and I’ve read this one before but it’s worth reading over again. The audio of the moment is The Taker by Alma Katsu.

The age old question…… Coke or Pepsi?

Coke!

Any news to share for upcoming events, new projects, or releases?

Yes, A Grand Murder has an audio book release, which I’m really excited about. My Mom has macular degeneration, so I lobbied hard for an audio book.

What would you like to say to your readers and fellow writers?

To my readers, THANK YOU for choosing A Grand Murder, I feel so blessed that you would take time to read my book. An extra special thank you to those who have reviewed it, clicked a like button, or clicked on a star rating on various sites, doing so has given my little book legs. I am so thankful and humbled.

To my fellow writers I wish I could hug all of you. I know how hard it is to juggle everything in your life. If you are compelled to do this then you must keep writing.

Thank you Stacy for joining us in the Ludis and sharing a bit of your book and life. 

You can find Stacey Verdick Case at www.stacyverdickcase.com and Before the Fall Publishing 

A Grand Murder is available in paperback, audio, and for the Nook at Barnes&Noble 

Don't forget to leave a comment for Stacy or Gladiator's Pen to be entered in the drawing for a chance to win a signed print copy of A Grand Murder.  The winner will be drawn and announced on Saturday January 21st. Good luck and thanks for stopping by. 

Cóiste Bodhar The Black Coach

A wail cuts through the night, a warning, the black coach is coming for him. The dying man pulled himself from his bed. He fought with his weakened body to reach the door and lock it tight. He called his wife to push the dresser over, blockade them in. Maybe it would stop him.

The banshee’s wail called the Dullahan from slumber. The large chest took a deep waking breath; he could feel the moon high in the darkened sky. It was time once again to ride. He walked out to the barn hidden deep in the black forest. The nightmares that would pull him through the night stamped impatient to run.

No ordinary horses were these. Their coats shone black as oil, red eyes shaped like almonds, they were evil souls cursed to live eternity as demon spirits in his service. He fastened them in their harnesses and led the beasts to the coach.

His half-rotted flesh began to work the straps and buckles. The nightmares screamed into the night anxious to be on their way. Hooves dug at the earth impatient and sparked flame. He stroked the beat’s neck, he felt it too, the call of the dying.

The  Dullahan climbed aboard and took the reins. The nightmares reared and screamed as they took to the unseen road.

The living did not see him but felt the cold chill down their backs as he passed. The night became darker, thicker with dread as he road toward his destination. His arm drew back to crack his bone whip, the spine snapped and spurred the beasts into a full run.

Men woke and cried out with terrifying dreams, women wept in their sleep. Death was coming.

The dark coachman pulled the beasts to a stop, their destination before them. He stepped down to earth once more and it trembled beneath his boot.

The slowing beats of his soon to be passenger’s heart pulsed in the Dullahan’s veins. He was the harbinger, nothing could stand in his way. The gate opened at his approach. The front door on the modest cottage swung inward.

The dying man cried out for mercy as the candles snuffed leaving him and his wife in darkness. A loud scrape echoed in the room as the dresser moved aside, pulled by an invisible force. The locks he was so sure were strong enough to hold tumbled and turned, the final door opened with a creak of bone on bone.

The dying screamed as he watched the dark creature walk toward him. The barrel-sized chest taking deep breaths, beneath the cloak’s hood there was nothing but darkness. The wife looked into it and felt the emptiness there, as though she stared into the pits of hell itself. She covered her own mouth to hold back her horror.

The Dullahan reached into the dying man’s chest with its black hand and tore out his soul. The man’s corpse gave one last breath in life. The spirit struggled in the grip of death as he was escorted out to the black coach. The coach’s door opened beckoning the soul to enter and be taken to his fate. 

The wife cried out as her husband’s essence stepped inside. The dark coachmen growled low, her skin turned to gooseflesh, her hair stood on end. The Dullahan turned toward her, she screamed and begged him to not to take her.

The coachman dowsed the wife with the blood of the dead. A mark, she would live this night and maybe the next, but at the banshee’s next cry he would come for her first.

He mounted the coach and cracked his bone whip.  Cóiste Bodhar and its headless coachmen rode into the darkest part of night to carry their passenger to Death.

Mark Everett Stone Shares Some Things to Do In Denver When You're Undead

Gladiator's Pen welcomes Mark Everett Stone to the Ludus. He's here for a chat and to celebrate the release of Things to Do in Denver When You're Undead. So refill your cuppa and enjoy our visit.

What do you think makes a good story?

I don’t believe it’s just one or two things. It’s a combination of all the elements…plot, pacing, dialogue, character development, efficient use of metaphors and similes, etc, etc.  It’s like cooking a great stew, if all the ingredients are there…wow, you’ve had a memorable meal. If one or two ingredients are off, no big deal, you still have a satisfying meal, but if you screw up or miss too many of the important ingredients, well…you have a mess.

Tell us about Things to Do in Denver When You’re Undead

It’s the story of Kal Hakala, a Finnish-American agent with the Bureau of Supernatural Investigation, an ultra-secret government organization that combats Supernatural creatures. The book delves into his past, his obsessions and his hatred, things that make him a great agent, but a very damaged human being. I like damaged people, they’re more…real to me somehow.

How did this story idea come to you?

I was lying in bed trying go to sleep when I began to think about a movie I’d just seen, Things to do in Denver when you’re dead, starring Andy Garcia. Now, I do like a good zombie book, so I idly added the ‘un’ to the ‘dead’ and, viola, the seed was planted. It was all gravy after that. I added the Finnish element to the story because I’m a Finnish-American, and decided on a dark, sarcastic tale.

Tell us about three things on your writing desk

1) The remote control to the tv. I find that the background noise of semi-quality television helps me write and provides inspiration when I need it. Not that I steal from what I’m listening to, even commercials can help jog the creative processes. Well, they do for me, but I’m a little twisted, so there you go.

2) A Christmas pic of my family. I know it sounds cheesy and contrived, but they’re my real inspiration. If I’m feeling down, or blocked, all I have to do is look at my wife and kids and wham! baby, I’m back.

3) My kindle. I read when I need to decompress. I wish I could read more, but I have a very busy life with 2 kids driving me to distraction.

Do you have a writing routine? Do you think it is important to have one?

Damn skippy I have a routine. I think it helps me maintain discipline when writing and discipline is very important for me or I’d never get anything written.

What made you choose writing for a career or did it choose you?

Writing snuck up on me, clubbed me over the head, hog-tied me and has never let me go. Hmmm…there’s an S&M joke in there somewhere.

What would you do for a Klondike Bar?

Vote a straight Republican ticket. Then, after I finished the Bar, I’d shoot myself in shame.

Do you have anything new you’re working on? Can you tell us about it?

Sure, I love talking about myself, it’s my favorite subject! The sequel for Things to do in Denver when you’re undead is almost finished. It’s called What happens in Vegas, dies in Vegas. Vegas is more action-oriented than Denver because I have no need for a lot of plot exposition, I can just dive on in and have fun. That was the one thing I wanted when writing the sequel was to have as much fun as possible, really sink my teeth into creating an enjoyable book.

What is the one thing you want readers to get out of reading Things to Do in Denver When You’re Dead?

Hey, if the book can make someone forget the outside world for a few hours, be entertaining and fun, then I’ve done my job. I don’t expect it to appeal to everyone, that’s foolish, but I hope there are people who put it down with a smile on their faces.

Where can we find you and your books?

Camel Press, Amazon.com, B&N.com, Smashwords, etc. Hopefully it will catch on enough that it will go mainstream and hit stores across the U.S. I know that’s kind of out there, but a man can dream, right?

Thank you so much Mark for joining us. Looking forward to reading Things to Do in Denver When You're Undead. For more about Mark Everett Stone and his books check out his blog at Mark's Blog  

To purchase you can click one of the buttons below. 

24 Hours

Eric grimaced and groaned as he peeled his eyes open. His hand shot up to block the bright beam shining though a hole in the curtain. “What the…”

When he rolled to his side away from the light he felt the thrumming of a hangover. This seemed more than just too much Johnny Walker. Eric sat up and tried to focus though the haze in his mind.

The room wasn’t his. He looked around the cheap dive of a hotel room and immediately wanted a shower. There was no memory of coming here. He wouldn’t set up roaches to stay in the, he looked at the sticker on the front of the telephone, Fox Trot Motel.

The last thing he remembered was standing at the bar talking to a hot blonde with kissable pouty lips.

His foot brushed something on the floor. He reached down and picked up a black satin bra. Oh, I can’t have forgotten this?

Hand combing though his hair, he stood and followed the trail of female clothing to the bathroom door. From behind the practically closed door, he could hear the shower running. Puffs of steam hit his skin as he reached for the knob.

He noticed a square of white gauze taped to his arm. What the hell?

Eric yanked off the tape. He flinched as each hair pulled and stung, but not as much as what he saw. A tattoo in western style letters that read, “24 hours”. What did that mean?  He licked his thumb and rubbed at the ink.

It was raw and sore but the ink didn’t even smudge. It was a real tat, now he was angry as he grabbed the door and pulled it open. “Okay, I want some… answers.”

Eric stopped. There was a rancid smell in the steamy air. His breath stilled as his mind tried to accept the sight. The tub was half filled with bloody water and the body of a lifeless woman.

Her dark hair caked with blood rested over her paled skin, the color of the porcelain tub. Blank and staring her eyes locked on his and he was finally able to see the gaping wound on her head.

Eric recognized her as the bartender from the club. He stumbled back into the bedroom shaking his head. “No… no, no, no, this isn’t happening. I didn’t do anything… oh God what happened?”

His hand drug across the top of the dresser, a set of keys pushed to the floor with a clank that made him jump and turn.

Out of here, he had to get out of here. He searched the room for his things. His clothes had been neatly folded and placed in the top dresser drawer. His wallet was still tucked into the back pocket of his jeans. He checked it, all his cards and money were there.

Eric jerked the pants on and scanned the room. His cell phone was missing; maybe it’s in the car. He stooped to grab the keys from the floor then paused. They weren’t his keys.

Frantic he searched the room he shouldn’t be here. The maid would come and he would be caught. They would haul him off to jail for murder. He didn’t kill her, at least he doesn’t think so.

He doesn’t remember anything past drinks at the bar. What couldn’t he remember? He must have been drugged, that’s the reason he felt hazy. Eric dropped to his knees and looked under the bed. “Where are those keys?”

He stopped searching when he heard a cell phone ringing from inside the dresser. He began to pull open the drawers until he came to a cell phone still ringing and a photograph of him and the bartender kissing in the parking lot of the motel.

It was the same girl in the tub. No, this girl was smiling and her eyes had life in them. He remembers flirting with her when he picked up drinks for his friends.

The ringing stopped but Eric didn’t notice his eyes were locked on that photograph. He picked it up ripping it in pieces. He started to drop it into the trash. They can put it back together.

Instead, he crammed the pieces into his jeans pocket. He paced the room trying to think. He cannot leave any trace… he had just left his prints on every surface looking for his keys.

Eric ran into the bathroom and grabbed a towel to wipe down the room when the strange phone in the drawer rang again, this time with a text. He looked at the screen on the phone as it lay in the drawer. 

“Eric, answer the phone.”

They knew his name. He breathed a sigh of relief; it had all been a prank. Jerks, he thought. The phone rang and he answered this time. “You guys are in so much trouble. How much did you pay that girl to play dead? “  

The voice on the other end of the call sent a chill down his spine. “I know what you did last night, Eric. Help me and I will make sure no one else knows.”

Hand shaking he combed though his hair and paced. His heart raced, his eyes darted to the bathroom, nothing happened… nothing happened last night.  “Know what? You don’t know anything. Who is this?”

Breathing was the only sound he heard though the phone. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I didn’t do anything. Nothing happened. Do you hear me? Nothing… happened.”

The voice was calm as it spoke low, the sound like gravel turned into words. “I know, the police will know, unless you do as I say for 24 hours.”

Eric looked down at the tattoo on his arm. He was trapped there was no other way out other than to call the cops. Then he has to hope they can find evidence of a real killer. Unless…

He had no memory of last night. What if whatever they slipped him made him do something? What if he is the killer? Coerced or not the rest of his life would be in a 10x10 cell.

He was boxed in, there was nothing he could do. Except buy time to try and remember. “What do you want?”

To Be Continued…..