Friday, 27 March 2015

4Q Interview with author Michael Smart - The Bequia Mysteries.


 
 



This week on 4Q Interview, we are happy to have author Michael Smart. The following is taken from his amazon bio.

Michael Smart is a native New Yorker, experienced blue water sailor, and pilot, two passions the protagonists in his novels also share. Michael writes mysteries and science fiction. His debut novel, Dead Reckoning, is the first volume of the Bequia Mystery Series, set in St. Vincent and the Grenadines, a tropical archipelago in the Eastern Caribbean where Michael lived and sailed for many years. Michael draws on his knowledge of the islands, its people, and his sailing experiences around the Caribbean to create intimate and lively portraits of the islands and the people surrounding these compelling mysteries. His links are listed below.

4Q: Dead Reckoning, to my understanding, is calculating one’s position related to known sightings, winds, currents, compass errors, etc. What does this title tells us about your debut novel?

MS: It’s a metaphor for the circumstances facing the main protagonist, Gage, who is in a stage of his life where everything is uncertain. He’s in uncharted waters, navigating a life he’s attempting to remake for himself after burying his past, and his demons, but uncertain how to get there. In his former life he’d led an emotionally isolated existence, avoiding personal attachments, a mantra for his survival. But now he’s broken that cardinal rule, including a burgeoning romantic relationship with Police Superintendent Jolene Johanssen, whose love awakens dormant emotions and reconnects him to the world. A relationship he’s unsure he’s emotionally equipped to handle. And a close friendship with the discerning Commissioner of Police, Mike Daniels, who perceives more regarding Gage’s past than Gage is comfortable with. When Mike is shot by an unknown gunman, Gage is sucked back into a lifestyle he thought he’d left behind, and risks upending his new life, resurrecting his inner demons, and losing those he’s grown close to and cares about.  So he also has to navigate these inner conflicts, while pursuing a deadly quest to discover who shot his friend, and why.   


 

4Q: Can you condense your eight years’ experience of sailing around the Caribbean to a few paragraphs and how it relates to your novels?

MS: I’ll do it in one sentence: A grand, epic adventure! The Caribbean provides the most pleasurable sailing in the world. The North and South Atlantic, the Pacific, the Mediterranean, the Indian Ocean, may provide more challenging sailing adventures, but for me the Caribbean is the most pleasurable, with its constant gentle northeast trade winds, its tropical islands, its beaches, and its people. And for me, no other lifestyle matches that of living on the water aboard a sailboat. In writing the Bequia Mysteries series, the Gage character actually came to me first. Then I decided to set the stories in the Grenadines. It was a time when I was considering returning to live in the Grenadines. But I knew it wouldn’t be the same as before, some things I wouldn’t be able to still do. Too much time had passed, my perspective and my body had changed. Climbing to the top of a mainmast, for example, was out of the question. I wondered what it’d be like living there now. As I thought about those things the character developed, and also the themes. So Gage arrives in the Grenadines aboard his staysail schooner ‘Wherever’, which by the way is treated as a full-fledged character in the novels. He has an entirely new perspective than in his past life, and he has to cope with reinventing himself.

 

4Q: Please share a fond childhood anecdote or memory with us.

MS: There are so many. It’s difficult to focus on just one. Growing up was also an adventure for me. My family travelled for my dad’s work, so we lived in many different places around the world. And each experience had a formative affect on who I am today. Like my fondness for reading, and the sea and sky. While my father usually travelled by air ahead of the family, my mother and my siblings made the passages by sea. Next to being a kid having the run of a ship, reading provided great entertainment during those long sea voyages. Living in London, I feasted on graphic novels like the popular WW11 RAF ace “Battler Britton”, and discovered authors like Leslie Charteris of the great Simon Templar Saint series, and John Creasey’s The Toff series, joining their American counterparts Raymond Chandler, Dashiel Hammett, and John D. MacDonald. I cut my reading teeth on these authors, their characters, and their stories. They inspired me to want to write. I think the “Battler Britton” comics also lit the fire in me to fly, to be a pilot.

 

4Q: After Dead Reckoning, there is Deadeye and Deadlight that are part of the Bequia mysteries. What’s next for Michael Smart?

MS: I also write science fiction, and my first science fiction title is due for release this summer. I’m also working on the fourth novel in the Bequia Mysteries series, and another mystery with a sci-fi twist.
 

 

Thank you Michael for being part of The South Branch Scribbler and participating in the 4Q Interview. Watch for an excerpt from one of Michael’s novels in April. Date to be announced.
 
 
CONTACT:

Friday, 20 March 2015

Guest Author JP McLean of British Columbia


If there’s one thing I’ve learned about the world of writers, it’s how kind and generous a lot they are. Allan Hudson is a perfect example of that generosity. Thank you, Allan, for inviting me to visit the South Branch Scribbler, and for the support you’ve shown the writers you showcase here. It’s an honour to be invited to your blog.

You’ll find me online at J.P. McLean. I use initials because Jo-Anne is often misspelled, which is deadly in today’s online world of search engines. I live on a small Gulf island off the eastern shore of Vancouver Island, British Columbia. The rugged beaches of the west coast feature prominently in my novels, as it seems I never tire of the landscape.

It’s the perfect setting for the contemporary thrillers that I write, especially because they all contain an element of fantasy that will leave you believing the impossible and wary of the night skies. And if you lose yourself while reading them, or just lose track of time, I’ll have done my job.

When I started writing The Gift: Awakening, I thought it would be a one-off book. But it turns out, writing is more like potato chips for me—all that salty crunchiness, yum—and I couldn’t stop at just one. So, I traded in the one-off idea for a trilogy and outlined two more books, The Gift: Revelation and The Gift: Redemption

I thought a trilogy would satisfy my craving, but it didn’t. I’m now in the process of publishing a fourth book, The Gift: Penance. Of course, a fourth book has ruined the whole trilogy concept, and now I’m busy replacing references to The Gift Trilogy with The Gift Legacy. Notice how Legacy makes room for further adventures from these characters who just won’t sit still? That’s what you call learning through poor planning. 

For the South Branch Scribbler, I thought I’d share a sneak peek at Penance. It will be released in April in trade paperback and electronic formats. If the story piques your interest, you can read excerpts and more about the series at www.jpmclean.net.

 


The sturdy concrete piers of the Burrard Street Bridge rose up from the False Creek seabed, its steel girders looming eighty feet overhead. My small kayak felt inconsequential by comparison. I rested my paddle across the hull and drifted forward into the bridge’s shadow. A weak sun struggled behind the overcast sky.

My breath condensed in white puffs. I loved these crisp, cool mornings alone on the water. It was peaceful. Out here, life felt simple, uncomplicated. Almost what I imagined normal felt like. A
light breeze stirred the chilly air. The kayak rocked gently, its yellow hull reflected in the ripples that lapped quietly against the hull. I gazed up toward the underside of the bridge deck where car tires thumped over the expansion joints.

In the distance, the rumble of outboard motors drew my attention. Time to get a move on. I tugged my cap down over my ears and blew a warm breath into cupped hands. The dry suit that kept my body warm did nothing for my head. The temperature hovered around five Celsius and the cold was finally getting to me.

I gripped my paddle and continued seaward, my strokes cautious of the outboard motors that grew louder as they approached from behind. Six strokes later, almost out of the bridge’s shadow, the tandem outboards roared, drowning out all other sound. I darted a wide-eyed glance behind and then hunched my shoulders and braced for the inevitable waves that would follow.

The marine speed limit in False Creek is five knots or dead slow. They had the dead part right. They raced by on either side of me with their throttles wide open. I barely got a glimpse of them before I felt the powerful effect of their wake. My kayak rolled dangerously when the first wave hit broadside, but it was the second wave that swamped me. It struck from the opposite direction and lifted the hull, dumping me into the frigid water.


I
flailed in the dark, trapped upside down in the seat of my cockpit, groping for the tether to my lost paddle. I’d practiced the Eskimo roll that would right me dozens of times, but all of those self-induced rolls hadn’t prepared me for the real thing. It wasn’t the sting of salt water in my eyes, or the frosty temps of a February ocean, which made holding my breath difficult, it was the clear memory of drowning—my drowning.

It’s not something you ever forget: the desperation that compels you to inhale water into your lungs. The way the weight of that water sinks you more effectively than any anchor. It’s the disquieting euphoria of finally letting go. The panic that should have compelled me to jettison, instead froze me in place. A memory flashed by at the watery sight of my outstretched arm. Last summer that same arm reached for a surface that I could see, but couldn’t reach.

Precious seconds ticked by.

I felt my cap lift away in the current. It was enough to shake me from the nightmare. Latent terror galvanized me into action. I yanked on my paddle’s tether and re-established my grip. In an adrenaline-fed stroke, I swept my paddle in a powerful arc and rode the momentum to the surface. The instant my face cleared the water into a halo of light and oxygen, I heaved a ragged breath then coughed and choked in another gulp of air.

“I’ve got you,” a man’s voice called. His red kayak bumped against my hull. A dark beanie covered his head. I pressed my knuckles against my eyes to clear the stinging water. My rescuer steadied the kayak while I caught my breath.

“Thank you,” I sputtered. The mother of all ice cream headaches stabbed across my forehead. As I caught my breath, I took in the man who’d come to my rescue. I put him in his late twenties. A day’s stubble covered cheeks flushed red with the cold. He had the shoulders of a weightlifter and a firm grip on the cleat behind my cockpit. He’d laced his paddle under the bungee cording to steady me.

“That was a lot easier to do in waist-deep water,” I rasped, my throat burning. No wonder the instructor insisted we repeat the Eskimo roll exercise each time we went out. She’d said I’d likely never use it. Yeah.

“You probably shouldn’t have been out here alone. You did well, considering.” He offered a conciliatory smile.

My natural impulse should have been to claw my way out of the cockpit. “I probably should’ve done a wet exit.” I’d practiced those, too, struggling back into the kayak to pump it out. At least the neoprene spray skirt had kept most of the water out of the kayak.

“I saw you go under. Luckily, I was just across the channel.”

“Thank you.” I glanced around for his partner, but was grateful enough for his help to not mention the fact that I didn’t find one. A wave rocked us and he held us steady. His upper arms were impressive.

“We need to report those yahoos,” he said with contempt. “They’re going to get someone killed out here.”

“You know who they are?”

“No, but I know where they rented those boats. Where are you headed?”

“Back to my car. I put in at Kitsilano, but now I think I’d better find somewhere to warm up first.” This outing was supposed to help me build the upper body strength my new kayaking hobby demanded. Perhaps I’d been too ambitious.

“I know a place. Do you know Scuppers?”

“No. Where is it?”

“Not far. It’s where I was headed. Want to follow me?”

“Yeah, thanks,” I said then reached over to offer my hand. “Emelynn Taylor.”

“Owen Cooper,” he said jutting his hand out to take mine in a fierce grip. “Nice to meet you, Emelynn.” He offered a confident smile that reached up and crinkled the corners of his dark brown eyes.

Owen disentangled his paddle from the bungee webbing and swung around. “This way,” he said, paddling landward back under the Burrard Street Bridge. Within minutes we’d slipped under the grey steel and concrete of the Granville Street Bridge. We passed a small marina with swaying sailboats and pulled alongside a dock parallel to the rip-rap shore of Granville Island.

“You can tie up there,” Owen said, pointing to the end of the slim dock. He continued ahead while I secured my kayak. I unfolded myself from the cockpit and climbed onto the dock. My limbs shook from the effort, or maybe it was the receding adrenaline. It didn’t help that the cold breath of winter on my sopping wet head sucked the heat out of me. I needed to get warm and fast. With stiff shoulders, I pulled my dry bag from the rear hatch.

I shivered as I clutched the bag to my chest and scanned the docks for anyone out of place. Constant vigilance was a heavy weight I would gladly shed if I could. I walked to the far end of the dock to find Owen. I was halfway up the ramp when I spotted him and stopped short, staring like an ill-mannered child. Owen operated an electric winch, which had just pulled him from his kayak and deposited him in a wheelchair at the top of the ramp.

He looked over and waved me up. I snapped my mouth closed and checked my footwear. I didn’t know the man, but I could have sworn I saw him grin. I swallowed my embarrassment and continued up the ramp, watching him unhook the harness apparatus.

“Sorry for staring. You caught me by surprise,” I said.

“I usually do.” His grin widened into a smile. “Your reaction was stellar. Maybe one of the best. I wish I had it on film.”

“Guess I’m fortunate you didn’t have a camera,” I said feeling the heat of a blush warm my face. “It was rude. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s cheap entertainment for those of us easily amused. Come on; let’s get warm.”

~~~

The Gift: Penance is coming in April, 2015. If you’re interested in receiving an ARC of Penance in mobi or epub format in exchange for an honest review, I’d be happy to send you one. You can email me at jpmbooks@xplornet.com. 

I love hearing from you. Connect with me on Twitter @jpmclean1, Facebook, Goodreads or visit my blog.

Thanks again, Allan. Happy reading, everyone!


Thank you Jo-Anne for sharing from your latest novel.  Please drop by Jo-Anne's website for more information on her writing, her series of novels and what life is like on the west coast.

Next week the 4Q Interview will feature Michael Smart.  Michael spent 8 years sailing around the Caribbean which became the setting for The Bequia Mysteries.

Friday, 13 March 2015

Wall of War - An excerpt by Allan Hudson

In 1953 Father Suetonius Graft, an amateur rock climber discovers a cave while scaling a 600 foot rock face in the Peruvian Andes. Poking his flashlight in the hole he discovers  skeletal remains. The curled bones reach out from a fallen boulder luring him inside. 

You read the first Chapter of the Wall of War here (archived 05/09/2014) This exciting novel of Incan gold, an unfortunate priest, a Spanish crime lord and Drake Alexander is coming in the Fall of 2015. Following is an excerpt. Copyright is held by the author.

*

The enormity of his speculation bemuses him. His shoulders droop as if they alone carry the weight. Never before in the four decades of his life has he been handed such a weighty platter. He is lost in a torrent of possibilities; not only in historical significance but the enormous value of what this artifact could be worth if it is all gold, most likely pure. It seems beyond his frail human belief. The wall has to weigh many tons; if he guesses it would not be unreasonable that is over 10,000 pounds. He knows from his own modest investments that gold is selling at present at $34.OO per troy ounce. Rough calculations tell him it could be worth over four million dollars in gold bullion. When he considers that his wages are $1.10 an hour, that’s a fortune. Gigantic in his mind is who he must tell.

That thought alerts him to what steps he must take, he is enlivened with the idea that he must somehow verify this as well as the dimensions. His energy is renewed as he imagines what the discovery can do for his church. That must to be why God saw fit to send a priest. As he begins to recite the rosary in his mind, he withdraws his note book and pencil from one of his stuffed pockets. He turns it sideways so he can sketch on the widest portion. He draws a rough image of the wall and the figures it contains. When he is satisfied that his drawing is as accurate as possible he writes a header, The Wall of War.

Flipping the page he begins walking off the dimensions carefully noting the sizes as best as he can estimate, he wants to be conservative but yet not diminish its grandness. He is shocked once more when he hurries to the end he first discovered to judge how thick the wall is, at least eight inches. He touches the rough back while shining his light up and down. It is textured and unfinished, given little, if any consideration. Stepping away from the wall he shines his light back and forth over the fearsome figures thinking the work must have taken years. He can barely contain his emotions. He shuts off his light and finishes his prayers in the darkness.

Fifteen minutes later he turns the light back on, replaces the notebook and pencil, pauses to think of anything else he should do. It is starting to get cooler, the sweat on his body long dried. Donning his t-shirt he decides he can’t leave now. There is one more thing he has to find. How could the workers possibly get in and out of this cavern he asks himself, how could they bring their supplies in. He has to know because there is no sign of any engineering where he entered; there are no other bodies either. He will take another half hour trying to find another entry. He points his light to the rear proceeding cautiously towards the void.

Moving to his right where he can see the bench, he follows that. It extends half as long as the wall on the opposite side. The clutter is similar from one end to the other, except in the center where remnants of woven bowls lay half eaten away. They contain shards of dried foods, possibly avocados distinguishable by their wrinkled skin, stem and petrified leaves still attached.  He walks slowly beyond the shelf towards the bare rock wall sidestepping the scattered debris, watching for cracks when his light shows him that the cavern sides are closing in. He flashes his light back at the golden wall gauging that he is at the farthest end from where he entered. He returns the ray of light to his front and sees another slight bend. He follows the curve until the sides shrink to an opening that comes to the middle of his chest, about four feet but twice as wide as him.

There is huge split in the floor where the pathway he is on ends. He creeps carefully to the lip shining his light down. There is nothing to see except granite. Scrunching down on his knees he shines the light into the hole. He guesses the gap to be about six feet wide. He lifts his lamp and what he sees amazes him as much as the hammer but not with the same exuberance. He grins as he thinks to himself, “the experienced discoverer now”.  His gaze takes in what seems to be a store room, broken barrels along one wall. The bent spears propped against another narrow stone ledge suggest an armory and directly in front of him, twenty feet away, is a stairway amazingly cut from the hardest stone. It is a captivating sight. The steps follow two wide cracks in the mountain, joined together at one time with fresh timber. The wooden, un-rotted ends are still wedged onto the rock treads. The central part of the stairway gave way centuries ago and vacations at the bottom of the dark pits.

The steps turn sharply to the left about seven steps up and are filled with rocks and dirt. There must have been a cave in Suetonius realizes, that would explain the fallen rocks in the caverns. He stares at the whole scene for many moments trying to understand what he’s found. His whole body tingles, small ripples pimple his arms and upper body. He is experiencing an epiphany of what all his previous life has meant. He gleans from the confessional that everyone wants to know, “Why am I here? What purpose do I serve?” How blessed he feels. The heavenly reality is physically accompanied by an abundant flow of adrenaline from the stress he is experiencing. He asks himself, “what if this fell in the wrong hands”. It’s located in the wilderness; it would be vandalized to no end. He will have to be very careful; without a doubt, there are people who would kill for this knowledge. He trembles bodily as the idea ferments.

He will write it all down as soon as he returns to his lodgings. He will write in the most obscure of the several languages he knows. Checking his wrist for the time, he is disheartened knowing he should leave or he might not get off the face before dark. Giving the room one last sweep of light he notices something reflective in the far corner. It’s small whatever it is, he can’t find it again. Then there it is; a tiny ray of something bright. He keeps his hand steady trying to see what is making the light bend. It is about twenty feet away cornered with other detritus. Dust blankets everything. It is difficult to discern from where he crouches. The ray wavers as he moves his hand so slightly. Reminded of the star of the Wise Men, is this to be a guide for him, he ponders. He doesn’t think too long until he decides he has to have it. It could be the proof he seeks.



I always wanted to write a novel about Incan Gold and a mysterious discovery, a discovery so enormous in historic and monetary value that people would kill for the secret. That's Wall of War. Watch for it in Fall 2015.








Please visit the Scribbler next week and meet guest author JP Mclean of British Columbia. Read an excerpt from her new novel Penance, set to be released in April, 2015

Tuesday, 10 March 2015

Guest Author Katrina Cope of Australia

So pleased to have Katrina Cope back on the Scribbler. She has been featured here before with Book 1 of The Sanctum Series. Now you can read an excerpt from Book 2. Her links are listed below. 
Scarlet's Escape
 
Wow! What a ride. Ever since I have pressed the publish button on my first book ‘Jayden & the Mysterious Mountain’ on September 2nd, 2013, I have learnt so much about the publishing industry, indie and mainstream (with still a lot more to learn). I learnt from my mistakes and worked on fixing them making sure not to do them again for the next release of ‘The Sanctum Series’. This is the whole reason why the 2nd book ‘Scarlet’s Escape’ took so long to release after the first.
 
I started with no history, no contacts and not knowing anything about the whole industry. You have a great original story with lots of emotion, characters, and twisted plots not to mention a nice cover – it’s going to take off all by itself, right? Ha, ha! No, I wasn’t that naive but I had a long way to go.
 
I am delighted that as my first book reaches more people I am starting to have more people like my work and they are keen for the next stage in the series.
 
I have also had the honour of receiving a 5 star rating from Readers’ Favorite reviewer Dinorah Blackman for the Preteen category and it is now posted on their site: https://readersfavorite.com/book-review/26767

Copyright belongs to the author. Used by permission.

 
When they entered, they were astounded by the amount of weapons in that one building. It was like a huge gun closet where the collector had gone mad. There was every kind of gun and rifle, many more than the two boys had ever seen before. Further inside there were grenades, missiles and boxes and boxes of explosives.

“Alpha?” Jayden spoke over the communicator.

“Copy contender.” Avando’s voice sounded over Jayden’s headset.

“Can you see this?” Jayden asked him in shock.

“Yes, I can. Unfortunately, it is as I had suspected. I will need you to destroy it.” Avando told him.

“Destroy it?” Jayden queried in surprise.

“Yes, this is why you have been sent in. It is a great danger to our people.”

“Copy,” Jayden responded getting over his initial disbelief. “How would you like us to do that?”

“Well, looking at all those explosives, the best way would be to blow it up.”

“Really?” Jayden was surprised.

“Yes! There is too much to be able to do anything else.” Avando confirmed.

“Copy Alpha.” Jayden set to work with Aaron’s help.

They began to work, rigging all of the explosives and setting them all ready to blow in five minutes. Then they prepared to leave in haste, heading for the main door. They peered out the window near the door and as they went to open it, they realised that it also needed a code to exit from the inside.

“What?” Jayden said out loud involuntarily. “Who puts a security lock on a room from the inside?” His voice started to tighten in panic. “Aaahhh! Puzzler?”

“Copy.” Eva’s voice sounded over the headphones.

“We need a code and we need it now!” Jayden started showing a slight panic.

“Just try the code that you entered last for getting in,” she stated like it was obvious.

“What was that?” he urged.

“C59835,” she advised.

He entered the code but found that it didn’t work. “No good Puzzler,” he said as dread filled his voice.

“Ahhh! Okay!” she sounded surprised. “Show me the pad and I’ll set to work.”

Jayden showed her the pad so that she could copy it and get to work on the code. “Be quick, puzzler. We only have four and a half minutes left to get out in one piece.”

“Copy,” she said and went silently to work. At four minutes left Eva spoke. “Try these…” and she rattled off several different codes, which Jayden entered quickly, but with no success.

“No good puzzler. Give us some more, please.” His voice was even tighter with tension now.

“Copy,” she said and silently went to work again. At three and a half minutes left, her voice came over the headset again. “Right try these,” she said and ran through several more codes, again with no success.

“We need more quickly,” Jayden almost screamed at her. The sweat from the stress was starting to run down his face. He wiped it away with his sleeve and looked at Aaron anxiously, only to see his emotions mirrored in Aaron’s face. To make matters worse, the security alarm had set off from not having the correct code put into the system before the required time. Terror crossed both boys’ faces at the same instant. “Now puzzler. We need the good code now!” He was yelling both from panic and the need to be heard over the alarm.

A few seconds later Eva’s voice sounded over the headset. “Right try these ….” She called out a few more, finally with success. The light turned green and the alarm stopped, with only two and a half minutes remaining to get far away from the building and out of harm’s way.

They opened the door to see that there were soldiers running in their direction. They both glanced at each other with a look of dread crossing their faces, but they had no choice left now other than to make a dash for it, out the door in full view of the soldiers. Immediately they heard voices yelling at them, then shooting, and next they heard bullets hitting the building behind them. They continued to run to the side of the building from where they had come from, but they were not so lucky as to be able to make it.

It all happened so fast. Jayden felt himself falling forward to the ground. No matter how hard he tried he could not get up. He started to crawl forward in the direction they were planning to go. He glanced around quickly to see how Aaron was doing and saw that he was also crawling along the ground. ‘Great,’ he thought sarcastically, ‘that’s not going to help us get out of here quickly!’ They both picked up their rifles and started shooting back at the soldiers, which slowed their advancement after them. Aaron and Jayden continued to crawl. Their progress was annoyingly slow and the soldiers started aggressively coming at them again. So they were forced to start shooting back, slowing them down yet again. When they retaliated enough to deter them, they continued crawling towards their exit. Jayden glanced at his watch. To his horror he saw there was only thirty seconds left.

“Contender!” Avando’s voice came over the headset. “You really need to hurry, as you are still in the danger zone.”

Jayden didn’t respond but continued moving as fast as he could with Aaron in close pursuit.

Fifteen seconds. “Come on contender!” Avando almost shrieked over the headset.

They were already going as fast as they could, so all that they could do was to continue on at that speed. Ten seconds … five … then it happened. One brilliant flash accompanied by a large whoosh, which flooded over them.

“Contender?” Avando spoke over the communicator. “Contender?” Urgency now pierced his voice. “Come in Contender! Contender?” Nothing. Silence followed Avando’s voice.
 
 
 
Thank you Katrina for sharing this excerpt from your novel. Please visit Katrina's website for more information on this keen author and her novels. http://katrenee11.wix.com/katrina-cope-author



Please visit again on Friday, March 13th and read an excerpt from my second novel - The Wall of War.  A tale of Incan gold. I am presently completing the second draft with hopes of having a completed novel by Fall, 2015.