How adversity can help your writing career

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Monday musings on the life of a bestselling author

By Raine Thomas

I self-published my first books back in 2011 in what some might say was the height of indie authorship. It was an incredibly exciting time! I’ll never forget the experience of working with a cover designer for the first time…of going through the painful editing stage for the first time…of pushing that button and officially publishing my books for the first time. At long last, my hard work was being read and enjoyed by perfect strangers!

The funny thing is, I only got to write those first books—books that have since been on bestseller lists and have been optioned for film—because I lost my job.

That’s particularly funny because I graduated with my bachelor’s degree in English with a focus in Creative Writing back in 1997. I got my master’s degree in Humanities with a heavy literary focus in 2002. But I somehow never found the time to work on the book I’d always said I was going to write. I was always “too busy.”

Then the recession of 2008 hit the real estate industry hard. At the time, I worked in a field closely tied to it. Days before Christmas in 2008, I got the dreaded news: I was suddenly without a job.

Back then, my husband and I were struggling to pay off hospital bills incurred the year before. We had a nearly three-year-old daughter to support. We couldn’t afford for me not to have any income, but the job market was, quite frankly, perfectly awful.

Rather than dwell on my circumstances, I chose to use what time I wasn’t spending on my job search writing the books I had been wanting to write for years. By the time I found a new job three months later, I had completed the first draft of one book and was hard at work on the second. I have been writing and publishing books ever since.

Flash forward to now. COVID has hit and I’m once again working in an industry heavily impacted by the virus (weddings and corporate events). While I haven’t yet fully lost my job, my pay has been scaled back to little more than minimum wage and my hours are a fraction of what they were back in March.

Like I did 11 years ago, I’m choosing to use this unexpected downtime from my other career to focus on my writing. I’m reconnecting with readers and reviewers I haven’t heard from in a while. I’m participating in marketing and promotion efforts I haven’t had time to try. I’m working on outlines for several upcoming projects that have been whirling around in my head for years.

Despite the scary and uncertain times, I’m feeling more positive and excited about my writing career than I’ve felt in years. If you’re like me and facing hardships due to COVID or anything else, I hope you’ll follow my lead. Dig out an old writing project and polish it up. Come up with some new story ideas. Join a few new groups on social media. Do something productive so when we get to the other side of all this, you have something amazing to show for it.

I can’t wait to see what you do!

Raine Thomas, new adult, young adult and romance

Raine Thomas

Raine Thomas is the award-winning author of bestselling Young Adult and New Adult fiction. Known for character-driven stories that inspire the imagination, Raine has signed with multiple award-winning producer Chase Chenowith of Back Fence Productions to bring her popular Daughters of Saraqael trilogy to the big screen.

She’s a proud indie author who is living the dream. When she isn’t writing or glued to e-mail or social networking sites, Raine can usually be found vacationing with her husband and daughter on one of Florida’s beautiful beaches or crossing the border to visit with her Canadian friends and relatives.

Get to know Raine on her

And follow her on Twitter @Raine_Thomas.

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Focus Friday: Full Circle

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A preview teaser from the upcoming new novel

By D.G. Torrens

The door slamming startled Dena. She spun around when Christian burst into the kitchen in one of his moods, “What’s for dinner,” he demanded.

Dena brushed a stray hair back off her face and inhaled a deep breath. “Pasta,” she answered in a low whisper.

Christian exited the kitchen and made his way into the living room, slumped down on the couch, and waited for his dinner. Dena dished up a plate for Christian and took it to him.

Christian looked up from his mobile phone, glanced at Dena and rolled his eyes, “Is there any salt in this?

“Of course,” she replied.

Christian took a mouthful, ignoring Dena.

“So, how is it?” she asked.

Yeh, it’s okay,” he grunted.

Dena shrugged her shoulders and left the room. I don’t know why I bother. He is so ungrateful and rude, she thought.

Mia ran down the stairs, “Daddy, daddy, guess what?”

Christian’s eyes lit up, “I have no idea. Why don’t you tell me?”

Mia jumped on his lap, excitedly, “I got a head teacher’s award today,” blurted Mia.

Christian kissed Mia on the forehead, “Well done, sweetheart. I am proud of you.”

Dena entered the room and took the plate from Christian. She glanced at the half-eaten pasta, “What was wrong with it?”

“It wasn’t your best dish,” he said, turning away.

Mia ran over to Dena, “Can I sleep with you tonight, Mummy. I had a bad dream last night?”

Dena nodded, “Of course, sweetheart. Now come on, let’s get you bathed and ready for bed.”

Christian studied Dena as she left the living room with Mia, his face flashed with anger.

Dena ran a bath for Mia and waited for her to get in then left her to play for a while. She went into the bedroom and sat down on the king-sized bed with a heavy heart. This was not how marriage was supposed to be. What the hell happened to us? I never signed up for this. Christian is colder than Antarctica. I am so lonely.

Full Circle

We hope you enjoyed this sample from the upcoming new novel by bestseller D.G. Torrens, in the vein of bestsellers like ike Finding You, Broken Wings and Forbidden.

Look for it in January 2021.

D.G. Torrens

is the author of 14 books, including the bestselling trilogy, Amelia’s Story #1, Amelia’s Destiny #2 and Amelia The Mother #3. This is an emotion-charged true story that the author wrote for her daughter.

D.G is a mother/writer/blogger who has a dream to inspire as many people as possible through her story. To show those with little hope that dreams can come true.

Born in England, passionate about writing, D.G. Torrens is married with a daughter. Her first book, Amelia’s Story, has inspired people all over the world. Amelia’s Destiny, book #2 is the sequel and is followed by Amelia The Mother book #3 in this awe-inspiring trilogy. A memoir that remains with D.G.’s readers long after they have put the book down …

D.G is a prolific writer and in 2013, her works were recognized by BBC Radio WM, where she has given several live interviews in the BBC studios in Birmingham, UK. Thereafter, D.G. became a regular Headline Reviewer for the radio show for the next 12 months.

Visit her on:

And follow her on Twitter @torrenstp.

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How do they do that?

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Monday musings on the writing process

Every writer gets this question at some point: “Where do you get your ideas?”

Running a close second has to be “How do you get from the idea to a finished book?”

To satisfy our readers’ curiosity, we’re starting a new Monday Musings series describe share their writing process—how they write what they write.

First up, multi-genre author

Scott Bury.

Essential elements

Every story, the way I see it, has to start with four necessary elements:

  • an idea
  • characters
  • setting
  • plot.

But they don’t necessarily have to come in that order. For me, stories or novels can start with any one of idea, character or setting.

When I started writing my first published novel, The Bones of the Earth, I wanted to create a story about dragons that was different from the usual.

I set my first mystery, Torn Roots, in Hawaii because I wanted to write a tale set in Hawaii.

Sometimes, I begin with a character. My story Dark Clouds is about the Queen of all witches, and her son, who is immune to magic.

Ideas can come from literally anywhere: a news story, something I see when travelling or even just in my own city.

Sometimes, I watch a movie or TV show, or read a book and think “This story could be better if…” Or I must think, “How would this story go if one little thing changed?”

Or you could write a story set in the future by imagining “If this goes on,” or “If that one situation changes a little, what will happen to…”

Or an alternative history, like Len Deighton’s SS-GB, or Philip K. Dick’s award-winning The Man in the High Castle, where the author asked “What if Nazi Germany had won the Second World War?”

Populating the imaginary world

I find it helps to clearly describe characters before going on to the plot. Characters are the most important part.

Often, I’ll base characters on people I know. For instance, in The Bones of the Earth, I made the main character, Javor, look like my older son but with the personality of my younger. I’ve made my lovely and supportive wife into the basis of my sleuth, Vanessa Storm in Torn Roots. It’s always fun to put friends, colleagues and neighbors into stories and books, too.

And I have to admit, sometimes it’s wicked fun when I make someone I know into a villain.

Getting to work

Once I have chosen the idea, the people it’s about (sometimes there are animals, too, and occasionally, the setting can almost become a character), I’ll work out the plot—the outline of the story.

I usually like to write down the first ideas using a pen on paper. Yes, very old school, but somehow the words flow better.

When I realize that my writing hand just cannot keep up with my brain, then I’ll go to a computer and start typing in point form.

I’ll move things around, add ideas, delete more, until I have some kind of direction, some sequence of events and descriptions.

This will grow and change, but I try to stick pretty close to it at least until the first draft is complete.

First draft

At this point, I like to format the manuscript a little bit, choosing a text typeface and fonts for headings. These choices help make the manuscript easier to read, and gives me an idea of how a reader will experience the book when it’s finished.

When I get to the end, I put the book down for a while, work on other ideas or on, you know, work that pays me. But before too long (usually), I come back to the manuscript and read it through, making little changes and corrections as I go.

That will show me at least some of the problems with the story: plot holes, missing ideas, things I forgot to write, incorrect grammar and just plain bad writing.

I’ll clarify murky areas, add description where I think it’s needed, and take out unnecessary details and sections. I have deleted whole chapters because, while they may be fun, they didn’t move the story forward.

Then I’ll go through it one more time to check that I’m reasonably happy with it.

It gets real

This is where things really get serious: I give the manuscript to my lovely and always supportive wife as the first reader. She always finds places where I’ve repeated myself. Sometimes it’s just a mechanical thing, like where I decide to move a scene from one chapter to another, but click on Copy instead of Cut.

But if it’s a book that’s taken a long time to write, sometimes repetition is a matter of an idea or a scene that I think is really good, or really important, and writing it, and then forgetting I did that when I come back to the story some time later.

Which means it’s time for a third draft.

The outside world

My third draft involves fixing all the things my first reader caught, and then another check through the whole story. Finally, it’s probably pretty close to being something I don’t mind sharing with others.

First, a professional editor. This is someone who knows writing, knows what a good book is and how to write in English.

Readers can tell when a book has not been edited by a professional.

For my last several books, that’s been Gary Henry, himself also an author. Thanks, Gary, for helping make my books better.

Once I’ve cleaned it up to suit the editor, it’s on to people who read because they like to read. Some people call these first readers their “beta readers.” I prefer to call them my Alpha Team. They’re great, supportive and helpful people, who catch more mistakes and places where readers just don’t get what I was trying to say. It’s humbling to know there are always people willing to help.

More changes

Hopefully, but this point, there won’t be too many more corrections to make.

But there are always a few.

That’s why there is one more important step: the professional proofreader.

No matter how good a writer you are, no matter how carefully you check your work, you can never catch every error in your own writing. It’s important to have another set of eyes look at your book before you publish it—especially at a point where you’ve written it, read it, re-written and re-read several times. You just don’t see what’s on the page, anymore. You see what you intended to put on the page.

A long process

That’s partly why it takes so long to publish a book. Reading anything long takes time, and to edit and fix it, you must read slowly. And you have to do this several times.

Or at least, I do.

So with all that being said, if you would like to be one of my “alpha readers,” contact me through the Author page, and I’ll send you an alpha version of my work-in-progress, The Children of the Seventh Son.

Scott Bury

can’t stay in one genre. After a 20-year career in journalism, he turned to writing fiction. “Sam, the Strawb Part,” a children’s story, came out in 2011, with all the proceeds going to an autism charity. Next was a paranormal short story for grown-ups, “Dark Clouds.”

The Bones of the Earth, a historical fantasy, came out in 2012. It was followed in 2013 with One Shade of Red, an erotic romance.

He has several mysteries and thrillers, including Torn RootsPalm Trees & Snowflakes and Wildfire.

Scott’s articles have been published in newspapers and magazines in Canada, the US, UK and Australia.

He has two mighty sons, two pesky cats and a loving wife who puts up with a lot. He lives in Ottawa, Ontario.

Learn more about Scott on his:

Website   |   Blog    |  Facebook    |   Twitter

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A Constantinopolitan wedding

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A Thursday throwback teaser from The Bones of the Earth

By Scott Bury

Ancient Constantinople in its day. Image source: History.com

This week’s teaser is from the novel set in the late sixth century CE, in the capital of the Roman Empire.

Javor wandered around the wedding hall, looking at the mosaics on the walls, nibbling on cakes and drinking wine. It was becoming decidedly hot.

The music changed, and people started moving about quickly with a sense of purpose. One of the entertainers, a thin man with a long, emaciated face and a crimson robe, stood in the middle of the floor and began chanting. The wedding guests formed two concentric circles around the chanting crimson man, women on the inside circle, men on the outside.

Javor watched them, bemused and sipping wine, until a giggling Xenia skipped up from behind him, grabbed his robe and tugged him toward the outer circle. Javor resisted until two burly young men at Xenia’s bidding hooked his elbows in theirs and pulled him into the men’s circle.

Javor did his best to keep up with the circles as they danced one way, then the other, but he couldn’t match the footsteps. They danced around the women, first left, then right, then left again, in time with the musicians and the chanting of the crimson-robed man in the centre, who clapped his hands in time to the music. The women danced in the opposite direction to the men, their skirts swaying.

5th-7th century Byzantine/Eastern Roman Empire fashion
Source: Pinterest

They unlinked arms, turned around and re-linked their elbows so that they faced the men, their backs to the chanter, and danced back and forth. Javor looked for Xenia and found her beaming back at him. She smiled in that way that only beautiful young women can smile at susceptible young men and skipped away with her circle, and then all the women turned around again so that they faced into the centre of the circle, their backs to the men again.

Javor realized all the men were turning, too. He stumbled and did a few steps left, then right, bumping and jostling Xenia’s friends—cousins? bodyguards?—as he tried to follow them, but he couldn’t predict when they would change direction.

They turned again to face inside the circle, and the women’s backs. The women turned again. Javor felt disappointed that could not see Xenia’s face before the men turned around one more time, their backs to the women. After that, all he could do was try to follow along with dancing left and right, turning into and then out of the circle.

Finally, the music reached a climax, the chanter cried out one last time, and the dancers stopped, men facing the women. They bowed to each other. Xenia was almost a quarter of the way around the circle from Javor, and she didn’t seem to be looking his way until just before the music started up again, when she smiled at him.

The music started again, a little slower, and Javor followed along to the left and right the best he could. There was no turning back and forth this time, but a lot of stately, formal steps. Javor started to feel a little proud of his ability to mimic the others when the music stopped.

He was out of breath and sweaty as the groom. He unlinked from the burly brothers and stumbled to the buffet table for a drink of wine, then to the open door where a cool breeze was blowing in.

A small group of men stood on the outside steps, holding drinks and chatting good-naturedly. Briefly, Javor wondered if they were laughing at him. He took deep breaths, trying to cool down and wondered where his friends were. He couldn’t see anything in the hall but the dark, scowling face of a young man with a wispy black beard. His hair was black and curly, his eyebrows thick and black and bunched together, and the top of his head came up to Javor’s shoulder.

“What’s wrong, barbarian, don’t you like our dancing?” His words were slightly slurred and he seemed to waver back and forth in front of Javor. Is that because of him or me?

 “I just came out to cool off. It’s hot in there.”

Byzantine nobles

“So we’re too hot for you, is that it?” The dark man stepped closer. Javor felt his amulet stir.

“No, I just want to cool off,” he replied, looking down into the strange man’s eyes. “Maybe you should, too.”

“I saw you liked Xenia.”

This must be Vlassis. “She seems very nice.”

“She’s taken.” Javor noticed what seemed to be tiny bubbles of foam at the corner of Vlassis’ mouth.The amulet started to vibrate softly. Javor turned slightly to see two other young men in dark tunics trying to move unseen behind him. They had removed their dressy robes and dalmatics. They lunged forward, each trying to grab one of Javor’s arms. Before they could, Javor stepped ahead and grabbed Vlassis, wrapping one arm around his neck and twirling him around so that the shorter man became a shield between Javor and the attackers. They collided with each other. One fell, tangled in the other’s legs, and brought his partner down on top of him with an “oof!” Other men on the steps chuckled at their antics.

“Let me go, you barbarian!” Vlassis yelled, choking. He cursed. Javor pulled the small man’s arm up behind his back. “Get your filthy paws off me, you stinking barbarian!” Vlassis cried out again.

The Bones of the Earth

The Dark Age, eastern Europe: the earth has decided to rid itself of humanity with earthquakes, volcanoes and new plagues. Civilizations, even the mighty Roman Empire, crumble under the pressure of barbarian waves that are fleeing worse terrors.

Rejected by his own people, pursued by a dragon, young Javor heads for Constantinople, the centre of civilization, looking for answers to the puzzle of his great-grandfather’s dagger and the murder of his family.

Author Scott Bury has just completed writing the sequel to The Bones of the Earth: The Children of the Seventh Son. In anticipation, he has released this vignette of life in Constantinople, the greatest city of its time.

Scott Bury

can’t stay in one genre. After a 20-year career in journalism, he turned to writing fiction. “Sam, the Strawb Part,” a children’s story, came out in 2011, with all the proceeds going to an autism charity. Next was a paranormal short story for grown-ups, “Dark Clouds.”

The Bones of the Earth, a historical fantasy, came out in 2012. It was followed in 2013 with One Shade of Red, an erotic romance.

He has several mysteries and thrillers, including Torn RootsPalm Trees & Snowflakes and Wildfire.

Scott’s articles have been published in newspapers and magazines in Canada, the US, UK and Australia.

He has two mighty sons, two pesky cats and a loving wife who puts up with a lot. He lives in Ottawa, Ontario.

Learn more about Scott on his:

Website   |   Blog    |  Facebook    |   Twitter

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Thursday teaser: The Quisling Factor

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A look at the brand new book set in postwar Norway

By J.L. Oakley

Haugland’s eyes snapped open in the dark. Cocking his head toward the direction of the sound he had thought he heard, he listened long and hard. The house was utterly still and the room deep in inky shadows.  Next to him, Anna was sound sleep on her side, her cotton nightie brushing against his bare legs. All a normal and perfectly safe feeling, but the war years had trained him to sleep lightly and something had disturbed him. Carefully, he moved away from her and slipped out of bed.

From a chair, he removed a pullover and put it on over his boxer shorts. He stood still for a moment and listened again. It was frustrating to have to check and recheck. Before his beating, his hearing had been excellent as required for an agent in the field, but now, his left ear played tricks on him. Sometimes he could almost hear normally, it seemed, but often any input was wiped out by the slightest background noise, so it was practically useless.  His instincts weren’t. His sixth sense for survival was still in high gear and it told him that something was wrong.  Near the door, he quietly reached into a drawer and took out a flashlight and his Colt.38. He opened the door to the hallway and treaded lightly onto the strip of oriental carpeting that made a path around the U-shaped bannister built around the home’s wide stairs and landing to the upper floor. On all sides there were bedrooms where guests and his sister slept. At the end of the hall on the left was his mother’s. He opened the door nearest to their room and looked in on Lisel and Nils. Both were asleep and undisturbed. 

Downstairs, Haugland went silently from room to room without using the flashlight, creeping through the large stue or living space and into the kitchen and dining room. Nothing unusual. He returned to the hall that led out to the front door and worked his way back to the study by the garden. At the French doors, there was a faint light from a new moon caressing the glass panes.  Haugland listened. He heard nothing, but his eyes caught an irregularity with the doors and going over, he discovered that they had opened and shut, but not completely. Moving as softly as smoke, he gently opened the door and looked out.

The pine forest beyond the grounds was dark and impenetrable. There was no wind, no call of night animals. He cocked his head again, straining, then heard a sound to his right. Easing back the hammer on his gun, he went forward stealthily, then stopped. A cat emerged from a bush close to the house and came out to serenade him. It was Tomsin, his mother’s cat.

Disgusted, Haugland drew back and returned to the door to the study. At the patio’s edge, he turned the flashlight on and shined it on the flagstones. There in the light’s yellow pool, he found two partial prints. Looking closer, he saw that they had been made by wet boots, probably a man’s. He straightened up and pushing the doors into the room, looked for signs inside on the wood floor, but found none. They only appeared to be outside going in.  He knelt down and looked closer for any depressions in the Oriental rug in the center of the study, but he could only see his own feet in passing. Further investigation in the hallway revealed nothing more. It was as though a ghost had come and drifted into the house, dissipating through the roof. He went back and closed the door. He was positive that something had been moving in the house, probably outside his door upstairs, but whatever it was, it was gone. 

About The Quisling Factor

Treason. Espionage. Revenge. In the aftermath of WWII, ex-intelligence agent Tore Haugland tries to adjust to life in his newly freed country with the woman he loves. But he still has to testify against a Norwegian traitor—one of the monsters of the German occupation—whom he helped to capture.

When mysterious notes threaten Haugland and his family, he must choose between protecting them or bringing to justice the man who tortured him and destroyed the village that hid him. Challenged by injuries and recurring nightmares, he will have to rely on his former training and old Resistance friends to rescue his wife from the traitor who will do anything to keep Haugland from testifying.

J.L. Oakley

has established a reputation for writing outstanding historical fiction set in the mid-19th century to the Second World War.

In 2013, she received the Bellingham Mayor’s Arts Award and the Chanticleer Grand Prize for Tree Soldier, a novel set in the Forest Service, a Depression-era program in the Pacific Northwest. In 2017, Janet won the Goethe Grand Prize for The Jøssing Affair, the 2018 Will Rogers Silver Medallion and two WILLA Silver Awards.

 Visit her on her:

And follow her on Twitter @JlOakley.

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Summer storm

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A Thursday teaser from the bestselling horror/mystery Velvet Rain

By David C. Cassidy

 Ol’ Ron knew he’d been hustled, and from the look on his sorry mug, probably had some crazy ideas on just how that had happened—ideas that were making him question his sanity.

Kain cursed himself. He should have bolted when he’d had the chance. How many times had he Turned? Small wonder his head was pounding. And what the hell was that damn static? It was coming in fits now, like a circling pack of wild, growling dogs.

Dizzied, he held dead still against the tip of the knife. The smoky air sickened, but didn’t he crave a cigarette, suddenly. Still, after all these years. He didn’t really want one, of course, but what he wouldn’t do to ease the agony in his head.

He looked to the barkeep in the slim hope of a hand. The man regarded the goings-on with but a cursory glance, clearly more concerned with that looker at the end of the bar, chatting her up the way he was. In fact, save this intimate little gathering near the pool table, most of this questionable clientele seemed entirely disinterested. Not good.

“Come on,” Cal said, pressing the nelson. “Bleed this cheatin’ bastard.”

Here we go, Kain thought. Over the edge. Over a couple of sawbucks.

The fat man seemed to panic, then slit him with a quick flick of the blade. It stung. Blood dribbled down his throat to his chest. The nelson tightened, that throb in his neck crushing like a boatload of bricks coming down on him. If the Turn had given Cal a case of the body aches, he sure wasn’t showing it. The man was a bull.

Kain shook it off. He looked up past the knife, past the looker, to the glowing GUYS AND DOLLS sign that led to the restrooms. There was a jukebox on the way, a big rounded Wurlitzer, “Big Bad John” blaring out of its speakers for what must have been the tenth time tonight. Jimmy Dean had been all over the radio these days, would likely hit the top of the charts, and while the man had undoubtedly penned a great song, by this—the twenty-seventh of October, 1961, the biting wind howling hell’s breath beyond the gloom of this place—Kain had pretty much had his fill. And more than enough of this night.

“Twenty and we’re square, sir,” the trucker said, politely as sin. His voice held a touch of that approachable Missouri, but that honest smile had long since fled. His searching eyes narrowed. “I figure it’s likely more. But we can’t know for sure now, can we. Can we?”

At this the man glanced about to garner agreement. Not a word was spoken, but some of the patrons, the rats, mostly, seemed to concur. The eyes—sickly or not—never lie.

Kain capitulated with a nod. His long chestnut hair, cradling the shoulders of his weathered denim jacket, slipped down in front of his face. He held a menacing bad-boy look, and the looker, long since bored with the barkeep, stirred on her high bar stool. She bit down teasingly on her lower lip, handing him a breathless gaze with those perfect green gems. She had no idea how lucky she was; the redhead’s eyes were creepy little pissholes now.

“You win,” Kain said, feigning exasperation.

“No more tricks,” the fat man snapped. He drew the knife back with a step. Nodded to Cal.

Cal let Kain go, giving him a mild shove. “You’re one lucky fuck, drifter.”

Kain gathered himself. He had one chance to get out of this. He just hoped he had the juice.

With a small smile to the looker, he reached for his breast pocket in an innocent gesture of settling up, figuring to give Cal an elbow to the gut before he snatched up his knapsack and bolted for the exit. He was just about to when thunder rumbled and the place went black. Mild chaos turned to utter chaos when the lights didn’t come, and amid the ruckus of shouting, shuffling, and confusion, like a finely tuned magician, the audience astir, he summoned the magic … and popped the rabbit out of the hat.

Velvet Rain

He was born a miracle.

It will take one to save the world.

A mysterious drifter, Kain Richards is the last of his kind—and a man on the run. Once a tortured prisoner and pawn in a clandestine government experiment, his freedom hangs in the balance against the relentless pursuit from Brikker, an obsessed and ruthless madman who will stop at nothing to possess him.

Born with the Turn—the godlike power to reverse time—Kain’s ability is constrained inside a “bubble” that alters time within it. The further back he turns, the larger the bubble, the larger the effect—and the greater, stranger, and more dire and unpredictable the consequences, for those within, and beyond, the Turn’s reach.

Kain also possesses the Sense, giving him knowledge of the previous timeline and fuzzy, incomplete glimpses of the future. While the vast majority of the population don’t have the Sense, some do—and Brikker is one of them. And yet, while those who have it aren’t even aware of it, experiencing little more than déjà vu when time has turned, Brikker’s Sense far exceeds Kain’s, and is utterly dangerous. Not only can he remember every detail of a previous timeline, his glimpses into the future are far deeper, far more telling, giving him a deadly advantage. As these glimpses can only occur when time has turned, Kain is the key to Brikker’s twisted plans that tread an unalterable path to a terrifying future of death and destruction.

Knowing full well he must keep to the road, yet worn from the chase and his curse of the Turn, Kain settles into a job as a farmhand, only to fall for a beautiful and sensible Iowa farmwoman. Unable to stay but unwilling to leave, his dark secret sets their lives in peril. His health and his powers failing, only an iron will in an epic final battle will give him the chance to stand against the evil menace that threatens to consume him and the woman he loves—and to save the world from a hellish apocalypse.

David C. Cassidy, horror and science-fiction

David C. Cassidy

Award-winning author David C. Cassidy is the twisted mind behind several chilling books of horror and suspense. An author, photographer, and graphic designer—and a half-decent juggler—he spends his writing life creating tales of terror where Bad Things Happen To Good People. Raised by wolves, he grew up with a love of nature, music, science, and history, with thrillers and horror novels feeding the dark side of his seriously disturbed imagination. He talks to his characters, talks often, and most times they listen. But the real fun starts when they tell him to take a hike, and they Open That Door anyway. Idiots.

David lives and plays in Ontario, Canada. From Mozart to Vivaldi, classic jazz to classic rock, he feels naked without his iPod. Suffering from MAD—Multiple Activity Disorder—he divides his time between writing and workouts, photography and Photoshop, reading and rollerblading. An avid amateur astronomer, he loves the night sky, chasing the stars with his telescope. Sometimes he eats.

Get to know more about David at his:

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