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Name: N. D. Hansen-Hill

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Tuesday, 22 January 2008

 

News & Networking

Phew!

Only BloodWorks is waiting in the works. If I have any time left, I'd like to get Art & Soul, Artifact, and Sqweams rewritten and out to publishers this month, but the month is going quickly...

WIP: my haunted house story is sitting at 38,400 words, and I only plan on bringing it up to just over 50K. You'd think I'd be able to just whip that out, wouldn't ya? It's going veeeerrry slowly.

Other things: I have interviews this week on both Crystal Adkins' new interview site, and the Fallen Angels Review Blog (scroll down until you find my work). The FAR blog has numerous excerpts from my books, so if you'd like a sample of my writing, please pop over there in thanks to Cindy for doing such a nice job. Crystal is also working hard to develop her two sites (interview and review), so please consider paying her a visit.

Friends of Note: Shiela Stewart is quickly developing a following for her romantic suspense novels! A bit about her, and her most recent release, Escape in Passion (in Shiela's own words): "Escape in Passion takes place several months after the end of Discovery in Passion. Victor Davis came to Passion to help out his friend, Thomas Healy, and his then girlfriend now wife, Cassie Evans, investigate a supposed murder suicide case. After helping to bring the true killers to justice, Vic decided to stick around and take up the vacant job as Staff Sergeant of the R.C.M.P. F-Division. The instant Vic entered book one, I knew he needed his own story. He is one of those secondary characters that just demand to be told. There was a mystery behind his sudden need to uproot himself from his home in Mississauga to move to a small town. And since Vic was a ladies man, of course the mystery had to involve a lady. I had barely finished writing Discovery in Passion when the need to tell Vic’s story simply poured from my finger tips. Victor Davis is quite the character and those that have read his story have instantly fallen in love with him. My hope is that every person that reads his story falls just as hard. Mercy in Passion, book three, will be out in March." Author: Shiela Stewart www.shielasbooks.ca Publisher: Linden Bay Romance For sale at: www.lindenbayromance.com

And, an excerpt:

There was a crisp chill in the air, and pulling up the collar of his regulation jacket, Vic strolled along the quiet streets he now called home. There were still some houses that were lit with Christmas lights, even though the holiday had been over for weeks now. Nineteen eighty-four had come in without much enthusiasm on Vic’s behalf. He hadn’t even bothered putting up a tree, much less lighting his house. There really wasn’t much point when you were alone.

Tom and Cassie, his two best friends, had gone off to spend the holidays with her family in the city, then off to their honeymoon in some hot resort in Mexico. Lucky bastard, his friend was. Not only had he met the woman of his dreams, but that very woman was every man’s, and boy’s, wet dream. She was blonde, stacked, and had curves in all the right places. And on top of it, she was knocked up, which only made her even sexier. Who knew watching a woman blossom with child could be sexy? Yet it was for Vic.

Not that he lusted after his best friend’s wife; he knew his boundaries, and he would never do anything to hurt his oldest and closest friend. But he could admit, at least to himself, that he was jealous of his friend. Tom had caught himself a real winner.

“Officer, oh, officer. I need your help.”

Turning his attention to the high pitched voice, Vic saw the elderly woman running towards him. Instinct kicked in; he prepared himself for the worst. “Is there a problem, Mrs. Dunbar?”

“Yes, yes, oh, dear, dear me.”

“Just relax, Mrs. Dunbar. Take a deep breath and tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s Mr. Jingles, oh, Lord, he’s stuck under the tree.”

“Did you call for help?” Vic asked, rushing along with the woman as she led him to her house.

“I was just about to go into the house and call, but then

I saw you. Thank God. You have to help him.”

“Okay, just relax. Was he conscious when you left him?”

“Oh yes, and yelling his head off.”

“Okay, that’s good. What part of him is under the tree?”

Vic pulled out his radio and was about to call in for backup when she spoke.

“His tail.”

He paused not just in step, but thought as well. “Come again?”

“His tail. I heard him crying, so I went out to see where he’d gotten to, and I found him stuck under the tree.”

“His tail?”

“Yes,” she said with exasperation, leading him to the back of the house. “See.”

One look and Vic wanted to curse out loud. “That’s a cat.” And like she’d said, it was screaming its head off.

“It’s Mr. Jingles. I don’t know how he got himself stuck to the base of the tree. You have to help him, please, officer.”

Letting out a deep breath, Vic walked up to the tree.

Yep, she was right, the cat was stuck and apparently not just his tail, but it looked like his butt as well. Vic couldn’t help but laugh.

“This is no laughing matter, officer.”

He didn’t bother to correct her in regards to his rank but did stop laughing. Or at least he did his best not to laugh.

“Okay, let’s see what I can do.”

Biting his tongue, Vic knelt down to the cat, who looked like he was ready to shred anything that came near him. Thank God for the regulation work gloves Vic wore.

He pushed some snow away from the cat to get a better look. “Well, looks like I solved this one quickly.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Looks like Mr. Tinkles—”

“Jingles,” she corrected.

“Jingles, sorry, has gotten his butt stuck on his own urine.” Vic looked down at the panicked cat. “Don’t you know that when it’s this cold out, you shouldn’t put your butt down when you’re taking a leak?” he chastised the cat while he hissed and swiped his front paws at Vic.

“Can you help him?”

“I think I can. What I need you to do is go inside, run some hot water into a bucket and bring it out to me.” The instant she hurried to the house, Vic let the laughter roll.

How could he not find humor in the situation when the damn cat’s ass was frozen to the snow because of his own piss? “See, that’s where dogs are smarter. They lift their legs to pee and, therefore, prevent having their balls and ass stick to the snow.”

“Here we go.”

Biting his lip, Vic took the bucket of hot water from Mrs. Dunbar and knelt back down to the cat. “Now, be a good kitty and don’t claw my eyes out when I free you.”

“Don’t hurt my baby,” Mrs. Dunbar pleaded.

Nodding to her, Vic just hoped he wasn’t the one that got hurt. “Here we go.” Tilting the bucket, Vic began to pour the water beside the cat, in hopes it would melt the snow and release Mr. Jingles.

The cat hissed, began to claw wildly, kicking up snow in his fight to free himself.

“Mr. Jingles!” Mrs. Dunbar cried out.

Because he worried the cat would rip its balls off, Vic placed one hand on top of his back while he poured the rest of the water. It wasn’t easy holding Mr. Jingles down; the cat was large, fat but strong, and put up a good struggle.

The water melted the snow which released him from the spot he was frozen to, and Vic managed to scoop up the cat with both hands before it managed to run away.

“Hold up there, big guy. Let’s check you out.”

“Is he alright?”

The cat fought like it was being murdered and managed to dig his claws right through the thick leather gloves Vic wore. He cursed under his breath, shifting the wiggling cat to check out his backside.

That had been a major mistake.

Mr. Jingles wiggled, Vic lost his grip and the cat lunged at him, clinging to his jacket. And if that wasn’t bad enough, Mr. Jingles took one carefully aimed swipe at Vic’s face and scratched him right across his left cheek.

“Son of a bitch!” He dropped Mr. Jingles, and the cat instantly ran for the house.

“Mr. Jingles,” Mrs. Dunbar cried, racing to the house.

“You’re welcome,” Vic called out, dabbing at the fire on his cheek. “Brutal bastard,” he muttered under his breath, trudging his way through the alley and away from Satan’s spawn. Damn cat.

With his gloved hand, Vic covered the wound as he marched his way home. Do someone a favor and look what you end up with. What had his life come to? He’d resorted to freeing cats frozen to the snow because the feline was too stupid to take a piss inside when it was cold. Six months ago he’d been investigating major crimes, and now he was freeing stupid cats from the snow.

Lord, what had he been thinking?

“Well, hello, handsome.”

Glancing over, Vic smiled at the beautiful blonde with big, blue eyes and replied in a sexy growl, “Well, hello yourself.”

Finally, things were looking up.

 

Yay!

Tempter (I may want to stick this in a book some time): functional Magnetic Resonance Imaging scans indicate that culture has a physiological impact on the brain, that can be seen in brain activity patterns. Culture has long been thought to affect development in terms of eating patterns, environmental influences, and tastes, but it can now be seen to affect perspective and judgment. Alterations to brain activity occur in exposure to other cultures for as little as six months. Read more. Sounds like an excellent reason to travel, and definitely contradicts the "old dogs can't learn new tricks". It may never be too late to change our outlook!

 

Save Your World: learn and donate at the same time. Free rice is donated for every correct word. I LOVE this charity!

Now, an excerpt from one of my books - Trolls (paperback), methinks. Enjoy!             A dust devil whirled lazily in the heat, spinning in aimless gyrations. Cheers,

            Devils without...devils within? He scuffed the dirt, watching the dust motes drift across the cave mouth—bright bits of sunlight curtaining the darkness...

            Idly, he scuffed his way inside. Only a few steps, from there to here, and his mother would never know. The dirt he’d stirred swirled around him, and he blinked to clear his eyes.

            He heard it before he saw it. Behind him, there came a whisper in the dirt, and the first of the incessant rattles began. The dried husk rasp was joined by another, and another.

            The boy twisted slowly, his limbs unnaturally stiff. The day was so hot...yet he’d never felt so frozen in his life. His heart started pounding in racing thuds within his chest.

            He wasn’t the only one who’d come inside to escape the heat. Gooseflesh danced across his skin as the rattling tempo increased.

            Snakes, and more snakes. He’d scuffed his way into a nest...

            The biggest snake was in the entrance now, blocking his way. Two smaller ones slithered toward him, and one slid over his shoe. He stood there, trying not to move...trying not to do anything. Outside, beyond the snake guardian, another dust devil rose, swirled and died.

            Like me. Eleven-year-old immortality vanished in an instant, as death rattled at his feet.

            One was coiled up near his toes now. When he twitched, its coils tightened, and the head lifted into strike position...

            Reason fled. He leapt for a dark gap in the rock, slid in a rain of snakes and dirt and ran for his life. Faster and faster, finding his way by feel alone, panic nipping at his heels with the sharp-fanged tension of a serpent’s bite.

            Down, through the dark, away...

            He was moving far too fast, and he should have anticipated obstacles. But he was only a child, trying to outrun his monsters. When he tripped over the lamp, he never expected to fall...and keep on falling.

            There are things far worse than a serpent’s bite...

 

ND | Melody Thanks, www.mikesfreegifs.com and www.wilsoninfo.com, for the animations!

Wednesday, 09 January 2008

“This is all wonderful, it is Mark, but those are not my initials.”

 

Now, for an excerpt from one of my books, Elf  (paperback).