I'm a writer. There, I've admitted it. I wonder if there's a 12-Step program for folks like me...

Most of this blog will be about writing for a living. Or maybe about trying to earn a living as a writer. Or maybe about trying to have a life while you write.

And maybe I'll be able to avoid the driving temptation to write about politics. But I'm not very good around temptation, so all I can promise is that I'll try to avoid writing about politics.

But I will write about the software I use, and the software I try out, and what I think about it. I actually spent lots of years in software testing - as a tester and as a manager of testing departments. I actually started work in software development in 1971, so I have a bit of experience with computers to back up what I have to say on this subject.

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Free Kindle download of “Twisted Key” and a new “Lonesome Cove” excerpt

 

Good morning, everyone! Please pass on to your friends and neighbors with Kindles that my third novel, "Twisted Key", will be available for Free download on 7 and 8 April. Here's the product page link on Amazon:

http://www.amazon.com/Twisted-Key-The-Bend-ebook/dp/B004YDQ5VW/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1333445907&sr=8-2

Be sure to check that the 'Kindle Purchase Price' states $0.00 before clicking the 'Buy' button!

And here’s another excerpt from “Lonesome Cove” for you. This, my fourth novel, should be available for the Kindle some time in April ( yes, I know this is April. It will be available some time soon).

This scene is again near the beginning of the novel. It features Mike Banks, Cathy’s boss at the Orlando Police Department and Spike, of course. I used this scene to wrap up “Twisted Key”:

I hadn’t stopped for breakfast on the way in to work and my stomach was growling. Cathy said she was wrapped up in an investigation, so I tried her boss, my old friend Mike Banks. He said yes, provided we met at the steak house on I-Drive in an hour.

I spent most of that hour in heavy cross-town traffic.

When we were finally seated, I asked, “You hear anything about Fatima al Natsche? The DA hasn’t contacted me about my testimony.” Fatima al Natsche and her daughter plotted her ex-husband’s murder, preferably at my hands. In the end his daughter convinced three of his bodyguards to kill him.

“Won’t be a trial, son,” Mike replied. “She pled guilty and accepted a life sentence. Since she was responsible for several murders and the sentences will run consecutively, she’ll never see the light of day.” Those murder convictions resulted from a conspiracy between her and her daughter. Under the law she is held to be guilty of each murder as if she committed them herself.

“Good riddance. I’m glad it’s over.” That woman cost me plenty, including the life of my business partner and operations manager, Charley Weeks, who died on the orders of Samir al Qadari, al Natsche’s ex-husband. Not to mention all of the man-hours I would probably have to cover out of my own pocket, unless my attorney could convince the Court to issue an order of payment out of al Natsche’s bank account.

Fat chance of that happening. Her lawyer would fight that tooth and nail. That money was his.

“Cathy says you might have stepped into it again, yesterday,” Mike said with a smile. “What is it this time?”

“She didn’t give you the juicy details?”

“Don’t think she had any.”

So I told him Gianni Lupo’s story about his granddaughter and what he wanted from me.

When I finished, Mike just shrugged and said, “I know you do all right as far as an income goes, but you’d be able to keep more of it in your pocket if you opened a pizza shop. I hope you realize that.”

I smiled and shook my head. “Not all my clients are blood-thirsty murderers.”

“No,” he laughed. “But some of them are.”

I thought of Gianni Lupo’s history. He’d been sentenced for two murders only because he was never found guilty of any of the other murders he was suspected of committing during his years as a mob enforcer. Mike’s humor hit all too close to home.

I got back to the marina around nine that night. Cathy was below decks on the couch in the salon, watching TV with Spike on her lap. His fur was suspiciously shiny, and he was sporting a brand new flea collar. As I leaned over to give Cathy a kiss, he glared at me.

“What’s his problem?” I asked.

Cathy’s hand was laid protectively over Spike’s back as she said, “The poor baby went to the vet this afternoon. He had a bath, a check up, got his ears cleaned and his claws trimmed and got his shots.” She lifted up his head to show Spike’s shiny new ID tag dangling from his collar. “He’s legal now. All shiny and clean and healthy and legal.”

“And humiliated,” I quipped.

Cathy giggled. “That, too, but he’ll get over it. I bought him some fresh calves’ liver on the way home and fried it up for him when we got back.” She stroked his fur as she said, “He got over his grumps in a hurry when he smelled it cooking. He put on quite a song and dance for me until I had it all cut up and in his bowl. Just like a guy; feed him well and he’ll do anything you want.”

I had no trouble imagining that particular scene. I didn’t tell her that Spike would do the same for a Vienna sausage right out of the can.

After a quick shower and shave I joined them and spent the evening spacing out in front of the idiot box.

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