Brandilyn Collins is an award-winning and best-selling novelist known for her trademark Seatbelt Suspense®. These harrowing crime thrillers have earned her the tagline "Don't forget to b r e a t h e..."® Brandilyn's first book, A Question of Innocence, was a true crime published by Avon in 1995. Its promotion landed her on local and national TV and radio, including the Phil Donahue and Leeza talk shows. Brandilyn is also known for her distinctive book on fiction-writing techniques, Getting Into Character: Seven Secrets a Novelist Can Learn From Actors (John Wiley & Sons). She is now working on her 20th book.
In addition, Brandilyn’s other latest release is Final Touch, third in The Rayne Tour series—young adult suspense co-written with her daughter, Amberly. The Rayne Tour series features Shaley O’Connor, daughter of a rock star, who just may have it all—until murder crashes her world.
ABOUT THE BOOK
Skip Tracer Joanne Weeks knows Baxter Jackson killed his second wife---and Joanne's best friend---seven years ago. But Jackson, a church elder and beloved member of the town, walks the streets a free man.
The police tell Joanne to leave well enough alone, but Joanne is determined to bring Jackson down. Using her skip tracing skills, she sets out to locate Melissa Harkoff, now twenty-two, who lived in the Jackson home at the time of Linda Jackson's disappearance.
As Joanne drives home on a rainy winter night, a hooded figure darts in front of her car. In her headlight beams she glimpses the half-concealed face of a man, a rivulet of blood jagging down his cheek. She squeals to a stop but clips him with her right fender. Shaking, she gets out of her car in the pouring rain. The man will not let her see his face. Before he limps off into the night he warns her not to talk to police.
As Joanne tries to find Melissa, someone seems to be after her. Who was the man she hit on the road. Is Baxter Jackson out to silence her? Or is some other skip she's traced in the past now out for revenge?
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If you would like to read the first chapter of Deceit, go HERE
The Rough Guide to Cloud Computing is your essential 'how to' guide for taking your life online, sharing 100 websites that will change your life forever. This guide takes a practical view at the phenomena of "cloud computing" - in simple terms, computing that takes the focus away from applications that live on home PCs and instead puts it all online. This guide will teach you how to use these tools to become more productive, find new ways to work and, of course, play online in this ever changing digital age. Written for novices and experts alike this jargon-busting guide will teach you how to stay in sync so that your contacts, emails, bookmarks and calendars are always at your fingertips.
Discover how to keep in touch with friends using Google Docs, Zoho Office, Twiddla and how to take your media online, sharing snaps on Flickr and discovering new music with Spotify and Last.fm. Rely on tips and tricks for protecting precious data online and avoiding getting scammed. Find the coolest Cloud tools including using Remember The Milk to plan your days and discover how to scrapbook your life with Evernote. The Rough Guide to Cloud Computing will help you find your feet, and keep a cool head, in the Cloud.
MY REVIEW
I really could have used this book a couple years ago when I first started blogging and working online! It is packed full of information that I had to figure out ... slowly... on my own by trial and error. There is plenty I don't know though and I did learn a lot from reading it! I really appreciated how easy it was to understand. The world of computing is filled with language I don't understand- half the time it sounds like people are talking in code. This book breaks that all down and makes it very user-friendly.
Thanks so much to DK Canada for sending me a review copy of this book.
About this Book Henry’s second novel, written, like his first, under a pen name, had done well.
Yann Martel’s astonishing new novel begins with a successful writer attempting to publish his latest book, made up of a novel and an essay. Henry plans for it to be a “flip book” that the reader can start at either end, reading the novel or the essay first, because both pieces are equally concerned with representations of the Holocaust. His aim is to give the most horrifying of tragedies “a new choice of stories,” in order that it be remembered anew and in more than one way.
But no one is sympathetic to his provocative idea. What is your book about? his editor repeatedly asks. Should it be placed in the fiction section of a bookstore or with the non-fiction books? a bookseller asks. And where will the barcode go? To them, Henry’s book is an unpublishable disaster. Faced with severe and categorical rejection, Henry gives up hope. He abandons writing, moves with his wife to a foreign city, joins a community theatre, becomes a waiter in a chocolatería. But then he receives a package containing a scene from a play, photocopies from a short story by Flaubert – about a man who hunts animals down relentlessly – and a short note: “I need your help.”
Intrigued, Henry tracks down his correspondent, and finds himself in a strange part of the city, walking past a stuffed okapi into a taxidermist’s workshop. The taxidermist – also named Henry – says he has been working on his play, A 20th-Century Shirt, for most of his life, but now he needs Henry’s help to describe his characters: the play’s protagonists are a stuffed donkey and a howler monkey named Beatrice and Virgil, respectively, and Henry’s successful book was in part about animals. He wants help to finish his play and, we may suspect, free himself from it. And though his new acquaintance is austere, abrupt and almost unearthly, Henry the writer is drawn more and more deeply into Henry the taxidermist’s uncompromising world.
The same goes for the reader. The more we read of the play within the novel, the more we find out about the lives of Beatrice and Virgil – in a series of initially funny, and then increasingly harrowing dialogues – the more troubling their story becomes. As we are drawn deeper into their disturbing moral fable, the relationship between the two faltering writers named Henry becomes more and more complex until it can only be resolved in an explosive, unexpected catastrophe.
ThoughBeatrice & Virgilis initially as wry and engaging as anything Yann Martel has written, this book gradually grows into something more, a shattering and ultimately transfixing work that asks searching questions about the nature of our understanding of history, the meaning of suffering and the value of art. Together itis a pioneeringly original and profoundly moving accomplishment, one that meets Kafka’s description of what a book should be: the axe for the frozen sea within us.
Watch this video:
***
20 Writerly Questions with Yann Martel
1. How would you summarize your book in one sentence? Writer meets taxidermist meets Holocaust.
2. How long did it take you to write this book? With interruptions, nine years.
3. Where is your favorite place to write? No favourite place. I just need a chair, a table, my computer and a little peace and quiet.
4. How do you choose your characters’ names? Carefully, with a mind to what significance the reader might give them.
5. How many drafts do you go through? Countless. Every day I re-read what I've written and make some small changes. But beyond these countless mini-drafts, Beatrice & Virgil was entirely rethought and rewritten three times.
6. If there was one book you wish you had written what would it be? Dante's Divine Comedy.
7. If your book were to become a movie, who would you like to see star in it? Anthony Hopkins.
8. What’s your favourite city in the world? No favourite. Every great city of the world, big or small, has something to offer. Having said that, Paris, Lisbon, Cracow, Mumbai and Montreal are just some of the cities I've loved.
9. If you could talk to any writer living or dead who would it be, and what would you ask? J. M. Coetzee. How do you do it?
10. When do you write best, morning or night? No preference.
11. Who is the first person who gets to you read your manuscript? It varies, but usually a selection of friends and family.
12. Do you have a guilty pleasure read? I don't feel guilt in reading anything.
13. What’s on your nightstand right now?
Things Fall Apart, by Chinua Achebe.
14. What is the first book you remember reading? Can't remember.
15. Did you always want to be a writer? No. I fancied myself going into politics when I was a teenager. I would have been a disastrous politician. I'm not patient enough.
16. What do you drink or eat while you write? Herbal tea, usually.
17. Typewriter, laptop, or pen & paper? Laptop when I'm actually writing, pen and notepad when I'm travelling for research. I don't see why anyone would want to write without a computer. It's so fast and versatile.
18. What do you wear when you write? Whatever I happened to put on that day, which is usually what I've been wearing for the last week.
19. How do you decide which narrative point of view to write from? With difficulty.
20. What is the best gift someone could give a writer?
Say "I loved your book."
MY REVIEW
I loved Life of Pi by Yann Martel so I was super excited to get Beatrice & Virgil in the mail to review! I was not disappointed. I loved it. Martel's unique writing style kept me totally engaged from start to finish. The characters were absolutely fascinating. I also love that he is a Canadian author- YAY!!
Living in a world of darkness and knowing only shades of black and gray, Tommy the bat stays up a bit too late one day and is greeted by the sunrise—astonishing him with a world of beautiful, vivid colors. He embarks on a quest to find color of his own, having to overcome initially distrustful animals, looming storm clouds filled with rain, and an absent-minded sun in order to keep the world awash in magnificent hues. Tommy’s tale, full of imagination and color, provides a new and fascinating perspective on the world people see every day.
About the Author
Justin Young was born in Seoul, South Korea, and studied fine art and printmaking at Seoul National University. He relocated to New York City to study toy design at the Fashion Institute of Technology and has since worked as a fine artist, graphic designer, photographer, and illustrator. He lives in Los Angeles, California.
MY REVIEW
The illustrations in this book are wonderful. They completely match the title of the book- vivid, bright, and very kid-friendly. The story is cute too. I read the book to my three kids (ages 8, 6, and 3) and all three loved it. They spent a long time looking at the pictures and they really loved the idea of the sun painting the world with colour each day. My oldest son actually spent some time reading the book to me as well- which is great considering what a tough time we have getting him to read! A Most Vivid Day is a delightful book for any child!
Thanks so much to KSB Promotions for sending me a review copy of this book.
WOULD YOU LIKE TO WIN THIS BOOK?
Just leave me a comment here telling me who you would read/give this book to. That's it!
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It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
***Special thanks to Cathy Bryant for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Cathy Bryant is a proud member of FIRST and a country girl at heart. Her debut novel, Texas Roads, was a 2009 finalist in the American Christian Fiction Writers' Genesis competition. A Texas gal by birth, Cathy lives with her husband in a century-old Texas farmhouse, complete with picket fence, flowers, butterflies, and late summer mosquitoes the size of your fist.
Visit the author's book website.
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Product Details:
List Price: $12.99
Paperback: 304 pages
Publisher: WordVessel Press (March 1, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0984431101
ISBN-13: 978-0984431106
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Chapter One ~ Longing For Home
Dani’s blue Honda Civic lurched and sputtered, drawing her attention to the neon-orange needle on the gas gauge. Empty. A frustrated growl rushed from her throat as she maneuvered onto the tufts of new spring grass at the side of the country road, turned off the ignition, and leaned her head back against the seat, berating herself for her forgetfulness. She’d love to blame this on the fight with her mother, but it wouldn’t explain the hundreds of times she’d made similar mistakes. One more to add to her collection.
She rubbed the dull ache building between her eyes, and stared at her surroundings on this Texas back road. Why did she choose today, of all days, to visit her aunt, a woman she knew only from chatty letters and a brief phone call?
Escape.
She longed to escape. To disappear, to travel so far away that painful memories became yesterday’s ashes.
A stray tear wandered down her cheek and she banished it with a swipe. Today marked the one-year anniversary of Richard’s death. Death had robbed her—not only of her husband, but of her dream—and stamped her heart’s one desire with angry red letters: REQUEST DENIED. Thanks to the life insurance and the inheritance of her father’s company, a ridiculous sum of money now graced her bank account, but not enough to buy what couldn’t be purchased. A house, yes—but not a home.
Stop wallowing, Dani. She grabbed her cell phone and flipped it opened. No signal. Of course. She climbed from the car to scan the horizon. Nothing but tree-dotted pastures and a few cows. Breathing deep to quell the rush of panic, she closed her eyes and envisioned a sweet grandmother-type driving up to offer a ride. Her eyes fluttered open. Yeah, right. She wasn’t Cinderella. Godmothers didn’t exist. And Prince Charming? The biggest fairy tale of all.
Her marriage was proof.
Waiting to be rescued just squandered precious hours of daylight. She snatched her purse from the passenger seat, slammed the car door, and stamped toward Miller’s Creek. Like a scratched CD, Mother’s hurtful words from the earlier phone conversation replayed in her mind, and none of it made sense. Why did her mother oppose this visit to see Aunt Beth? And what had caused a rift the size of Texas between the two sisters?
A cramp commenced in her toes and inched into her feet. With a frown, she eyed her shoes. Heels weren’t exactly the footwear of choice for hiking country roads. Balancing her discount-store purse in the crook of her arm, she rifled through its contents, searching for the keys as she marched back to the car. A sudden realization forced her into a stilted run, and a strangled sound ripped from her throat. “Please, no!”
The keys dangled from the ignition, teasing her like chocolate candy behind a counter of glass. With a guttural groan, Dani tilted her face toward the cloud-darkened sky. “What do You have against me?”
The isolated countryside responded with silence.
On the continued trek toward Miller’s Creek, the hush enveloped her, the only sound an occasional bird’s song and the rhythmic thud of her heels against the pavement. So peaceful. So unlike the city’s unending drone. The bluebonnets and Indian Blankets of early spring painted the countryside, stretching beyond the barbed-wire fence into open fields, and the breeze tangled her hair. As she breathed in the fresh air, her shoulder muscles unknotted. Then a low rumble pulled her gaze to the clouded sky.
Heavy raindrops pelted Dani’s face and dotted her consignment shop designer jacket. Within minutes she was drenched, the metallic taste of make-up dribbling into her mouth. She kicked at a rock, self-pity seeping through her like the rain through her dry-clean-only suit.
With a shiver she hunched over and pulled the soggy jacket closer in an effort to get warm. Burning pain in her left little toe hinted at the formation of a blister, but she hobbled on, her thoughts on her aunt. Could Aunt Beth provide the sense of family she so desperately needed? She attempted to toss the question from her mind. One thing was for certain. Her drowned-rat-appearance would make a memorable first impression. Just not in a good way.
The faint roar of an engine sounded behind her and intensified. Finally. She turned to see an older model pickup top the hill, and waved her arms in an effort to make herself seen in the rain and approaching nightfall. The beat-up truck slowed to a stop and the window lowered.
Dani tried to swallow, but her throat clamped shut. This was no grandmother. With one finger, a dusty cowboy pushed up his sweat-stained hat, his other arm draped over the steering wheel. “Can I give you a ride, ma’am?”
Dani brushed the drippy hair from her eyes, resisting the urge to correct his grammar. The word was may, not can. “I…uh…r-ran out of gas.”
The cowboy smiled, his teeth white against his dirt-smudged face. “That’s not what I asked.”
With a glance in the direction of her car, Dani’s brain accelerated into high gear. “Actually, if you’d be so kind as to get me some gas—”
A soft chuckle resonated from him, and his eyes twinkled.
She hoisted her chin. How dare he laugh at her.
“Look, ma’am.” His picture-perfect smile disappeared behind the long line of his lips, his voice laced with impatience. “I know you’re concerned about accepting a ride with someone you don’t know. Can’t say I blame you. But by the time I get to town, get gas and get back out here, it’s going to be dark. Then you’ll have plenty of reason to be afraid.”
She raised a hand to her lips. What he said made sense, but could she trust him?
His mouth curled at the corners. “Coyotes are pretty bad in these parts. Sure wouldn’t want to be out here after dark. Especially alone.”
Coyotes? Dani yanked on the door handle and hoisted herself onto the grimy seat. After one breath in, she wrinkled her nose and sniffed. What was that smell? Eau de Sweat? She swiveled her head toward him and found his gaze trained on her, his face lined with suppressed laughter.
He needn’t be so amused. Dani fidgeted with the seat belt, and held it with one hand to keep it from riding across her nose. “I think someone up there must not like me.”
“What makes you say that?” He stared at her like she was mentally unbalanced and put the truck in gear.
“It’s just been a rough day. Like God has it in for me or something.”
He raised one brow. “I think God must love you a lot, or I wouldn’t have come home this way. Not many people use this road anymore.”
Dani drew in a sharp breath. Did God love her? She gave her wet head a shake, sending droplets of water to the worn seat. Yeah, right. No one could love her. Not even God.
Conversation lapsed as the rain continued its steady stream, thundering against the roof, yet unable to drown out the hum of the truck’s engine. What would’ve happened to her if he hadn’t driven by? The only coyote she’d seen were the ones in science videos at school. A surprising shudder scuttled down her spine, followed by a shiver that rattled her teeth.
The cowboy shifted her direction, his dark eyes focused on her ruined jacket. “You must be cold.”
Brilliant deduction, Sherlock. Were all small-town people as intelligent as him? “What clued you in? My dripping clothes or blue lips?”
He laughed out loud, a hearty sound that made her somehow feel better. “Feeling a little testy, huh?” His eyes sparkled with amusement.
She hung her head, half in shame and partly to conceal the smile that crept onto her face without permission. “Sorry.”
Dani started as he reached toward her, but relaxed when he pulled a brown suede leather jacket from behind the seat. “Here. This ought to warm you up.”
“Thanks.” She gripped the stained coat with two fingers, and examined it for signs of vermin. None she could see. “Looks…uh…nice and cozy.” She snuggled into its warmth and breathed in the light scent of men’s cologne.
Richard.
Dani closed her eyes, the unwelcome memories and emotions clawing their way through her insides. The feelings still took her by surprise, crawling into her consciousness at unexpected times. Had she not been a good enough wife? Is that why he’d betrayed her?
“By the way, I’m Steve Miller.” The stranger’s silky baritone interrupted her thoughts.
She opened her eyes to find his hand extended toward her. “Dani.” She clasped his hand. Not as rough as she expected for a cowboy.
“You really shouldn’t be on the back roads without enough fuel, you know.” The look he gave her was stern, but kind.
Dani swallowed the sarcastic reply that popped into her head, and instead sent him a pasted-on smile.
His gaze rested on her wedding band. “Your husband not able to come along?”
The irony of his question made her grimace. At least the ring had served its purpose. She shook her head and focused on the passing terrain, some fields completely covered in wildflowers. How many more miles?
He leaned forward and made eye contact. “Been to Miller’s Creek before?”
“Once when I was little, but I don’t remember much about it.”
“It’s a nice place.” His voice held a hint of pride. “Any family there?”
She slid a hand over her wet hair and cleared her throat. Time to change the subject. Let him enjoy the hot seat for a while. “An aunt. What about you? Have you lived in Miller’s Creek long?”
His eyebrow cocked into a furry question mark. “All my life.”
“No surprise there,” she muttered to herself. She glanced at his filthy blue jeans and tattered shirt. It had probably been that long since he’d taken a bath. Immediate guilt rained over her. Ease up, Dani. At least he offered you a ride.
“Excuse the way I look. We had a fence to mend today at the ranch.”
Heat built up steam under her cheeks, and she averted her eyes. Okay, he wasn’t supposed to hear that.
His expression held nothing but friendliness. “I might know your aunt. What’s her name?”
She rubbed fingers against her damp pants. Was it wise to divulge that information?
“Never mind.” Steve held up a hand, a thin layer of black showing beneath his nails. “I know you city folks have to be careful about stuff like that.”
What was it with his ability to read her mind? “City folks? You make it sound like a disease or something.” She hugged her arms to her chest. “Besides, how do you know I’m from the city?”
“’Cause people from around here don’t dress up in such fancy duds.” His dark eyes glinted and her nerves unraveled more.
“True. They wear cowboy hats and drive beat-up trucks.”
His throaty laughter reverberated in the cab. “Guess I had that coming.”
Once again her cheeks fired up. Resting her elbow on the door, Dani leaned her hot face against her fist and wished for a punching bag.
“Which city?”
She stared at the tattered pickup cab ceiling and drew in a breath. “Dallas.” If they didn’t get to Miller’s Creek soon she was going to blow.
“Should-a guessed that.” Steve’s face scrunched up. “How can you stand living in the city with all that noise and traffic?”
“I suppose the same way you live with stinky old cows and a lack of civilization.” Her voice rose in frustration.
Dani wished the blurted-out words back in her mouth. Too late.
She started to apologize, but Steve spoke before she could get a word out. “You in business for yourself, or you work for a corporation?”
Where’d he get that idea? “I’m an elementary school teacher.”
“Really?” His brows notched up and he snickered.
Irritation seeped through the cracks of her frazzled nerves like floodwater penetrating a leaky dam. She twisted her head to glare at him. “Is that so difficult to believe?”
A smirky smile snaked across the cowboy’s face. “Guess not. It’s just that Miller’s Creek teachers don’t dress up like you. They get down on the floor with their kids.”
The dam burst wide open. “Well now it’s my turn to be amazed. I didn’t know small towns like Miller’s Creek had schools.” Dani huffed out the words then yanked her head around to clamp a hand over her mouth. What was wrong with her today?
Broken only by the swish of the windshield wipers and the pit-pat of rain drops, the silence hung between them, thick and sultry. Suffocating. She let out a slow breath and ducked her head to study him from beneath her lashes. Steve faced forward, the dark hair at the nape of his neck curling upward, his stubbled jaw locked. Most of her friends would classify him as handsome, but she wasn’t looking for a man. Not ever again.
He began to whistle, a shrill sound that chafed against her raw nerve endings. She pressed a hand to her temple. How much farther could it be? “Is there a convenience store in Miller’s Creek by any chance?” She tried to infuse her tone with kindness.
His cinnamon eyes turned on her—dry hot winds that withered everything in their path. “Of course. Right next to the community outhouse.”
A nervous giggle escaped before she could stifle it, but Steve’s daggered glare brought it to a quick halt. After a few minutes she peeked at his face, now chiseled from granite. Way to go, Dani. She’d already offended one member of Miller’s Creek, and hadn’t even made it to the city limits.
The rain ceased as they pulled into town, and Dani sat up straighter at the sight of country cottages lining the street. Homey. A little tired, but nothing a fresh coat of paint couldn’t fix. Tree branches arched across the road to create a living canopy. The sun, sandwiched between cloud and earth, changed the leaf-clinging raindrops to diamonds.
And children. Everywhere she looked. They splashed in puddles and chased each other across spring green lawns, their shouts and laughter a symphony of careless joy. So Mayberry RFD.
The hunger for home haunted her, and a familiar ache settled over her heart like ancient dust. “Unbelievable.” Dani whispered the word and relaxed into the seat, then glanced at Steve, his face impassive. She tried to push aside the fear of never finding a home, but it clung to her with razor-sharp talons.
In one deft movement, Steve jerked the pickup into a parking lot and came to a whiplash stop. She avoided eye contact and allowed the sign above the door to capture her interest. B & B Hardware? Dani peered to her right where two lanes of gas pumps stood, and a smile wiggled onto her face. A hardware-store-slash-gas-station. Only in a small town.
She plucked a hundred-dollar bill from her purse and offered it to him. “I appreciate—”
“Keep it.” Steve spat out the words and leaned away, his mouth a taut slash.
Surely he needed the money. His ragged jeans and this rattletrap he drove suggested as much. Dani squeezed her eyebrows together. For whatever reason, he wasn’t about to take the money, so she stuffed the bill back in her wallet, shrugged off the coat and handed it to him.
“Thanks for the ride.” With a release of the door she lowered herself to the ground.
Without looking her direction the cowboy put the truck in reverse, barely allowing her time to shut the door. As he tore out of the parking lot, his rear wheels spewed gravel.
Dani sucked in air and blew it out in a gush. Thank goodness that was over. Now to call Aunt Beth and end this nightmare. She faced the store, her heart pounding like a child on the first day of school.
Please note that I post my personal reviews along with press releases and book tours that I think might interest my readers on this blog! My personal opinions will always be labelled "MY REVIEW".
