Showing posts with label dystopia fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dystopia fiction. Show all posts

Thursday, January 23, 2014

Book Spotlight & Giveaway: Good Intentions by D.N. Simmons

GOOD INTENTIONS
The Dead War Series, Book #1

by D.N. Simmons

Publisher: Rushmore Publishing

Formats: eBook: $2.99 on sale for 1.99 / Paperback: $8.99
Genre: Dark Urban Fantasy/Horror/Suspense/Dystopian


About the Book:
SciTech Labs was handsomely commissioned by the United States Military to design a revolutionary serum that would create the ultimate soldier. They would be stronger and more resilient, they would also be smarter and more alert. Last, but not least, they would be faster with more endurance. Everything was looking hopeful until an experiment went horribly wrong. The scientists mutated their specimen's DNA, turning into something monstrous. Now life as we know it will never be the same.
Those things are coming for us. The entire world is in danger and our governments forces can't stop them. Humanity's only hope lies with...
The Vampires.
Can their supernatural abilities help save the human race, or is it the end? Can the human race survive being caught in a bloody war between two vicious predators?

Amazon (US) | Amazon (UK) | Amazon (CA) | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | OmniLit Books

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: I was born in the little, but big bustling city of Chicago, Illinois. I still live there today and I’m loving every second of it ... Except for those harsh cold winters. I started writing short horror stories when I was eleven years old. It wasn't until 2004 that I decided to take the plunge into the professional literary world when I wrote Desires Unleashed. I love the supernatural world; I've always found it fascinating, especially vampires and shape-shifters. It was my love of the genre that motivated me to create the story I had always wanted to read. I published it, hoping there were other people out there who would be entertained by that same story. I love to entertain people, to offer them that fantasy world they can escape into filled with wonders and good times. I know I appreciate the escapism I've delved into when reading a good book. Some of the accolades I've won for my writing are: "New Voice of Today" by A Romance Review, "Rising Star" by Love Romance and "Author of the Month" by Warrior of Words. I've been nominated two years in a row in several categories, including "best vampire novel" and "best urban-fantasy" at Love Romance and More. My third novel; The Royal Flush did win honorable mention in 2006. Some of the accolades I've won for my writing are: "New Voice of Today" by A Romance Review, "Rising Star" by Love Romance and "Author of the Month" by Warrior of Words. I've been nominated two years in a row in several categories, including "best vampire novel" and "best urban-fantasy" at Love Romance and More. My third novel; The Royal Flush did win honorable mention in 2006.

Author Contacts:
Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

TOUR GIVEAWAY: GRAND PRIZE: $25.00 Amazon card and a Good Intentions Keychain
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Wednesday, November 27, 2013

Spotlight: Jolt by K.D. McLean

Jolt
The Paranormal and Dystopian
Book One
by K.D. McLean
 
Genre: Dystopia, Paranormal
Publisher: Monarch MomentsDate of Publication: November 25 2013
Number of pages:183
Cover Artist: Derek Chiodo
 
About the Book:     

What if it cost you NOTHING to put gas in your car? What if you paid nothing to heat your home or cool it in summer? What if your electric bill was only for new light bulbs? How would that change your life? A real pipe dream, right?

Joel Heath, PhD has dedicated his career to making this pipe dream a reality. He’s obsessed with unlocking the secret of cold fusion energy. He’s come so close, but the final piece of the puzzle eludes him.

Which is a good thing, for Joel actually. You see, Phil Devlin’s energy conglomerate earns billions in profits with things just the way they are. He’s been keeping tabs on Joel. Phil was ruthless in attaining his stature of wealth and influence, and he’d protect his position with ferocity. He can crush Professor Joel Heath with a text message.

Neither man knows the planet is 90 days away from global slaughter, triggered by an oil war. One man does know. He has been cursed with prescient visions. These visions have shattered his life, plummeting him from an established career to begging on the street.

Joel’s simple gesture of compassion to this homeless derelict is rewarded with a dazzling insight. He has the key! This jolt of clarity begins with a touch, a touch that can send the world spinning out of control.

Because Phil Devlin sends that text message.

Amazon

Excerpt:
He kept his head down. Like blinders on a horse his stringy hair kept the faces of the people ignoring him from his peripheral vision. He had been out on the street begging all day and now deep into the night. With each step his feet ached from the cold. He placed them as softly as he could, every pace agony.
He was muttering to himself, arguing with the unseen tormentors of schizophrenics everywhere.
“No, no, no! I won’t! You can’t make me!” repeated over and over again.
The rank stench of too many clothes and too few baths surrounded him, an unseen barrier between him and the shoppers and diners rushing home.
He paused for a moment. “Okay! Okay!” he muttered as he approached the entrance to Odessa’s. He brushed the hair from the side of his face and peered in the window. Brown teeth peeked out from behind his salt and pepper beard when he grimaced. He sidled backwards until his back rested on a telephone pole. He wasn’t even forty years old and was worn out.
He jingled the coffee cup at passersby. “Gotta quarter? Gotta dollar? It’s cold out here. Gotta quarter? Gotta dollar? It’s cold out here.” He remained as unseen as always.
He waited.     

**********

Joel came out of the restaurant entrance. He looked to his right. Cathy’s home and store were only four blocks away. He knew he should feel guilty for what he said to her, but he was only telling her the truth. She had always been jealous of his accomplishments when they were kids. She never recognized the work and drudgery of studying every night. She had been too busy with her nose buried in some novel or glued to the television. He had worked damn hard. She had everything handed to her on a silver platter.
He turned to his left. His own home was only four blocks away.
“Gotta quarter, gotta dollar, it’s cold out.” The wretched panhandler was at the edge of the sidewalk, leaning against a telephone pole shaking the coffee cup at him.
Joel took another quick step towards a shower and bed and stopped. He turned. Oh man, that guy smelled. His hand went into his pocket and fingered the change. He peered at the guy. They were probably close in age. What kind of dreams did this guy have when he was 16? And Christmas is coming, right? Cathy had made it all too clear he was a heartless bastard—emotional misfit? He pulled all the change out of his pocket. Up yours Cathy. He bent over to drop the coins into the cup.
The beggar’s hand shot forward like an arrow, fingers clutching Joel’s bare hand.
“You are the light.” The beggar’s black eyes opened wide, stabbing him with their intensity.
“What…” Joel’s hand splayed open from the force shooting up his arm. His feet were rooted to the sidewalk. An avalanche of fire invaded every cell in his body—fire without pain. Time slowed. He could hear the crackling of snowflakes crushed by the falling coins.  Microscopic particles of snow glared, iridescent and coursed through his optic nerves. He squeezed his eyes shut. It was too much. He pulled his arm but the beggar wouldn’t let go. He was so strong!
He shut his eyes from the intensity. He saw a brilliance he had never experienced before. Colors cascaded through the spectrum before him. Violet to blue, to green, then yellow. Each one subsuming the other. Then orange, then red.
His entire consciousness was flooded in white. Not a glaring white, a peaceful and total whiteness overwhelmed him.  Oh God, it was beautiful. All was one! One was all! Through his clenched eyes a single tear trickled down his face. Oh!
And then gone. He was released. The suddenness almost caused him to fall backward. Stumbling for a second, he regained his footing and watched as the beggar fell to his knees, scrambling with bare fingers to claim the coins.
“Mine! Get away. Go see her! You’ll know why. Well, fuck yourself.” The beggar shot him a quick look before resuming his search.
What the hell? Every hair on his body was standing at attention, tingling. He leaned over to touch the beggar’s shoulder, to help him to his feet. What the hell just happened? “See who? Cathy?”
The beggar’s arm swept upward, knocking Joel’s hand away. “LEAVE ME ALONE!” The homeless man stood up, scowled at him and lurched up the street.
He took a step back. Easy Joel, this guy might have a knife. What just happened? He couldn’t chase that guy if he even wanted to. His feet were one with the Earth. What the hell did that mean? It meant something joyful. He closed his eyes again and turned his face to where he knew the stars were watching. He arched his back, his arms stretching out. The single tear joined by others. He opened his arms to embrace the stars and galaxies. They were one with him and he with them. He held the universe in his heart and cried silently. He opened his hands and felt the stardust in the snowflakes as they landed and melted.
It was all clear now. And it was so simple. How could he have missed it? Yes!
His eyes snapped open. “Yes!”
He straightened up. He looked at the few passersby who eyed him curiously.
“It’s okay, just had a moment here,” he said. He smiled at them. One nodded back. They all left.
He turned and started walking. Then walked briskly. The hell with it, he started to jog. He didn’t feel his feet slide on the patches of snow. Move it. He began to run back to the lab. Ribsey would have to eat the dry kibble he set out every morning. Sorry buddy.

About the Author:

Katie lives in Canada near Lake Ontario with her partner Desmond. They are living the life that they’ve always dreamed about--writing, editing and collaborating on books. Both are alumni of Queen’s University in Kingston and are frequent visitors to the Tyendinaga reservation, where the novel JOLT is set. She has published a series of adult romance books as well as a romantic comedy, recently released – Funny Business.
For relaxation (what is that?) she and Desmond enjoy walking their neurotic pug, trying different recipes together (Des cooks, Katie helps) and watching HBO movies, followed by immersion in their hot tub. There’s almost nothing better than star gazing in the frigid air while being toasty warm…Well maybe skiing at Mont St. Anne is a close second.
In taking on an epic of the scale of JOLT, Katie has been inspired by the words of Goethe. “Be bold and mighty forces will come to your aid.”

Author Contacts:
Website | Facebook | Goodreads 

Thursday, September 20, 2012

What's in a Name, by Guest Blogger Michael J. McDonald

I always wanted a cool name. Interesting, mysterious people seem to always have cool names. Or is it their cool names that make them interesting and mysterious? Having something approaching Asperger’s syndrome (complete with glasses, a derth of social graces and obsessive Star Wars fandom) I grew up with a tactile relationship with language. Words had shapes and textures and tastes (and colours, but that probably won’t make sense to anybody else). Some words felt tough, rocky, like a brick, while others slipped and rippled over the tongue like silk.
 
I would have loved a strong name that lingered in the mouth, that you could really feel as it ran between your teeth. Interesting, mysterious characters in books and on TV always seemed to have those kind of names: Captain Picard, sharp consonants forcing a proper, disciplined enunciation that stood so appropriately for the man himself; Milady D’Winter, a rising and falling singsong of a name, with the stiff stab of a hard constant buried in the middle and hinting at her treacherous nature.
Writers, too, seem to benefit from a strong moniker. Stephen King is a name that hits the ear like a book slammed onto a desk. An obnoxiously thick book, usually. J.K. Rowling sounds like an author who isn’t kidding around. And then there’s me, with one of the most common first names in the English-speaking world and a surname associated with scary clowns and French fries.
Hopefully my plain-Jane-name will not constitute too much of a handicap in getting noticed in the stormy seas of publishing. I do on occasion think of taking up a nom de plume, but having been previously published in a few places, I’d rather not divorce myself from that past. Besides, I kind of like my name, dull as it is. It also provides the impetus to provide my characters with names that stand out themselves, names that ring with their own traits and give a taste, so to speak, of just who that person is. In my novel UnderWorld, recently published on Smashwords, we meet a cast of characters thrust into a dystopian steampunk civilisation, forced underground by the poisons left behind by powerful weapons of war. Mathilda, a servant to the royal family of Liberi, finds herself at ground zero of the Great Calamity that sparked the deadly conflict, and as a survivor learns that she possesses a power to heal and protect the ones she loves. This power passes to her daughter, Nikana, who is raised in the regimented drudgery of the UnderWorld, always dreaming of seeing the sun. Despising school and withdrawn from her peers, she eventually runs from the oppressive tedium and the constant, watchful gaze of Doctor White, reaching a door that leaks the golden light of day. Nikana yearns to break loose, but hell follows with her.
Michael J. McDonald's Bio: Writer, reader, ranter; Michael J. McDonald likes an eclectic range of things, but not bananas. He started writing stories before he could write by hand, sticking printed words together to form the sentences in his first days of school, then bothering the teacher to print off more so he could complete his epic. Things have come full circle, as due to injury he finds himself again unable to write by hand, but thanks to the magic box on his desk his prose continues to flow. Unless somebody is wrong on a forum.

Being a grumpy misanthropist with a cane leads to a particularly disillusioned undercurrent in his writing, but it's not all doom and gloom. Sometimes he lets most of the characters live. Though sometimes they'll wish they didn't. Michael has been published by Quantum Muse magazine, Wherever It Pleases e-zine, Books To Go Now and the University of Glasgow Student Association. He is currently working on a sequel to Underworld and a more adult novel that is a cheerful story of teen angst, rebellion and death.
Please feel Free to Check out More about Michael J. McDonald:
Underworld at Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/233944