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Kindle eBook of the Day: Survivors Of A High School Shooting Spree Reunite To Heal, Only To Find Evil Joins The Gathering. Jeff Bennington’s Reunion – 4.5 stars from 23 reviewers, now just 99 cents, and here’s a Free Sample!

Twenty years after a high school shooting spree kills eight students, their classmates reluctantly hold a reunion to lay the past to rest. Old flames are rekindled, fears are ignited, and their lives are about to explode in a whirlwind of memories, haunted by the malevolent spirit of the killer. 

Jeff Bennington’s Reunion4.5 stars from 23 reviewers and now just 99 cents on Kindle!

Here’s the set-up:


David Ray killed eight students and then turned the gun on himself. He thought the shooting and suicide would fix his world. It didn’t. The massacre threw Tanner Khan and the other survivors into chaos.

Twenty years later, Tanner and his fellow classmates reluctantly agree to hold a reunion to lay the past to rest. Although they suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder, they come back to their hometown and reunite in the defunct school building. Old flames are rekindled, fears are ignited, and their lives are about to explode in a whirlwind of memories, haunted by the spirit of David Ray.

Once inside the old school, they discover that a dark entity has joined them. It has come to collect a debt, long overdue, and someone has to pay. Will Tanner and his classmates overcome their fears and put the pieces of their lives back together, or will they be consumed by their worst nightmare?

From the reviewers::


“Jeff Bennington cuts right to the heart of darkness and evil in REUNION. Don’t plan on getting any sleep once you start reading.” – Joe Moore, international bestselling co-author of THE 731 LEGACY and THE GRAIL CONSPIRACY.

“Reunion tackles a controversial subject with dramatic insight and grace.” – Bestselling author & Bram Stoker nominee, Scott Nicholson, author of The Red Church

“When I started reading Reunion I was shocked by the quality of writing. Natural dialogue, good flow, interesting story, and efficient prose—it’s all in there! This book draws you in quickly and doesn’t let go.” – Neal Hock, Bookhound’s Den

“The malevolent entity in REUNION typifies the dark side of the paranormal. Jeff Bennington’s new thriller is haunting my dreams.” – Michael Clark, Executive Producer of Ghost Guys and Ghost Guys LIVE.



 Have you ever wondered what becomes of the students who have been traumatized by a school shooting? Or have you puzzled over what might cause a child to intentionally murder his or her peers? Have you questioned what the long-term effects might be on the victims? How would their lives change? Who would make the most of their journey after the shooting? Who would lose their faith? Who might find it?

Over the years, I’ve wondered if the survivors would be able to return to the place where they watched their friends and classmates suffer, and die, at the hand of a crazed teen? How would they perceive those memories twenty years later?

These are the questions that have swirled through my mind every time I’d learn of yet another school shooting. I cringe when I hear that another young person has gone off the deep end and killed his classmates, leaving this world a darker and colder place with every bullet fired. The fact that it happens forces us to question what is wrong with our society–that this is even possible. The arguments are endless. But I didn’t write this story to discuss politics.

This book does not make any declarations concerning the root cause; it only addresses my questions regarding the victims, their lives (post-shooting), and my imagined mental state of an adolescent shooter. Remember, REUNION is fiction, and I hope that it is judged as such.

This multi-genre fiction has, at times, supernatural elements, because after all, the supernatural is spiritual, and doesn’t a school shooting boil down to a spiritual issue? I have also taken the liberty, or creative license, to include elements of horror, because I could not otherwise tell the truth–school shootings are horrific. If you want to read a story that goes beyond the superficial, then you might appreciate the value of all the elements that make this book what it is: supernatural, horror, romance, suspense, and dark fiction.



I’m the author of REUNION, a supernatural thriller,The Rumblin’, a short suspense and Killing the Giants. Look for my next supernatural thriller, Act of Vengeance in late 2011. I write, raise four great kids with my wife and blog at The Writing Bomb.



And here, in the comfort of your own browser, is your free sample:

 


Free Kindle Nation Shorts — May 18, 2011: Think “Strangers on a Train Meets The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo” – VIRTUAL STRANGERS

First, there were Per Wahlöö and Maj Sjöwall and the Martin Beck mysteries. Then came Henning Mankell’s Inspector Kurt Wallender, followed of course by Stieg Larsson and his remarkable creation of a latter-day Pippi Longstocking by the name of Lisbeth Salander.

Now, for all of us who have been looking and waiting for the next great page-turner with that uniquely Swedish spin, come Swedish novelists Susanne O’Leary and Ola Zaltin with today’s 8,600-word Free Kindle Nation Shorts excerpt from their novel Virtual Strangers.

With a plot as up-to-date as my daughter’s Facebook chat, a high-tech whodunit set in Paris and London, and a reader-friendly 99-cent price tag to celebrate its inclusion in our Free Kindle Nation Shorts program, we may not be able to keep track of what time zone we’re in.

But that won’t keep us from knowing what time it is. It’s time to start reading!

Virtual Strangers

Virtual Strangers

A Novel

 

by Susanne O’Leary and Ola Zaltin

 

 

 

 

Specially Priced For This Free Kindle Nation Short release!

Just $0.99 on Kindle

 

4.6 Stars from 7 Reviewers

 

 

Click here to begin reading the free excerpt

 

Here’s the set-up:

 

Two complete strangers meet on a train and agree to off their significant others. Sounds familiar? It should be:  it’s Strangers on a Train.

 

60 years later, two strangers meet online. A man and a woman– Seabee and Annika — hook up on a wannabe authors’ site where they flirt, banter and play around with the notion of dispatching their equally impossible partners.

 

It’s all a big literary, inter-textual joke, until the weekend when both their partners actually do die in what seem to be unrelated freak accidents – or are they?

 

Seabee and Annika find out in a hurry that cyberspace makes strange bedfellows.  If it’s not he nor she who did it,  then who has murdered their mates?

 

The two team up to find out who has hijacked their fantasy and turned it into a bloody real-life .

An Interview With Susanne O’Leary

We had a chance for a virtual sitdown with Susanne O’Leary. Here’s her story, and she’s sticking to it.

What was you inspiration for writing this book? And why did you decide to write a detective story?

O’Leary: I’d like to say ‘he made me do it’, meaning my co-writer Ola Zaltin. But that would not be the whole truth. Ola and I met on a writer’s site and played around with the idea of co-writing a novel. I think it was Ola’s idea to go for a detective story, as he has a background in writing screenplays for television, most notably the ‘Wallander’ series. He also had the idea of playing on the ‘Strangers on a Train’ theme and set it in cyberspace to make it more up to date. As we are both writers and had been involved in the ‘fun and games’ on a particular writer’s site, we had plenty of material to work with.

Have you personally been cyber stalked?

O’Leary: Not cyber stalked but like most people who are active on the Internet, I have experienced a certain amount of abuse, been involved in flame wars and been targeted by plenty of cyber trolls. I know how upsetting and scary it can be, which was a great help when writing the more dramatic scenes.

This book, unlike your others, is co-written with Ola Zaltin. For people who have read your other books, will this collaboration seem different?  If so, how?

O’Leary: Ola’s writing is much tougher and edgier than mine, which leans more towards romantic comedy. That said, I think the blend of romance, humor and post-modern realism is very interesting and brings a fresh take to my own writing in particular and detective stories in general. Our novel is unlike any other and we hope that readers will enjoy the new flavours in the crime genre.

Did you write this book simply as entertainment or did you want to address the issue of cyber stalking and teach people how to deal with it?

O’Leary: It was mostly for entertainment but I have heard that some readers were reassured by the fact that this kind of abuse (minus the murders) happens all the time and also that you have to be very careful with personal details when you post and blog on the Internet.

You’ve published books traditionally and as an indie. What do you see as the positives of each, for both authors and readers?

O’Leary: Being traditionally published brings with it a certain prestige. But it can be difficult because you often don’t make much money after the publishers and agent have had their cut. You also lose a certain amount of artistic freedom both for your writing and cover art. As an indie, I am free to make my own decisions and I feel readers have a greater choice of books with indie authors.

What do you hope readers will take away with them after reading the book?

O’Leary: We hope readers will have connected with the two protagonists and want to read more, as we are planning to write a second book and maybe even a third, making it a ‘Virtual’ series.

What about your co-writing experience? What was the best/worst part of it and would you consider co-writing another book?

O’Leary; It wasn’t easy to co-write in the beginning, as we had no idea about what actual technique we should use. There is no template for this. But we soon fell into a method of working together that suited us both. Not that there weren’t a few arguments and tiffs along the way, as we are both rather temperamental.  But in the end, we found a certain amount of harmony. It was a little like learning a complicated dance where both of us tried to lead at the same time to the wrong music. Finally, both the steps and the music clicked and it all started to flow. And yes, we would like to co-write another book and are planning to do so. But personally, I couldn’t imagine co-writing anything with anyone else. I enjoyed the experience very much and I felt that my writing really benefited from working with such a  talented writer. I hope he felt the same about me.

Six More for Kindle by Susanne O’Leary

An Excerpt from

Virtual Strangers

A Novel by Susanne O’Leary and Ola Zaltin

Copyright © 2011 by Susanne O’Leary and Ola Zaltin and published here with their permission

Chapter 1

THE END. I look at the words I have just typed into the computer. They seem to shimmer on the screen with supernatural powers. ‘I did it,’ I say out loud into the empty room, ‘I wrote a novel.’

I can’t believe it. I, Annika Duprey, actually managed to write one hundred thousand words of a story. A good story. A hell of a story, I tell myself. I suddenly want to celebrate, throw a party, drink champagne, open the window and shout over the rooftops of Paris. ‘Whooohooo! I finished my novel,’ I want to scream to the neighbours. ‘What do you think of that, you stuck-up frogs?’ But they wouldn’t care. They’d just shrug and say the Suédoise is being vulgar and loud again. Poor Monsieur Duprey. Not only is he handicapped but he has to put up with that tart of a wife as well. I haven’t actually heard them say it, of course but I can see it in their eyes when I meet them on the stairs or in the lobby.

The intercom on the antique chest of drawers makes a crackling sound. Then his voice: ‘Annika? It’s past seven.’

Oh God, I’m late. Again. I jump up from the chair, push my shirt into the waistband of my skirt, put on my high heels, push my fingers through my wild, curly hair in a futile attempt to make it behave and clatter down the steps from the tower room, through the corridor, past the kitchen and come to a halt by the door that leads to his room. I take a deep breath and open the door, my hands clammy. What kind of mood will he be in tonight?

I enter the room and that familiar feeling of being stuck in a never ending nightmare washes over me. It’s like a ground-hog day, repeating itself over and over again. The room smells of disinfectant and medicines, a hospital smell, which seems to have impregnated the fabrics of this, once so charming, master bedroom

I smile at him, sitting in the Louis XVI chair, his dark brown hair brushed, dressed in shirt, trousers and Gucci loafers, a cashmere cardigan thrown over his shoulders, as if he is about to take an evening stroll in the Luxembourg gardens nearby. But he can’t even stroll down the short corridor to the dining room, where I will shortly be serving him a light meal, a glass of wine and fruit salad. He can only shuffle there slowly with the aid of a walking frame.

‘Hi, sweetheart,’ I say, a bright smile pasted on my face. ‘Sorry I’m late. Work, traffic, you know. The usual.’

Charlie glares at me. ‘You’ve been home for over an hour. I heard you come in.’

‘I had some things to do.’ I busy myself with the evening routine; tidying the room, measuring his medication into a glass of water. My hand shakes as I count it out. It’s for his heart and a few drops too many could be fatal. When I reach ten, I pause. A few more and… But something stops me, what I don’t know. Not love but something else. Fear? Duty?  Or simply; thou shalt not kill

‘Here,’ I say. ‘Your drops. I’m sorry about not coming down straight away but you see…’ I pause. ‘I finished my novel.’

He takes the glass.  ‘So?’ He drinks the liquid too quickly and coughs. ‘Your story,’ he says when his breathing is back to normal. ‘Took you long enough. A damned waste of time. What are you going to do with it?’

‘Well…’ I pause and swallow ‘I’m going to edit it for a bit and then maybe try to get it published.’

He suddenly looks amused. ‘Published?’  He shakes his head and smirks, emitting a kind of giggle.

‘Yes, why not? You never know. I might be the next best-seller. I could make some money. God knows we could do with some.’

He holds out the glass for me to take. ‘I didn’t turn out to be quite the meal ticket you expected, did I, darling?’ His voice is as cold as his eyes, once so warm and full of love, when, what seems like a hundred years ago, he seduced me with his French lover’s ways and suave charm.

‘More like an out of date luncheon voucher,’ I retort, having given up declaring I married him because I was so in love I couldn’t eat or sleep. Which is the truth. Was the truth. Then the accident and the nightmare began…

‘You should put some of your bitching into your writing. Then you’d have a real winner. But I doubt you’d be able to produce anything readable. What abut dinner? You haven’t even started cooking yet.’

‘I have it all ready. I got a take-away from the traiteur. I’m too tired to cook tonight.’

‘Typical,’ he snorts. ‘Too busy wasting time, fiddling with your computer. Writing stories, ha!’ He rises from the chair with the aid of the walking frame, a sneer crinkling his lips.

Why did I bother? I ask myself as we slowly progress to the dining room. Why did I think I could talk to him as if he were my friend? As if he cares about what I’m doing? And why do I keep up this charade where I am the kept woman and he is doing me a favour and my job is just a silly little hobby? My salary pays all the bills and ensures that he can still live here, in this comfortable apartment, looked after by a private nurse during the day and me, his loving wife, at night.

The evening continues like every evening; me serving dinner and us eating in near silence, only broken by Charlie’s mutterings and the odd bad tempered complaint about practically everything. I help him back to his room, undress him and settle him into bed. We say goodnight and I return to my room and my own little bit of a life.

‘Why did you tell him?’ Kate asks during our telephone conversation later that evening. She is the only one of my friends who didn’t turn her back on me when disaster struck. She calls me every night and this has literally saved my life.

I lie back against the pile of cushions on the big bed ‘I don’t know. Stupid of me. But sometimes I forget how much he’s changed.’

‘Changed? He was always a conceited bastard. But his looks and money made up for that, I suppose. And the fab apartment.’

‘Not so fab these days,’ I mutter. ‘With all the stuff we had to put in that would suit an invalid.’

‘Yeah, that kind of took the gloss off it,’ Kate says with a hint of laughter. ‘I don’t blame you for moving into the tower room.’

‘You’re the only who doesn’t.’ The disapproving looks of Charlie’s sister and cousins flash through my mind along with their comments on how I was leaving Charlie ‘all alone’, even though he’s only down the corridor and within easy shouting distance. But I had to do it, make a bolt hole for myself, create my own space, where I can breathe a little and forget, just for a moment, that I’m chained to a mean-spirited invalid who used to be my glamorous husband.

I secretly enjoyed doing up the room, stealing the Aubusson carpet from the dining room, using the best pieces of furniture in the apartment, furnishing the large bed with lovely sheets and a patchwork quilt my mother gave me from her family home in America. Lots of cushions and large pillows complete what is now both my couch and bed; my womb, where I lie, reading, watching television or listening to music. I do my writing on the laptop that sits on the antique desk. Charlie has never seen what I’ve done to this room nor will he, not that he’d be interested.

‘But you were saying you finished the novel.’ Kate’s voice wakes me out of my daydream. ‘That’s amazing. Fantastic. I could never write a novel. Or even a short story.’

‘Well, thanks. But I haven’t a clue what to do with it.’

‘Have it edited and send it out to agents and publishers,’ Kate says,

I put the wineglass on the bedside table. ‘How do I do that? I don’t know any editors.’

‘Why don’t you try one of the websites for authors?’

‘Websites?’ I ask, sounding like an echo.

‘Yes. There are lots of them. Some even offer to review your book and I’ve heard there is one where you can get a critique from an in-house editor at a publishing house. I think Carper&Fluster runs one.’

‘Carper&Fluster? Oh, the publishers,’ I sit up on the bed, suddenly excited. ‘Sounds like a good idea.’.

‘Exactly. And here’s a tip: upload a really sexy picture of yourself to attract attention. You know, where you look blonde and lovely with a bit of an edge. The typical Swedish bombshell. The girl you used to be.’

‘That girl died a long time ago. Oh, I don’t know. I don’t really like going on these websites. I’m not even on Facebook. Seems kind of creepy to me. And why should what I look like have anything to do with my writing?’

I can hear Kate sigh. ‘You have to join the twenty first century sometime, sweetie. The internet is where it’s at these days, whatever you’re involved in. And being attractive is a huge help, believe me. If you want to have a writing career you have to learn how to hustle. Oh, and I remember that site now. It’s called “Authorspot”. Look it up and get hustling, darling.’

‘Hustling,’ I say, feeling a sudden apprehension. ‘Not really my scene.’ But she has started me thinking and when we have said goodbye I switch on my laptop.

‘Authorspot’ I write on the google page and when the link comes up, I click on the website address and – there it is, the site Kate told me about.

AUTHORSPOT, it says in brilliant blue capital letters at the top. And below: We’re much more than a community of book lovers. We’re on a mission to flush out the brightest, freshest new writing talent around. This makes me shiver with excitement. ‘The brightest, freshest talent’, that’s me, isn’t it?

Without further hesitation, I type the title of my book on the ‘register here’ page and upload the first four chapters. Then I put in the rest of the required data. When I come to the space where I’m supposed to write in my name, I hesitate. ‘Annika,’ I say to myself, what an uninteresting name. But, wait, why do I have to use my real name? Why be this dull, sad woman, when I can be whoever I want on the internet? I think for a moment. A name pops into my mind. ‘Anita’, I say to myself, and all the Anitas I have ever known flash through my memory. There was an Anita in my class; sexy, wanton and cheeky, Anita Ekberg, the epitome of the Swedish sex symbol and innumerable other women with the same name who seemed to have that extra oomph in one way or another.

‘Anita’, I write in the space for the user name. ‘Anita Lund’, goes into the space for the author of the novel. I even have a nice photo in my computer. A smiley, happy picture with the sun on my hair and a sparkle in my eyes. It was taken  a few years ago, on an island in the Stockholm archipelago, my childhood summer paradise. One of those special moments, when you forget your sorrows for just an instant, frozen in time.

Then: About me: What will I say? Thirty eight year old woman trapped in an apartment in Paris with a cripple? Writing crap novel to escape the dreariness of her own life? Working as bilingual secretary at the OECD in Paris when not at the beck and call of a bad tempered, mean-spirited man? No love life at all. No sex life, for God’s sake. No LIFE, I want to shout. But wait, I’m not me, I’m Anita, sexy, inviting and fun. What would such a woman do?

I live in Paris, I write. I’m half Swedish-half American. That, at least, is true. I work– I think for a moment –  as PA to a fashion designer. Yes, that’s good. Glamorous and chic. I have just finished the first draft of my début novel, which is in the romantic comedy genre. I’m hoping to interact with fellow writers and hopefully get some feedback on my own writing.

When all the spaces have been filled in, I look at the photo on the page and the name underneath. It isn’t really me but another woman, who I have just named Anita and she smiles at me as if she knows the two of us are embarking on a strange and magic journey.  I shiver suddenly, feeling I’m getting into something new and exciting and maybe even dangerous…

A week later I’m in my room after yet another dreary evening with Charlie, who has been especially nasty, taking out his frustrations on me, leaving me feeling so down I just want to crawl into bed and cry. I switch on my computer to check my e-mail, hoping there might be something from a friend to cheer me up.

One message. Not from a friend but something even more exciting than that; a message from Authorspot! Hello Anita, You’ve received a new comment on your book! To read the message on Authorspot.com, click the link below, or copy and paste it into your browser. A comment? Someone has read my book! I log in and there it is: my very first comment, from someone called Archie.

Hello Anita. I don’t normally read chick-litbut this grabbed my interest, mainly because of your gorgeous picture. Oh, yes! My photo is a winner here. But when I started reading I was immediately drawn in by the story and the characters. It’s a fun read and will be great once you have polished it up a little. I’ve backed it. Hope you like mine, which is a little darker. Cheers, Archie. ‘Backed’ it? What does that mean? I’m vaguely aware of some kind of chart-system and I realise now, that if you get backed, you rise in the charts and the top novels are the ones that get noticed by editors.

He backed me…I feel suddenly hot, as if someone has just looked at me in my underwear. Who is he? I click on his name and get transported to his page. A face smiles at me. Dark hair, brown eyes, sleek, handsome features: Archibald Duckworth. A solicitor in London, who has written a detective story set in Hampshire. And he read and liked my book. This gives me a kind of afterglow, nearly as if I’ve just been told I’m great in bed.

Excited now and wanting more, I click on the word ‘forum’ on the site. I see a list of topics, all related to writing. So many hints and tips right here at the click of a mouse. Third or first person? One of them says. How to create strong characters,says another.  The best covering letter to an agent. Then: Sex, how far do you go? Or: Prologues, for or against.

All these topics, or ‘threads’, as they are called,  grab my interest and I don’t even know where to start. I click on the sex topic. It’s all about writing sex scenes, which holds my attention for a long time. Then I switch to other subjects and I’m soon engrossed in the site and its many participants.

The forum is a hotbed of discussions, opinions, even rows and nastiness. Each post is adorned with the author’s picture, or ‘avatar’. Some avatars are simply faces, some are shots of dogs and cats or birds and flowers or landscapes and even cartoon characters. I prefer the faces and I look at each one, feeling as if I am at a party where I know no one but can pick and choose with whom I want to interact.

I nearly jump as ‘Archie’ pops into the thread about points of view. I look at his handsome face and smile. Hi, I type, thanks for the comment.

Hello my dear, he replies, fancy meeting you again. Nice to know a fellow author.

I greet him back and we switch to discussing the topic. Others join in and I feel I’m being drawn into a very seductive world full of people to talk to, who also want to talk to me.

It’s past midnight but I can’t stop, can’t switch off and go to bed. The discussions and banter become more fun, more flirty. I start my own thread entitled welcome to the chat room and it’s soon buzzing. My computer screen is like a 3-dimensional television and all my new friends smile and talk to me. Especially the men. They seem to believe in my smiley, sexy image, my flirty banter and the (slight) lies I tell them about my life in Paris. And I’m beginning to believe in them myself. Anita is that other me, buried and silenced for too long.

As I sit there, I straighten my back, stick out my chest and pull in my stomach. I feel a flush on my cheeks and a buzz deep in my abdomen. It’s like a drug with no after effects, except a lovely, slow- burning glow. I don’t want it to end, I want more, more and I click on one topic after the other, post comments and replies and sip a little wine while I wait for the answers back.

2 a.m. I begin to feel exhausted and just about to finally log out, when someone suddenly appears that I haven’t seen before. His avatar is a face with a cheeky grin. Sunglasses. Blond hair. Something in his expression connects with a different part of my brain. A strange feeling of dejá vu. Is it the features that make me feel I’m looking at my own kin? The look in those eyes, or the Scandinavian colouring? His name is Seabee (from his initials C.B which he has made into this nickname, it says on his profile) and Sundström , his last name,  leaves me in no doubt about his nationality. His message is in Swedish, the language of my childhood, a language I don’t speak often anymore but it’s so connected with my early years, my family and my heart. Another Swede, a refugee like me, a kindred spirit – a friend?

Chapter 2

Dogs were created by God for the needy.  A dog is blindly loyal, unconditionally loving and basically stupid. All they care about is peeing on their territory if male, getting laid if female and otherwise sleeping, gorging themselves on ecologically sound, super-expensive pellets and running around yapping  like yahoos. Come to think of it, they’re quite human.

A dog loves to be petted and wags its tail at nothing at all and at everything, whilst we homo-sapiens interpret it as loving happiness. Fact: a dog will wag its tail at a decomposing squirrel, before munching it up. (Try not to think about  that when a dog tries to put its tongue in the corner of your mouth). A dog will even love me, Seabee (cutiefied version of CB, my initials)  Sundström, half baked script writer and translator with a chequered past and not much of a future.

Fact: if you leave a dog alone for more than five minutes, the moment you re-enter its existence, it barks, jumps, somersaults and throws its paws in the air with abandon and wags its tail and slobbers like you’ve been away for a year. Their tails go: “You’reokayyou’reokayyou’reokayyou’reokay”.

Fact: a dog, cooped up in an apartment or other such domicile with a dead person, will wait up to a week until it starts to feed upon its former master. A cat in the same situation starts munching away on the second day. True story.

I have three dogs myself. My girlfriend Lies has a cat. That sums up our relationship rather well, I find.

Right now I have three wet nozzles prodding, sniffing and licking me simultaneously. Three dogs wagging their tails, as if they’re trying to whip up wind to breathe life into me. Usually, I find this rather endearing. Life-affirming and whatnot. Those dumb bastards actually liking me, when I myself, do not. But I know the real truth:  I’m the dead squirrel.

Outside the window are pigeons, smog and sunshine, sprinkled with human voices coming up from the street. I thought by this time in my life, I’d be living in L.A. Alone, pampered by an agent, manager, lawyer and an anorexic d-girl. But this, alas, is London. Are there pigeons in L.A? I doubt I’ll ever find out.

Next to the window is the “Saturday Night Rack”, as I like to call it. A metallic rack with all kinds of PVC & leather-naughtiness you could imagine neatly sorted by degrees of perversion and size. Next to me in bed is Lies, my girlfriend. Norwegian by birth, insane of mind, stunning of body. Make up your male mind as to your most wicked fantasy, frown if you’re female and just go from there. After a night on the town, coming back to our place she’ll gladly pull out the Saturday Night Rack and let me chose my fantasy de nuit and then it’s a gravity-defying,whipped-cream-scented-lubricants-alcohol-induced-fest of gymnastics until one of us gives up. Usually me.  There’s only so much a boy can serve up, as it were, and let’s face it; I’m way past boyhood.

The dogs are all over me in bed, paying no heed or attention to Lies at my side, sleeping away in a comatose state of bliss. I struggle out of bed wishing I was a cat person. Any movement, at any time, especially on Sunday mornings of wall-eyed hangovers, (much like this Sunday morning, in fact), elicits an eruption of insane barking, jumping around and the dogs generally making bigger prats of themselves than they already are – leading me on towards their food-bowls as I stumble after them – while yelping for Queen and country.

First of all there’s Paris. A fiercely homosexual Chihuahua (what else) that I picked up on a beach on the Yucatan peninsula and decided to adopt and bring back to London in a mescaline-induced bout of teary-eyed sentimentality. For which act he has rewarded me with absolutely refusing to be house-broken.

Secondly, Spud, a left-over from a previous girlfriend who bailed out without as much as a good-bye note or text message but left the happily salivating Mr. Potato with me. Spud’s  a diminutive Jack Russell (if you can imagine that), who has three titanic bolts in his right hind-leg courtesy of being half-chewed up by two very frisky Rotweilers. Spud will fight any male dog at any time and does,  refusing to acknowledge that he can barely kill a one-legged pigeon.

Then there’s Sick Boy, a black lab; connoisseur and gourmand of filthy dish-rags, socks, turds and rotting offal of any sort, hence his name.

After feeding the four-leggeds, I take stock of my general surroundings. If you look away from the red-wine stains on the walls, the cigarette-stubs crushed into the floor, the half-empty drinks glasses on the tables and the stale dirty air of the place, it’s not half bad. Hell, I’ve got Wegner chairs, Piet Hein lamps, Georg Jensen cutlery and Arne Jacobsen sofas littered with left-overs, beer bottles and empty pizza-cartons. Danish, okay, and I’m Swedish, but let’s face it – it’s just what’s ‘now’.

There are no carpets in my apartment, except one. This is where Paris and Sick Boy regularly do their stuff . And dogs do love a good carpet. However, I’ve beaten them to their game: I monthly toss out the IKEA carpet and get a new one, this way the dogs can pee and vomit on it to their heart’s content.

I can deal with this mess. I can deal with Sick Boy already up-ending his breakfast on the carpet with the name of AGGER (ten  quid). I can deal with the general state of upheaval of my space. What I cannot deal with, this morning, just right now, is the fact that the fridge contains no beers, all the wine-bottles are empty and the Smirnoffs on the kitchen-sink are as dry as an AA-meeting.

My usual morning routine involves black coffee and reading the news and other such pornography online. However, somehow, between drinking an insane amount of alcohol last night and waking up today with a thirst to beat the band, I seem to have developed something akin to the latter stages of Parkinson’s disease.  For short, I need something to steady my hands, and I need it yesterday.

So without further ado, I plop a filter in the coffee-maker, gather up all the half-emptied glasses I  can find and gingerly pour them into the awaiting coffee-pot. Cigarette-stubs, cigar-ends and half-smoked joints get collected in the paper filter, while gin, whisky, beer and white wine runs smoothly through and collect into an unholy alcoholic concoction which is poured into a tall glass.

On the surface it seems, I have it all. Or at least; more than most people. A flat in Holland Street. A blonde high-flying girlfriend who walks my dogs, bends over the way I want, when I want, (and even when I do not want),  who wears the ridiculously short skirts and insanely high heels I like – with a body to match. A career in screenwriting that’s okay (‘moribund’ comes to mind, but I like to think of it as ‘reviving’), three dogs that love their dead squirrel and the owner of a body that hasn’t quite given up on him all together just yet.

Then there is my other love; the novel I have written, or to be precise, I’m in the process of writing. First draft done and the whole shit uploaded on Authorspot, that slush pile in cyberspace Carper&Fluster has created. Well, why not, I thought, might as well get it out there in case anyone sees it. Which has brought me into another world I hadn’t been aware of before; an online forum for writers.

Firing up the old Dell, I sip my Long Island Tea from hell and experience the soothing effect of alcohol course through my body. With this drink, I can begin to think. The taste makes my toes curl, but my fingers unfurl. Can you feel it? I can: I’m beginning to make bad rhymes.

Mozilla Firefox kicks alive and my row of tabs beckon. It reads something like this:  news.bbc.co.uk/svd.se./dn.se/imdb.com/cambridge.dictionary.org/thesaurus.reference.com/wikipedia.com/facebook.com/google.com/youtube.com/ Windows Live Hotmail/  and more porn-sites than you could wave a stick at. Another sip. Another Sunday. Aahh. Not half-bad.

I peruse the tabs left to right. (If you’re wondering what Svd.se & DN.se are, they’re the two biggest morning-papers in Sweden. I get The Independent and the Trib on my doorstep daily, so this is my way of keeping up with what’s going on in the country where I started.)

After checking up on what President Obama and Prime Minister Reinfeldt are up to, what the weather over Stockholm will be like, what “inane”  really means and what synonyms there are for “oaken”, and what new gymnastics Tera Patrick and Sylvia Saint have been up to lately, I head over for the brass-ring; my latest internet fix.

Lies matched me drink for drink last night, and now she bounds out of bed, summons up the dogs and out they go through the door, after I get the perfunctory peck on the cheek. How she does it, is beyond me. I mean: partying so hard, sleeping so deeply and awakening so fresh. Perhaps it’s the nine years in age separating us. Perhaps I’m just not built for this lifestyle I’ve made myself. Perhaps I shouldn’t be asking these questions at this hour on another Sunday morning like so many others.

Another sip of soothing numbness. Seeing clearer, feeling better. For now. Never mind later on. Home alone at last. Funny thing is: I didn’t cover up the triple x -sites when Lies passed thru – she knows me well enough – but I waited with logging onto Authorspot till after she left. Now what does THAT tell us?

I’ll leave that question rhetorical for now, and check out who’s presently on Authorspot.com. Archie Duckworth (please tell me that’s a pseudonym) the crime-writer, is online, as is Alexander Whyte (historical fiction), Mandy Black (erotic/historical – yes, there is evidently such a genre),  Erkki (Finnish Swedish history), and on and on the list goes. My new friends. All of us wannabe authors of published fiction, none of us yet so far progressed. Which is why we have congregated at the Carper&Fluster site of the above mentioned address.

On Authorspot.com, I’m not really looking for Archie, Mandy- or Alexander, Dick and Tom, for that matter, either. I’m scanning the site for any news from Anita. Anita Lund. Why?  ‘Cause she’s sassy, sweet, somewhat sexy (judging from her pic) and Swedish. Just like me. Swedish, that is. And there she is and here we go.

Chapter 3

‘That new medication doesn’t agree with me,’ Charlie announces at dinner a few days later. ‘It says on the leaflet it can cause headaches and stomach pains.’

‘Oh?’ I say, not really listening. Charlie will soon be going to bed and in my mind, I’m already in my room, logged onto Authorspot, and checking to see if anyone has left a comment on my novel.

Is Archie on tonight? I hope so. I love looking at the photo and finding his message to me. Will I hear from that Swede again? Seabee, as he calls himself, being a WWII buff. He explained it in one of the forums the other night. Something to do with naval Construction Battalions being called CB’s and then ‘Sea Bees’, etc. Boys will be boys stuff.

There is something sweet and familiar about Seabee. It’s as if he speaks a language only we understand, even though we always communicate in English. We’re both Swedish and living away from home, both with an underlying longing for meatballs and herring, beer and schnapps, bright summer nights and the sound of seagulls, snow and skiing and hot chocolate in front of the fire, saunas and… I sigh. All the Swedish childhood dreams.

‘Did you hear me?’ Charlie snaps.

‘Um, yes? Of course I did.’

‘You lying bitch,’ Charlie snarls. ‘You weren’t listening, as usual. I said the new medication makes me feel terrible. I need to see the doctor again. Can’t you think of something else but yourself for a change?’

I sit up straighter, righteous indignation burning a hole in my chest. ‘Charlie, I always think of you first, you know that. And we just had the doctor here. His visits cost a fortune. We’re quite broke because you won’t let me take you to the clinic.’

‘I’m not sitting with a lot of sick idiots at the clinic just because you’re too cheap to call the doctor.’ He pushes his plate away. ‘And you can clear this rubbish away, I can’t eat it.’

‘I do my best,’ I mutter. I look at him across the table. There is an expectant glint in his eyes, as if he is waiting for the next part of the game, where I burst into tears. But today, I won’t play. He has lost the ability to get to me. I have a new circle of friends. There’s a sudden spark in my mind as I think of the fun ahead, logging onto the magic site and going through the screen into that ever ongoing, virtual party.

‘I need to talk to you,’ Kate says an hour later on the phone. ‘Is that Okay?’

‘Fine,’ I say, the phone under my chin, my eyes on the screen of my laptop. Archie has just posted a message on my page at Authorspot: Hello gorgeous creature, he writes, are you there today? I am planning a little party thread and thought I’d invite the sweetheart of the site to join us...

‘You sound strange. Charlie boy treating you well?’ Kate’s voice pulls me away from cyberspace while I try to type a reply to Archie.

‘Lovely.’ I’ll be here as usual, I write to Archie. I really enjoyed our conversation last night.

‘Really?’ Kate sounds taken aback. ‘What have you been feeding him? A love potion?’

‘Yes, that’s right…’ I mutter. Me too, I type.

Even the little spat with that idiot Rambo? Archie asks. But of course you managed to put him down nicely.

‘I’m really calling to tell you some bad news,’ Kate says.

‘Mmm.’ I was rather proud of that myself. I aim a little kiss at the screen.

So you should be, Archie says. That little snipe was  incredibly efficient. He disappeared from the site straight away.

Kate says something in a near sob.

I giggle, my eyes still on the screen. Then I realise there’s a silence at the other end of the phone. ‘Really?’ I say, to buy time. What did she just say?

‘Yes, really!’ Kate snaps. ‘And it’s not funny.’

‘Of course it isn’t. I’m so sorry to hear that.’ What? I wonder.  My eyes latch onto the screen again as I notice that Seabee is online. Hej, he says in the Swedish way. How are you tonite babe?

‘So now I’m out there again,’ Kate says.

‘Oh.’ Out where? Has she broken up with that German she was going out with?

‘But he wasn’t really worth much,’ I say, winging it.

‘I’m sorry?’ Kate sounds bewildered.

‘I mean…’ A new face pops into the thread I’m participating in. A Finn. Erkki. Has written a thriller set in the Pacific during WWII. He posts a funny comment and I laugh again. Must look up his book… I’ll go get some wine and settle in for the night. ‘You’ll find someone better,’ I say to Kate.

There is a long silence, during which I write a comment on my laptop.

‘You’re on that site, aren’t you?’ Kate snaps.

‘What?’

‘The writers’ site. Authorspot. I have heard it’s more addictive than heroin. And you are on it right now, chatting with some  imaginary friend.’

‘They are not imaginary. And we’re discussing writing techniques and publishing.’

‘Yeah right. Much more important than me and my job. Which I have just lost, like I told you. I’ll have to go back to Bristol and live with my mother. But what do you care?’

‘Oh, Kate,’ I say, suddenly pulled back into real life. ‘That’s terrible. Of course I care! Are you really leaving Paris?’ I try to pull myself together but I can’t take my eyes off the screen. Seabee has written a little poem:

Anita you are lovely and a little mean

I’m still sober and Daiquiris are green.

Which makes me laugh softly and I hear, as if in the distance, the phone click and Kate is gone. The sound of that click seems oddly final and for a fleeting moment, I want to call her back and try to pull her into my world again. But the screen of my laptop beckons, the different threads on the forum are as enticing as a newly opened box of chocolates and they draw me into that shimmering world full of fun people. I can draw them into my space too, just by creating a thread with a seductive title and they will flock around me and talk sweet nonsense. I hesitate for a moment. What will I say? How will I attract attention? It’s a cold, nasty evening, I hear the rain beating against the windows and a full moon barely peeks through the heavy clouds. But here, in my tower room, it’s warm and cosy. I have put on my flannel pyjamas and settled under the duvet with my laptop on my knees. I wish they were all here in person, all cuddling in with me, drinking cocoa and telling funny stories, like when I was ten and I had a sleepover with my friends. Why not create that kind of world on the screen? Let’s see who’d like to join me…

***

Christ, what a night. Rain in the offing and a full moon making Lies even more mental than usual, on the warpath bitching about everything; from me not shaving or getting a haircut and a proper job, to the dogs misbehaving in unspeakable ways with each other in dark corners. I try some humour, proclaiming that I’m always fixable appearance-wise and the hounds at least won’t produce offspring any time soon, what, with all three being male.  For a reply I get a slammed door and not long after, Lies returns with sushi and water when I asked for pizza and beer. Oh, she knows how to get to me, this one.

Then she told me to clean up the mess in the living room and left to go to some kind of meeting with a client. I thought consultants with their own firms could get their co-workers to do overtime. But being a control-freak, she probably never wants anyone to do stuff on their own. She left in a snot, saying she had to do all the work while I lazed around, didn’t walk the dogs, drank and partied to no end and never showed any results whatsoever as a writer. Not true. I’ve been known to take the dogs down the steps to the pavement and back on numerous occasions. I didn’t have a drink today (until now, after she left) and I just finished that second draft I’ve been working on, right on time. After two years. ‘Howzat, he!?’ I shout, scaring the dogs. But of course, Lies is long gone.

She can do the cleaning when she comes home. I haven’t time to play Mrs. Mop. I have more important things to do than pick up her stuff. OK, so it’s my stuff but I like it the way it is. With that big pay-check from Hollywood, I’ll hire a cleaning-lady. Find a doggie-walker. Buy a big fat car. No, scratch that. Pay off all my debts. And when that first million is spent – then I’ll buy the Bents. It’s gotta come soon, that pay-check. I’ve already planned what champagne I’ll order at the local bar when it does. I picked it out four years ago. It’s coming, that big break, I can feel it. Soon.

I sit in the only comfortable place in the living room; the leather chair from my old flat that Lies always threatens to throw out but I hang onto, saying if it goes, I’ll go. Which I won’t, but she doesn’t know that. I’m not going to give her the satisfaction. Or the chance to sell this flat. Or give up the comfort of her money. I can take the flak and the bitching and the sniping and the slammed doors and the slaps to the face. I can even take the refusal of sex, which is seldom, but happens. Allof which I dull with a constant supply of beer and vodka, with the occasional fistful of benzos. It’s Okay. Moving would be such hard work and I’d never be this comfortable again. It suits me. It suits her. We continue in our own miserable way. Insane physical highs and six-feet under mental lows, and no joke.  Life’s a bitch and then you fall for one.

I click onto the internet and log into Authorspot. It’s like coming home, a virtual home where the first person I look for is… well, OK, Anita. What is she up to tonight?

I  check out the forum board and one thread title immediately catches my attention:

JOIN ME UNDER THE DUVET

(Hello, what’s this?)

Anita: – Hello! As it is SUCH a cold wet evening here in Paris (and I’m sure wherever you are too) I thought I’d pull the couch as near to the fire as I can, make some mulled wine and gingerbread biscuits and pull the duvet up and ask my friends to cuddle up with me.

(An offer I just can’t refuse, innit? With that avatar she has and those words….phwoar, mate. The mixture of me feeling like I’m in a pub filled with horny lads and wanting to take the bird home – if not for real, then virtually, as it were – coupled with the fact that here on Authorspot the competing is verbal and not muscular, makes my  gin&tonic-ed mind anticipate the coming rumble all the more.)

Archie: – Hello lovely, what an excellent idea. I do feel very cold here in my old country pile. I need someone to warm my feet and my heart…

(AAARCHIE. Aaaargh. Of COURSE he’s already on the thread, suave, snooty snob of a so-called gentleman. I know what’s on HIS mind…uses a profile pic that’s an old Cary Grant photo – says it all, if you ask me.)

Anita:  –Archie, you’re so welcome. I’m wearing my pink flannel pyjamas and bunny slippers (but some nice lingerie underneath of course).

(And why’s SHE so bloody welcoming? Is he young, Swedish and virile? I think not.)

Erkki:  –Woweeee, finally a thread that suits a Scandinavian. How about some Koskenkorva to warm us up?

(Now here’s my man Erkks: Scandinavian to the hilt and not about to take any toff’s cricket.)

Archie: – If you mean that Finnish rubbish they say  tastes like old socks, I’m afraid you’re on your own, old boy.

(Ah, yes, and here we go again. I’m going to relish this, I can feel my bile rising and smile widening as I read on.)

Erkki:  – So you haven’t tried Koskenkorva yet? Some liken it to a swift hit on the side of the head with a 2 by 4, if consumed in copious amounts. The taste? Who cares, only for real men anyway: grows hair on your chest.

(Scratch one up for the scandies!)

Rambo: – So here’s where the sad-caseScandinavians hang out. That crap of a novel is a pathetic piece of shit, Erkki, just so you know. WTF do you know about WWII anyway, or anything to do with the military? Why don’t you stick to the Moomin trolls and leave good writing to us Brits?
(That bloody creep is here again. Always trying to stir up trouble just for kicks
.Time to hit the keyboard and come to the rescue of my man Erkki. Let’s see, what was that t-shirt I’ve seen around town lately…something with the Nokia-typeface and a play on their slogan…ah yes: )

Seabee: – “VODKA – Connecting people”

Anita: – Hi Seabee. I was wondering if you’d be around

Seabee –Room for ten more cold toes under the duvet? I promise I’m not wearing bunny slippers…lingerie…or anything else, for that matter 🙂

Archie: –No sleaze. We’re all gentlemen, aren’t we?

Erkki: –I’m not.

Seabee: –Me neither, pass the voddy, Errks:)

Rambo: – Fuck off, shithead.In fact why don’t you all fuck off and leave this site to real writers?

Seabee: – Talking about the military, “Rambo” – what’s YOUR background? You seem to talk about being a soldier all the time. You might not know that in Scandinavia we have compulsory military-service. I served 18 months with an elite military regiment far above the polar-circle. Errks did the same in Finland. How about you Rambo?

Rambo: – Pathetic wankers. And that tart is a raddled old bitch anyway.

Seabee: –I take it your resentment springs from an image copied from the SAS homepage and your own, very small, equipment?

Rambo :- I know you, Seabee, I know where you live. I might pay you a little visit one of these days… And Madam Anita, don’t think you’re safe, sitting there in your apartment in Paris…

(This is just drunken bullshit, surely? This guy creeps me out a meter a minute.)

Erkki: -Anita, don’t mind him, we’re here to protect you, aren’t we, Seabee?

Archie: – Damn right, my darling.

(“My”? “Darling”? JESUS. )

Seabee:  Rambo: try again – try harder.

Erkki: –WeScandinavians know a thing or two about both fighting and sex.

Anita: – Butit’s not as if we invented it, you know.

Seabee: -Whaddya mean? If you and I didn’t invent sex, Anita baby, who did? Go check Wikipedia under the heading: ‘Anita and Seabee invent sex.’ (Suck on THAT grenade, Archie.)

Archie: – Let’s keep it clean, old chap. Ladies, present, you know.

(Alright, “old chap” – gloves are off: nobody “old chaps” me).

Seabee: –Don’t worry. Anita and I know dirty sex. Excuse us for not sharing. More sex, please, we’re Swedish!

Erkki: – A friend of mine has a very nice business card. It states ‘Erection Supervisor’ as his profession.

Anita: – LOL. I’m sure he has a very edifyingjob… But seriously, I find it very annoying  that people think Swedish women are easy. Seabee, you are only allowed on my lovely thread if you behave.  (Uh-oh. Better dial it down, don’t want to diss the dear miss Anita).

Seabee:- point taken ma’m. My hands are on top of the duvet from now on.

Anita: – As long as there’s no funny business.

Archie: That’s right. Only I am allowed to fondle the lovely Anita

(There he goes again. I can’t believe this.)

Anita: – Yes, darling you are. But only in the right places. I know that, unlike some people, you’re a gentleman, so I feel perfectly safe with you.

(Bloody right I’m not a ‘gentleman’ and I’ll bloody well prove it.)

Seabee: – Can’t help a stiffy coming on here under the duvet. Just wanted to share with you all. Erkki doesn’t need telling though…he can feel it in the small of his back – sorry ’bout that mate.

Amazon Prepares the Way for the Kindle Tablet by Accepting iPad Trade-ins

We’ve been paying some attention lately to the increasing likelihood that Amazon will launch a “Kindle tablet” some time this year. We’ve felt since last fall that it is on the way, but the signals have gotten much stronger lately, as we reported in this post last week. To summarize where we tried to be a little coy last week, I think Amazon will announce in June or July that it will ship a Kindle tablet in July or August, and while there may be more expensive models, I expect there to be a viable base model priced under $300. The new Kindle tablet will be a perfectly good ebook reader for people who don’t prefer e-Ink. Equally important, it will be a great color touch tablet that will not only work almost as well as a laptop for many purposes and serve as an exquisite delivery system for Amazon’s fast-growing MP3 and Instant Video services for music, audiobooks, films, and television programs. It will, in many respects, be defined both by the ways in which it is like the iPad and also by all the ways in which it is the anti-iPad.

More to come on all of that, but today Amazon took an absolutely brilliant step that only it could have taken as a way of preparing the path for the Kindle tablet.

It extended its relatively unknown Buyback program, previously assoicated mostly with textbooks, movies, and video games, to include a wide range of electronics products including the iPad, the iPhone, the Samsung Galaxy, the Motorola Xoom, and all kinds of other devices that might — if you could trade them in for a decent sum — prepare the way for you to buy a Kindle tablet, both in terms of the need to replace functionality and the financial wherewithal to make the purchase. Click here to visit Amazon’s Trade-in site.

As many of our readers know, I was one of the gazillions of early adopters who forked over about $700 for an iPad last Spring. And I had a lot of company among the citizens of Kindle Nation, judging from the results of our Kindle Nation Citizen Surveys since then. I was certainly interested in what I could do with an iPad, and I also felt that it was important for me to have one in order to do my job. I’ll be trading my iPad in for $245, which means that my cost for using the iPad for 14 months and being an early adopter will have been about $350. But more important, that $245 make up the lion’s share of what I pay for the new Kindle Tablet, whenever it comes out.

Here’s the guts of the Amazon press release:

Amazon Trade-In Program Expands With Thousands of Electronics

Great Trade-In Values on Used Textbooks, Video Games, Movies and now Electronics Ship For Free, All in One Box

SEATTLE, May 18, 2011 (BUSINESS WIRE) — Amazon.com, Inc. (NASDAQ:AMZN) today announced the Electronics Trade-In Store, offering customers a new way to conveniently trade in used electronics for Amazon.com Gift Cards. The Electronics Trade-In Store enhances Amazon’s existing Trade-In program, giving customers great value on everything from video games and DVDs to textbooks and now electronics, without visiting multiple stores. Starting today, customers can trade in electronics, including tablets, cell phones, MP3 players, cameras, GPS devices and more. With Amazon Trade-In, only one box is needed to ship multiple items and shipping is free. Simply visit http://www.amazon.com/tradein and start searching for items to trade in.

“Technology is constantly evolving and newer, better versions of consumer electronics are introduced all the time,” says Paul Ryder, vice president of Electronics for Amazon.com. “We want to give customers the opportunity to get great value from their used electronics. Hundreds of thousands of customers have already received millions of dollars in gift cards from the other products in our program. The Electronics category is a natural extension and we are delighted to offer our customers more trade-in options.”

Regardless of where electronics and other products may have been purchased, customers start by simply searching for items to trade in. If the product is listed as eligible for trade-in, then customers can click the Trade-In button to add items to their trade-in shipment. Amazon’s Trade-In program offers a variety of condition types including “Like New,” “Good” and “Acceptable,” giving customers an easy way to view multiple trade-in values. Once customers have added all the items they would like to trade in to their trade-in shipment, they can print a pre-paid shipping label and ship everything for free. After the product is received and inspected, an Amazon.com Gift Card will be deposited into the customer’s Amazon.com account, generally in less than 48 hours. There are no claim codes or waiting for a check in the mail. Amazon.com Gift Cards can be used on purchases towards millions of items on Amazon.com.

Amazon’s Trade-In program (http://www.amazon.com/tradein) offers great value on used products, and starting today, customers can now trade in used electronics.

KND Kindle Free Book Alert for Wednesday, May 18: Two Brand New Patterson Previews of 20 Chapters or More Each Top Our 550 Freebies! plus … Ready to leave the vamps behind and read something truly unique? There’s more to being Santa Claus than just delivering toys in Erin L. Snyder’s debut work of literary fiction — For Love of Children — just $2.99 on Kindle!

James Patterson is known for writing very short chapters, but there are plenty of them in each of the free previews offered at the top this morning’s latest additions to our 550+ Kindle Free Book Alert listings. Or if you don’t feel like reading, you might enjoy downloading Amazon’s new interactive Admash that allows you to vote on sponsored screensavers for Kindle. I haven’t gone there, but maybe you will….

But first, a word from … Today’s Sponsor

Ready to leave the vamps behind and read something truly unique? There’s more to being Santa Claus than just delivering toys in Erin L. Snyder’s debut work of literary fiction, just $2.99 on Kindle.

“Snyder’s debut novel opens up a whole new world of adventure, providing depth and texture to characters you just thought you knew. The heroes and villains might be from fairy tales but this story is treated as serious business.” –Book Noise


For Love of Children 
by Erin L. Snyder
4.5 out of 5 stars   2 Reviews
Text-to-Speech: Enabled 
Don’t have a Kindle? Get yours here.

I don’t want to say too much, but if you enjoy the writing of Neil Gaiman, Margaret Weis, Peter David, or Neil Stephenson, then you will really dig this book. I did.

–Reviewer John Howard



Here’s the set-up:

For more than a thousand years, Santa Claus has watched over the world’s children. Once a bishop, he achieved immortality through magic and alchemy.

He has spent centuries trying to teach generosity and compassion. Despite his considerable power, he has never tampered with history or politics: he has always trusted humanity to learn from its mistakes.

But the horrors of World War II test his faith. He begins to wonder if the world needs more from his magic than toys and dreams. He sets out to find others like him, legends and myths that have withstood the ages, to ask their help building a world where the innocent will be safe.

He finds allies in Peter, a strange creature who is neither rabbit nor man, and the Tooth Fairy, the last of her kind. But there are older legends in the world, and not all share Nicholas’s sympathy for humanity….

For Love of Children” is the first novel from Erin L. Snyder. More information and passages from the book can be found at www.erinlsnyder.com.


What the Reviewers Say
“As an allegorical novel, it makes one think of the earth and the legends and all the stories, untruths, lies told, wonders revealed…all of human history unfolding in the tales we tell. As a modern day “fairy tale”, it stands on its own as a good fun book to curl up with on a snowy afternoon. It would definitely make a great movie… Tim Burton, Stephen Spielberg…are you listening?”
–T. L. Maroon


“What a bizarre gem. Taking place sometime after World War II, the world’s beloved fairy tale characters are losing faith in humanity, and who can blame them? The war to end all wars (again) has left nations in crisis, while surviving powers jockey for position. America settles into its atomic throne driving a disenfranchised Saint Nicholas to find the perfect present for the eastern block…

“I don’t want to say too much, but if you enjoy the writing of Neil Gaiman, Margaret Weis, Peter David, or Neil Stephenson, then you will really dig this book. I did.”
–John Howard


About the Author



A geek and philosopher, Erin L. Snyder is the author of Facsimile and For Love of Children. Originally from Maine, he currently lives with his wife in New York City.

More information, as well as excerpts and short stories, can be found at: www.erinlsnyder.com


Click here to download For Love of Children (or a free sample) to your Kindle, iPad, iPhone, iPod Touch, BlackBerry, Android-compatible, PC or Mac and start reading within 60 seconds!

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Free Contemporary Titles in the Kindle Store 
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Just use the slider at right of your screen below to scroll through a complete, updated list of free contemporary Kindle titles, and click on an icon like this one (at right) to read a free sample right here in your browser! Titles are sorted in reverse chronological order so you can easily see new freebies.

Sex and Danger – They’re always intertwined in our Kindle eBook of the Day, KayAnna Kirby’s erotic romance Claimed By Desire – here’s a free sample!


Anyone could fall prey to an ill-considered one-night stand, but CPA Allison Cain’s involves Bryson Anderson Jr., an alpha male who has it all: money, power, women, even his own island. When they meet again in the Cayman Islands it turns out that their indiscretions have consequences that could destroy them all, or change their lives forever.

Here’s the set-up for KayAnna Kirby’s erotic romance Claimed By Desire$4.99 on Kindle:


A Good Girl Gone Bad…

Certified Public Accountant Allison Cain screwed up. Against her better judgement, she sleeps with a man she meets for the first time. The next morning he is nowhere to be found. She is left alone and feels used.

But that wasn’t the end of her torture, because Allison discovers her one night stand leaves her with more than hurt feelings.


A Billionaire With Everything Except…

Bryson Anderson Jr., multi-billionaire real estate developer, has it all:  money, power, women, even his own island. A real estate acquisition brings him face to face with the alluring Allison once again on the tropical Cayman Islands.

When he hears Allison is expecting his heir as a result of their explosive one night stand, a primal urge for a family is born. However, he has to convince an angry Allison to be a family even if it’s just for their child.

He didn’t realize he could lose his heart in the process.

When Bryson becomes the target of a jilted rival out to destroy him, Allison and Bryson will have to fight for their lives and their hearts—before it’s too late. 


KayAnna Kirby is a little introverted, but fun (when she decides to loosen up a bit.) She fell in love with reading in elementary school and continued to devour books whether she worked for a toy store, retail clothing store, International Banking Company, or sold cars or cosmetics.


KayAnna has a four year old daughter who is going on sixteen. KayAnna lives with her wonderful husband Gregory, who has to put up with KayAnna constantly forgetting their wedding anniversary. (He forgets too.)


She was told specifically not to adopt her dog Titan from the pound, because the employees said he was “peculiar”. After six years, she must reluctantly agree.


KayAnna works with her husband (and no, neither of them have tried to kill the other…yet) in a suburb outside of Atlanta, where they currently live.


And here, in the comfort of your own browser, is your free sample:







KND Kindle Free Book Alert, May 17: 20 Brand New Freebies! plus … A Million Readers Paid the Print Price, But Ruth Harris’s NY Times Bestseller Modern Women is Just Out on Kindle and You Can Read It for Just 99 Cents! (Today’s Sponsor)

Two dazzling shorter books lead 20 brand new contemporary freebies at the top of this morning’s latest additions to over 500 Kindle Free Book Alert listings….


But first, a word from … Today’s Sponsor

Against a vivid backdrop that resonates with the Kennedy assassinations, the sexual revolution, the civil rights movement and the start of the youth drug culture, Ruth Harris’ bestseller traces the lives of three  MODERN WOMEN—and the men in their lives. They laughed. They cried. They did their best. But would they live happily ever after?

New York Times Bestseller
One Million Copies Sold in Print, And Now You Can Read It on Kindle for Just 99 Cents! — For a Limited Time

Modern Women 
by Ruth Harris
Text-to-Speech: Enabled 
Don’t have a Kindle? Get yours here.

“Fiction at its best!”
—New Woman Magazine



Here’s the set-up: 

  • Lincky Desmond: With beauty, brains and money, she married Mr. Right—only to risk it all for Mr. Wrong.
  • Elly McGrath: She was loyal and idealistic but when faced with the ultimate betrayal, would she be able to stand up for herself?
  • Jane Gresh: Bawdy, outrageous and determined not to be ignored, she managed to shock the entire country.
  • Owen Casals: Handsome, successful, magnetic. He would marry one, betray another and make one of them very, very rich.
Author’s note:  “The sexual revolution transformed the lives of modern women and I write about this subject with candor and irreverence, the way women talk about sex when they think no one’s listening. Please do not buy Modern Women if easily offended.  I want readers to love my books, not be upset by them. -R.H.)
And speaking of highly acclaimed Ruth Harris bestsellers that are now available for 99 cents each for a limited time….
Don’t miss HUSBANDS AND LOVERS and DECADES!

What the Reviewers Say 

“Sharp and stylishly written. Passionate, daring and unconventional.”
—Chicago Sun-Times


“Glory be! Excellent.This is the story of today’s women.”
—Los Angeles Times



“It is one of the funniest and raunchiest books I’ve read in quite a while. The characters are bigger than life and immersed in the changing times of the 60s and early 70s. Ruth Harris has taken her readers on a journey back into time ~~ where free love is in and flourishing.”
—Busy Mom, Top 500 Reviewer

About the Author

New York Times bestselling author Ruth Harris has sold many millions of copies around the world in hardcover and paperback editions. Her fiction has been translated into 19 languages, published in 25 countries and selected by the Literary Guild and Book-of-the-Month Club. Ms. Harris worked in traditional print publishing as a copywriter, editor and publisher before turning to the exciting new opportunities in electronic publishing. She lives in New York City with her husband, writer Michael Harris, the author of Always On Sunday and The Atomic Times: My H-Bomb Year at the Pacific Proving Ground, both available in Kindle editions.

Click here to download Modern Women (or a free sample) to your Kindle, iPad, iPhone, iPod Touch, BlackBerry, Android-compatible, PC or Mac and start reading within 60 seconds!

UK CUSTOMERS: Click on the title below to download
Each day’s list is sponsored by one paid title. We encourage you to support our sponsors and thank you for considering them.
Authors, Publishers, iPad Accessory Manufacturers:
Interested in learning more about sponsorship? Just click on this link for more information.

Free Contemporary Titles in the Kindle Store 
HOW TO USE OUR NEW FREE BOOK TOOL:

Just use the slider at right of your screen below to scroll through a complete, updated list of free contemporary Kindle titles, and click on an icon like this one (at right) to read a free sample right here in your browser! Titles are sorted in reverse chronological order so you can easily see new freebies.

Shatterboy
By: Scott William Carter
Added: 05/16/2011 9:04:19pm

Kindle eBook of the Day The Queen Bee Of Bridgeton by Leslie DuBois is Just 99 Cents on Kindle! Here’s a Free Sample So You Can See What’s Behind the Rave Reviews!

When 15-year-old Sonya Garrison is accepted into prestigious Bridgeton Academy, she discovers that rich girls are just as dangerous as the thugs back home in Venton Heights. Can she defeat the reigning high school royalty? Or will they succeed in ruining her lifelong dream of becoming a world class dancer? Leslie DuBois’ The Queen Bee of Bridgeton – 4.5 Stars and Just 99 Cents on Kindle!

Here’s the set-up:

When fifteen-year-old Sonya Garrison is accepted into the prestigious Bridgeton Academy, she soon discovers that rich girls are just as dangerous as the thugs in her home of Venton Heights. Maybe more so. 

After catching the eye of the star, white basketball player and unwittingly becoming the most popular girl in school, she earns the hatred of the three most ruthless and vindictive girls at Bridgeton. 

Can she defeat the reigning high school royalty? Or will they succeed in ruining her lifelong dream of becoming a world class dancer?

From the reviewers:
The Queen Bee of Bridgeton (Dancing Queen #1) by Leslie DuBois was a feel good YA novel. Fifteen year old Sonya Garrison attends the private school Bridgeton Academy and longs to be a famous dancer. She is bullied continuously by girls at her school. Through the novel, she becomes involved with a basketball player and becomes instantly popular. With the ways things are nowadays in schools with bullying, this novel hit it on the head. Loved it. 
I like it that it’s told from a black girl’s perspective. Most of the novels I read are told from a white character’s perspective, and as much as I enjoy those novels, it’s nice to read something that’s not about someone who is the same ethnicity as myself.

Visit Amazon’s Leslie DuBois Page

And here, in the comfort of your own browser, is your free sample: