My Dear Ilanna,

This journal will keep my mind occupied during my pursuit of your captors. Your house may have forgotten you, but I never will. I will write as often as I find time to keep your memory fresh. Those who stole you away will answer to me. When that day of retribution comes, they won’t face a scared little boy, but a fierce and powerful necromancer.

We were so close once, but I never told you my own history. I read everything about your own house, but failed to pen my own accounts. Of course, I never had a reason until you were stolen; my story isn’t notable in the slightest. This first entry is dedicated to my past so that when we are reunited, you may know me better.

I grew up a farmer with my hands in the dirt. Most people treat the ground beneath them with contempt and regard low-born farmers only slightly higher. My father treated it with proper respect. “We are the unsung heroes of the kingdom, son. Our grain is its lifeblood and the dirt we trod gives us a quiet power,” he would say to keep me from cursing my station every time we worked in the fields.

I couldn’t have asked for a better father. Smart in his own way, he taught me how to make even the most stubborn bit of dirt grow whatever we needed it to. He was also literate enough to show me basic lettering. I quickly fell in love with the written word and spent my nights in the town’s library searching for the oldest of its dusty tomes. To a 9 year-old boy, a three-story inn converted to a library was an infinite hall of wisdom. My first year there, my knowledge increased 100-fold.

When I could tear myself away from the fields or the library, I dreamed of riding off to adventures beyond the mountains surrounding the Valley. Day after day my friends and I watched with awe as iron clad knights rode through our town gathering supplies for the standing armies of Lord Chaxon. If we were lucky, we could surround one and have him regale us with tales of dragons, orcs, and elves. Wide-eyed at how many accomplishments a single knight made, we vowed to join the service of our Lord when we came of age.

Under the eye of my father, I diligently applied myself to our fields and used every bit of knowledge I could scrape out of the library’s books. When I was just 11, I convinced my father to hire out more hands saying that we could run our farm like the lending houses. He always said our crops were better than gold, so I treated them as such. Soon our farm grew to become the largest in the Valley. Even the lending houses became jealous of our success.

We reveled in our success for two more years before the knights rode into town in force. I remember it was late at night and I was balancing our ledgers by candlelight. The hillside burst into flames as an army of torches bobbed our way. My father and I rushed outside along with the rest of the town to greet the news.

I instantly noticed how strangely the knights rode. They lacked the typical heavy gait I had seen all my life. Their armor didn’t fit either. The heavy plates clanged together too loosely. Dark premonitions twisted in my stomach.

Even stranger, I noticed patches of light ignite high up in the mountains. My entire life these mountains were the sentinels that kept me safe from the outside, but now they appears as menacing wolves ready to consume the Valley. Squinting at the lights, I barely made out the shapes of towers and keeps carved out from the mountainside. I looked back to the riders drawing closer to us, putting the pieces together in my mind.

“It’s an Elven ambush!” I screamed out into the night. Excitement hit fever pitch and my shouts drowned in the noise. I turned and ran back to the safest place of my childhood-the library. The moment I reached the door, I heard the first of the screams. For as long as I live, I won’t be able to get those sounds out of my head.

I cowered in the darkest corner I knew of, crying through my fear. I hadn’t even tried to warn my own father; I had just ran away. I sat there listening to the ambush riders working through the town, destroying everything I loved. The knights I had admired all my life failed in their service to our Lord.

I cursed myself for not having seen the signs earlier. Lord Chaxon’s relationship with the gray elves had grown tenuous in recent years. Rumors spread of impending war, but I didn’t know what to make of them. My father didn’t trouble himself over them, so why should I?

In the months leading up to this, we hadn’t seen any knights ride through for resupply. I falsely assumed they were off fighting for our Lord, but hadn’t considered what would happen should they lose.

Fear kept me awake for the rest of the night. In the early morning hours, the sounds of battle all but disappeared. I peeked out a few windows before walking outside into an empty town. Curious it hadn’t been burnt to the ground. Even more curious was the lack of bodies. I had expected to see the streets overflowing, but saw nothing.

I ran back to my home in search of my father, but it too was completely empty. I combed the entire town, but found nothing. Death had swept through, leaving me untouched.

This is all I can bear to write now. Just remembering the loss of my father awakens too much pain within me. Fear not, my love, I did overcome my fear.

Tolin Naihim – Death’s Neglected Son

Episode 2

Cast down and imprisoned in the age past, the gods left their creation to survive without guidance. Two brothers now struggle to unite the last of the ancient Orders. One rules as emperor, taking up the divine mandate bequeathed him. The other questions his brother’s loyalty to the gods, declaring he has supplanted them. With the rest of the galaxy shrouded in darkness, the Second Order stands as humanity’s last bastion of hope until the gods return. Will they survive?

In this episode, an informant hides within the Reformation, leaking secrets to the Divine Emperor. Suspecting his own command staff may be involved, Tharin will trust no one until he ferrets out this traitor. Desperation leads him to a forbidden power tempting him with knowledge of their true loyalties. Should he choose to wield this power, he will have his answers, but he may become lost within its depths. The Reformation needs its leader to remain pure; the Divine Emperor won’t sit quietly for long.

Supremacy: Reformation is a science fiction story told in episodic bites. Each episode provides around an hour’s worth of quality reading.

Lurking beneath the veil of reality, a supernatural war threatens to consume the city of Shreveport, Louisiana. The powerful Raven family is all that stands between the warring Shades and Illumin, struggling to maintain a delicate balance. When an ancient relic makes its way into Matthew Gillard’s hands, he unlocks an ancient evil with the power to bring back the dead. Now Raven, Shade, and Illumin all desperately seek this nerdy kid from a small town.

Shadeskin is an urban fantasy anthology born from the minds of three authors. The five stories contained within build a world of light and shadow ready for the daring reader to explore.

Available from these fine retailers:

Episode 2

Three humanoid battle drones stormed through the battlefield, churning up sand into the humid air. Black armored plates shielded the delicate circuitry lying within their skeletal frames. Each drone had a trio of ever-discerning optic sensors ready to catch the slightest hint of movement.

Tharin hid behind a rock formation low to the ground. He gripped tightly to the hilts of the batons in both of his hands and kept them close to his chest. He could hear the drones’ noisy gyros twisting as they neared his position.

He leapt in a flurry of sand and spring-boarded off the top of a boulder onto the cluster of drones. Crackling energy shot out from his batons. He thrust his batons into the chest of the drone he crashed into, immediately disabling it. The drone fell to the ground as Tharin rolled out onto the sand to regain his footing. The remaining drones ran at him with a synchronized attack that sent one into the air, arcing downward upon him.

Tharin rolled forward underneath the leaping drone and swept his body around to meet its partner’s slashing attack. The abrupt clash of energized batons filled the night air with a flash of white light. Now I’ve given my position away, he thought. He parried against the drone’s advances, trying to stay ahead of its already inhuman reflexes. He deflected a few of the drone’s swings wide enough away to land a kick squarely into its chest, sending it faltering backward.

The sizzling of a baton snapped his attention back to the other drone. He narrowly ducked a baton swing meant for his head and blocked a follow-up strike a few centimeters from his chest. The drone he had just knocked back rejoined the duel. Tharin allowed himself to go into a deep trance as he furiously defended a barrage of attacks. Light flashed off the rock formation as their batons struck each other.

Warfare is worship, Tharin reminded himself as he struggled to keep up with their advances. A searing pain shot through his hip as a misstep exposed him to a baton hit. The pain slightly weakened him, but not enough to stop his fixation on the God of War.

He gracefully led their attacks, falling into a trance-like state. “I share your soul, Arvandis,” he prayed. Feeling renewed strength flow through him, he shifted his attack pattern and thrust his batons outward. Their tips made full contact with the drones’ chests. Sparks arced over their metallic armor as they shut down and fell backward onto the sand.

“This victory is Yours,” Tharin whispered as he stood triumphant. The disabled drones lying in the sand should have been his final obstacle. He looked around and ran toward a meter-long pole sticking up from the ground.

He swiped his hand over it and checked his wrist panel to confirm he had possession of the flag. Once confirmed, he sprinted back along the same side of the battlefield he had entered, darting through the sporadic rock formations. The middle line rapidly came into sight as a shadow flashed in the corner of his eye. He turned just as the shadow launched at him.

Batons flickered to life, briefly illuminating the human face behind the shadow. Tharin smiled as they both crossed their weapons in a whirlwind of attacks. He quickly gained an advantage and went in for a low kick that sent his opponent stumbling backward. He pressed in, connecting a few times with the shadow’s midsection.

Tharin continued the intense assault. After holding on for a few more parries, the shadow’s wrist panel lit up bright blue while Tharin’s simultaneously lit up red. Both warriors instantly halted and deactivated their batons.

Tharin offered him a wry smile and handshake before speaking, “There are not many who can best me in ‘Capture the Flag,’ Helvine; I am glad you fight for my cause and not my brother’s.”

Helvine replied, “I will forever stand with you until the gods separate us.” He ran his fingers through his dark hair, matted down with sweat. A slight breeze meandered through them, kicking off grains of sand from their sparring tunics.

“I never expected you to entrust a drone to retrieve my flag.”

“I retrieved it myself, actually. The drone was only carrying it back through a carefully selected pathway. It always pays to spend battle points on intel rather than more defenses.”

Tharin smiled, “It would seem that way, though I was not far from victory myself.”

“Your defenses were certainly clever. Had I not known the traps I was walking into, I doubt I would have made it.”

“Drones never hold up to expectations.” Tharin watched the flicker of pride in Helvine’s eyes over his victory.

The two warriors shared a laugh and turned to exit the battlefield. The rolling ocean lapped at the beach only a short distance away, filling the night air with its rhythmic pulse. They continued walking toward a trio of jet-bikes resting against a giant, natural rock wall. The battlefield behind them sprung to life as the battle drones reactivated themselves and filed into storage sheds set up on the edge of the beach.

A figure nearly a head shorter than Tharin and Helvine walked out of the shadow of the rock wall and met them at the jet-bikes. Twin moons reflected diluted beams off the blue fabric wrapping around his thin body. His cropped, red hair looked dark brown in the dim light, while his eyes were dark pools.

“Excellent programming tonight, Jak,” Helvine said to the figure.

“Thank you, Commander,” Jak replied. “Your win was quite a surprise. I had not expected you to purchase so much intel with your allotted battle points.”

“The opportunity presented itself, and I knew I could not best Tharin in a fight, so he forced me to be sneaky.”

“We shall see who wins next time,” Tharin interjected with a grin.

“That we will,” said Helvine.

The simple war exercise proved as effective on Helvine as Tharin had imagined. Allowing him to win gave him a morale boost he would take back to everyone underneath his command. A vital resource, morale required a steady hand to delve out. With his brother closing in, Tharin ensured he had plenty flowing through his command staff.

The three of them mounted their jet-bikes and flew along the docile beach. Rushing winds rolled over Tharin’s large frame, sending his shoulder-length hair into wild motion. The expansive ocean to his right enticed him with its foamy aroma. White Sands was a beautiful planet, a forgotten paradise within the Second Order. He closed his eyes, drinking in the peaceful moment and thinking of a time before his life had been plunged into war.

The harsh beeping of his jet-bike’s autopilot interrupted his wandering imagination. He looked ahead and saw the approaching metallic dome that was the auxiliary hangar of his forward base in the city of Vacin. The large dome rose high above the landscape. All three of them slowed their approach while Tharin entered his bioprint code into his wrist transmitter. Confirmation codes popped up as a hangar door opened on the side of the dome nearest them. They glided inside and parked their jet-bikes.

Machines and vehicles of varying purposes filled the hangar. The air was thick with the smell of oily metal. A skeleton crew patrolled around waiting for their shifts to end while a few mechanics rattled around on a squadron of battle tanks. At the sight of Tharin walking toward the rear of the hangar, one of the patrolling deck officers quickly jogged over to him.

“Commander Tharin, you have a priority message from Fortra,” the officer reported.

Tharin nodded and the officer strode off to continue his rounds. Tharin looked to Helvine and Jak, “If you will excuse me.”

They returned a nod before he snapped around and headed directly into the hangar’s central command unit. The command unit consisted of a wide, multi-storied cylinder that rose from the floor into the apex of the domed hangar. He quickly shut himself inside one of the communication rooms in the base and dialed the appropriate codes to open up a channel directly to the planet of Fortra, homeworld of the Communication Guild.

Widgets spun on the holoscreen floating before him, opening up an interstellar link. Eventually they turned green and a window opened with the High Priest on the screen. His perfectly aged features were intoxicating to look at. His face had a regal quality that hinted at his many centuries of life without any detracting marks of weathered lines. He was indeed a product of the gods, and even through the holoscreen his silver eyes seemed to peer directly into Tharin’s soul. Tharin bowed under his presence.

“High Priest Ephesus, I welcome your guidance,” Tharin said reverently.

“Tharin, harbinger of the Reformation, I have received news of our mission on Centros,” Ephesus began. “I have enabled secure protocols so our conversation will not escape our terminals.”

“Priestess Jade has not yet reported back in. I hope our mission remains intact.”

“She contacted me directly with a report of interception by the Imperial Guardian, Zoroc. He boarded her ship and nearly stopped our operation, but Jade outmaneuvered him and finished it. She reported this to me so I would affirm her deepest fear–that we have been infiltrated.”

“Knowledge of this mission was extensively protected, ” Tharin replied with shock in his voice.

“Your brother seems to have found the weakness in that protection. I believe he has an agent planted within our ranks, probably there on White Sands with you. He is transporting information through non-standard channels, so I am having difficulty deciphering how he is communicating. I do suspect it is a person, however, as I would have easily uncovered a broadcasting drone by now.”

Tharin clenched his fists and looked out into the hangar through the viewport to his right. Even at this night hour, people worked to advance his vision. His grand idea of the Second Order ruled by the people was powered by the core of his following here on White Sands. Now, all they were working toward was threatened from within. He turned back to the terminal and looked into Ephesus’s deep eyes.

“We are too close to fail. Our plans rely heavily on that satellite installation around Centros. How much did the informant know?” Tharin asked.

“Apparently not enough to involve public scrutiny of the illegal action necessary to stop us from installing it. Your brother may be looking for something else. Find this leak and stop him before we are all brought down. My own involvement in this matter must be limited to this conversation for obvious reasons. I have already breached standard protocol by taking this information directly to you.”

“I thank you for your wisdom, High Priest. At our next encounter, we will speak of the next phase, uninhibited by this informant.”

“By the Guidance,” Ephesus said while lifting his right hand to touch the center of his forehead.

Tharin reciprocated the gesture before terminating the communication link. His stomach twisted with the knowledge that his brother had infiltrated his operation. The conflict between them had been brewing for centuries, but only recently had it escalated to militaristic proportions. This was a sign that they were moving into full warfare, for which Tharin was ill-prepared.

End of Demo

Secret Smashwords Link:

About three years ago, I wrote a short story involving angels and demons, completely ignorant of just how big the urban fantasy genre had become. The story itself wasn’t really that great, so I shelved the idea hoping it would ferment a little more. Well, after the whole Twilight craze drove me insane, I knew I had to bring something different to the UF table to wash away the embarrassing image of sparkling vampires.

I promptly dug up my story and presented to my writers’ group an idea of creating our own UF anthology set in my world. We put our three imaginations together and created Shadeskin, a story of light and shadow set in our hometown of Shreveport, LA. It is a collection of five inter-weaving tales that re-envision the typical angel/demon archetypes. Trust me, you haven’t read anything like this before.

As proof, here is a preview of the first story, Walk the Crimson Path, written by yours truly.

Walk the Crimson Path

The axehead scraped along the concrete, leaving behind a trail of warm blood. Blackened viscera clung to its sharp edges. Awash in red, a thin hand wrapped tightly around its handle and pulled it along with a stammering jerk. Escaping the carnage behind them, pale feet stumbled before the crimson path.

The rising sun kissed the face of the young woman dragging the axe. Shadows crept around her, hiding from the growing rays of light. Her long, black hair, matted with blood, lay flat against her back. She staggered along until finally reaching the street curb.

“So, this is destiny,” she whispered, a forced smile curving her lips.  

Several bystanders gathered around her. Proud to be a spectacle, she smiled and drank in their fear and confusion. One man summoned the courage to follow the bloody trail into the nightclub. He didn’t last long before running back outside and vomiting over the pavement. 

She admired his tenacity. On any normal day, he or anyone else in the crowd might have been able to alert the authorities, but she knew the force permeating their minds weighed them down. Their eyes were glazed over.

In the still air, the young woman’s hair began to sway at the approach of a powerful entity. A cloud of unnatural darkness materialized behind the bystanders, drawing their gaze. A man stepped regally from the cloud and walked toward her. The crowd parted to make way for his purposeful stride. Renewed fear sparked inside everyone, save for her. 

“Where does your destiny take you?” he asked.

“To you,” she replied, feeling her ties to the physical realm loosening. It felt like she was awakening from a dream.

“Now,” he said, his voice cutting the air with finality, “You are mine. Hold on to this.” 

He brought her in for an intimate kiss. The moment their lips connected, a peaceful wave rolled through her. Quivering under his power, she let go of the axe and wrapped her arms around his strong neck. The axe handle slapped the concrete, flinging droplets of blood. A surge of warmth resounded within her heart, healing all the torment she had so recently endured.

The sun’s light faded, withdrawing its warm touch from her face. She held on to him for stability as the pavement dissolved. A multitude of sensations charged through her. Opening her eyes, she was alone in darkness. Then, she began falling.

~~~

Clara’s furious eyes bore through her mother’s gentle stare. Her father had quickly bowed out of the argument to steel himself in the living room. 

“How many times do I need to make my point?” Clara asked through clenched teeth. “You manufacture conspiracies from the tiniest actions of any company that works with the government, especially when it comes to things you don’t even understand, like internet security. Mandrake Solutions is your latest target only because I have a chance to work for them!”

“Conspiracies?” her mother replied. “This is about you turning your back on your father and me to prove a point. Just by taking this interview, you are opening yourself up to a world of corruption. You should know to stay true to your values and not involve yourself with malicious people. We taught you better than that.”

“Oh yes, fearing everything was a great lesson.” Sarcasm dripped through Clara’s words, “In school, I was the weird kid that couldn’t eat the cafeteria food because of its ‘poisonous content’ implanted by the government. It took me forever to convince you that cell phones were safe from wandering ears. I am still shocked you relented on that one.”

“Clara, I know working for a top security firm may seem like a valuable societal contribution, but can’t you see the danger? You will be connected to sensitive areas of our government that will make you a high-profile target. I am just trying to shield you now like I did when you were young. You paint me as an over-zealous mother during your childhood, but, just like then, you are still too young to see the oncoming storms.”

“Mom, this isn’t the Cold War. There aren’t covert agents living among us, planning assassinations for everyone. We live in an information age where our digital lives need protection. I will shield you, even if you don’t appreciate or understand it.”

“Please, rethink this. You have enough talent to work for anyone you choose. Take an interview with any other company, just not Mandrake, not with government contracts. I just-” she paused, her face wincing with thought. ”Believe me, you will understand one day when you-”

“When I grow up?” Clara interrupted. “I am grown up. You can keep your conspiracies while I escape this prison and enter the real, rational world.”

Her mother clutched at the side of her burnt-orange skirt with nervous fingers. A tear formed in the corner of her eye, but she escaped Clara’s room before it fell.

Clara instantly regretted driving her mother to tears again. She heard her father trying to calm her down in the living room. Clara stood fuming in the middle of her room, waiting for the inevitable. After a few minutes, her father appeared in the doorway. Tall and slender, he was the pole that kept their rocking gondola stable. 

“I try not to fight with her, Dad,” Clara offered.

He just smiled and hugged her. ”She knows that, but you two are so stubborn and entrenched in your own ideals that neither of you will yield. Not even for peace’s sake.”

“True,” she laughed, looking up into his dark, comforting eyes. A cloud of stubble shadowed his face. 

“Remember, Clara, this world is yours to conquer, but at least pay some attention to what we say. We aren’t as crazy as you might think.”

“Just eccentric,” she playfully responded, her anger subsiding. 

“The time will come when your perspective will change.” He put his hand on top of her head. ”You’ll always be my little girl, no matter how tall you get or how far you travel.”

“Nathan, we need to go,” her mother called from the kitchen. 

Clara looked in her mother’s direction. ”Tell her I’m sorry.”

“Make a little time tonight to stop by the club and tell her yourself.” Nathan leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. He gently squeezed her shoulder before rushing off. 

Clara sighed and fell backward onto her bed, cushioned by a mountain of pillows. Her ceiling fan rotated, laughing at her with its periodic squeaking. She lifted a round pillow over her head and punched it a few times before laying it on her stomach. She could almost feel the ‘negative energy’ swirling around the room. Her mother certainly had an odd way of seeing the world.

From the moment she was born, Clara was set up for failure. Her parents thought the world of their only child, but they never grounded her in reality. Instead, they spoiled her into thinking she was special with bedtime stories about how she would someday save the world. While harmless for a young child, the stories didn’t stop as she grew older and instead transformed into prophecy.

As a budding teen, Clara’s talent for re-telling her destiny just seemed weird. The captivated audience she was used to began rolling their eyes and trying to switch the subject to music and boys. Clara, the fated savior of the world, watched her social life go up in flames.

The ‘special’ food she carried to school each day tasted more like ash the longer she was alone. No one believed her anymore about how her food kept her safe from dangerous toxins. The fact she had never seen a real doctor created rumors she couldn’t escape. At first she hated the kids at school for their cruelty, but by high school, she realized her parents had done this to her with their crazy beliefs.

The constant supply of rumors branded her an outcast. Ostracized, she accepted her true fate as the weird kid. She hated her parents every lonely minute of high school. However, they were still her parents and for all their numerous flaws, at least they nurtured her academic side. By the time she graduated, she had outpaced her classmates in every scholastic measure.

Thankfully, college evened things out, allowing her a taste of normal life with actual friends. She started life anew with a clean slate. No longer would she allow anyone to know her as the ‘false destiny chick.’ The sooner she moved away from her parents, the sooner her childhood scars would heal.

The muffled sounds of closing doors announced Clara was alone in the house. Friday nights initiated the nightclub cycle, and her parents offered the best, non-conformist experience down at the Hookah Palooka. They hated it when Clara referred to it as a ‘hippie bar,’ even if it was true.

She sat up on the edge of her bed and looked in her vanity mirror. Frizzled auburn hair fell just past her shoulders. Murky rings cupped her brown eyes, reminders of her argument with her mother. Still, she remained fixed on her goal of shining in her interview with Mandrake.

A pop song burst through the silent air, signaling an incoming call. Clara reached for her phone, her face lighting up after seeing the caller ID. 

“Hey,” she answered.

“Hey you,” Drake replied. “Have any plans tonight?”

“Just avoiding my mother. We clashed pretty fantastically today.” Her voice shook more than she realized.

“Yeah, you sound out of it. More speeches about how you’re wasting your life?”

“Of course. She wants to shelter me from everything, and I am beginning to realize that nothing I ever say will change her mind.” The memory of that earlier conversation burned inside her head.  

“Mothers,” Drake said sarcastically, ”They think you owe them your life because they made a decision to bring you into this world.”

“Ha. I like to pretend it doesn’t bother me, but I only lie to myself.”

“Well, keep reaching for your dreams and take her advice where you can. It’s not like she wants you to fail. She still loves you.”

“I know,” Clara admitted. ”It’s just lately, I have been really stressed about this interview.”

“I don’t think any of the other interview candidates can even hold a candle to you.”  

“You mean the ones coming from Ivy League?”

“Hey, optimism always wins out, and when it comes to intellect, you have it all,” Drake said firmly.

“I wish I had your cheery disposition.”

“Do you want some of it tonight?”

Clara looked at her computer desk where stacks of books surrounded her cherry-red laptop. “I have a few more things to look over.”

“You need to unwind sometime in the near future.” He seemed a bit pleading.

“I will, just as soon as this interview is over.” 

“I will definitely take you up on that.”

“I was hoping you would,” she said, bringing the conversation to a close. Hopefully he wasn’t as dejected as he sounded. 

“Ok. I love you.”

She hung up before realizing she had not reciprocated. She started to call him back, but the doorbell rang. She rose from her bed with a sigh and headed to the front door.

A haze of sunlight filtered into the living room through vertical blinds covering a pair of French doors. Past the doors lay a well-kept back yard. A couch and a pair of easy chairs sat around a glass coffee table in the center of the room. Her mother’s tea grew cold in a yellow mug near the table’s edge.

The doorbell rang a few more times before Clara made it to the door, inciting her to fling it open in frustration. Louisiana’s humid summer air greeted her with its wet kiss. She stepped outside and looked around the bend of the house to find no one. Studying for this interview must be more draining than she thought.  

She moved back to her room. Opportunity wafted from the stack of books surrounding her computer as she sat at her desk. She cracked open the book on mathematical graph theory she had been reading before her mother’s earlier interruption. Pages of handwritten notes sat wedged throughout, representing the milestones of her college course. Most students never understand the close relationship math shares with computer science, but when it comes to digital security, the two are inseparable. 

Her mind floated into the pages of her studies. Information flooded back to her while she read, reminders of a simpler time. Only now did she see the real-world application of what she had learned, and Mandrake would be most interested in the interview candidate who clearly demonstrated such insights. Competition was fierce, but so was she. Well, at least Drake believed in her. 

The doorbell rang again, breaking her concentration. Annoyed, she threw her book onto her bed and went back to open the door. A cloud passed overhead, toning down the cheery light in the living room. She opened the door and again saw no one. She let out a frustrated sigh. 

Instantly, a loud banging noise snapped her attention to the French doors. A human shadow cast on the blinds wildly slammed its fists into the glass. Clara froze in place, paralyzed with fear.

“Help me!” the shadow screamed desperately before collapsing onto the ground.

Clara’s limbs awakened at once and she rushed to the French doors, quickly sliding the blinds aside. Instead of lying on the ground, the figure leaned upright against the glass, startling her. She fell backward onto the hardwood floor in surprise. A thin young woman with long, dark hair looked down at her through a pair of black over-sized sunglasses.

A chill tingled Clara’s spine, sucking her breath away. She screamed inwardly, commanding herself to move, but she remained pinned to the floor. Fear sliced into her heart like a knife.

The woman swung an axe into the French doors. Harsh lines of cracked glass grew outward from the center of the door. With a twisted smile, she thrust the axe straight into the door, blowing tiny shards of glass into the house.

Clara felt a dark presence reach in and touch her soul. She rolled onto her hands and knees, clawing at the floor in a frantic dash to the front door. The woman laughed softly behind her.

Clara grabbed the edge of the coffee table and pulled herself up. The woman buried the axe deep into her lower back. Clara slammed onto the coffee table, spilling her mother’s tea. She screamed through the pain, trying to crawl across the table.  

Bare feet landed on either side of her. The axe tore into her side, cracking through bone. Clara curled around it, trying to hold it in place. With a quick jerk, the axe swept out again, taking with it a chunk of flesh. Clara lurched onto her back and screamed until blood poured from her mouth, choking her voice. 

Feeling the cold metal of the axehead press against her neck, she looked up in terror at her assailant. The woman bent down, placing her lips next to Clara’s ear.

The woman spoke in a gentle, impassive voice, ”Your vision is too narrow, but only through this pain will you expand it. Tear your heart in half and bury your soul.”

The woman jumped off the table and exited through the front door, leaving it open. Clara looked outside, feeling throbbing pain numb her body. Carefree birds sang her eulogy. She reached for them, wishing they would save her. Blood seeped between her fingers over the glass of the coffee table. Daylight faded away, leaving her in darkness. 

End of Demo

I hope you enjoyed this snippet. For the full experience, look for the release of Shadeskin soon in print and ebook.

There was a period, long ago, in gaming history where online shooters were about skill and knowing the map. Everything was fair and balanced. No player started out with any advantages over his or her opponents. We had an equal distribution of fun.

Things have changed thanks to the new breed of online shooters in the vein of Battlefield and Call of Duty. These two franchises have changed the gaming landscape to the point that the top 1% of online players now control over 50% of the weapons and upgrades at the start of every match.

Maps are no longer flush with weapons and powerups for anyone to take. Instead, players are incentivised to spend hours on end leveling up so they may gain access to equipment inaccessible to new players. This gives an unfair advantage to players born with more time to spend on the game.

Instead of fair and balanced gameplay, EA and Activision have subsidized these top players to the point that they are nigh untouchable unless one is willing to grind through the maps as cannon fodder for the top 1%. As if starting with superior equipment wasn’t enough, the 1% have an easier time of racking up killstreaks, providing them with even more tools of destruction to reign down on the 99%. In a game that is supposed to be about true competition, it seems that the 99% don’t stand a chance against their subsidized overlords.

Why all these subsidies? Shouldn’t a player’s value be intrinsically defined by his or her own skill?

It’s time to end this madness and turn back to our roots. We need to rise up and #OccupyMultiplayerShooters until our demands are met with a return to the days of fair and balanced gameplay!

While the art of the written word will always have the novel, I think a new approach is needed for this new age of digital reading. Everyone loves a good story, but few really want to put in the effort required to sit through an entire novel. Well, I have the solution.

About a year ago, my good friend B.L. White came up with an idea of breaking down an epic story into smaller, self-contained episodes that would be quicker to write and get out to readers. This may not be a new concept, but it is one that should be revived since the digital platform is perfect for it. Why wait for a whole novel to be finished when we, the authors, can write the same story inside episodic bites for you to digest throughout the year?

I Shall Not Rest in Peace is the first episode in White’s Void Voyage series. Clocking in at around 33K words, it will take the average person about three hours to read. That is much more manageable for a time-constrained reader than something like George R.R. Martin’s A Game of Thrones. Plus, you still get the benefit of an epic storyline as more episodes are released.

I’m not quite as wordy as White, so episodes in my own series, Supremacy: Reformation, average 10K words, allowing you to read each of them in about an hour. Now, I’m sure everyone has an hour to spare this week to enjoy a good story. Besides, what else are you going to do? Watch a couple episodes of Teem Mom and Jersey Shore?

Void Voyage and Supremacy: Reformation can both fit into your hectic schedule. Just grab your digital device of choice and download them!

Buy Episode 1 of Supremacy: Reformation:

• Amazon
• Barnes and Noble
• Smashwords

Buy Void Voyage 1: I Shall Not Rest in Peace:

• Amazon
• Barnes and Noble
• Smashwords

I know you are an excited Redditor who just can’t wait to shout out to the depths of the internet that your book is available for consumption, but hold up for just one minute. Your first inclination will probably be to promote yourself on Reddit. It makes sense: you are an avid Redditor, fellow Redditors should appreciate your work for that fact alone, so why not? Well, it doesn’t really work like that and here is why:

First of all, Reddit is a quirky community of hipster-hating-hipsters that are so self absorbed in their parents’ basements that they will take any excuse to downvote you. So, when they see some post about another Redditor who has self-published a book, they just roll their eyes and immediately click the upside-down arrow in hopes that all your beloved dreams will be crushed just like theirs.

Let’s say, for instance, you have finished a book called, I don’t know, Supremacy: Reformation. Let’s even say that you intend to tell the story in episodic bites that only take an hour to read, giving those with the busiest of schedules an opportunity to participate in an epic science fiction story. Well, Reddit won’t care, even though they could be reading the first episode while they ride the tram or other strange, non-US types of transportation.

They won’t even care that they will be directly helping the plight of a 99%er since they will be giving their entertainment dollars directly to you instead of some jerk, 1%er publisher. No, all they will do is make some comment about, “here we go again…” or “400th repost this week…”. So, the first thing not to do is make a post on Reddit.

Another great temptation will be to submit one of your own blog entries about your book to Reddit. This is another classic recipe for disaster for nearly the same reasons I stated above. No one here cares about your blogspam and submitting your own blog entries seems kind of desperate, anyway. So, don’t do it!

Actually, I don’t think there is anyway that Reddit could be used to promote your book. Maybe you could set up your post as an Imgur link, because everyone blindly clicks on those. Other than that, though, nothing will even remotely work. You will be permanently relegated to the bottom of the Reddit barrel.

So, in short Reddit hates you and your book. Have a good life.

TL;DR Don’t make posts like this one to promote your book unless it’s on imgur.

This is just the first of many episodes in this series. Each episode’s reading time is around an hour.

Synopsis:

With the rest of the galaxy shrouded in darkness, the Second Order stands as humanity’s last bastion of hope until the gods return. Its citizens cling to their emperor who rules with the divine mandate bequeathed him. However, many question his loyalty to the gods saying that he has supplanted them.

In this episode, a Priestess of the Communication Order leads a covert mission that heralds the beginning of a new era for the Second Order. For when the gods return, they will find a people ready to receive them instead of slaves to an emperor.

The stage is all set for the official Minecraft release here at Minecon.  All Notch has to do is pull that lever and unleash the final build to the public.

Thousands of us are crammed into the ballroom at the Mandalay Bay anxiously waiting for the opening presentation.

My friends and I have speculated that the creeper on the stage will explode into the blocks on the left and our hero, Notch, will pop out to greet his horde.