Showing posts with label excerpt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label excerpt. Show all posts

Friday, February 21, 2014

FREEBIE-FRIDAY: Ammey McKeaf: The Chronicles of Azulland

For all your fantasy lovers, this week's Freebie-Friday is the first in Jane Shoup's thrilling series, Ammey McKeaf: The Chronicles of Azzuland. Download it for FREE on Amazon, Kobo, and the iBookstore. But before you do, check out this excerpt:

In the middle of the Cantabric Sea, surrounded by the Kingdom of England, the Kingdom of France and the five kingdoms that make up the Iberian Peninsula, was the island country of Azulland. It is no more—or so they say, yet every ship that attempts sailing past that phantom land area, the very space the country once occupied, is lost, never to be seen again. ‘Cursed’ is the whispered reply. Perhaps. I once thought so.

The mystery of Azulland has been an object of great speculation and pure fabrication.Eventually, in the passage of time, it may be forgotten altogether, just as we’ve forgotten Ydlil, Khlohar, Atlantis and so many others. Perhaps it matters not—yet there are legendary tales from this country that are worth knowing. I know because it was my home—and will be again if I ever manage to secure passage back.

The regret I feel for fleeing her shores is more profound than words could ever express. Like the others who fled, I was fearful for my life. If granted time, I will explain that, but I dare not divulge the most compelling factors for my leaving at this point in my narrative. It takes time to explain how things came to be the way they are—or rather, were when I fled.

Over the course of the last several years, I have developed a fascination with the science, craft, and art of cartography. Often I look upon a favorite old map, fixated on the island of Azulland, and I can clearly picture the Blue Mountains we were known for. In my mind’s eye, I can see the great cities of Nawllah and Bellux-Abry, the grand castles and estates of the southern valley, the cold, clean rivers, and fields of wild loira – a deep blue flower so sweet in scent, nothing can compare. It does not grow anywhere else and so it will fade with the memory of the few of us who still remember it and who will, too soon, vanish from the earth.


I state this vow with utter conviction; if I am ever able to cross back to my homeland, I shall never leave those shores again, no matter what forces rip and tear at her.

 Download your FREE copy of Ammey McKeaf: The Chronicles of Azulland today!

At nineteen, Ammey McKeaf is a golden-haired beauty that is beloved and protected, not only by her father, the most revered General in Azulland, but also by five elder brothers, all champions of the games that are held in the medieval island country. Her brothers have trained and challenged her all of her life, especially at swordsmanship, which will serve her well.

Trouble stirs when Marko Corin, the ambitious leader of Bellux-Abry, seeks to gain control of the country. His small bands of highly trained soldiers, known as ‘wolf packs,’ roam the country, reaping destruction and death. When a pack strikes close to the Forge, home to the McKeafs, Ammey is escorted to sanctuary -- but sanctuary is a thing of the past.

As violence reigns, Ammey is rescued and taken into the mystical Vihlae Forest, where she discovers strength she did not know she possessed, and learns the art of survival from one of her rescuers, sparking an undeniable passion. As Ammey travels from one end of Azulland to the other, battling to survive and protect those around her, she will be tried and tested beyond anything she could have imagined, but will her efforts be enough to save herself and those she loves?

Friday, January 31, 2014

Excerpt: IT'S JUST A F***ING DATE, by Greg Behrendt & Amiira Ruotola

In case you missed it, today bestselling authors of He's Just Not That Into You Greg Behrendt and Amiira Ruotola stopped by The View to chat it up about their newest book It's Just a F***ing Date, a fun and easy guide that give you the tools, not the rules, to the art of dating. 

So today, we'd love for you to check out this excerpt straight from the book. Get your copy of It's Just A F***ing Date on Amazon, Kobo, the iBookstore, Barnes & Noble, Bookshout, the Sony store, & Audible!

From My Name Is Amiira and I'm A Bad Dater (It's Just A F***ing Date): 

“It seems like I should have figured that I was doing it wrong after the fiasco of my first marriage. Want to talk about going fast? It was love at first sight … except for the fact that he had a girlfriend. It was a matter of months before they broke up and we got together, so to make up for lost time we spontaneously got married in Vegas by an Elvis impersonator. That’s good, right? I had never been to his home, we hadn’t met each other’s families and probably didn’t know each other’s middle names. We did have similar record collections, so that should have been enough. Well, not surprisingly, it turns out that we didn’t really know each other that well, along with other biggies that eluded us, like similar values and the desire for children. So that didn’t work out, but I learned my lesson about jumping in too fast. Or did I? My next relationship went straight from “Nice to meet you” to “We should go to Barbados on vacation.” At least I had seen his house before packing my bikinis, plus we did have similar record collections. But ultimately we got too intense too quickly and we burned out on each other. Strike two! It’d be nice if there wasn’t a strike three, but there he was and who could resist the best friend that proclaims his love after too many Heinekens? Not I. So into instant boyfriend I fell. You know what happens when you go from being best friends to instant significant others? You realize that you probably weren’t meant to be boyfriend/girlfriend but are trapped in a relationship with a person you love but “not in that way.” That didn’t end well. So at this point I recognized that speed was my foe and the way I dated wasn’t working for me. The relationships I got myself into were plagued by the lack of certainty from rushing myself or someone else into feelings that weren’t fully cultivated. Then I met Greg Behrendt, who must have been doing the same thing in his life, because he was Mister Take It Slow. Nice. We went out on our first date, which was very good; in fact, we decided that we would go out again while still on the date. But then I broke up with him. Huh? It’s a long story involving an ex-boyfriend that wouldn’t go away. However, he said the most amazing thing upon hearing my true but cockamamie-sounding story about the ex-boyfriend on my lawn that prohibited me from dating him right now. He said, “It’s also okay if you don’t like me like that.” What?! Who the hell was this completely self-possessed guy? I told him truly that I didn’t know yet whether I liked him but would be interested in finding out. So we dated, the old-fashioned way. He called ahead, asked me out, plans were made and we went on dates. We also dated other people while dating each other. There was no hopping in the sack, no racing to lock it down, no panic about what the other was thinking, feeling, doing. Then one day he said something mind-blowing: “I’m not going to date other people. I only want to go out with you, but I don’t expect you to do the same until you’re ready to.” What?! Who the hell is this guy who is going to stop dating other people but not demand I do the same? I had never even heard something remotely similar to that sentiment. So we continued dating and soon after I came to the same conclusion that he did … I didn’t want to date other people. So there we were as boyfriend and girlfriend because we both truly wanted to be that and had figured it out at our own pace. Revolutionary!"

Thursday, January 16, 2014

Ten years ago, a poison left one city gripped in panic. Ten years later, it's happening again. An excerpt from TIME RELEASE by Martin J. Smith

Check out this excerpt from Time Release, Martin J. Smith's thrilling suspense about a murderous poison, and the crime one detective is determined not to let go unsolved once again.

A low hiss: the electronic crackle and hum of a 9-1-1 tape recorded from a television speaker. Then:
“Greene County Fire. Is this an emergency?”
“Yeah, uh, it’s my mom.” Young kid, early teens, voice cracking. “She was just putting the groceries away and, oh God, she’s really having trouble breathing. I’m the only one home.”
It was a Wednesday, late afternoon, early November, the temperature dropping fast. Downing knew that much from other news reports and the week-old Waynesburg Courier clipping that was folded into the envelope with the cassette. He imagined the rest: A bored dispatcher, a woman, expecting another space-heater fire out there among western Pennsylvania’s shivering rural poor. She’d have swept the mouthpiece of her headset down to her lips and jabbed the pickup button on the Automated Location Identifier, and the caller’s phone number and address would have flashed onto her video screen.
Downing checked the newspaper story. 29 Ruff Creek Lane, Waynesburg.
“What’s your name?”
“JoAnn Cuddy.”
“That’s your mom’s name, right? What’s your name?”
“Mark.”
Downing closed his eyes. The dispatcher would have typed in the name and poked another console button, channeling that information through the county’s Computer-Aided Dispatch System. An electronic form would have blinked onto her screen, listing the nearest major cross streets to 29 Ruff Creek Lane and a code signifying which local ambulance company covers that area.
“Okay, Mark. Can your mom talk?”
“No. No. I don’t think so. She’s really—”
“How old’s your mom?”
“Thirty-eight. No, thirty-nine.”
“Is she conscious?”
“Yeah, but, oh God. Can you send somebody really quick?”
She should have typed “conscious” into the form and transmitted it to—Downing opened his eyes and checked the newspaper story—Weaver Ambulance and Rescue in Waynesburg.
“They’re on their way. So your mom’s still breathing then?”
“Trying.”
Something glass shattered in the background, followed by the crunch of splitting wood and the heavy, sickening thump of flesh on floor. The phone banged again and again, hollow and sharp, like it was hitting a wall.
“Sir? Are you there? Sir?” Downing checked his watch. The digital timer raced through ten, fifteen, twenty seconds.
“She fell, then she threw up.” Kid’s voice panicky now.
“Is she still conscious?”
“Don’t think so.”
“What did she throw up?”
“Just some yogurt. She was eating it a couple minutes ago when she started, like, choking.”
The dispatcher probably went for her allergic reactions key-question cards. The prearrival instructions are printed on the back of them. Downing winced at the thought. So logical, but so useless.
“If she’s unconscious and still vomiting, I want you to turn her onto her side and make sure her airway is clear so she doesn’t choke. Can you do that?”
“Just a minute.” Panicked whimpers as the kid worked. Downing checked his watch again. Sounds of desperation filled his head.
“Okay. She’s on her side, but she’s hardly breathing. Oh God. Jesus! How long until they get here?”
“Stay with me now. Your mom have allergies? She wearing any sort of medical-alert bracelet?”
“This is really bad. No. No. She wasn’t allergic to anything, I don’t think.” Kid sobbing now.
“How’s her skin feel? Is it pale, cool, moist?”
“Hang on.” Downing flinched at the dropped handset’s hollow report “Skin’s cold, and really, really white.”
“Okay, listen. She’s going into shock. I want you to put her feet and legs up on something. If she’s on the floor, grab a kitchen chair and put her legs up on it. Got that?”
Silence, then the rhythmic cadence of convulsion, as unmistakable as the sound of lovers. Downing put his head down on the desk. So goddamned useless.
“Sir? Are you there?”
“She’s having a seizure or something. She’s—where the fuck are they?”
“Listen. This is important. Your mom is having convulsions. You need to move everything away from her, anything she could hurt herself on.”
“She’s—”
“Pots, pans, kitchen utensils, furniture. Make sure it’s all out of her reach. If she’s wearing a collar, loosen it if you can. And don’t try to restrain her. She’ll be all right.”
“Now?”
“Now. And don’t put anything in her mouth, especially your fingers.”
Downing’s head filled with more sounds—chairs tipping, a table being shoved aside.
“Oh God, she’s dying!” Kid screaming now. “What’s wrong with her?”
“Stay calm. She needs you. Is your mom pregnant?”
“No. No. What else should I be doing?”
Downing could almost see her struggle. The body overwhelmed, the eyes uncomprehending, reaching, clutching, dying.
“She stopped shaking, but I don’t think she’s breathing. Not breathing at all. Mom. Mom! What should I do?”
Downing could hear the dispatcher fumbling through her key-question cards. One choice left: CPR. But there was a commotion as she started her instructions.
“In here!” the caller shouted to the arriving paramedics, and the line went dead.

Want to read more? Time Release is available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and in the iBookstore. 
Stay tuned for the next installment by Martin J. Smith, The Disappeared Girl, due to release in March.

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

"Sometimes I can be sarcastic. I don't know if people realize that." - An excerpt from THE TAO OF CHIP KELLY

The Tao of Chip Kelly by Mark Saltveit
is now available for all eReaders
In 2007, some fans in Eugene, Oregon were in line to buy basketball tickets and killing time by tossing a football around. A husky stranger interrupted to give them some unsolicited advice:

“Let me show you how to throw a football. You gotta flick it like a booger.”

The stranger was Oregon’s new offensive coordinator (and former high school quarterback) Chip Kelly. He’s a very funny guy, a classic New England deadpan ball-buster.

He also doesn’t see the need to give anyone respect that they haven’t earned. And he is surrounded by very talented people who have been working their asses off for most of their lives, so his standards for earning respect are very high.

This has led to an often-contentious relationship with the press, whose members are not used to being challenged and rarely have the history of military service or major football accomplishment (either as a player or coach) that most impresses Chip.

When Kelly was at the University of Oregon, there was also a bit of a West Coast/East Coast culture clash, something that won’t be a problem in Philadelphia (where fans are known to throw batteries and boo Santa Claus). But Oregon is definitely laid back, if a bit more solid than California.

I experienced Chip’s culture clash in the opposite direction, as an Oregon kid who went to college in Boston. Out of the blue—in a Store 24, for example—total strangers kept giving me crap, and I thought “Oh my God, every single person is an asshole here!”

Of course, four years later when I returned to Portland, I was the asshole, busting chops on people I just met and offending baffled strangers. I had to become a stand-up comedian just to explain myself.

Still, it’s Chip Kelly’s jousting with the press that we hear about the most because even when reporters are the butt of the joke, they can’t ignore the fact that Kelly gives some of the best interviews in sports. For full effect, you need to know that he talks very fast and right off the top of his head. Here are some examples.

At the press conference after the 2013 NFL annual meeting, a reporter asked whether Kelly’s Eagles would use the read option play he relied on at Oregon.

“It depends on who your QB is. If you were my QB, (probably not). You have to adapt.”

Another asked him what had been the most difficult thing to deal with in Philadelphia. Kelly replied, “The Schuylkill [Expressway].”

At the press conference on the first day of organized team activities—a non-contact set of drills—he was asked to rate how well his team played.

“Our defense was going against barrels, and our offense was going against air. But our offense killed it against air, so if we could play air we’d be really good …”

Kelly makes it very clear that he does not give out information about the current injury status of his players. This has been his consistent policy for many years, as reporters know.

In one of Kelly’s first moves as coach, the Eagles signed free agent Kenny Phillips, a talented but wounded veteran coming back from microfracture surgery in his left knee in 2009 and an MCL problem in his right knee in 2012. After Phillips sat out one of the Eagles’ early practices, some reporter asked the coach, “Does (Kenny Phillips) have an injury?” Kelly’s answer:

“Yeah, he’s had an injury for a couple of years now.”

Many of Chip’s best quips have involved bringing reporters who get too clever in their thinking back down to earth. When one reporter asked what he had learned from studying USC’s epic run of seven straight PAC-10 championships (from 2002-2008), Kelly answered “Yeah. Get good players.” The Trojans were (and are) a recruiting giant of almost SEC proportions, clearly dominant in the PAC-12.

Some of these busts are so deadpan that people might even miss them. After a rare loss, one reporter asked how much he planned to change his strategy as a result.

“Thirteen percent. Exactly.”102

Kelly doesn’t like long-winded speeches or stuffiness in any form, either. Before the 2011 National Championship Game, after endless interviews and speculation, there was this exchange:

“MODERATOR: We will take an opening statement from Coach Kelly.

KELLY: From me? Wow. Haven’t heard enough? Game is tomorrow night. Let’s go play. Questions?”

On a similar note, after Oregon beat UCLA for the 2011 PAC-12 championship, the press conference moderator asked if there were any opening statements. Kelly quipped:

“Opening statements? Is this a debate? LaMichael: Thermonuclear war. Are you for it or against it?”

He also doesn’t like stupid questions. One reporter at spring training in Oregon noted that then-new recruit Colt Lyerla had started workouts at tight end. He asked, does that mean you want him to play tight end? Chip said:

“We were actually going to look at him at D-lineman, but we couldn’t get the right jersey on him. No, we are going to look at him at tight end. That is why we put him at tight end.”

It’s not just that Kelly thinks he’s smarter and funnier than everybody else (though I’m not saying that he doesn’t or that he isn’t). This is part of the New Hampshire culture he grew up in, and it’s a way for him to stay grounded, as his oldest friends will tell you. Kevin Mills, an assistant coach at Portsmouth High School and one of Kelly’s best friends, said this:

“Some people, you put a couple dollars in their pocket, and they sort of drift away, go Hollywood. He hasn’t done that at all. Whenever I go to a New Hampshire game, he’s texting me, asking me what’s going on.”

Sean Devine, the offensive line coach at Boston College, confirms this: “He likes to bust (chops). He’s quick-witted with a great sense of humor. (But) he’s a good guy. My first couple years, when I was a young coach and I was making peanuts, he took great care of me. Many times we’d hang out in Portsmouth, and he’d take care of things.”

Mills again: "Loves to laugh. He’s the king of trying to bust peoples’ chops.”

There’s a serious business behind the chop-busting. It’s a way to stay grounded, to keep your ego in check, to keep the focus on results and earned trust. Kelly has paid to fly half a dozen old friends from New Hampshire in for a few games every year, even when he was across the country in Oregon. The loyalty of someone you can trust to give you crap is valuable. Mike Zamarchi, a high school coach and old friend of Kelly’s, said: “I think he likes us coming out. It loosens him up a little bit. He can be who he is, who he’s always been. Most people just know him since he became the head coach at Oregon.”

A reporter once asked Kelly why he is so contentious with the media, while he famously bonds with his players: “I’m different with our players because I trust our players and I’m with them every day, and I understand what they’re all about. I’m like that with everybody. It ain’t going to be Kumbaya and hug you the first time I meet you. But if I see you every day and understand what you’re about every day and that you share the same vision that I have, then I’ll die for you.”

One of the many contentious issues that the press asked Kelly about was how long he would stay at Oregon and whether he planned to go to the NFL. Did it make it hard to recruit for the Ducks, one reporter asked, after he started talking to teams like Tampa Bay about coaching positions? Chip’s answer was classic:

“I’d have a hard time saying, ‘Hey, please come to my program cause we’re really mediocre and I’ll never get offered a job anywhere else.’”

Reporters kept grilling him, and Kelly threw it right back. Eugene, Oregon is a town of only 150,000 people, and the newspaper is pretty small. Reporter Adam Jude from the Eugene Register-Guard asked the coach if he was being honest with recruits that he might not be there for their entire playing career. Kelly said absolutely and came right back at the reporter:

“I don’t think anybody can say where they’re going to be four years from now. Can you tell me that you’re going to be at the Register-Guard for four years? I wanna get you on record, too. Are we locking you in?”

That reporter, Adam Jude, left his paper for the larger and better-paying Oregonian six months later, half a year before Kelly took the job in Philadelphia

The revised and updated The Tao of Chip Kelly by Mark Saltveit is available today in all eBook formats.