Monday, October 31, 2011

One-liners 66-70

Here are the last five one-liners, including today's. Feel free to use them to help stimulate your own writing or just to think about in the context of a larger story. Hope you're enjoying them.

One-liner 66: "The best solution for aching joints," muttered the old man, "is alcohol ... lots and lots of alcohol." #write #prompt

One-liner 67: "I can't take it anymore," shouted the man, his mime mascara running from the sun. Lifting his shotgun, he took aim. #write

One-liner 68: "They say money is the root of all evil, but without it, how am I supposed to watch TV?" shouted the college student. #write

One-liner 69: "Can someone count the tire treads and tell me how many times I was thrown under the bus today?" shouted the teacher. #write

One-liner 70: "Gruesome!" shouted Brad. "That costume's just hideous."Blood dripped from Sam's shirt, and he shivered."What costume?" #write

Weston Kincade ~ Author of Invisible Dawn and A Life of Death

Final Day of Halloween Blog Hop! Enter to win!

Halloween is finally here. I hope all you young'ns are ready for a sweet-filled evening full of haunted houses, screams, and gore gallore. Angel Haze, the host of this blog hop, has put together the best highlights from all of the interviews for everyone to see. In addition, she's capping the holiday off with a literary blast, giving away free ebooks and even some signed paperback copies by participating authors, including J.L. Murphey, Nicholas Olivo, J.D. Stroube, Nina Perez, Lisa McCourt Hollar, Doug Dorow, Jim Bronyaur, me, and Angel Haze herself. And it's all free. Enter to win here. Have a Spooktacular Halloween, and thanks for joining us this month.

Weston Kincade ~ Author of Invisible Dawn and A Life of Death

Saturday, October 29, 2011

Interview with Author, Nina Perez

Today we have a special visit from Nina Perez, author of The Twin Prophesies: Rebirth. Nina is the last scheduled Author interview this month and also hosts a variety of blogs and sites. To find out more about them, please visit the links after the interview.

About The Author
Nina Perez is the head blogger over at Blog It Out, B*tch. Okay, she's the only blogger. A collection of the best of those blogs will be released in paperback and for the Kindle in October 2011.
She is also a contributor to Choose or DieElephant Words and one of the merry band of independent authors rocking it hard at the Literary Underground. Her short story, Amongst the Tulips, was published in Foliate Oaks online literary magazine and their editors voted it one of the best short stories of 2009. She also runs the book review site for independent authors, Nina's Nightstand.
In other words: She likes to write. A lot.
The Twin Prophecies: Rebirth is her first novel. The Twin Prophecies: Origins will be released in the spring of 2012. You can follow Nina on Twitter and Facebook. Or email her at twinprophecies (at) gmail (dot) com.

Weston: Nina, thank you for coming and giving us a brief view into your life and opinions on Halloween. So what does the holiday mean to you?

Nina: Scrambling every year to start a costume search for my kids, hoping I can find something appropriate for my daughter, and trying my best not to jump them for their candy the moment they return from trick-or-treating.

Weston: Haha, I feel for you there. Exercise that willpower. Isn't it a shame there isn't more for adults to do to celebrate this season. I know you're busy, so I'll keep this short and sweet. Speaking of sweet, I think everyone looks at Halloween as a snapshot in the year when they can exercise their sweet tooth. What's your favorite candy over this haunted holiday?

Nina: Those miniature Snickers. I could eat a whole bag. 

Weston: Those are certainly appetizing. I'm sure even the monsters have to exercise willpower to keep from pigging out on chocolate during this time of the year. If you could choose one of the creatures to be, which would you pick, and not necessarily because of their predilection toward chocolate.

Nina: A vampire. They've got the coolest gig with all the staying up all night and living forever. 

Weston: True. There are certainly some positives to being a Vampire. Although, I'm not sure I could deal with the eternal chill of no heart beat, blood circulation, or bodily warmth. Thank you for joining us Nina and for giving us a brief glimpse into your great book.

The Twin Prophecies: Rebirth by Nina Perez

High school sophomores Jack Morrow and Violet Ross don’t know each other, but they have similar secrets: she can feel the emotions of others and when he touches people, he can see their future. A tragic accident thrusts them into a world where they learn an even bigger secret: all the mythical beings they believed to be fictional are real.
Guided by prophecies predicting the end of the world, the mysterious Dr. Tesla - who leads an alliance of supernatural beings - helps Jack and Violet come to terms with this secret world, control the growing powers within them, and face an unspeakable evil determined to possess their very souls.
Rebirth is the first in a series that follows Violet Ross; sarcastic, smart, rebellious and Jack Morrow; sensitive, brave and loyal, as they unlock the mysteries behind magic as old as time, team up with a centuries-old vampire, and expose the corruption within the inner sanctum of a secret alliance - all while trying to graduate from high school.

The two bridges that crossed the Preston River, connecting Little City to South Rosemont, were the Sagaw and the Newton. The Newton went from the warehouse district of Little City into the west side of South Rosemont and the Sagaw started at the tip of the shopping district and deposited commuters on the east side. Residents joked that from the sky you could tell the annual income of each side of South Rosemont simply by the make and model of the cars going across either bridge - the east side residents tending to be a bit more of the working-stiff variety. 
Either way, it wasn’t something spoken about too often or too loudly. Rosemont residents liked to think that no matter their socioeconomic divisions, they were still better off than people living in a city like Philadelphia or New York. They considered Rosemont one of the best truly all-American small towns on the east coast. 
            Like all small towns, Rosemont had its traditions and stories, passed down from generation to the next, losing a bit of detail and truth along the way. There were incidents the town would never forget, like the time a fire claimed the lives of ten nuns in a Catholic church in southwest Rosemont. That story was told so many times in so many ways, that by the latest retelling, the nuns’ screams could be heard for miles before the fire trucks arrived. In truth, the nuns had been long dead – suffocated on the smoke - before anyone knew to call for help.
            For many years people would talk about what happened on Maclean Road one evening in early September. They’d talk about the bizarreness of the accident and the sadness of it all. And, one day, they’d talk about how that was the start of everything.
            Diane Morrow and Marianne Ross thought nothing of it when their husbands each took the wrong bridge home. It would have made more sense for the Morrows to have taken the Sagaw, and the Rosses the Newton, considering where they lived, but the women were so content from a wonderful night of good food and conversation that they welcomed the extra time the scenic routes provided.
Diane rested her hand on Nick’s thigh as he drove, looking out the window and smiling to herself. The Preston River was calm to their right and the nearly naked trees of the woods swayed to their left. Dinner with the Loebs had gone well. Joseph Loeb was building a community of condos outside of Philadelphia and Nick wanted in on the contract. He could use the work, and they could use the money.  Nick hummed as he drove, and Diane knew he thought the dinner had been a success as well.
            Heading westward, the Rosses were also feeling good about life.  They had no financial worries – their issue was time. After all these years, Marianne’s hours at the hospital still caused problems. The couple could go days without seeing each other and family meals were often Brad and Violet eating alone at the island in the kitchen, for it seemed a waste to set the table for only two. Date Night provided them with the opportunity to reconnect, recharge, and rekindle.
            Marianne leaned forward, looking past Brad to get a better view of the river. In the moonlight, the water looked as endless as the sky and shimmered like onyx. It reminded her of the evening they’d had an anniversary dinner there; a nighttime picnic under the stars. It would be the last happy thought she’d ever have.
            She opened her mouth to recall the memory aloud when Brad jerked the steering wheel of their mid-size SUV sharply to the left, into the other lane of traffic. Where it had seemed just a moment before that they were the only ones on the road for a mile in either direction, Marianne was now staring in horror at two headlights, coming at them fast.
            In the other car, Diane screamed for Nick to look out, and briefly thought they were going to avoid the accident. Nick stared straight ahead, but instead of swerving or applying the brakes, he pressed down hard on the accelerator and pointed the nose of their sedan directly at the SUV.
            He never stopped humming.
            Metal met metal. The engine of the late-model sedan entered the front of the car, shredding Nick Morrow’s lower half and killing him instantly. The Ross’ SUV rose up from the rear, threatening to flip the whole vehicle upside down, atop the sedan. Instead, as the sedan spun violently towards the river, the momentum caused the SUV to spin too, and land on its side. Brad Ross died instantly as well; his neck broken.
            When it was over, Marianne Ross lay pinned inside her car listening to the hiss of steam, the leaking of fluids and her own struggle to breathe as her lungs filled with blood. She’d been a nurse long enough to know what was happening to her. 
A few feet away in the mangled sedan, stopped dangerously close to going into the river by a guardrail, Diane Morrow was also dying. She thought about only one thing: Jack. She knew he’d be taken care of, but it wouldn’t be the same. A child needs a mother.
As Marianne felt herself fading away, there was great sadness that she wouldn’t see Violet graduate high school, get married and have children of her own. A girl would need her mother for such things.
            As both women let go of the last threads of life, they prayed their children would have a mother to care for them, somehow. And though they had never met, their last thoughts were of each other.

The Twin Prophecies: Rebirth is available at for the Kindle and in paperback:

Or to win free copies of ebooks or your own signed paperbacks from participating authors, visit Angel Haze's Halloween Blog Hop page.

Weston Kincade ~ Author of Invisible Dawn and A Life of Death

Friday, October 28, 2011

Podiobook Update on A Life of Death

Well, after having the audiobook up for a week and a half, numbers seem to be saying that people like A Life of Death. 43 people are subscribed and listening on, awaiting further episodes, and over 1045 people have listened to the book since it went up on October 17th. There are 7 episodes available and I am finishing up more. I seem to be getting about 2 episodes published per week. Tomorrow night, I hope to have two more up. Hope it is as entertaining for you to listen to as it is for me to make.

Update on the update... Still working on it. Life keeps getting in the way, but the next two episodes will be released this week.

Weston Kincade ~ Author of Invisible Dawn and A Life of Death

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Appearance Deux with Nicholas Olivo

Nicholas Olivo, author of Imperium, is helping to promote my debut novel today, Invisible Dawn. Check it out and enter to win free books from great authors at Nicholas Olivo's Blog.

Weston Kincade ~ Author of Invisible Dawn and A Life of Death

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Author Update with Angel Haze

Earlier this month I interviewed Angel Haze, author of Bloodletter and War of the Witch. As a special treat, Angel provided me with an excerpt of her second book which looks really good. So, without further delay, here is War of the Witch by Angel Haze.

Legacies of Talimura: War of the Witch

Debonair, a witch from the Unspoken Lands, has meddled in the forbidden practice of magic and created an army of nightmarish proportions. When sixteen-year-old Astanyx and his two best friends return from a hunting trip to find their small town of Polca reduced to smoke and ash, they find themselves thrust into a battle for which they haven’t been trained.

With the help of his comrades, including an esteemed warrior, one of the last great wizards and a princess they’ve sworn to protect, Astanyx must fight to unite the kingdoms of the humans, dwarves and elves. He must ask forbidden questions that no one wants to answer, questions about Talimura’s dark history. As Debonair’s brutal warriors lay siege to the kingdoms, Astanyx is driven to pursue a fateful quest for a blade powerful enough to defeat the malevolent witch before she destroys the three kingdoms and unleashes an unspeakable ancient evil.



Chapter 1:

Smoke and Ash

You’re surrounded, Astanyx thought as he waited silently behind a bush, his hands steady, pulling back the string on his short bow. Barclay was positioned twenty feet to his left and Ramza to his right, each armed and ready, waiting for the opportune moment.
Sweat beaded on his brow from the late afternoon sun, but Astanyx made no attempt to wipe it away. A single wrong move and it would all be over. The forest gave them cover, but it gave their prey cover as well. None of the sixteen-year-olds had a shot, so they waited.
The horacle was hidden behind a tree. It was bigger game than they would normally take on but, once they had come across it, Barclay had insisted upon hunting it, refusing to back down. He claimed that stumbling upon a horacle—a distracted horacle—was too fine of an opportunity to pass up. They had had little luck hunting in the forest that day and Barclay refused to return to the village—return to his father—with little more than a few rabbits. Astanyx couldn’t allow his friend to foolishly attempt to take it down without help, and so he and Ramza had agreed. Patiently, they held their positions.
Every few seconds, the tips of the horacle's horns poked out from behind the side of the great tree, greedy growls becoming muffled as it tore its fangs into the flesh of a rabbit.
It pushed the mutilated rabbit forward with its nose, exposing the beast’s head. Ravenously, it continued to tear its meal apart, wolfing it down as if it hadn’t eaten in weeks. The shine and thickness of the horacle's fur and thick muscular frame told him otherwise. It was merely in the horacle’s nature to be gluttonous and ferocious.
Slowly, it stepped forward, unaware that with each passing second, it was creating an opening for a shot.
The three boys waited with their bows. A few more seconds and Astanyx would have a shot. His body was still as he stared at the horacle with unblinking eyes.
Snarls and growls continued to escape the beast as it exposed its midsection.
One more second. . . .
A twig snapped, breaking the silence, giving away one of the hunters’ positions. Astanyx’s heart skipped a beat as the horacle’s head shot up, baring its teeth, clenching its three-inch claws. The horacle's nostril flared as it caught Astanyx's scent. Their eyes met and the roles of hunter and hunted instantly became reversed.
He stared with wide eyes as the fiery-eyed beast, blood dripping from its jaws and muscles rippling, began to charge toward him. Stiffness spread over him like a plague, beginning with his feet as it worked its way up. Astanyx managed one shot just as the hundred-pound beast leapt for him.
His arrow pierced the beast between its eyes just as Barclay's arrow struck the horacle's side. The beast released a ghastly shriek as it drew back in agony before it collapsing to the forest floor, a few feet away from Astanyx. He let out a breath, momentarily fixed on the horacle.
Barclay jumped from his hiding spot, dagger in hand, and sliced the horacle’s throat. He laughed and turned to Astanyx. “See? What did I tell you?”
Astanyx narrowed his eyes, his lips parting slightly as he slowly looked up in disbelief. He could hardly suppress the wave of emotions as he watched Barclay nonchalantly wipe the blood from his blade. Shaking his head, Astanyx turned to Ramza who rolled his eyes, both aware they had encountered an unnecessary close call.
Barclay cut down a branch from the great tree, one that would be strong enough to carry the horacle back to the village.
As they tied the horacle’s feet to the branch, Astanyx turned to Barclay, unable to hold his tongue any longer. “I don’t see why you had to take it on. We came out to hunt rabbits. It’s foolish to hunt a hunter just for food.”
“For Shiva’s sake, you could have opted out.”
“Don’t use the goddess’ name in vain,” said Astanyx. “Besides, I wouldn’t allow you to do it on your own.”
“I could have handled it. I killed it, didn’t I?” Barclay said with a smirk.
“We killed it,” Astanyx corrected him.
“Quit your bickering,” Ramza said. “Let’s just bring it to the village. We are already late. They’ll be expecting us to return about now.”
Given the circumstances, Astanyx would have preferred it to be Ramza on the other side of the branch and not Barclay, but he said nothing as they headed east through the dense forest, across the creek and up a hill. They had ventured farther than they had intended and had consequently delayed their return trip to the village by a few hours.
Though he tried to focus on the trail ahead, more than once Astanyx almost threw Barclay to the ground as he tripped over roots that could have easily been missed. Nonetheless, his gaze remained fixed on the beast. Even in death, the power and ferocity of the animal did not diminish. Every few seconds, he caught himself staring at it, watching for any signs of movement, half-expecting it to merely be unconscious and suddenly awaken and attack.
The image of the horacle as it charged at him, eyes burning with fury, blood dripping from its jaws, about to make him its next meal, flashed before Astanyx. What if their arrows had missed? What if two arrows hadn’t been enough? He shuddered, shaking his head of these thoughts. They hadn’t missed.
Even as the beast hung lifelessly from the pole, he wasn’t used to being this close to a predator and a horacle, nonetheless. Squirrels and rabbits were his main catch. His glance went from Barclay to the beast and back to Barclay who was walking proudly ahead.
Astanyx growled. “You could have got us all killed, and for what?”
Barclay looked back over his shoulder and scoffed. “I never miss.”
“There’s a first for everything.”
“Lay off it. Our fathers will be proud.”
“Our fathers would be proud of anything we brought home.”
“Speak for yourself,” Barclay muttered. Then, as if realizing he’d spoken aloud, he confidently added, “This separates the men from the boys.”
Astanyx rolled his eyes. “There is a fine line between bravery and foolishness.”
“Ramza?” Barclay called out. “Please tell me that you at least side with me.”
Five paces ahead, Ramza slowly turned, momentarily catching Astanyx’s gaze before turning to Barclay. “It was a close call. Astanyx has every right to be angry. Remember, it was him who the horacle charged at. If that had been me, I’d be in need of new trousers.”
“If he hadn’t of stepped on that twig, the horacle would’ve been dead before it even noticed we were there,” Barclay said.
Astanyx opened his mouth but Ramza spoke first. “I believe that was my mistake.” Barclay was silent, not knowing where to go with the conversation. “I will say this, though. The horacle will make a fine addition to the feast and,” Ramza said with a smile, “the ladies will be quite impressed as we stroll into the village with this on our shoulders.”
The grin on Barclay’s face matched that of Ramza’s. “How I love Shiva’s Festival.” He laughed. “I believe Claire will be the lady of the night.”
“The chief’s daughter,” Ramza said nodding. “Her beauty surpasses even the most delicate flower.”
“Is she not a few years older than us?” Astanyx asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” Barclay snapped.
“I believe she’s interested in—” Immediately, Astanyx regretted ever opening his mouth.
Barclay’s eyes burned with anger. “There’s always something with you, isn’t there? Nothing is ever good enough.”
“That’s not what I said,” Astanyx said.
“It’s the horacle, isn’t it? You just can’t let it go.”
Attached to the pole, Astanyx had no choice but to listen as Barclay reamed into him.
This wasn’t the first time that Barclay’s brash actions had resulted in a near miss. He’d always seemed on a mission to prove himself. However, his efforts had more than doubled in the last few months as the year marked his sixteenth birthday.
Ramza had apparently grown tired of his friends’ bickering and was now several yards ahead. Astanyx found himself wishing he were by his side to mediate the situation and lighten the mood. Ramza, with his walking stick in hand, was nearing the top of the hill which Astanyx and Barclay had only begun to climb.
For a few minutes, he disappeared out of sight. Suddenly, he reappeared at the top of the hill and came barrelling down the hill. “The village!” he cried. “The village! Something’s happened!”
“What?” Barclay and Astanyx asked.
They immediately dropped the horacle as they sprinted up the hill. Astanyx’s heart was racing, fists clenched, arms pumping, anxious to see for himself.
“What happened?” he yelled to Ramza who was almost at the top of the hill. “What did you see?”
Ramza kept running, not so much as glancing over his shoulder.
“Ramza!” Astanyx yelled again, but his friend was too far ahead.
How long had they been gone, he wondered. What could have happened in that short amount of time?
Suddenly, Astanyx caught a hint of smoke and then, as both he and Barclay reached the top of the hill, they stopped short, dropping their jaws. Over the tree tops, thick clouds of smoke hovered over the village of Polca.
We shouldn’t have left! We shouldn’t have stayed out for so long! Astanyx thought frantically as he raced down the hill, tumbling over his own feet.
As they neared Polca, Astanyx could smell the smoke clearly. The whole town was ablaze.
“What happened? Who did this?” Astanyx cried, nearly out of breath. There was no response.
He coughed, inhaling smoke and the stench of burnt flesh. What few buildings hadn't already burned to the ground were collapsing. The fire had spread across the entire village. Little was left but burnt and burning buildings, smoke and ashes floating in the wind.
“What do we do?” Ramza asked.
His mind was spinning. “Search for survivors!” Astanyx shouted, numbness and nausea threatening to overcome him. It wouldn’t help him save anyone . . . if there was anyone left to be saved. He shook his head of the thought and focused on finding his family and any other survivors.
Shaking, he ran through the village past burning buildings, and dodging falling objects. He searched for his father—for anyone—but there was no sign of life. Blood and burnt wood stained the ground. Garlands and trinkets made in preparation for the Shiva Festival had been scattered and destroyed. Arrows stuck out of the earth. Soldiers had been here. Someone had come and destroyed Polca.
Again and again, Astanyx called out to his father, his only family, but there was no response.
The smoke grew thicker, stinging his eyes as tears began to well up as the heat of the fire licked his skin.
As he turned the next corner, he gasped. Surrounding the center town well, the dead had been decapitated, their heads staked around a fire to invoke terror. Those who hadn’t been staked had been piled up and burned. He stood, tense, his body shaking as he watched the flickering flames. Slowly, he scanned the burnt and blackened faces of those mounted on stakes. He was able to recognize only a few of them—eyes wide, mouths agape—while others were burned or mutilated beyond recognition. A single tear ran down his cheek as he prayed that his father was not among the poor souls.
He was about to turn away when he noticed, at the base of the fire pit, an odd-looking skull with tusks.
A loud crack startled him and he turned to see Farmer Wilton’s house collapse a few feet away. The walls hit the ground, momentarily breathing life to the blanket of ash beneath it. The ash wisped across his face. His shaky hand slowly wiped it away.
Soon, there would be nothing left of Polca. Sadness and confusion enveloped him, scrambling his mind. They were all dead. There was nothing left. Even the livestock was missing.
He kept running, anxious to see if his father had survived the attack. Since their house was at the far end of the village, perhaps that distance was enough to keep him out of harm’s way. Astanyx swallowed hard. His father would never cower in the hours while the town was under attack. He would have fought to the death to protect their home.
Suddenly, Astanyx heard what sounded like a wheeze. He gasped. A survivor! Although, he dreaded the thought of abandoning his search for his father, he couldn’t ignore someone in need of help.
Astanyx ran in the direction of the sound, anxious, eyes darting in every direction and he found Thomas, the local blacksmith, trapped under some wood. A building had collapsed with him inside. His face was blackened with soot and smeared with blood. Astanyx tried to lift the piece of wood from Thomas’ chest but it was too heavy.
Thomas was shaking, his skin ashen as he gasped for breath.
“What happened?”
Thomas opened his mouth to speak but no words came out.
“What happened?” Astanyx anxiously asked again.
“A-all . . . d-dead,” Thomas said softly enough that Astanyx was unsure if he had heard him correctly. “All . . . dead.”
“What happened?”
“They burned their dead and . . . staked ours.” Thomas wheezed. His chest fell heavily. “Those they didn’t kill . . . they enslaved.”
“Who did this?”
Thomas didn’t respond. He seemed weak, moments away from his last breath.
“Who did this?” Astanyx repeated, but Thomas had stopped shaking and his eyes had rolled back into his head.
“No!” he cried, shaking Thomas slightly, hoping there was still life in him, but he remained still. “I need to know!” He lowered his head, balling his fists.
“Astanyx!” a voice called out from behind him.
It was Ramza, with Barclay at his side. Their eyes were wide, stricken with horror.
“Did you find them?” Astanyx asked.
They slowly nodded, sadness swelling in their eyes. No further words were exchanged. None needed to be. Their expressions revealed their heartbreaking news. Ramza and Barclay’s families were dead, gone with the rest of the town.
The three of them searched the remainder of the town like zombies, mouths agape, trembling with the revelation of each new horror.
“Father!” Astanyx called once they reached the far side of town where he and his father lived. Despite the odds, he refused to believe his father was among the slain.
Suddenly, a shiver ran up his spine. Through the crackling flames, he saw remnants of what used to be his home. He swallowed, clenching his fists at his sides, and stared at the pile of rubble. All that he had ever known had been destroyed. His mind went numb.
He lowered his head.
Then, he heard something—a muffled sound that could have been human or merely a gust of wind. He stood motionlessly, straining to hear over the wind and crackling flames. As he was about to dismiss it, he heard it again. A voice! Someone was alive. His breath caught in his throat as he attempted to pinpoint where the sound was coming from. He zigzagged along the road, following the call.
“Where are you?” he called.
“Over here.” The voice was close.
“Where?” He frantically searched the road and the fallen buildings.
“I’m here,” the voice said. It was closer but weaker, seemingly coming from his right.
Astanyx turned and saw a pile of rubble. He tore through it in search of the survivor, Ramza and Barclay following suit.
“Where are you? Where are you?”
“Astanyx,” the voice said. “Is that you?”
His eyes widened at the mentioning of his name, at the familiar voice. Fear and anxiety rushed through him as he lifted a board to see his father’s face. “Father!” he cried.
He turned to his friends. “Help me get this off of him!”
The three boys carefully lifted the board that had fallen onto his father and tossed it to the side. His father was lying on his back, his clothes blackened by ash, gashes across his arms and a broken arrow protruding from his stomach. He was breathing heavily, with little strength left in him.
Ramza and Barclay both knelt at his side.
“Let me help you,” Astanyx said as he reached for the arrow.
His father shook his head and winced in pain. “Astanyx, my son. You . . . must . . .” His voiced trailed off.
“What, Father?”
His father cleared his throat. “You must go to . . . Windham. . . . Warn the . . . King.”
“But, Father—”
“Tell him it . . . it—” Suddenly, his father was gasping for breath, grimacing as he clutched his stomach, every breath causing him immense pain.
Astanyx fought to keep his emotions from spilling over. “What, Father? What do I tell him?”
His father’s eyes closed and his breathing slowed. Astanyx shook uncontrollably, his mouth dry and his muscles tensed, believing for a moment that he had lost him. Ramza placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. Then, his father opened his eyes. Astanyx let out a breath.
His father winced and took a deep breath. “I did my best to take some of them down. They weren’t soldiers. . . . They were monsters.”

This sounds really intriguing to me and I hope you take a moment to enter to win your own free copy at Angel Haze's Halloween Blog Hop. You can also enter to win signed copies of my books and ebooks from all of the thrilling authors I've been interviewing.

Weston Kincade ~ Author of Invisible Dawn and A Life of Death

Alaskan Book Giveaway Showcase

The Alaskan Book Cafe is hosting a giveaway and decided to showcase one of my short stories yesterday. It is titled "Prison Torment," and it's the first time the story has been published. The story is certainly creepy and just in time for Halloween. It's from the perspective of a very conflicted and disturbing character. Check it out and let people know what you think.

Weston Kincade ~ Author of Invisible Dawn and A Life of Death

Sunday, October 23, 2011

Ginger Nuts of Horror Blog Interview!

Today, an additional interview has taken place at the Ginger Nuts of Horror Blog. This is separate from Angel Haze's Halloween Blog Hop, but is a great site for books and upcoming movies of interest if you like interviews with directors and writers. It is an in depth and lengthy interview with great questions. Take a minute to visit.

Weston Kincade ~ Author of Invisible Dawn and A Life of Death

Today's Interview with Author, Lisa McCourt Hollar

Today we have another great Author that's decided to visit with us and discuss some of her haunted past, Lisa McCourt Hollar.

Weston: So Lisa, what is your favorite costume for Halloween?

Lisa: Witch. When I was a child that is what I always wore. I had a mask of a witch with a green face and HUGE wart on her nose. It was hard to breathe in it, but I felt like I was scary. Scarier than my sister anyway. She was always a clown.

Weston: Haha, I’ll bet you were. I remember dressing up as a Ninja Turtle one Halloween. With Steven King’s IT having been so popular, I think your sister would have put me to shame, and you surely would have. Now, are there any haunted places that you find incredibly memorable?

Lisa: Cry baby bridge. Never heard of it? Then you aren’t from Lima. Legend has it that one Halloween night a mother was driving home with her baby at midnight and went off the bridge. If you go there on Halloween night at midnight you are supposed to be able to hear the baby crying. Another story has a bus of teenagers on the way home from a game going off the bridge. Either way, it is a fun place to go when you want a scare.

Weston: Oh, wow. I love places with spooky pasts. They’re perfect for a good scare. Does your book include anything paranormal like that? How does it connect to Halloween?

Lisa: It is a collection of spooky stories, many of them set during Halloween. The ones that don’t specify the holiday are still spooky enough to be a Halloween story. One of them involves a ghost that doesn’t know he is dead and how he comes to realize that he is no longer among the living. He finds he has a terrifying punishment ahead of him because of crimes he committed while alive. Another is a story of a woman that decided to kill her husband on Halloween. Probably not the best night to commit murder.

Weston: Or the perfect night for it. Depends on how you look at it. Quite a few people are screaming bloody murder, so one or two real screams might be easily missed. It’s kind of like when the end of the world comes. Police should be more concerned with their own well being, so probably won’t have time to save the innocents. There’s been a lot of talk about zombies and zombie apocalypse of late. Assuming it‘s real and really does happen, how do you think the zombies will move?

Lisa: Slow and staggering, but they never stop and they move in packs, so even if you can take on one or two, eventually you will be overwhelmed. Actually, I addressed this in a story I wrote for Undead of Winter anthology by Rymfire Ebooks. It is called The Second Wave and the first set of zombies is only the first wave. What comes after them is even more terrifying.

Weston: Oh, cool. I’ll have to check that out. I wonder if there’s anything in there about other vicious creatures, maybe vampires and werewolves. In your opinion, is silver truly lethal to werewolves and vampires?

Lisa: No. This is misinformation put out to confuse hunters. It is a dangerous world and werewolves and vampires cannot be too careful.

Weston: So even the vicious beasts of our nightmares have a good PR group. What is this world coming to? Considering the different creatures running about in horror novels, which one do you fear the most?

Lisa: Zombies for all the usual reasons. They can be easy to handle one on one, but get them in hoards and you don’t stand a chance.

Weston: Isn't that the truth. I interviewed some of the other authors involved in this blog the other day and Nicholas Olivo mentioned fast zombies. Those really freak me out. It was great having you Lisa, and I look forward to reading your stories.

To find out more, Lisa McCourt Hollar can be found at:
My blog:
Halloween Frights on Amazon:
Halloween Frights on Smashwords:
My twitter handle @jezri1

Check out Lisa's book and enter to win a variety of ebooks and signed copies from thrilling authors at Angel Haze's Halloween Blog Hop.

Weston Kincade ~ Author of Invisible Dawn and A Life of Death

Friday, October 21, 2011

Participating in Two Great Halloween Interviews

This month is full of great authors and interviews as Halloween approaches. Today, I've been interviewed by both Douglas Dorow and Angel Haze. Check out the interviews and enter to win your very own signed copies and ebooks from a variety of thrilling authors.

Weston Kincade ~ Author of Invisible Dawn and A Life of Death

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Today's Interview with Author, Douglas Dorow

Today, I have a surprise early debut of my interview with Douglas Dorow, author of The Ninth District. Dorow is a thriller writer from Minneapolis Minnesota, the home of many thriller/suspense writers. Is it something in the water or the long, cold winters?

His first book, The Ninth District, was released last June.

He is working on the second in the series featuring FBI Agent, Jack Miller. He has also started another stand alone.

Weston: Welcome, Douglas, and thanks for being here. With Halloween quickly approaching, I can't help but ask about a classic board game that is still controversial today. Have you ever tried to contact the dead by using a Ouija board?

Douglas: When I was a kid, my best friend's older sisters had us sit around a Ouija board, but nothing happened. I have had some weird ESP experiences.

Weston: That was the consensus with my friends and I too. The only time something happened, we knew someone was being a screwball and pushing it. Aside from that, nothing. I am curious about your other experiences though. What would you say is the scariest thing that's ever happened to you?

Douglas: The scariest thing I've ever done is walk across an iron beam 20 stories in the air on a construction project. An iron worker wanted to show me something. He walked across it without a problem. I scootched across it on my butt, scared for my life.

Oh, God! I hate heights. I'm not sure I'd have been able to do even that. Better you than me. I would have wound up a bloody pancake on the sidewalk below, a fitting costume if it were Halloween. But, I don't think I'm ready to go yet. How about you? Are you prepared for the end of the world? What if it came to zombies and vampires running rampant this Halloween?

Douglas: I'm not prepared, but I can hold my own. I've done a lot of camping and I was a Boy Scout as a kid :)

Weston: Good, so you're the guy I want around when the end of the world comes knocking, be it an atomic World War III or rampaging vampires and goblins. What if things like goblins and werewolves, the things we pretend to be on Halloween, actually were real? How would you cope with the world?

Douglas: I'd be a little more careful when I went out at night!

Wouldn't we all, at least those that were still living. I'm not sure whether an actual vampire would truly feel fear. Hmmm ... food for thought on another day. Speaking of fear, what is the scariest slasher weapon of all time?

Douglas: Tomahawks

Weston: Ding, ding, ding ... we have a winner. I hadn't even considered them before, but now that you mention it, tomahawks are incredibly gruesome and bloody. I'm reminded of the movie, Geronimo. It was a great movie, but had some seriously disturbing scenes when you consider what they did with a simple tomahawk. Speaking of gruesome and suspenseful movies and books, how does your book fit in with Halloween?

Douglas: The antagonist wears a mask when he robs banks. That's the biggest tie. There are some scenes where my hero needs to face his fears and go under ground into the tunnels and sewer under downtown Minneapolis in pursuit of the bank robber.

Weston: Ahhh, so yours ties in more with the suspense and a thrilling ride. That's certainly what a lot of people are going for. Reading of The Ninth District, it certainly does sound like it will deliver too. Thanks for joining us Douglas, and I'm sure everyone will appreciate the brief excerpt you've given us of your novel.

Synopsis: The Ninth District

The Federal Reserve has never been robbed.

FBI Special Agent Jack Miller, pulled into a high-profile case to mentor a new agent, finds himself in a clash with the toughest opponent of his career. The chase culminates in the bowels of the city, in the storm sewers and tunnels beneath The Ninth District Federal Reserve of Minneapolis.


Jack Miller was in no mood for a pissing match with a new agent who had four months in the Minneapolis FBI office after graduating from Quantico. The Special Agent in Charge assigned Jack to help with this case so he could tell the media he had his most experienced agent looking into solving the string of bank robberies, especially the last one that had resulted in a murder.

Ross pointed the remote at the television and the video started again. “These bank videos suck. We’re bringing in video from the other cameras at the bank, the ATM, the highway traffic cameras, and gas stations within a two-mile radius. I know it’s the same guy.”

“OK, so what do we know about him?”

“He’s on a schedule. March, he hit a Wells Fargo branch in Duluth. April, he was at the Stillwater branch. I was looking for a May job and found one in Wisconsin after talking to the Milwaukee field office. This morning, as you see him here, he was at the TCF bank in Wayzata. That’s the June robbery.” Ross paused, inhaled, and audibly exhaled. “And no, that’s not who you think it is. It’s a guy, or a person, wearing a mask that kind of resembles a former Governor of the State of Minnesota.”

“OK, so we know what he’s done, but what do we know about him?”

“We don’t know anything about him other than he’s been robbing banks and wears a mask,” Ross said.

“Let’s call him the Governor. He hasn’t killed anybody before, has he?” Jack asked.

“Nobody has even been hurt, until now.”
“Play the video.” Jack Miller stared at the screen and watched the scene unfold a second time; he rested his chin in his hands, elbows on the table. He looked for details as he watched it again.

Remember everyone, if you'd like to win a copy of Douglas Dorow's novel, The Ninth District, hop on over to Angel Haze's Halloween Blog Hop Page and post three of your favorites from any of the interviews. She has them all up on her site and would love to hear from you. Some authors like myself are even giving away free signed copies. You don't even have to pay for shipping. Check it out and tune in on October 22nd when I interview Lisa McCourt Hollar about her Halloween views and stories.


Twitter @DougDorow

Douglas Dorow Facebook author page

Blog: Thrillers R Us

Goodreads author page

Independent Author Network page

The Ninth District : Kindle

The Ninth District : Nook

Weston Kincade ~ Author of Invisible Dawn and A Life of Death

Monday, October 17, 2011

Podiobooks Advertisement of A Life of Death

New advertisement and RSS feed of A Life of Death on

Weston Kincade ~ Author of Invisible Dawn and A Life of Death

One-liners 63-65:

It appears that the busier you become on Twitter, the more quickly your earlier tweets dissappear, so I have lost a few that I wrote. However, I have begun recording them in a word file so shouldn't lose any in the future. Here are the last three that I could recover for those who don't follow me @WestonKincade on twitter.

One-liner 63:"Drug the food and they'll regret it. Taint the silverware and your wisdom lives in their pain," answered the alchemist. #write

One-liner 64: "Trauma is in the brain, not the body,"chided the sergeant. "Understand yourself, and you'll know what you can endure." #write

One-liner 65:Candor is the life's blood for any true mage. Allow your heart to wander through the webs of magic, but guard your soul. #write

Feel free to use them in your writing or just use a tid-bit of imagination to make them come alive in your mind.

Weston Kincade ~ Author of Invisible Dawn and A Life of Death

Saturday, October 15, 2011

A Life of Death's Audiobook Release on October 17th!

Beginning Monday, October 17th, I'm happy to announce that the first five episodes of A Life of Death will be available in serialized audiobook via for free. You can download them through the subscription using itunes or stream them straight to your computer, free. I've recorded the book myself and will continue posting one episode per week until the audiobook is complete.

Update: A Life of Death is now available in serialized audio podcast for free at

Weston Kincade ~ Author of Invisible Dawn and A Life of Death

Today's Interview with Author, Nicholas Olivo

Today we have a wonderful guest, author Nicholas Olivo. He's here to tell us a bit about his book Imperium, an urban fantasy that I think will be a great hit, and answer a spattering of questions about his views and experiences with Halloween.

Author Bio:

My childhood consisted of way too many video games, comic books and 80's cartoons. Add in a healthy appetite for Tolkien and Stephen King, and the end result was a geek who had visions of someday writing his own novels.

It was Terry Brooks’ Wishsong of Shannara that really clinched it and got me excited about writing. But it wasn’t until years later, after reading Jim Butcher’s Storm Front, that I decided to take a crack at urban fantasy. After a month of Pepsi-and-Snickers-assisted brainstorming, Vincent Corinthos and the Caulborn were conceived. A year later I published the first Caulborn novel, Imperium.

I’ve lived my entire life in various New England states, and I’m fascinated by New England’s paranormal history. One thing I really enjoy is incorporating local paranormal events and urban legends into the books. Each Caulborn novel will include references to real-world supernatural occurrences, and explains how they fit into the Caulborn’s world.

I live with my wife and three children, and a shape-shifting cat who may or may not be be in human form at any given moment. Check out my site at

Weston: Welcome, Nicholas. Thanks for coming. I hope we aren't starting off to heavy, but your imagination is certainly very active from the looks of Imperium. I assume some ideas might come to you in dreams. What is the worst nightmare you've ever had?

That I will have go back to working at Burger King.

Weston: LOL! Well, isn't that the truth. I did my fair share of time at Taco Bell and Hardys, so I agree with you wholeheartedly. I'm sure a lot of our readers would probably agree that fast-food jobs aren't for everyone. Speaking of things that scare your pants off, what fictitious creature or monster do you fear the most?

Nicholas: Fast zombies freak me out. When you've got a corpse that can run faster than I can, is impervious to pain and will allow parts of its body to be hacked off in order to bite a chunk out of me, yeah, that's bad.

Weston: Just the thought of them sends shivers down my spine. I'm accustomed to the traditional, moseying Zombie, so movies like 28 Days Later with Zombie-like creatures that move at incredible speeds really freak me out too. In some modern horror movies, the characters even develop rules to live by. What are your scary movie rules to live by?

Nicholas: 1) Always look up when you enter a room. 2) Splitting up is never a good idea. 3) When you find your friend’s decapitated head in the toilet, do not go looking for the rest of the gang. Leave & call the police.

Weston: Too true, but what annoys me is that in so many teenage horror flicks, the soon-to-be-victims always seem to confuse the upstairs bedroom with the front door because they have to find their dog, Toto, or something. Then, they always wind up hacked to pieces or turned into zombies themselves. Now, consider this: could you decapitate your zombified spouse, boyfriend, or girlfriend?

Nicholas: I take more of a shotgun approach to dealing with zombies. The wife and I have an understanding that if one of us ever turns undead, the other is obligated to deal with it.

Weston: Now that's quite an understanding. I might have to broach that topic with my wife. She's a fan of horror flicks, and is probably more capable of dealing with me than I would be of her. I'd probably wind up road kill or a zombified version of swiss cheese if she were turned first. In the interest of transformations, which Halloween creature would you most like to be?

Nicholas: I never used to dress up as monsters when I was a kid, I always went as one of the monster hunters. So I think I'd want to be a Ghost Buster or someone like Simon Belmont from Castlevania.

Weston: Ahhh, so a Van Helsing of sorts. From reading the synopsis of your book, it sounds like your main character might have that same sort of motivation, a protector and hunter when the need arises. How does your book fit in with Halloween?

Nicholas: IMPERIUM doesn't deal with Halloween directly, but it does feature a bunch of nasties you'll find on Halloween. Vampires, werewolves, zombies, mad scientists and even the Grim Reaper himself make appearances throughout the book.

Weston: Now that's quite a cast. Your urban fantasy novel sounds very interesting. I can't wait to read it myself, and I hope plenty of others give it a try, or better yet, enter to win their very own copies for free at Angel Haze's Halloween Blog Hop. Thanks for coming Nicholas. It was great having you on my blog.


Vincent Corinthos leads a triple life. As a secret agent, he handles paranormal threats; as a god, he protects his followers from evil forces; as a stock clerk, he keeps the back room of an antique store tidy.

When one of his fellow agents goes missing, Vincent begins with the usual suspects. His investigation reveals that Boston’s latest supernatural threat is also waging war on his followers, and has diabolic intentions for the city’s paranormal citizens.

Now, with the aid of a new partner and a gremlin, Vincent must locate the missing agent, defend his followers and learn the identity of his adversaries before they can revive a malevolent force that’s been dormant since World War II.

Nicholas was gracious enough to give us a sneak peek at Imperium:

Begin Coded Transmission

I trust you are enjoying your new-found freedom, Mr. Singravel. I have arranged for your release to go unnoticed by certain individuals, and I now expect you to fulfill your end of the bargain. I require you to procure several manuals on golem crafting. Additionally, you will provide me with any and all information about the various groups that monitor paranormal activity in Boston, including details on any persons of particular note. Send these updates via this secure channel, but do not expect further contact from me. I will be incommunicado while I attend to some pressing matters.

I should not need to remind you that failing to perform adequately will lead to punishments much worse than imprisonment in Ashgate. However, should you prove unsuccessful, I am confident I can find other ways for you to serve me. Your predecessor’s soul was used to fuel the ritual that ensured your release.


End Coded Transmission

Sunrises were beautiful here on the Bright Side, the realm of fae. And today’s sunrise would’ve been gorgeous if it weren’t for the advancing enemy army, the erupting volcano and the earthquakes. Instead of a cool dawn with sparkling dew and a gentle breeze, a heat haze shimmered in the air. When the winds gusted, it was like a sandstorm of ash. The tremors, which were coming more frequently, toppled people and structures to the ground.

I’m sure the enemy leaders felt smug. After all, it was their mages who were tampering with the environment. Their army, one hundred thousand strong, was three times larger than the entire population of the Urisk city they were advancing on. And the Urisk themselves rarely caused any trouble. They were known for their hospitality, their friendliness and their desire for harmony. To a group of warmongers, that’s like holding up a sign that says, “Please Conquer Us.”

I wondered what the enemy generals thought as they surveyed the battlefield. The Urisk didn’t have an army. Instead, about five thousand of them knelt on the ground, their feather-topped heads bowed, flecks of ash settling on their dull gray skin. Perhaps they thought the Urisk planned to beg for mercy. Perhaps the generals thought the Urisk were praying for some imaginary god to swoop in and save them.

In either case, the generals would be wrong. The Urisk aren’t begging for mercy and they aren’t praying to an imaginary god.

They’re praying to me.

Now pardon me for a moment, I have some swooping and saving to do.

I stepped out among my followers and focused. Their heads turned toward me, expressions of hope on their faces. Their almond eyes, whether orange or green, glowed with an inner light that flickered with anticipation. I could feel their faith in me, and the power that faith gave me swelled. I felt like I could do anything and everything. Save the people, drive off the army and repair the land. I grinned, cracked my knuckles and concentrated on the lava that was rolling in a great red river toward the city.

When I’d prepared for today, the Commander told me I had two goals. One, bolster my followers’ faith by letting them see me protect them. I pointed at the lava and, in a power-amplified voice, commanded, “Stop!” The lava obeyed. I threw my arm out to the side and the lava steamed, cooled, and turned to solid rock.

A gust of ash and grit blasted across the gathering of my followers. I threw my other arm out to the side and shouted, “Enough!” The wind died immediately and the ash vanished from the air. The Urisks’ faith in me increased, and that gave me more power. Having faith in your god is one thing. Personally witnessing that god controlling the weather and landscape tends to make even the most skeptical individual a believer, and it turns a believer into a zealot. My power increased accordingly.

With the Urisk out of danger from the elements, I concentrated on the army. My senses were amplified so that even at this distance of three miles, I could clearly hear the murmurings and confusion of the mages. They’d never seen anything like what I’d just done. Then again, I’d bet they’d never fought a god before.

And that brought me to my second goal for today: spank the enemy and spank them hard.

I had no desire to get up close and personal with the army. The soldiers were hobgoblins and trolls, and even from this distance they smelled awful. So instead, I conjured a giant avatar of myself. There was panic among the ranks as a hundred-foot-tall human appeared at the head of the army. I concentrated, willing the avatar to raise its giant foot and crush a cluster of soldiers beneath a size three hundred Reebok high-top.

Disciplined as they were, the soldiers scattered. I made the avatar laugh, and the sound rumbled the land and threw the soldiers to the ground. I played Godzilla for another few minutes, enjoying the squishing of the hobgoblin and troll soldiers. My avatar opened his palms and waves of flame bowled forth, turning half a mile of the landscape to black ash.

I smirked when I realized there were no survivors. I suppose should’ve left a few of the enemies alive so that they’d carry word of what happened back to their superiors. Then again, when a hundred thousand soldiers disappear, that sends a message, too.

I dismissed my avatar and focused on repairing the land. I opened my hands and spread my arms as wide as I could, sending power forth. Tremors rippled along the ground as I smoothed the ragged land flat again. The world shook as I crushed the volcanoes back into the ground and converted the magma to healthy soil. Blue grass sprang from the earth and silvery trees stretched toward the sky. I made months’ worth of growth happen in minutes. I made the ground sink in some places and filled the depressions with fresh water.

With the land healed, my next task was to ensure my people’s safety. I raised my arms and brought a thirty-foot wall of stone up around the city. I turned to the mass of short gray forms behind me and basked in their faith. Their eyes, glowing orbs of orange and green, flickered like strobe lights. This was the equivalent of joyous laughter. Their faith struck me again, so strong it staggered me. I took an involuntary step back as I ran a hand through my hair. It was slick with sweat. Channeling that much power was taxing for anyone, even a god.

Lotholio, my high priest, came forward and knelt before me. “Lord Corinthos,” he said. His words were telepathically communicated in his native tongue, but I understood him clearly. “You have truly performed miracles today. Our people owe you everything.”

I placed my hand on his thin shoulder and bade him rise. I looked out at the crowd of Urisk, all kneeling before me. Okay, playtime was over. I had to put my formal god-face on now. I spoke then, using the power so they could hear me as if I were standing in front of them. “You are safe now. Let no Urisk feel fear.”

We walked into the city, my followers telepathically cheering. Their eyes flickered with joy and relief. I resisted breaking into a celebratory dance; a god needs to command respect, and I doubted my lousy rendition of the Macarena would loan itself to that. We came to my cathedral, a massive stone structure that the Urisk had fashioned for me with the raw power of their minds. I turned back to the crowd. They immediately fell silent.

“I must leave you for a time, but I will watch over this realm and its people. While I am gone, Lotholio speaks for me. Heed his words as you would mine. You have my blessing.” I sent a wave of health and warmth into them. Any who had injuries, mental afflictions or physical illnesses would be healed. I could feel their faith building again. It was getting too powerful. I needed to leave.

I turned back to Lotholio. “Be safe, my friend,” I said with a smile.

“Lord.” He caught me by my shirtsleeve, then seemed abashed that he’d touched me. “Lord, are you sure you cannot stay? Your presence will be reassuring as the people rebuild.”

I put my hands on his shoulders and stared into glowing green eyes. “The people need to stand on their own, Lotholio. You know that. Do not be afraid, I will always hear your prayers when you need me.” He seemed uncertain, and I knew it was because of the high priest role he’d found himself in. “Loth, you found me, remember? You risked traveling through another dimension, made contact with outsiders, and found the help your people needed. You are the best person to lead while I am gone.” He set his narrow jaw and tried to look strong. “Loth, do you believe in me?”

His eyes dimmed and brightened from top to bottom, a sign of shock. “Of course, Lord.”

“Good. Because I believe in you.” I grinned and turned away from him. I moved to a pylon just in front of my cathedral. “Aviorla, open to home.” A portal opened in the pylon before me, tall enough to step through. Smells and sounds that were totally alien to the Bright Side drifted in from the other side. I grabbed my leather bomber up off the ground and turned back to the people. “Today we have won a great victory. Now it is time to celebrate. Let the festivities last for a week and a day.” I made fireworks and a rainbow appear in the sky.

As my people’s eyes flicked with amazement and joy, I stepped through the portal. It led to a world that only Lotholio had seen, to a city that served as a hub of paranormal activity. The city I call home.

It’s called Boston.

This sounds like a great book. You can purchase IMPERIUM from the following locations:
Amazon -
Smashwords -

Contact Nicholas Olivo at:
Follow me on Twitter - @NicholasOlivo
Follow me on GoodReads -

Weston Kincade ~ Author of Invisible Dawn and A Life of Death

Thursday, October 13, 2011

Today's Interviews and Updates: Meet Author, Jim Bronyaur

This week has been very exciting. Monday, I appeared on Jezri's Nightmare Blog for a great interview. And today I am supposed to appear on two more sites for interviews, author/blogger Nicholas Olivo's Blog and Angel Haze's, the mastermind behind this Halloween Blog Hop. Stop by, check them out, and enjoy a special treat on all of us authors, a chance to win free ebooks and signed paperbacks just by posting on Angel's blog with three of the books you'd like to win.

To make today even more exciting, I'm interviewing fellow author, Jim Bronyaur about his views on Halloween and his book, The Devil's Weekend, a horror novel that...well, I'll let him tell you about it.

Weston: Welcome to my humble digital house, Jim. To begin, how does your book fit in with Halloween?

Jim: My book is about a serial killer who's about to be caught so he makes a deal with The Devil... in exchange for his soul, he has the weekend to kill freely, without being caught... nice n' scary, just like Halloween!

Weston: Speaking of scary. Let's consider some more traditional horror movie characters. Which do you prefer, Freddy or Jason?

Jim: Jason. He just kills. And kills. And kills.

That he does. The most eerie part of him in my mind is the lack of spoken words. A grunt here and there makes him seem so bestial and like an unstoppable monster. Speaking of monsters, what fictitious creature or monster do you fear the most?

Jim: Zombies for sure. Because they have numbers. Imagine all the dead rising? Bones and all. Yikes.

Weston: Yep, that is certainly a scary thought. It would likely mean the end of the world as we know it. I've often considered the aftermath and what it might be like depending on what brings our world to an end. Are you prepared for the end of the world as we know it?

Jim: I'm not prepared, but I can hold my own. I mean I have food, sure, but if the end came, I'd deal with a for a little while. Perhaps write one last novel before it all ends for good.

Weston: Hmmm, I wonder whether Zombies would read if relieved of their blood thirst or hunger pangs? Now that would be a hard audience to sell to. Since Halloween is just around the corner, what is the scariest thing that's ever happened to you?

Jim: I saw a ghost once. At my grandparents house. It was the ghost of my great-grandmother. She walked up the steps and into the back bedroom. It was chilling.

Weston: Whoa, that would certainly stop me in my tracks. I'm not sure what I would do in that scenario. I haven't actually seen one myself, but it's exciting just considering the possibilities, especially if I knew them. Well thanks for coming, Jim. It was great having you.

The Devil's Weekend:
Meet Oliver Ignis.

A man desperate for his mother’s love with the constant urge to kill.

After years of killing, he’s been give the name The Anything Killer. But now the police, led by detective Ralph Samuels, are closing in.

After a fresh body is discovered and the town swells with fear, The Devil comes to make Oliver a deal: in exchange for his soul, Oliver will have the weekend to kill without having to hide. It he’s shot, bullets pass through with no wound. If he’s stabbed, the blade comes out clean. And if he’s cuffed, they slide right off.

It’s a serial killers dream.

It’s our nightmare.

When Ralph Samuels apprehends a teenager who claims to have shot Oliver multiple times, he begins to wonder what’s happening to the small town of Damon, Pennsylvania.

It was everything Oliver ever wanted, but what happens when Oliver kills the wrong person?

With The Devil in the background and the police surrounding him, Oliver makes his last stand and gives The Devil everything he wants, and more.

This is The Devil’s Weekend.
(links to other vendors and the book trailer!)

Jim Bronyaur can be found at:
Latest release: The Devil's Weekend -
My site:
Follow me:
Writing blog:

To win free ebooks and signed paperbacks, plus find other great authors participating in this Halloween Blog Hop, visit Angel Haze's Blog.

Weston Kincade ~ Author of Invisible Dawn and A Life of Death

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Interview with Author, Angel Haze

Today we have a wonderful interview with another talented author, Angel Haze.

Angel is a Canadian author who is an avid reader of fantasy, thriller, and mystery novels. She's a writer of thriller and YA fantasy novels, a fitness enthusiast, and a chocolate fiend. Her free time is devoted to books, dancing, fitness training with P90x, movies and Game of Thrones. Legacies of Talimura: War of the Witch is co-authored by her husband, Slade Sewell. Slade is a man who believes himself to have been born in the wrong century. A thousand years ago, he sees himself not as a conqueror, but a strategist. He is a gamer, a husband, a die-hard Leafs fan, and a brilliant storyboarder.

So, let's jump in.

Weston: In your opinion, what is the most important scary movie rule to live by?

Angel: Never say, "I'll be right back." You won't.

Weston: You're right there. I can't count how many times people say, "I'll be right back," only to be chopped up into little bits by a steak knife on Halloween. So, what does Halloween really mean to you?

Angel: Halloween should be a week long event! It's a chance to dress up, go crazy, and scare someone! Mwhahahahaha.... Oh and did I mention...chocolate... :)

Weston: Wouldn't it be great if it were? I'm sure you've probably seen your fair share of horror flicks on Halloween. What would you say your favorite scary movie is?

Angel: Nightmare on Elm Street. (And not because I live on Elm Street.)

Weston: How about your favorite haunted place?

Angel: Truthfully, I'm not up on my ghost stories. I'd have to say Amityville.

Weston: Do you ever dress up? What was your favorite Halloween costume?

Angel: As a kid, it was a vampire or a witch. Last year, I was a Playboy bunny while my husband was Hugh Hefner.

Weston: Wow! I'm sure the parents were astonished to have that pair handing out candy to their children. Wish I could've been there to see it. What about people that aren't living? Have you ever tried to contact the dead by using an Ouija board or some other medium?

Angel: A couple times. My mom wouldn't let us have an Ouija board but my aunt bought us one for Christmas. We once made the mistake of playing with my mom who moved the pointer herself. Nobody wanted to play with her after that. :)

Weston: The few times I've done it, there's always a nagging suspicion that that's what's going on. So, where did you get the idea to put this Halloween Blog Hop together?

Angel: Halloween is my favorite time of year!! What better way to prolong the fun than to have a month-long blog hop to indulge in your darkest fears? And did I mention, winning books from talented thriller, horror, YA fantasy, and urban fantasy authors?

Weston: Thanks for coming Angel. I really appreciate you taking the time and look forward to hearing what fans think of the book.


Thou shalt not kill.
A contradictory message written in blood at the scene of a young woman’s murder. Within days, another body surfaces with a similar calling card and, to Detective Ramon Faust and Criminalist Kelly Garret, it’s clear a deadly game is underfoot.
As the rash of horrific crimes continue, a phone call unearths a shocking revelation: Nakeita isn’t the first city the elusive killer has left his mark. The Bloodletter, as dubbed by the media, has played his deadly game before.
Delving deep into the most terrifying case of Kelly’s career, threatening phone calls and flashbacks of a forgotten near-death experience challenge her sanity and the lives of everyone she loves.



Chapter 1

“Twenty-one-year-old white female named Lily Cooper, found in Edmond Park, raped and murdered,” Detective Ramon Faust explained as he spread the crime scene photographs across the table in front of the three criminalists. “A guy named Joe Woodview found the body. He was jogging in Edmond Park around seven on Friday morning. She was hidden in a wooded area in the southeast corner. Been dead for a day and a half.”
One of the criminalists, Kelly Garret, lifted a photograph of the victim, slightly unnerved by their shared resemblance despite her being nearly ten years the victim’s senior. Beyond their similarly long, wavy, dark hair, deep brown eyes, plump lips and shapely figures, Lily had a tattoo of a lily on her hip. She had been in her second year of Nursing at the University of Nakeita. She was young, beautiful, and full of potential, but her twenty-first birthday was the last that she would see.
“She was shot point blank in her right temple with a .38 caliber revolver,” Detective Faust said. “If the killer shot from behind, this likely means he’s right-handed. But, if he shot from the side, it’s anyone’s guess. There are bruises around her wrists and around her pubic region, skin under her nails, and a few broken nails. She wasn’t going down without a fight.”
Another criminalist, Nina Brandt, leaned back in her chair, twirling a pen between her fingers. Her blonde hair was pulled in a loose ponytail, her expression hardened by growing up with three brothers and fifteen years on the job. “Good for her,” she said.
“We found a few short black hairs and some long brown hairs. Her blood alcohol content was 0.17,” said Faust.
Kelly sighed. “With her small stature and that much to drink, she didn’t stand a chance.” She glanced at Chad Evans, her best friend since childhood, surprised he hadn’t put in his two cents. His head remained down as he scribbled information into his notebook.
She shuffled through the photos. In one of them, the victim was lying supine on the grass in a pink cotton tank top and a white knee-length shirt, both stained with blood. Her skirt was pulled up, revealing her ripped panties. The small pink purse to her left was closed. Forty-five dollars in cash remained in her wallet.
“As of yet,” said Detective Faust. “We don’t know where she was that night or who she was with.”
“It was her birthday. I doubt she was out drinking alone,” said Nina, pulling the pen out of her mouth.
“No one has come forward and her parents haven’t a clue.”
“What about girlfriends?” Kelly interjected.
Faust shook his head. “I have yet to find out. I’m not sure what kind of relationship the victim had with her parents. It seems to me, they were often left in the dark.”
Kelly’s eyes narrowed. “They don’t know any of her friends?”
“Her mother said she never brought them home. No one ever called the house. She provided me with a small list, but none of them, with their busy schedules, had seen her in a few weeks.”
Chad looked up from his notebook. “What about a cell phone?”
“I’m working on that.” Faust said.
Kelly tapped her fingers on the table. “Maybe she met someone, either at a bar or as she was walking down the street. Someone who wanted to take her home. Maybe she resisted. Maybe she didn’t. Maybe he wasn’t taking no for an answer.” She stared down at the ripped panties, wondering what type of woman the victim had been. Had she been interested in having sex with the man who had done this to her? Had she been interested but then changed her mind? Or had someone flat-out attacked her?
“Until we figure out something with her cell phone or someone steps forward—” Faust began.
“Why didn’t anyone report her missing until yesterday?” Kelly interrupted, tapping on one of the photos of the victim’s lifeless body.
Faust turned to her. “She was scheduled to attend an out-of-town conference on Thursday. She lived alone in an apartment. Her mother last spoke to her on Wednesday morning to wish her a happy birthday, but no one expected her home until Friday evening.”
Nina rolled her eyes. “Well, this just keeps getting better and better.”

Chapter 2

“Won’t it be wonderful?” Iesha asked, gazing into the man’s deep brown eyes. “It’ll be just as I’ve always imagined it. Oh, how happy we’ll be! The two of us raising a family.”
He shifted in his chair, avoiding her eyes. “What’s wrong?” she asked. Their eyes met momentarily, but he shied away from her. “What is it?” She squeezed his hand, but he pulled away. “Adam?”
“I can’t do this,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.
“What?” she asked, unsure of whether she had heard him correctly? “What do you mean?”
“I can’t do this,” Adam repeated. “Not anymore. I can’t leave her. I love her too much.”
Iesha’s eyes swelled with tears. “But . . . I love you.” She waited for him to tell her that he loved her too, but he remained silent, staring down at his hands.
“You love me, don’t you?”
“I . . . I . . .” His voice trailed off.
Tears streamed down her face. He wouldn’t even look at her. “You love me. I know you do.”
He stood and turned away from her. She ran to his side, grabbing his wrist. “Please, don’t do this!” she cried. “We were meant to be together! Tell me you love me!”
“I love her.”
“No!” she screamed. “I know you love me. You don’t love her!”
“I’m getting married soon. I can’t keep fooling around. I don’t want to hurt her. I just can’t.”
“What about me?” yelled Iesha, tugging at his shirt. “What about what I want?”
His eyes narrowed. “You just don’t get it. There is no you. There is no us. This was all just a big mistake.”
A mistake? Their love, a mistake? A sham? She scowled. How could he do this to her? How could he play her like this?
“But, you can’t marry her!”
“Goodbye, Iesha.” He turned his back to her.
She followed him to the staircase, searching desperately for any kind of solution. Thirty more seconds and he’d be out the door. Out of her life. She couldn’t let that happen.
She pulled on his wrist. “Don’t leave me.” She sobbed. “I feel like a broken record. What do I need to say to make you stay? Please! I’ll die without you!”
He whipped around, his eyes burning with anger. “That’s enough, Iesha! I’ve bloody well had it with you. It’s over. Get it? Don’t call me. Don’t write. Don’t email. It’s over. I don’t love you. You hear me? I don’t love you.”
That was when she pushed him.
It wasn’t supposed to happen the way it did. He wasn’t supposed to fall. Her outstretched hand couldn’t save him in time. He tumbled down the basement stairs and the sound of his neck snapping would never be erased from her mind. The terror in his eyes as he fell would forever haunt her.

A cool wind rippled through Iesha’s nylon jacket as she began to walk down the narrow dirt path. It was dark now. She figured it was probably around nine o’clock. She shouldn’t be thinking of what happened. Not in the dark.
An owl cried mournfully in the distance.
She looked around, pulling her jacket tight. A sense of uneasiness crept up, and she wondered if she was alone. Someone could be watching her from within the shadows. Some dark man could be monitoring her every move, plotting and waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Someone could be hidden behind one of the trees looming over her like souls reaching from the depths of Hell. She felt like Little Red Riding Hood being pursued from some silent, invisible wolf.
Suddenly, a dark object moved ahead of her.
Iesha felt her heart jump as a pair of glowing eyes and a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth dripping with saliva flashed before her. She shuddered, attempting to block out the horrible images. Her imagination was only making things worse.
Nervously biting her lower lip, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. There’s nothing there. It’s just your imagination, she told herself. From this, she drew little comfort. She knew she had seen something, but she didn’t intend to stay long enough to find out.
Just then, a dark outline of a man appeared less than twenty feet away, an object in his hand gleaming in the moonlight.
She gasped, surprised her suspicions had been correct. The man was just ahead of her and coming closer.
Iesha found herself surprisingly frozen in her steps, despite her mental efforts to run. She was shaking uncontrollably and her heart was pounding like a rabid animal, trying to force its way out of a cage.
Iesha could hear him laughing hysterically like he knew she was trapped. He could sense her fear and he was laughing. Or was that her imagination?
There was nothing fake about this, though. This was real. He was real.
Run. She had to run.
But her body was stiff, and her mind was racing. Desperately, she searched for an escape route, but found nothing, only a dark forest. He was closing in on her and her time was running out. There was nowhere to go. No one would be able to hear her screams. She was trapped.
Closer now, she could see his face. His long dark hair hung heavily over his forehead. His dark eyes bored into her as if he was locking his victim and drawing her in. She wanted to look away, to look past him, but she couldn’t let him see her fear.
She looked down, unable to meet his gaze. Go away! Stop staring at me! Against her wishes, she gritted her teeth and managed to look up at him. He was grinning at her with sadistic eyes that sent chills up her spine.
“Aren’t you a tasty treat,” he said, rolling his tongue along his lower lip as he stared at her breasts.
Iesha shuddered. You don’t want me! I’m fat! How can you even look at me?
The man stared down at her. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t look away. Once their eyes had locked, it was like she had turned to stone. Her breathing was shaky and loud, and she wondered if he could hear it.
He chuckled at her vulnerability, stumbling backwards. The man was drunk.
“Would you like a drink?” he asked as he offered her the bottle he’d been holding.
A bottle. It was only a bottle.
A weight lifted, but she was still not at ease. She was well-aware of his intensions. “N-no thanks,” she stammered.
His pocket. There could be a knife in his pocket. And what if he had a gun?
“I ain’t gonna hurt you, sweetheart. You don’t want a drink, that’s fine with me. Whatever you want.”
Iesha froze as he stumbled past her, flinching as his jacket brushed her side. His eyes narrowed as he caught her expression. He shook his head, muttering something incoherent about women.
She was ten feet away from him when the man began to yell. “H-hey!”
Iesha cringed and bit her lip. She hadn’t been discreet enough. Maintaining a quick pace, she refused to give into the temptation to run. She didn’t want to set him off.
“Hey!” he yelled again, this time a little louder.
She felt her leg break into a sprint. Soon she wasn’t far from home. She had to make it home where it was safe!
“You stupid bitch! I wasn’t going to hurt you!” His heavy footsteps ran close behind her.
Tears were streaming down her cheeks. She didn’t dare look back. Iesha couldn’t bear to look at that face again, but it didn’t matter. The face would be there every time she closed her eyes, taunting her. She would never be able to block it out.
She was breathing heavily, almost wheezing, but she couldn’t stop.
Suddenly, her foot caught in the root of a tree, and her arms instinctively shot out in front of her as she took in a mouthful of dirt. She found herself alone, vulnerable as she lay in the dirt as she looked back for him. Even though she couldn’t see him, there was no way to be sure that he was gone. He could still be out there, watching and waiting.
Back on her feet, she ran as fast as she could. Bombarded with cramps, she clutched her side, but her body didn’t allow her to slow down.
She was panting as she reached the house, her mouth dry, her throat burning. Her shaky hand fumbled with the keys in her coat pocket as she ran up the porch steps, past the two jack-o-lanterns.
Only when she reached the door did she dare look behind her. The man was still nowhere to be seen.
Next door, over at her neighbor’s mansion, the downstairs lights were on and music was blaring. The man must have come from there. Her neighbor, Dr. Willmar, threw wild parties regularly.
She quickly stepped into her house and closed the door. Her hands were still shaking as she engaged all three locks.
Chills ran up her spine as she felt another presence. Flipping the switch, her body stiffened as she listened.
Hollow breathing broke the silence. It was close, too close.
Her body was shaking uncontrollably. She whipped around and gasped as she stood face to face with the Grim Reaper.

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This sounds like a great book. I look forward to picking a copy up myself. So, join us for the rest of the interviews and enter for chances to win free signed books and ebooks during the month of October at Angel will be back for a second helping and give some great insights into her other book, War of the Witch, on October 25th. Until then, visit her sites and check out the books for yourself.

Weston Kincade ~ Author of Invisible Dawn and A Life of Death