Posts Tagged ‘novels’

Book Details:

Book Title: The Cleansweep Conspiracy by Chuck Waldron
Series: A Matt Tremain Technothriller Book 1
Category: Adult Fiction, 310 pages
Genre: Thriller / dystopian
Publisher: Bublish Inc.
Release date: April 2018
Tour dates: Aug 13 to Sept 21, 2018
Content Rating: PG-13 + M (Adult language)

Book Description:

In this riveting technothriller, investigative blogger Matt Tremain is covering devastating riots in Toronto when he learns of a plot to rid the city of “undesirables.” The operation is called CleanSweep, and appears to be led by billionaire Charles Claussen, who want to sweep Toronto clean of all street people and any citizens who don’t match his restrictive screening matrix.

Matt questions whether he has the courage, skill or influence to take on Claussen, but the murder of one of his sources convinces the blogger to put his life on the line. He gambles on the loyalty of a Toronto police detective and a local TV reporter for help. If his trust is misplaced, Matt will become yet another victim of CleanSweep, and the truth will be buried with him forever.

To read reviews, please visit Chuck Waldron’s page on iRead Book Tours.

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 Guest Interview:
  1. In your book, you refer to the Five Eyes. Why?

Five Eyes is the short version of the alliance for sharing intelligence signals and data between five countries, Australia, Canada, New Zealand, The United Kingdom and The United States. There are several times during the travels of my antagonist his fictional whereabouts were detected and shared by that alliance.

  1. Do you write every day?

I write most days. If I’m not writing every day, I’m thinking about writing every day. I always have a notebook nearby.

  1. What’s your favorite dessert

That’s easy. DQ Blizzard or anything ice cream

  1. Any interest outside of writing?

I’m currently planning on my eight mission to Cuba in three years. I’ve met some wonderful people. I’ve been to Holguin, Manzanillo, Camaguey, and Havana. This time I’ll be in Gibara, Cuba, a coastal town, well off the tourist map.


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Ends Sept 29, 2018

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Book Details:

Book Title: The Cleansweep Counterstrike by Chuck Waldron
Series: A Matt Tremain Technothriller Book 2
Category: Adult Fiction, 312 pages
Genre: Thriller / dystopian
Publisher: Bublish Inc.
Release date: April 21, 2018
Tour dates: Aug 13 to Sept 21, 2018
Content Rating: PG-13 + M (Adult language)

Book Description:

In this sequel, Matt Tremain is back, facing an even deadlier threat. Deceit and intrigue lie hidden behind the collapse of Operation CleanSweep. It’s time for revenge.

Instrumental in exposing the evil behind Operation CleanSweep—a diabolical “cultural cleansing” plot masterminded by Toronto billionaire Charles Claussen—investigative blogger Tremain now faces the madman’s desire for vengeance. Claussen intends to settle the score personally by luring Matt into a deadly trap.

But the clock is ticking for Claussen, too. Fraternité des Aigles, The Brotherhood of Eagles—a shadowy group that secretly financed Claussen’s Operation CleanSweep—wants answers and their money back. Consumed with rage, Claussen risks everything to get to Matt before the Brotherhood gets to him. Tremain is once again partnering with a police detective, Carling. Knowing they are being lured into a possible trap, they decide to face their nemesis, Charles Claussen.

Across four continents, Claussen sets traps, pursues Tremain, and continues to execute his signature brand of global chaos. When his fiancé’s life is on the line, can Tremain stop Claussen’s madness and still avoid getting killed?

To read reviews, please visit Chuck Waldron’s page on iRead Book Tours.

 

Buy the Book:

 

 

 

 

 

Meet the Author:
Chuck Waldron is the author of four riveting mystery, thriller and suspense novels and more than fifty short stories. Inspired by his grandfather’s tales of the Ozark Mountains and local caves rumored to be havens for notorious gangsters, Waldron was destined to write about crime and the human condition. Those childhood legends ignited his imagination and filled his head with unforgettable characters, surprising plots and a keen interest in supernatural and historical subplots.With literary roots planted in the American Midwest and South, and enriched by many years living in the fertile cultural soil of metropolitan Ontario, Waldron now resides on Florida’s fabled Treasure Coast with his wife, Suzanne. While keeping an eye out for hurricanes, alligators, and the occasional Burmese python, visitors will find Waldron busy writing his next crime thriller.Connect with Chuck: Website ~ Twitter ~ Facebook 

Enter the Giveaway!
Ends Sept 29, 2018

CLICK HERE for the Rafflecopter giveaway

 

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The Witch’s Touch
by Rosie Wylor-Owen
Genre: Urban Fantasy
Criminals are going missing. Felons or not, Detective Meeks is duty-bound to
find them, with little to go on but a suspicious encounter between
the latest missing person and a local business owner. As the case
unravels, Meeks struggles to make sense of a world he thought he
understood. Yet this twist of fate could be his chance to truly
making a difference to the community he holds dear.
Amanda Solanke is used to making waves, but never with the police. The last
person to see the latest missing criminal, she is dragged to the
heart of a police investigation. A small business owner in the eyes
of the community, behind closed doors Amanda and her partner Leona
guard a magical secret. The closer they are watched, the closer
Amanda and Leona come to facing the ultimate danger: exposure.

Guest Post

4 Reasons Why Reading is Better than Watching TV

I’ll admit, I’ve binge-watched my fair share of awesome TV shows. Westworld, Charmed, Avatar: The Last Airbender (<<< THIS). Their plots are mind-blowing, with characters you just want to set off an adventure with, even if their special effects don’t always stand the test of time.

While a TV licence isn’t worth the price tag these days, Netflix subscriptions definitely are! For anyone outside the UK wondering what on earth I’m talking about, yes, we have to pay $183 a year for the privilege of watching TV. Scandalous, isn’t it?

But here’s the thing about books – they are arguably the better way to escape reality. Before the TV fandoms throw rocks through my windows, let me explain why. (I’m just kidding fanboys and girls, we know you’re all a lovely bunch.) Here are four reasons why reading is way better than TV.

We Can Read Anywhere

I’m not just talking about reading in the bath – we have phones and WiFi now, we can’t pretend we don’t watch TV while swimming in bubbles. The only real difference there is that we risk electrocution.

But are the flight attendants going to tell you to put your book away when the plane comes down? If they do, they’re just jealous of your hardback. Say goodbye to Brooklyn 99, and whip out the Prison of Azkaban until you are safely at the landing gate.

Where else are our electronics banned? Phones off in the hospital, people. They say it’s for safety – though we’re not sure how – so, we’re forced to pick up a magazine and the latest John Grisham. Forced? What am I saying? We GET to.

The Special Effects Are Never Outdated

Sorry, Charmed, but your orbs and fireballs just don’t stack up against the special effects we have today. Jurassic Park has stood the test of time, and even twenty-five years later, the quality holds up. Though it usually depends on the budget, TV shows and films run the risk of losing their quality over time.

Books? They’ll never have that problem. Our imaginations set the standard when we read, and for that reason, we are never disappointed by the special effects. The content might be disappointing sometimes, and that isn’t easy to work with, but how we imagine the worlds we read about is always satisfying to us. You won’t find any bad CGI here!

It Makes Us Look Smart

We could be watching documentaries, but it doesn’t matter. We’re still staring at screens and looking like zombies on ritalin. Head down, staring at our phone screens, some Cheeto dust in the corners of our mouths. It’s not the most intellectual look.

Imagine instead sitting on a train, book in hand and holding your chin as though you are considering something incredibly thoughtful. When in fact we’re actually reading Manga tucked into the pages of “The Great Gatsby.” The public perception of reading is generally good – if you read, you look like you’ve got a few brain cells to rub together. Until we can make watching TV look just as intellectual, people are going to judge us more favourably for holding a paperback than our iPads.

We Don’t Need Electricity

Can I get an amen? Electricity is cheap and so are chargers, but if our Kindle dies when we’re out and about and there are no outlets, what are we going to do? Wait until you get home to finish watching Love Island, that’s what.

Books get tatty and worn but their words don’t change, and they certainly don’t disappear entirely if they run out of battery. We are in no danger of boredom on our 9 hour flight to New York when we’ve got our trusty, tangible and electricity-free books.

In my opinion, books will always triumph over TV. We learn more, they don’t carry on without us when we fall asleep and they stand as a material reminder of our love for literature. In any case, one day our first editions are going to be worth a fortune!


Rosie Wylor-Owen was born in Worcester, England at the height of baggy
jeans and boy-band popularity. Her work has been featured in the
literary magazines The Fiction Pool, Anti-Heroin Chic and Ariel
Chart, and the Manawaker Studios Podcast. Her short story “Arm-in-Arm
with Alchemy” was accepted for publication by Otter Libris for
inclusion in the anthology “Magical Crime Scene Investigation.”
In February 2018 she won third place in the Fiction Writer’s Global
flash fiction contest for her story “In Exchange for Your Sins”.

Follow the tour HERE
for exclusive excerpts, guest posts and a giveaway!
Schisms
The Scribe Cycle #2
by James Wolanyk
Genre: Dark Fantasy
Pub Date: 7/10/2018

Three long years have passed since Anna, First of Tomas, survived the purge
in Malijad after being forced to use her scribe sigils to create an
army of immortals. Safely ensconced in the shelter of the Nest, a
sanctuary woven by one of her young allies, Anna spends her days
tutoring the gifted yet traumatized scribe, Ramyi—and coming to
terms with her growing attachment to an expatriate soldier in her
company.
Away from her refuge, war drums continue to beat. Thwarted in her efforts
to locate the elusive tracker and bring him to justice, Anna turns to
the state of Nahora and its network of spies for help. But Nahoran
assistance comes with a price: Anna must agree to weaponize her magic
for the all-out military confrontation to come.
Dispatched to the front lines with Ramyi in tow, Anna will find her new
alliances put to the test, her old tormentors lying in wait, and the
fate of a city placed in her hands. To protect the innocent, she must
be willing to make the ultimate sacrifice. For even in this season of
retribution, the gift of healing may be the most powerful weapon of
all.
Scribes
The Scribe Cycle #1
Pawns in an endless war, scribes are feared and worshipped, valued and
exploited, prized and hunted. But there is only one whose powers can
determine the fate of the world . . .
Born into the ruins of Rzolka’s brutal civil unrest, Anna has never
known peace. Here, in her remote village—a wasteland smoldering in
the shadows of outlying foreign armies—being imbued with the magic
of the scribes has made her future all the more uncertain.
Through intricate carvings of the flesh, scribes can grant temporary
invulnerability against enemies to those seeking protection. In an
embattled world where child scribes are sold and traded to corrupt
leaders, Anna is invaluable. Her scars never fade. The immunity she
grants lasts forever.
Taken to a desert metropolis, Anna is promised a life of reverence, wealth,
and fame—in exchange for her gifts. She believes she is helping to
restore her homeland, creating gods and kings for an immortal
army—until she witnesses the hordes slaughtering without reproach,
sacking cities, and threatening everything she holds dear. Now, with
the help of an enigmatic assassin, Anna must reclaim the power of her
scars—before she becomes the unwitting architect of an apocalyptic war.

EXCERPT

The lodge’s main hall was quiet and hazy with a pall of pipe smoke. Most of those lying on the earthen floor were Hazani, their tunics and wraps hanging from the rafters to dry the day’s sweat. A pair of Huuri, gleaming translucently in candlelight, lay huddled together near the door with their packs clutched to their chests. But the stillness was deeper than an absence of guests; the lodge’s ornate silk carpets and silver kettle sets were gone, likely converted to a few stalks or iron bars by a crafty peddler.

Déjà vu crept over Anna, thick and threatening.

Yatrin and Baqir headed for the latrine dugout behind a partition, while Khara slumped down beside the door. The woman fished a cylinder of aspen and a blade from her pack, whittling with rhythmic scrapes, eyeing Ramyi as she wandered aimlessly between cushions and hookahs. When Anna was certain of everybody’s routines, she jogged up the spiral stairwell in darkness.

The muffled cries of babes leaked through locked doors on the second and third levels, but the fourth was silent. Anna wondered if that was conspicuous, or if it might lure unwanted attention from those who searched for that kind of thing, but she trusted in Tensic’s judgment: Many of the veterans in Anna’s company, living or dead, had arranged things through him. Sharp minds and tight lips were rare things in the north.

Anna crossed the corridor and its patches of moonlight, halting at the sixth door. She gave a soft tap with her knuckles and waited.

Silence.

She recalled her infiltrator’s instructions, the exact exchange of one knock for one cough. If she hadn’t been so headstrong, she might’ve fetched Yatrin. But she was. With heartbeats trickling through her core, Anna reached into the folds of her shawl, unlatched a shortened ruj from the clasp on a ceramic-plated vest, and cradled it against her hip. It was the length of her forearm, strangely cumbersome despite her having trained with it nearly as long as it had existed as a prototype among Hazani cartels. Two stubby barrels housed in a cedar frame, a fully-wound cog on its side, payload sacs of iron shavings waiting beside spring plungers. Most of her fighters had taken to calling it by northern

name: yuzel, thorn. Crude, inaccurate, unpredictable—but that had become the nature of this war.

Anna pressed her back to the wall and took hold of the door handle.

Cycles of training coalesced in her stilled lungs, in the hare-twitch muscles of her wrists, inviting peace in the face of unease. Clarity gave form to violence, after all. In a single breath she shoved the door inward, dropped to one knee, swept her yuzel’s dual barrels across the room.

The mirrorman’s body was sprawled out in a wash of candlelight and ceramic fragments, flesh glimmering with slick red. Stale air and sweat wafted out to meet her.

Shes’tir.” Her curse was a whisper, a surge of hot blood.

Anna stood, keeping the yuzel aimed at the shadows around the corpse. Piece by piece, the room revealed the scope of their work, starting with blood-spattered mud-and-straw walls. A dented copper kettle, an overturned table, a tapestry shredded by errant blade slashes. Then she saw it, gleaming

like a spiderweb or silk strand: a trip wire was suspended across the doorway, just above ankle-level, set with enough precision to rival some of Malijad’s best killers.

But subtlety had never been the way of southerners.

After edging to the left and right, examining the chamber’s hidden corners for assailants she suspected were long gone, Anna stepped over the trip wire and approached the body carefully.

His face was distorted, bulging out and cracked inward with oozing welts, both eyes swollen shut. A garrote’s deep purple traces ringed his neck. With some difficulty, Anna discerned that he’d also been a southerner, not a local conscript or hired hand from Hazan; he’d had naturally pale skin, now darkened by years beneath a withering sun. A mercenary. But his role—passing information through a mirror’s glints—had made him their best chance for information on the tracker’s whereabouts.

Their only chance, after three years of frayed leads and compromised operations.

Anna bent down and turned the man’s head from side to side, noting its coldness, its turgid and leathery texture as a result of beatings. His lips were dark, and—

Ink.

A dark, narrow stripe of ink ended at the crest of his lower lip, originating somewhere far deeper in his mouth. The application had been hasty, forceful even. Using her middle finger, Anna peeled the mirrorman’s lip forward. A triangular pattern had been needled into the soft tissue, still inflamed

with networks of red capillaries but recognizable all the same: It was an old Nahoran system, more a product of surveyors than soldiers, aiming to meld coordinates with time.

Here, now, her only chance.

Anna reattached her yuzel to its hook, slipped her pack off, fished out a brass scroll tube and charcoal stick. With a moment of silence to listen, to observe the empty doorway and the night market’s routine din, she copied the symbol onto the blank scroll. She then furled the parchment

and slipped it back into its tube.

Its weight was eerie in her pack, crushing with importance she understood both intensely yet not at all.

She hurried out of the chamber and toward the stairwell, but before she’d cleared the corridor she glanced outside, where she noticed a dark yellow cloth waving atop a post near the paddock. It hadn’t been there when they arrived. Her breath seized in the back of her mouth and—

A door squealed on its hinges.

Anna pivoted around, yuzel unclasped and drawn in both hands, eyes focused to the slender ruj barrel emerging from the seventh doorway. A dark hand followed, swathed in leather strips far too thick for northern fighters. She slid to the left and squeezed the trigger.

It was a hollow whisper in the corridor, perhaps a handful of sand pelting mud, a rattle down her wrists. Iron shavings collided as the magnetic coils accelerated them, sparking in brilliant whites and blues and oranges. The wall behind the shooter exploded in a burst of dust and dried grass, sending

metal shards ricocheting and skittering across the floor. A scream ceased in a single gust, as bone and cloth and flesh scattered just as quickly.

The shooter staggered forward in the haze, howling as he stared at the stump of his wrist.

Anna fired again.

When the dark cloud vanished, the shooter’s upper half was strewn down the corridor and dripping from the ceiling.

She spun away, sensing the tremors in her hands and the hard knot in her throat, and started down the stairwell. Three years of violence hadn’t made killing any more pleasurable, nor even easier, but decidedly more common. In fact, time had only made her more aware of how warriors were shaped: The nausea and terror remained, but everything was so perfunctory, done as habitually as breathing or chewing. Not that she had the luxury of being revolted by that fact. As she descended she  unscrewed the weapon’s empty shaving pouches and replaced them with fresh bulbs.


James Wolanyk is the author of the Scribe Cycle and a teacher from
Boston. He holds a B.A. in Creative Writing from the University of
Massachusetts, where his writing has appeared in its quarterly
publication and The Electric Pulp. After studying fiction, he pursued
educational work in the Czech Republic, Taiwan, and Latvia. Outside
of writing, he enjoys history, philosophy, and boxing. His
post-apocalyptic novel, Grid, was released in 2015. He currently
resides in Riga, Latvia as an English teacher.
Follow the tour HERE
for exclusive excerpts and a giveaway!