Joely Sue Burkhart

This week’s Vacation Reads Blog Tour features four new titles, including interviews with the authors, book blurbs, and more.  Check for more information at the Vacation Reads web site and don’t forget to leave comments at at least one of our participating blogs (see Vacation Reads for the full list), as well as on the site itself, to enter our drawing to win prizes that include copies of our authors’ books, and more!

AETHER AGE ANTHOLOGY, edited by Brandon Bell
 
A past remade…

Take flight on airships, balloons, and wooden rockets. Soar with winged
hoplites, exiled princesses, explorers and philosophers.  Witness the struggle
for equality, freedom, and power like you never have before.

Explore a history transformed and travel into the heavens to discover what
awaits the civilizations of Humanity in…

Tell us about this anthology, Brandon.  What was it like for you to work as editor?

Aether Age: Helios was my first crack at working as editor.  By the time Aether
Age grew into something almost ready to open to submissions, Chris Fletcher made
the offer for me to co-edit the anthology, probably on the basis of my
involvement to that point, coupled with what he knew of me as a writer.  Being a
decent writer does not equal a decent editor, but I’d also done the guest post
on M-Brane outlining my ideas about what makes a good story, so Chris must have
believed he had enough data about what kind of editor I might be to feel some
confidence.

I’ve read interviews with editors that I respect and blog posts by writers
discussing their experience in magazines and anthologies.  Writers sometimes
feel betrayed by the inclusion of another story, or otherwise compromised due to
an inclusion, exclusion, or lack of editorial vision.  And depending on the
lens, Chris and I could look either terribly unpromising or a potential win —at
least in the matter of a diversity of views: two white guys (ah, hmmm), a gay
guy and a straight guy (oh, could be interesting), a non-christian and a
buddhist (really?).  All these are just details, though.  Diversity was never
even a discussion we had, it just happened.  I’m happy on this point: we have a
nice balance of female to male and a great world-spanning contributor list.

Ok, but what about the stories? 

Yes, that’s what matters. I won’t name names, but I find reassurance that the
tale I liked least during our reading period has grown into one of my
favorites.  Story, well told, trumps the most jaded of reader expectations. 

Our guiding editorial principle was simply to cover the range of time envisioned

with interesting tales that varied in tone.  We didn’t want a bunch of dark
stories or only stories that dealt with swashbuckling and adventure.  Though AeA
has all that. 

Some of the stories are not ‘my type of tale’.  Not the sort of thing I’d
typically read.  And I’m really happy about those stories.  I know a book like
Aether Age, so difficult to blurb or explain, is going to be a hard sell for
readers of a more romantic or mainstream bent, but I wish I could put it in the
hands of exactly that reader.  There’s just enough darkness, danger, and
adventure to make the gentle moments and so very human relationships echo in the
way that only seems to happen when a set of stories are presented as facets of
their own history.

We all love superstars.  Having a superstar in AeA would help sell copies, for
sure.  Well, we didn’t get the literary equivalent of U2 or The Beatles.  And
that is good.  If you are like me, you’ve had that pet band you know and love
that just never attained the household name-recognition of the superstars.  The
Mars Volta, The Tragically Hip, Arcade Fire, Portishead… notwithstanding my
Canadian readers for whom a couple of these ARE huge bands, down here in Texas
these are the good stuff that no one seems to know about. 

Maybe we have some future superstars in our midst among the AeA table of
contents.  We certainly have writers who are widely published and making names
for themselves.  But for now, here’s the short story equivalent to the 
‘educational mixtape’ you might put together in the hopes of pulling your
hopelessly misled buddies away from Lil Wayne and Justin Beaber.

In that same spirit I present to you The Aether Age: Helios.  For your enjoyment
and edification.

THE KULT by Shaun JeffreyThe Kult – People are predictable. That’s what makes them easy to kill.

Tell us about yourself, Shaun.
 
My name’s Shaun Jeffrey, and having grown up in a house in a cemetery, it’s
pretty safe to assume I was never going to be writing love stories, and perhaps
goes some way to explaining my attraction to the dark side of the literary
spectrum. 
 
I’ve been writing on and off for around twenty years, and it never gets any
easier. But then that’s all part of the challenge and the fun. If it was easy,
everyone would be doing it, and while everyone may have a story to tell, not
everyone can tell it.

Now along with cover pictures, I think taglines are important. They sum up the
story in as few words as possible and hopefully entice readers to buy the book.
Or at least to give it more than a passing glance. ‘People are predictable.
That’s what makes them easy to kill.’ That’s the tagline to my novel, The Kult,
which is a fast paced serial killer story that contains a mix of horror, crime
and mystery.

Is it true that it has been optioned for a movie?

The book was optioned at the end of last year by Gharial
Productions, and shooting on the film begins in September.
www.gharialproductions.com.  It will be interesting and exciting to see my story
brought to life, a story that award winning author Jonathan Maberry called ‘a
bumpy ride through nightmare country’. I have two other novels available,
‘Deadfall’ – when the dead won’t stay dead there’s going to be hell to pay. And
‘Evilution’ – humankind is about to change.

Details of these and any other projects can be found on my website:
www.shaunjeffrey.com and sample chapters and my previously published short story
collection ‘Voyeurs of Death’ can be read for free at
http://www.scribd.com/document_collections/2519626

BASED UPON AVAILABILITY by Alix Strauss

What is your book about, Alix?

Based Upon Availability delves into the lives of eight seemingly ordinary women,
each who pass through Manhattan’s swanky Four Seasons Hotel.  While offering
sanctuary to some, solace to others, the hotel captures their darkest and
twisted moments as they grapple with family, sex, power, love, and
death.  Trish, a gallery owner, obsesses over her best friend’s wedding and
dramatic weight loss. Robin wants revenge after a lifetime of abuse at the hands
of her older sister. Anne is single, lonely, and suffering from
obsessive-compulsive disorder. Drug-addicted rock star Louise needs to dry out.
Southerner-turned-wannabe Manhattanite Franny is envious of her neighbors’
lives. Sheila wants to punish her boyfriend for returning to his wife. Ellen so
desperately wants children, she’s willing to pretend to be pregnant. And Morgan,
the hotel manager— haunted by the memory of her dead sister—is the thread that
weaves these women’s lives together.  

In this an utterly original read, I try to ask and answer the age-old question; ‘what happens behind closed doors’ while
examining the walls we put up as we attempt intimacy, and inspecting the ruins
when they’re knocked down. 

Alix Strauss
Journalist/Author
www.alixstrauss.com

NATIVE VENGEANCE by Julie Achterhoff

Julie Achterhoff is the author of three books, Native Vengeance, Quantum Earth,
and Deadly Lucidity. They are paranormal thrillers. She grew up reading such
authors as Stephen King and Dean Koontz, which influenced her own writing. She
has been writing since childhood, scaring her teachers with her horror stories.
Reading has also been a great influence on her. Her books can be found on
amazon.com in regular form, and now on Kindle for $3.19 a piece. They can also
be purchased from the publisher at allthingsthatmatterpress.com. You can read
parts of her books on BookBuzzr.

Why did you become involved in your particular genre?

I just love scary stuff! It’s exciting for me to write stories that will scare
people and make them wonder if something like that could really happen. When I
was a kid I read every scary book I could get my hands on. I loved H.P.
Lovecraft and others that kept me up at night. I enjoy creating characters who
are strong, yet also vulnerable, so the reader can relate to them throughout the
story. I also enjoy writing a strong storyline that will keep readers engrossed
until the very end. I also like adding a romantic element in my books. I think
that gives them a little spice. I believe that thrillers are the most
interesting books. They can really get to you!

Read more about these, and other great titles at Vacation Reads.

I’m madly revising the holiday novella to get it submitted in time (by July 15th) and I’ve almost reached the halfway mark.  My goal is to finish this pass by Monday and then work on a brief synopsis and blurb to accompany the submission.  Interested beta readers will hopefully hear from me around Monday.

Skipping ahead a bit from the last excerpt I posted for you, this snippet takes us into the “dark outlaw’s” POV that Lady Wyre briefly referenced.  Yes, I know, another assassin, sigh.  But this man is not Gregar, although I think the Shadowed Blood approves most highly of him.  *grins*

     When a man killed for money—and was damned good at his trade—his price eventually went so high that few could afford him. Luckily for Sigmund Regret, there were plenty of millionaires as long as he was willing to traverse the universe. In his one-of-a-kind mega catamaran built to cut through space like a hot knife through butter, he lived a life of luxury purchased by the blood of others.

      But no luxury in this galaxy could satisfy the abominable ache of loneliness or erase the scars of his childhood. Nothing could ease that ache…except one Lady Doctor Wyre who literally held his heart in the palm of her dainty little hand.

      The miserable run-down nag he’d leased from the livery stable in this equally miserable hovel of a town snorted and gave one last weak jerk on the reins, trying to go back home to its dank stable.  Finally the beast surrendered to its duty with a jerky pace that jarred Sid’s teeth. With the Solstice a fortnight away, the hours of darkness seemed eternal, so the few precious hours of thin, cold sunlight would be welcomed by most. Not him. He did his best work at night, and as the sun began to peek over the horizon, he urged the horse to a shambling trot.

      In the cold and dark just minutes from her home, it was easy to let fantasies fill his mind. He imagined slipping the silver and ivory-handed pistols into a chest and locking them in a dusty, forgotten place or better yet, throwing them into an Imperial bin. Removing the slim, wicked little blades he hid all over his body one by one and tossing them out into endless space. Waking up to her each morning. Watching her wide smile of pleasure when he surprised her with little gifts like tea and ribbons and frivolous silk stockings that she adored so much.

      Sig had many regrets from his sordid past, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret leaving her each Solstice. Not when it meant keeping her clean of the blood on his hands or protecting her from the dozens of agents and bounty hunters constantly seeking Lord Regret. God knew she had enough danger of her own. The last thing he needed to do was drag a man into her vicinity who’d sell his own mother to the Ravens for a fraction of the coin Britannia would pay to get the great scientist back.

      In the narrow alleys, darkness still cloaked the rutted, snowy path with too many shadows that might hide some fool thinking he’d be the one to snag Lord Regret, but he didn’t deviate from the shortest path toward her. This close, he could feel a frisson of energy zinging through his body to which he was normally oblivious. Fire ants crawled through his veins, driving him closer to his target. Absently, he slipped a hand beneath his coat, rubbing his breastbone, but he’d never been able to feel her treatment. Just the scar where his heart had been.

      He’d never been able to decide if the tiny machines living inside him were responding to their Creator with joy, or simply feeding off his own spike of emotion as he neared her. Energy rose in his blood, as though lightning would begin arcing about him. He was tempted to simply spread his arms out wide and see if he could soar into space, riding the pulsing waves of energy.

      She’d not only saved him; she’d managed to increase his very normal human gifts until he felt invincible.

      Yet no matter how arrogant he might be, he was not stupid. A lifetime of protecting his own skin drove him to ride past her snug cabin on the edge of town. He hadn’t been followed, but if anyone had noticed that he always fell off the grid around the holiday season…and decided to put a few eyes and ears at the most likely locations…the last thing he wanted to do was kill a man in her house.

      She’d never forgive him if the blood splattered onto her fine silks.

      Shaking his head with an amused smirk twisting his lips, he dismounted in a grove of trees. Snow blanketed their branches and the ground. A great hush hung over the town, an expectant silence in the absence of the prevalent winds, a drawn breath held without release. He listened for any sound out of the ordinary, stretching his ultra-sensitive senses for any sign of pursuit or a hidden trap.

      The front door of her cabin slid open and a man stomped out. Tugging on his coat while he muttered beneath his breath, he headed downtown, casting a wary glance about him. Of course he didn’t even think to look at the grove of trees on the outskirts of town; he was too worried about gossipers seeing an unwed man leaving a lady’s house in the dead of night.

      Sigmund did not fail to note the state of the man’s dishabille, nor did he miss the silver star on the lapel of the man’s rebel coat. A sharp pain in his thumb made him look down at his hand.  Dumfounded, he stared at the slender blade in his palm. He didn’t remember drawing one of his throwing knives.

      He jerked his gaze back up to the back of the retreating man. Such a throw would be child’s play for Lord Regret and he certainly had no compunction against killing an unaware target. Lord Regret had no scruples. He had no heart, no mercy, no regret that he couldn’t laugh off or at least drink into oblivion.

      So why do you wish to murder this stranger without a single coin to show for it? A sly voice whispered, mocking such a supposedly immoral and cold, unfeeling heart.

      With a self-depreciating grimace, he slipped the knife back into its leather brace beneath his coat sleeve, tilted his bowler at a jauntier angle, and led his poor mount to the small shed that served as a stable when he arrived. Usually she’d prepared a spot for his horse with fresh hay and feed, for her locket warned her of his nearing vicinity, yet this time, the makeshift stall was bare. Another sign that she hadn’t any notion of his impending arrival.

      Shrugging, he tossed straw down for the horse while his mind gnawed like a rat trying to escape its cage. He was much earlier than usual, thanks to the engines he’d upgraded just last month, enabling a faster, more direct jump through the galaxy. If anything could lure Lady Wyre to the dark side—touring the universe with him—he’d thought it would be the most expensive and advanced technology, which had been founded on none other than Lady Doctor Wyre’s original experiments.

      If that doesn’t work, he reminded himself wryly, I have a dozen pair of pink silk stockings in the hold.

      Sliding from shadow to shadow was second nature, as was slipping inside her back door without knocking. He had to know the truth. Perhaps she’d been forced to remove the locket for some reason. It had to be working, or he’d be gasping on the frozen ground, waiting for the rest of his body to die.

      She sat at a plain wooden table sipping from a heavy cup much too big for her delicate hands.  Candlelight glowed upon her face, soft yet regal and so damned beautiful she might have been a queen herself despite the plain, standard-issue furnishings which surrounded her.  She couldn’t live lavishly and expect to avoid the gossipers, even though he knew she had enough coin to buy anything she wanted in York. She could buy the entire colony if she’d tap the funds he’d set aside for her. He knew she would have no qualms about using his blood money; no, it was her pride that objected.

      Even stripped of her title and House and position in Society, every fiber of her being screamed Her Grace. How she’d been able to keep her secret on Americus this long escaped him entirely, for he could see nothing but the grand Duchess sitting among peasants.

      “It’s no use,” he said in a low, deliberately Britannian drawl. “I see through your disguise.”

      She stiffened but didn’t jump from her chair or whirl to face him. Instead, she set her cup down and reached for the kettle. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

      As she refilled her cup, he noted that her hand trembled. He sat across from her, the spot the other man had just vacated. He dipped a finger into the still-full cup of lukewarm tea. Slipping his finger into his mouth, he watched her reaction through veiled lashes. “Your guest likes a little tea with his sugar.”

      Her eyes flared wide and her hand fluttered up to wrap her fingers about the locket—his locket, the key to his heart and life. She flinched at the energy she must feel sparking inside that metal heart, yet until she’d touched it, she hadn’t noticed his approach. That told him more than any words that she’d already made her choice before he could ask the question. She’d been too distracted by this other man to notice the metallic firestorm brewing on her breast.

      She’ll never sail space with me.

      “You’re early, sir.” Her words rang in the small room and her nose tipped to a haughty angle. Lady Wyre made no excuses or pretended regrets, which was one of the reasons he admired her so much. That steely pride and determination would help her succeed in any endeavor, whether in surviving a reduced situation on a colony or the Queen’s wrath if she were dragged back to Londonium. “Is the device malfunctioning?”

      He, too, could play the privileged lord, although that would ill serve his intentions with her, for ladies of Britannia held all the power. Such an act would immediately put him in an inferior position. He chose instead to slip on the dread role of the gentlemanly assassin, the man who both repelled and attracted her.

      With a flick of his wrist, the slender blade hidden in his coat fell down into his palm. He cut a slice of bread from the untouched loaf between them. “Would you like a piece, Charlie?”

      Shaking her head, she eyed the blade like a poisonous serpent had uncoiled on her table, but she made no objection to the familiarity of her nickname.

      He smirked and kicked back in his chair, nibbling on the coarse bread. Without looking away from her face, he rolled the blade from finger to finger on his left hand as though he didn’t have a care in the world. “So what’s his name?”

      “Who?” The word came out as a croak, so she cleared her throat. Narrowing her gaze, she hardened her voice. “Oh, I presume you saw Sheriff Masters as he left.”

      Sig deliberately let his gaze roam down her body, noting the filmy lace robe and her obvious nakedness beneath. “Was he as good as me?”

      As soon as the words came out of his mouth, he knew he’d made a grave error. One did not push Lady Wyre and think to sway her affection or decision. A push would simply cause her to push back harder or charge in an entirely different direction than which he’d intended.

      With a lazy smile to match his, she leaned back in her chair, all her tension and haughtiness traded for indolence. “Actually, he was very good, and I did not have to tie him up first to have my way with him.”