Showing posts with label mystery novels. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mystery novels. Show all posts

Monday, March 31, 2014

THE WHISPER MAN by David Flynn



  What is your writing process?
 
For me, every story begins with “what if?”. That is such a truism for most writers that it sounds like a cliché. But it’s not. You truly need to let the dog off the leash and see where he goes, what tree he wants to sniff, what squirrel he wants to chase, what fire hydrant he wants to mark as his own. That’s what the dog’s story becomes and that’s what a writer does. He lets his imaginary dog off the leash and follows it, chasing after all the ‘what ifs’ his characters face in the course of a story. What if the hero is arrested based on bogus clues, but what if he really is guilty of the crime? What if the heroine has an affair but is so guilt ridden she tries to commit suicide, only to find out she was successful and now has to bargain in the next world for a second chance in this one?
 
Years ago I worked in advertising and there were two clichés that were nevertheless true. “Let’s run it up the flagpole and see who salutes” and “Let’s follow it and see what it eats.” The first might seem more appropriate after the story is written and you can gauge an audience’s or a readership’s reaction to the material, but the very first person to react to the story is the writer him or herself. When the writer follows the thread of a story to see where it’s going – or in effect, what it eats – he or she has to stop along the way and reread what he or she has run up the flagpole. If the writer can’t salute it then he or she has to back up and find where the tale went off the tracks and fix it. At that point the process of ‘what if’ becomes “then what?” When you start with “what if” there is an infinite number of possible answers, and when you choose one answer, you create a narrower set of possible directions a story can take until you’ve posited the final “what if” which will have a very limited number of possible answers. The hero lives or he dies. The villain is punished or he escapes, the word ends or it doesn’t.



David Flynn has worked for as a writer and actor (under the screen name Patrick Flynne) and is a member of the Screen Actors Guild and the American Federation of Television and Radio Artists (SAG/AFTRA). He has appeared in numerous motion pictures, both studio and independent productions, and in the daytime series, All My Children, Another World, Guiding Light and Loving and as the ongoing character Representative Ingersoll in videos for The Onion.

He has also performed as a spokesperson in numerous industrial films and television commercials, as a voiceover artist in radio broadcast commercials and as an English language narrator, editor and writer for several series on Ebru-TV, a Turkish company currently broadcasting on the Internet.

David has written 18 screenplays, including THE WAR CHANNEL, a Bronze Award Winner for Best Dramatic Screenplay at the Worldfest/Houston International Film Festival. This script was optioned by the Auerbach Company at Columbia TriStar Television. He has also co-authored two screenplays, one a Silver Award Winner for Best Dramatic Screenplay at Worldfest.

Under its original title, THE BRIDE OF DREAMS, the screenplay for THE UNDYING was one of fifteen semifinalists (out of a total of 3900 entrants) for a Nicholl Fellowship, a screenwriting competition sponsored by the American Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences (AMPAS). The Nicholl is considered to be the most prestigious screenwriting competition in the industry.

His novel THE WHISPER MAN is the first in a series of mysteries that focus on unusual crimes and criminals in New York City.




Book Genre: Mystery
Publisher: Amazon
Release Date: Jan 3, 2014


Book Description: Sex, vanity and psychology are the weapons David Barry uses as he kills for money in THE WHISPER MAN.

David's prey - and profit - are the wealthy of New York City,
with each murder crafted to look like a suicide, an accident or the work of another, but always with the goal of increasing David's balance sheet. When a close friend of Manhattan ADA Joseph Kane dies at the 
apparent hand of his wife, Kane refuses to believe in her guilt. He investigates the recent deaths of several prominent and wealthy New Yorkers and decides there may be an undiscovered killer behind them.

Kane develops a prime suspect and triggers a battle of wits with the brilliant and
arrogant David Barry who must kill again, not for profit this time but to protect his identity. The jealousy of Kane's insecure wife and conflicts with his boss become the tools David will use to destroy his adversary.

Excerpt:

The moment after the crash was filled with screeching tires as following vehicles tried to stop or avoid the two ruined cars. If traffic were heavier it might have been a three or four car pile up but since the street was fairly quiet, no other vehicle added to the destruction. The two cars had struck each other on the right front fenders, leaving the drivers’ sides untouched. Behind the now deflating airbag Per Arnudssen sat in shock. He did not consciously register the fact that the driver’s door on the Cadillac was swinging open and the driver was stepping out.
Later, witnesses at the scene would describe the young Latino with the greasy hair under the tightly tied “do-rag” who ran from the scene of the accident. They would describe the puffy jacket and hoodie he was wearing, the baggy jeans and the large Nikes with the shoelaces loosely tied in the street fashion of the day. They would point north on Eleventh Avenue and east on 29th Street where they saw him run. It all happened so quickly and so unexpectedly. That was all the Police would have to go on.
#
The driver of the Cadillac stopped running as he turned onto 30th Street after crossing Ninth Avenue. He slowed his pace to a street swagger until he reached the narrow opening between two buildings. He glanced around quickly before slipping into the alley. Sure that he was not being observed, he stripped off the jacket and the hoodie and threw them on top of a garbage can. Next he slipped off the oversize sneakers and the baggy jeans, and they followed the jacket onto the garbage can. He was confident that within a couple of hours they would be found by a bum or an addict and sold to someone else for the price of a few hours of diminished consciousness. Recycled into the city’s economy, they would never be identified as the clothes of a hit and run driver.
Underneath the Nikes he wore slender white tennis shoes. Finally, he slipped the do-rag from his head and used it to wipe the grease from his face and ditched it in a different trash can. David Barry, wearing a buttoned down shirt, crew neck sweater, khakis and an attitude of innocence, walked out of the alley and over toward Eighth Avenue.
 David decided that his plan had gone so well that he would take a leisurely stroll back to the scene of the accident and look over his handiwork before going out for dinner. By the time he reached 26th Street, a considerable crowd had gathered and was being held back on the south side of 27th Street. He joined the crowd and slowly worked his way to the front of the group. He watched the actions of the Police and the EMT team for about ten minutes before finally deciding on Thai food.

Giveaway:

1 DVD of The Undying, written and produced by Author, David Flynn








The Undying is a 2011 American supernatural romantic thriller written by David M. Flynn and 
Steven Peros and directed by Steven Peros. The film stars Robin Weigert, Anthony Carrigan, Wes 
Studi, Jay O. Sanders, and Sybil Temtchine. Wikipedia
Initial releaseOctober 25, 2009














  • Wednesday, February 5, 2014

    Lakeside University Cover Up by Charles A. Taylor




    Title: Lakeside University Cover Up
    Author Name: Charles A. Taylor


    Author Bio: Dr. Charles “Chuck” Taylor, author, speaker and diversity expert is currently a professor in the school of education at a Midwestern college. Although he has written and edited over 10 books, this is his first novel. Chuck has also written a full-length children’s musical, a highly acclaimed documentary on the Milwaukee, Wisconsin civil rights movement and continues to serve as a national consultant to college campuses in the areas of racial diversity and inclusion. Please visit his website for additional information: http://drcharlestaylor.com/about/

    Author Links




    Book Genre: Mystery Thriller
    Publisher: Roar Enterprises, Inc.
    Release Date: January, 2012


    Book Description: A cross is burned in the yard of two black Lakeside University students. When campus
    officials call the incident a harmless prank, both black and white student organizations, launch a series of protests to force the administration into conducting a full investigation.
    Instead, the administration devises a divide and conquer scheme to create a rift between black and white students. Feel the tension mounting as the students react to the Administration’s response to the incident. As black students turn up the pressure, the campus stands on the verge of a racial explosion. Campus leaders must find a way out of the crisis so they seek the help of Dr. Wendell Oliver, the country’s leading expert in diffusing racial tension.
    Watch Dr. Oliver as he masterfully guides the feuding students into looking beyond themselves on a weekend retreat that is filled with action, danger, sexual attraction, and racial conflict. Discover the hidden lessons that students learn about friendship, betrayal and forgiveness. Follow the love story as the plot unfolds. Experience this roller coaster ride of emotions for yourself! Learn the secret behind the cross burning as the leading character Gloria finds her voice.

    Students come to realize that the cross burning is more than just about racism. Its wicked flames shed light on corrupt cops, complicit college administrators and misguided attitudes that point to a major cover up. When students finally piece the puzzle together, justice is served but it comes with a steep price. Lakeside University will never be the same again.


    Excerpt One:

    Enough was enough. Dean of Students, Todd Severson stormed into President David Horning’s office and slammed the door. “Sir, we need to do something!” Severson said, lowering himself into the chair across from Horning’s antique desk. “Your divide and conquer strategy is backfiring—we have to do something and do it fast, or this university will explode!”
    President Horning glanced up from his coffee. “That’s a bit dramatic, Todd, don’t you think?”
    Severson leaned forward in his chair and pressed his palms against the desktop. “A black student has just been attacked!” he said. “Classes are being disrupted. The police are running themselves ragged, trying to keep everything under control. Now we have threats of a major civil rights demonstration being held on our campus!”
    Horning looked at Severson and frowned. “Why don’t you just calm down,” he said. “We’ve weathered crises before. This isn’t any different.”
    Severson stared back, his jaw askew. “Sir, I beg to disagree! We may have been able to smooth things over in the past, but this is very different. This could turn violent—even more violent than it already has become. And it's just a matter of time before the media plasters this mess all over the front page.”
    Before Horning could respond, his phone rang. As he reached to answer it, Severson stood to leave. “Hold on Todd. Let me get this. This might be the call that will get us out of this damn mess,” Horning said, as Severson paced the floor.
    ***

    Three Weeks Earlier
    It was a cool, cloudy Sunday night in early autumn. Two figures huddled in the shadows next to a small house, near the Lakeside University campus. They set to work quickly, and soon a sharp chemical odor drifted through the air.
    “Man, this shit really stinks,” said the first one, muffling a cough in his gloved hand. “Are you sure this will work?”
    “It has to,” said the second. “You heard what they said. We’ve got to take care of this tonight.” “Okay, okay,” said the first. “Just light the damn thing so I can make the call and we can get the hell out of here!”
    ***
    Inside the small house, Lakeside University student Ashante Melashe was working on a recording for her broadcast engineering class. Just as she hit the record button, the shrill ring of the telephone echoed through the house. "Oh, no!” she moaned, “I forgot to turn off the ringer!” She pushed her chair back from the table. “Well, that’s another sound bite down the drain."
    "I'm coming," she grumbled as the phone continued its loud summons. "Hello?"
    "Look outside,” said a gruff, male voice. “You’ll see how we feel about niggers at Lakeside University."
    "What did you just say? Who is this?"
    "Just look outside, bitch."
    “Is this some kind of joke?” Ashante asked, but the only answer was the dial tone.
    Shaking her head in disgust, she took a deep breath and stepped out into the front yard. The shock of the flames sucked the air from her lungs in a choked gasp. A strange smell burned her eyes and throat. She stood frozen, glaring at the blaze of bright red and orange fire burning against the cold, black starless night.
    Then the realization hit her with as much force as if someone had kicked her in the stomach. Suddenly she knew what she was staring at: a huge cross, whose wicked flames lit up the yard and filled her with soul wrenching horror.

     "Oh, my God," Ashante whispered. 







    Friday, December 13, 2013

    Laina Turner Mystery Tour




    Laina Turner Mystery Tour
    @lturnermolaski 

    About The Author:


    Who am I? It kind of depends on the day. I am a human compendium of unrelated things. I used to think I was just weird, had shiny ball syndrome and couldn’t focus, scattered, you name it. Then I decided it was OK to be all over the place as long as each avenue I wanted to explore had meaning and purpose or was fun. So I embrace the fact I am a college professor, a writer of fiction and non-fiction, promoter of other authors, human resource professional, business consultant, mom, and all around interesting person (according to my closest friends).


    When I’m not working toward my goals I like, ok fine, LOVE wine, coffee, shopping, and books. I enjoy my kids, they are awesome. I hate the cold but yet live in the mid-west. Vegas is one of my favorite spots as I love to people watch and if I ever get married again it will definitely be in a drive through chapel by a fake Elvis.


     Genre: Mystery
    Publisher: Five Seas Ink
    Release Date: November 23, 2011
    Amazon

    Book Description:

    In this short story Presley goes home for Christmas expecting it to be a relaxing holiday until her old boyfriend, Brian, asks for her help finding out who has been stealing from him and it turns from theft to murder. Why would anyone want to kill Tommy and what was he hiding?











    Tuesday, December 10, 2013

    Fun Is For ShaLLow PeopLe by Elizabeth Myrddin

    Elizabeth-Myrddin  

    Fun Is For Shallow People
    Elizabeth Myrddin



    Me Oct 2013Elizabeth Myrddin works, lives, and plays in beautiful San Francisco. She writes for enjoyment and because the individuals and experiences that pepper her life, for good or for ill, inspire her. Although her writing tends to lurk on the darker side of storytelling, she finds the soft-boiled pulp mystery subgenre appealing. Fun Is For Shallow People is her first full-length novel. The penning of Part Two of the story is already in progress.

    Author Links

    Writing blog: inkyheels.wordpress.com
    Facebook: facebook.com/InkyHeels
    Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/7362068-elizabeth-myrddin
    Link to book on
    Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18654243-fun-is-for-shallow-people
    Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Fun-Shallow-People-Elizabeth-Myrddin/dp/1492807532/


    Book Genre: Mystery
    Publisher: CreateSpace, self-published.
    Release Date: September 29, 2013
    Buy Link(s): http://www.amazon.com/Fun-Shallow-People-Elizabeth-Myrddin/dp/1492807532/ https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18654243-fun-is-for-shallow-people https://www.createspace.com/4455452

    Book Description:

    Parlors, petticoats, and poison! A half-empty bottle of absinthe and a dead man in costume are found in a drifting rowboat. As Detectives Ted Rose and Alexa Sheldon unravel intrigue and ferret out motive, they bump up against the heaving bosom of theatrics that is the Laurel Bay Costume Society. Soon, a group of suspects emerge from the clique of unconventional people. Two beautiful women seek to influence the proceedings. One is Trina, the blond, wanna-be femme fatale. The other is Yvette, the cunning, red-haired scene queen. Yvette and Trina turn their battle for social standing among peers into an extreme sport as they try to sway the investigation. Ted and Alexa are determined to out-maneuver the manipulators in order to crack the case.


    Excerpt

     
    They entered the flat and Ted spent a few moments taking it in. The front room resembled a cluttered Victorian parlor. Memento mori décor dominated the space. A row of antique cabinets lined one wall – one a large taxidermy display filled with stuffed birds and reptiles, a black rabbit sitting on its haunches, and a sleeping fox. The other cases held old-fashioned apothecary containers, teacups, and various other decorative items – all vintage looking. The décor in the room was overwrought, but he was fascinated by the more macabre items, one of which was a large casket in a corner propped on end being used as a sort of open closet for wigs, hats, scarves, and gloves.
    Ted watched Yvette closely as he asked, “You know a Nathan Collier, correct?”
    She narrowed her eyes. “Nathan is my ex-husband. We’ve been divorced for a short while, and we travel in the same social circles, but only out of necessity. Whatever trouble he’s in, I don’t want any part of it.”
    As she spoke, Yvette straightened her posture and tilted her chin slightly upward. Her attitude made it clear she wanted to exhibit disdain, which she did in an exaggerated fashion that was almost comical. With an affected gesture, she tossed her long hair behind her shoulders and awarded Ted a polite smile.
    He scrutinized Yvette, his gut pinging. The way she talked and presented herself mirrored that of the Meryl Streep character in She-Devil. Instead of blond hair like Streep in that movie, Yvette’s was a bold plum red, long and wavy. What was that character’s name?
    After Yvette breathed a heavy sigh, she said, “I’d really like to finish my makeup. Please continue with this business of yours, whatever it is.”
    At the park event on Sunday, did you notice Mr. Collier or anyone else missing at any time?” asked Alexa.
    A frown creased Yvette’s forehead. “I am the organizer and hostess for that event. I had too much going on to pay attention to Nathan’s whereabouts. He was probably screwing around somewhere, which would be typical. And I certainly can’t recall the location of everyone else. I was focused on my poetry recitation and those of the others who participated.”
    Where did you go after you left the park?” pressed Alexa. “Did you return home or go elsewhere that same night? If you were with another person, we’ll need him or her to verify your whereabouts.”
    Yvette raised her eyebrows in surprise and stiffened. She replied as though affronted. “After the event ended at four, I returned here to change out of my Mary Shelley costume. Then I met up with my current paramour, Gabriel, at his place at about six or seven for supper. We stayed in at his apartment the rest of the night and I returned home the next afternoon.” Yvette gestured to a nearby couch, “Would you two care to sit? I get the impression this might take a while.”


      Elizabeth-Myrddin    

    Follow The Tour Here



    Monday, September 30, 2013

    The Travis Club by Mark Louis Rybczyk



    Radio listeners in Dallas/Fort Worth may know Mark Louis Rybczyk better as 'Hawkeye,' the long time morning host on heritage country station, 96.3 FM KSCS. An award-winning disc jockey, Mark, along with his partner Terry Dorsey, have the longest-running morning show in Dallas. Mark is an avid skier, windsurfer and traveler. He is also the host of 'Travel With Hawkeye' a radio and television adventure feature that airs across the country. The Travis Club is the third book from Mark Louis Rybczyk.










    Publisher: Self Published

    Genre: Mystery
    Release Date: June 17, 2013

    In a cathedral in downtown San Antonio, just a few blocks from the Alamo, sits the tomb of Davy Crockett, Jim Bowie and the other Alamo Defenders. Or so we have been led to believe. What secrets really lie inside the tomb and what has a group of misguided activists known as The Travis Club stumbled upon? How far will the city's power brokers go to protect those secrets?

    What would happen if a group of slackers discovered San Antonio's DaVinci Code? Find out in the new book by Mark Louis Rybczyk, The Travis Club.







    Excerpt One Short:

    Chapter 1

    Noel Black sharpened a pencil and placed it neatly back in the top drawer of his glass-topped
    desk, right next to the other sharpened pencils. He glanced at the clock then straightened a few
    paper clips and a calculator on the stark, polished surface.

    11:08 p.m.

    He knew he’d be leaving soon. So important to stay on schedule. Especially on a night like
    tonight, when a life would come to an end.

    Among the abstract paintings of his office was one unframed black and white print. A picture
    of her. Not a picture of sentiment, but simply of record. A photo that would soon belong in a file.
    Black fingered the yellowed photograph and could not help but think of childhood visits to
    his mother’s father, his abuelo. He remembered spending the hot San Antonio summers at a
    rickety west-side duplex much different than his parents’ ranch house in Dallas. Abuelo’s home
    was filled with people, music, food and love.

    As a child, Black would spend summer afternoons within earshot of the front window,
    waiting for the rumble of his grandfather’s old diesel engine. Then the home would fill with
    other workers, workers who were grateful to the old lady. All immigrants, they had left Mexico
    hoping for a better life. The old lady offered them higher wages than the pecan shellers received.

    With the promise of steady income came the chance to move into a house with plumbing, to send money home, and to send for other relatives. His grandfather loved the old lady and he did too.

    More recently, Noel Black’s feelings about her had changed. She was a relic, an icon of a
    past era. Now in her final years of the 20th century, the old lady had outlived her usefulness and
    had no place in the modern San Antonio that he envisioned. She was in his way. She needed to be eliminated.

    Of course, this kind of work had to be contracted out. He usually relied on a local contact
    who understood the procedures. Anytime a life was extinguished, it must be done with precision in Noel Black’s world.













    Thursday, July 25, 2013

    Buzz Kill by Teresa Trent




    Kindle Free Days

    July 25 - 28


    Buzz Kill
    by Teresa Trent


    Genre: Cozy Mystery
    Release Date: July 2013




    Book Description:


    Betsy Livingston is planning a wedding so what could go wrong? After publishing a recipe for homemade calamine lotion in the newspaper, the ladies in the community church make a large batch. Everyone loves the stuff until someone in Pecan Bayou is found dead after using it. The town points to Betsy and she starts rethinking her whole career as a helpful hints columnist. Now she must clear her own name in between dress-fitting, cake-tasting, and all those things that turn a bride into a bridezilla. Is Betsy at fault or could there be something else that leads her down the aisle to murder?





    Excerpt:

    “Okay now, let’s see.” Mr. Andre lowered his head, revealing the roots of his mousse-spiked, bleached hair. He wore a dark maroon suit with a matching jewel-toned silk shirt unbuttoned midway, showing sparse hair on his skinny chest. “Do you have a photographer?”
    “Yes,” I ventured.
    “No,” Aunt Maggie cut in. “She has some guy who shoots kiddie team pictures.”
    “Oh my.” Andre circled something on his clipboard. “No photographer.”
    “And you’ve gone for a wedding cake tasting?”
    “A tasting? I think I already know what vanilla and chocolate tastes like by now.”
    Andre shook his head as if I were a child. “No, my dear. You will be pleased to find out there are other flavors like white amaretto, champagne – girl, you can even get peanut butter if that’s what floats your boat. So I take it you haven’t had a cake-tasting session?”
    “You would be correct,” I replied.
    “I see.” He circled another line. “And your flowers?”
    “She’s using Lenny Stokes, and she’s already put a deposit down,” Aunt Maggie said.
    Andre grimaced.
    “I see. I’ll need his number and address so I can get in contact with him to put him on my approved vendors list.” He circled another line. “And what is the venue?”
    “We are going to have the ceremony at the community church.”
    Andre’s eyebrows raised as he nodded and smiled. I had finally done something right.
    “Do you have any kind of documentation on this?” he asked.
    “Not officially, no,” I said. “I have talked to the pastor about it, though and he says it’s open. We live in a small town, Andre. Documentation isn’t always required.”
    “Mr. Andre,” he corrected.
    “We just don’t have the same kinds of waiting lists like there are in the big city.”
    He clutched his hand to his chest. “Well, that’s a relief.”
    “And your invitations?”
    “We weren’t going to send those out until mid-January. We were afraid people would lose them. I have them ordered.” Mr. Andre’s eyes slanted toward me. “Well, they’re not exactly ordered, but I do have them picked out.”
    A pause hung in the air as Mr. Andre summoned up the strength to go on. “Are you sure we’re planning a wedding and not some kind of country barbecue where they cook a pig over a spit?” He clasped his hands together in front of him to emphasize his point. “You are in crisis mode, Madame Happy Hinter.”
    I gulped. So maybe, just maybe, I hadn’t nailed down enough of the details. I felt a tear escape onto my cheek. Andre, used to overwhelmed brides, reached over to a satin-covered tissue box and slapped it down on the table in front of me.
    “Dry your eyes, sweetie. We’ve got work to do,” he said. “You should know what a lucky girl you are. I just removed myself from a wedding on the same day. No one – I repeat, no one – does a wedding like Mr. Andre, but even I have my limits on troublesome brides and monster mothers. As fate would have it, I’m yours.”
    He walked over to a filing cabinet and pulled out a large white leather binder. Mr. Andre’s picture was on the front, and underneath that, “Weddings Exclusively by Mr. Andre” was embossed in gold lettering.
    “I don’t care what religion you are,” he said. “This, lovey, is your new bible. Carry this with you everywhere and fill it with notes, questions, business cards, quotes and everything – I mean everything – that has to do with your wedding. Is that clear?”
    “Yes, sir,” I said and saluted before I could stop myself. Aunt Maggie broke out into a laugh, but Mr. Andre turned quickly, fixing his eyes on her. She quickly stifled her reaction and stood up a little straighter, becoming just another draftee in the world of white satin.




    Monday, July 1, 2013

    Head Case by Jennifer Oko



    Head Case
    by Jennifer Oko
    The Extreme Novelist
    Like most writers, I am an excellent procrastinator. Truly world class. If I need to get my house clean, my laundry done, the kids signed up for their summer activities for the next five years hence, all I really need to do is decide to start a new novel. The writing might not come fast, but the dishes sure get done. The more writing I need to do, the less writing actually happens. I don’t want to get into psychoanalyzing WHY this is, why so many talented and devoted writers are even more talented procrastinators, though from my armchair I can certainly hazard a few guesses. Heck, I could spend an afternoon doing that. But obviously, since the ultimate goal is to actually finish writing another novel and not to earn a degree in armchair psychotherapy, this isn’t a very workable situation if I want to get any substantive writing done. So, I set out to find some solutions.

    In April, I signed up for Camp NaNoWriMo, the springtime offshoot of the wildly popular National Novel Writing Month, in which you commit to writing an ambitious amount of words (50,000) in the course of the month of November. The “Camp” is held in April and July, and it is a little less intense, because you can set your own goals. In April, I set a goal of 20,000 words. The first couple of weeks were great, my novel was moving forward at a respectable clip, and the writing wasn’t even all that bad for a first draft. There is a fun word count calculator to keep you motivated, and I was having fun comparing notes with my “cabinmates.” But by the end of week two, I started to slack off, and so did they. There wasn’t much at stake (other than the ruination of my writing career), so I decided to find another way to be even more accountable. I roped in a good friend.

    2. Behavioral Therapy (or shall we call it pride?)
    My friend Jen lives in London and I don’t. But I love her and I miss her and I think she is an amazing writer and editor. She suffers from the similar problem of trying to balance writing with a day job, a family, getting to the gym and periodically appearing in public in a presentable manner. So together we decided to create an online check-in spot where everyday we would report our word counts and, if desired, share some pages. That worked for about three days. An unanticipated turn made Jen’s day job take over her life, and a similar thing happened with me. Because we are such good friends, we were too supportive and understanding and hence gave each other too many outs. I didn’t stop writing, but I wasn't writing enough. Not if I wanted to finish the novel I am working on before my kids go to college (they are now six and eight). Which is when I decided that the “gym incentive” might work. If you pay to join a gym, you are more likely to go. If I paid someone to check on my progress, I was more likely to make progress. So, I started sniffing around the catalogue of The Writer’s Center in Bethesda, MD, which isn’t too far from my house. Which brings me to...

    3. The Extreme Novelist
    I flipped through the catalogue, and there it was. The perfect solution. A local writer with more than a dozen published novels to her name (and pen name) was offering a workshop that was essentially a boot camp for writers. In order to join, you had to sign a contract that stipulated that you would write at least 90 minutes a day, six days a week. It wasn’t cheap, but I knew I had to do it. I signed up. The class provides a support group to check in with and be accountable to. The teacher shares some tips, war stories, and motivation, and then there is an hour and a half to write. So far, it’s working. And, not unlike committing to an exercise regime, the more I do it—the more I prioritize the time and show up to my laptop —the easier it becomes. But it is a lot of work, sometimes requiring late nights and early mornings. Which leads me to this:

    Given all the above, one thing is clear. All of this requires energy. So I find myself bemused by a current argument about whether caffeine helps or hinders creativity.  As one writer surmises that, like Ritalin and Adderall, too much coffee makes us hyperfocus — good for cleaning closets, not so good for synthesizing plot. "While caffeine has numerous benefits,” writes Maria Konnikova in The New Yorker,  “it appears that the drug may undermine creativity more than it stimulates it." But as James Hamblin notes on TheAtlantic.com, “the most common barriers to people creating are initiative, commitment, and self-doubt. Caffeine helps with all three of those.”  Well, considering that I need to both clean the closets (and do the laundry, go to my day job, take care of my kids...) and write the books, I’ll side with Mr. Hamblin and order myself another cup of Joe. I still have 90 minutes I need to put in for today.


    About The Author:

    Jennifer Oko's first book, Lying Together: My Russian Affair (written under her maiden name, Jennifer Beth Cohen), was published in 2004 and received numerous positive reviews. The New York Times Book Review called Lying Together "riveting" and twice named it an Editors' Choice. The San Francisco Chronicle raved, saying it was "a heady cocktail" and "a quick, juicy read." Her second book, a satirical novel about morning television news entitled Gloss, was a Marie Claire "pick of the month" in 2007 and chosen as a "hot summer read" by USA Today.

    Currently working as a freelance writer and media consultant, Jennifer is a "recovering" journalist and award-winning television news producer. A graduate of Columbia University's Journalism School, her career has taken her across the country and around the world.

    Additionally, Jennifer's writing has been published in a variety of magazines, including The New York Times Magazine, New York Magazine, Maxim, Self and Allure.

    Jennifer lives in Washington, DC with her husband and their son and daughter.

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    Head Case

    Genre: Humorous Mystery

    Publisher: Jennifer Oko
    Release Date: February 2013

    Book Description:

    As one reviewer states: "HEAD CASE is an enjoyable gem of a mystery, and more...There are drug-dealing grannies, pill-popping celebrities, Russian mob bosses, eccentric ex-Soviet chemists, feuding roommates, faltering friendships, bad bosses and a rat named Raskolnikov - so how can you not have fun?"

    HEAD CASE is a new, exciting and sometimes laugh-out-loud funny mystery from an author whose work has been called "SIMPLY RIVETING" by The New York Times and "SHARP AND FAST-PACED" by Publisher's Weekly. It's like Alice Sebold's The Lovely Bones meets Carl Hiaasen's Nature Girl (with a dash of Janet Evanovich's One for the Money) as Olivia embarks on a postmortem quest to deconstruct the remarkable events that lead up to her mind-altering death.

    A comic satire of the influence of the psychopharmaceutical industry on American life, HEAD CASE takes Olivia and her estranged friend and roommate Polly Warner on a collision course involving ethically challenged executives, spotlight-hungry celebrities, third-rate mobsters and drug-dealing babushkas. A smart and savvy page-turner, HEAD CASE explores the meaning of personal relationships, emotional intelligence, and mental health while taking the reader on a synapse-stirring, neurotransmitting rollicking ride.

    Praise for Head Case

    "Head Case is an enjoyable gem!" ~Dan McGirt, Amazon Reviewer

    "Oko's writing is as addictive as the pills she pokes fun at!" ~ElevenelevenAM, Amazon Reviewer

    "All I can say is that if you don't put ALL YOUR OTHER BOOKS AWAY and read just the FIRST chapter you are NUTS; you will find yourself going and going and I will just say it now --your welcome!" ~Jennifer Elizabeth Hyndman, Amazon Reviewer

    Excerpt

    EXCERPT one:

    It's all very dramatic. Although I suppose on some level, in the end, that is what Polly wanted. I mean, she didn't want anyone dead, certainly not anyone she knew. The opposite really. She once told me she just wanted it all to be very alive. Life. Which is drama, right?
    I think she was probably right, that to some degree that's what we all want. Or wanted. If we were going to be satisfied just living our lives with the dull drudgery of the everyday, then why would we spend so much time fantasizing about what's next, what's in, what's hot? If dull drudgery made us fly, Polly wouldn't even have the silly career she has. Celebrity publicists wouldn't exist. No one would aspire to anything. And without aspirational living, who would care about celebrities, luxury goods, or, hear me out now, the pursuit of happiness. Right? So maybe there's a very direct link between our celebrity culture and our societal eagerness to pop a pill.
    I know it might sound like a stretch that there could be a connection between designer psychopharmaceuticals and, say, designer fashions, but if you stop to consider that, with the exception of certain celebrity Scientologists, just about everyone who is anyone in the world of the aspirational has certainly popped a few in their time, it makes sense. We live by these assumptions that overnight success is possible, that shiny happy people are models to uphold, that tomorrow any of us could be the next A-lister, the next gazillionaire. Couldn't there be a connection here? If there is a pill for every little micro-problem in our brains, why not believe that there's a quick fix for everything else too? I'm sure Polly used to believe that. I know she did.
    This is what's so nice about being dead.
    I get to play the role of wise sage, and with an amazing perspective. Because when you die, not only can you flit around the present, you also get to watch stuff in rewind. You get to go inside peoples' heads in the past tense and follow the firings of their synapses, medicated or not, as they spit them toward the present. Yes, Cher, it turns out that you can turn back time. But the catch is-drum roll please-you can't be alive to do it. And so, proverbial remote in hand, I'm now able to backtrack; I can take a look and try to figure out how this all happened to my best friend. And by extension, of course, how this happened to me. How, at the ripe age of twenty-eight, with a future as bright as whatever cliché the tabloids will soon be gushing, my body-the body of Olivia Zack-is lying down there in the back of a black Lexus SUV (license plate NYX1KZ, in the event anyone can do anything with this information) while I'm up here, floating around bodiless in the ether, shape-shifting, wall-transgressing, house-haunting, and whatever else it might be that you imagine we ghosts can do. I'm trying to figure that out as well. After all, this is fairly new for me, too. I've only been like this for a few minutes, just long enough to zip up to Polly's apartment and witness her flailing about, waiting for me to come and comfort her once again.
    Anyway, in order to figure this out, it seems logical that before I can fully focus on my ending, I need to go back to the source of the whole mess. Because it's very clear, especially considering the other blood that was spilled near my remains, that I seem to have gotten caught up in a drug war. And I'm not talking crack cocaine. I'm talking Prozac. I'm talking Ritalin. I'm talking Adderall, Lexapro, Zyprexa, Klonopin and what have you. The good stuff. The blockbusters. The billion-dollar babies.
    Go get some popcorn. The show's about to begin.