Caught in the middle: Amazon vs IPG

A little over a year ago - February 10, 2011, to be exact - Medallion Press released my thriller, FINAL VECTOR, in ebook form. Sales were sluggish for most of that year, until finally beginning to hit their stride in early February of this year.

Following the phenomenal success of my next thriller, THE LONELY MILE, FINAL VECTOR began to develop a following, spending most of the first three weeks of this month hovering between #75 and #100 in Amazon's Political Thriller category. Sales, while not earth-shattering, were steady and increasing.

On February 19, I made the disturbing discovery that FINAL VECTOR was no longer available for sale at Amazon. Not wanting to overreact, and assuming there was some sort of computer glitch going on, I did nothing. The book remained unavailable the next day, and by the 21st, when it was STILL not available at Amazon, I informed a representative of my publisher, assuming the situation would be rectified.

It wasn't, and I have no idea when it will be, if ever.

Medallion Press uses IPG as their distributor, and when negotiations over the terms of a new contract between IPG and Amazon fell through, Amazon made the decision to pull all IPG ebook titles from their digital marketplace. According to IPG President Mark Suchomel, "Amazon.com is putting pressure on publishers and distributors to change their terms for electronic and print books to be more favorable toward Amazon...I have spoken directly with many of our clients and every one of them agrees that we need to hold firm with the terms we now offer."

I'm being advised by Medallion Press that they support IPG's decision and am being asked to support Medallion in the interest of fairness and balance. Here is my take: Not being privy to the details of the negotiation between IPG and Amazon, it would be presumptuous of me to support either side.

I am being asked to take on faith that Amazon's contract demands are unfair to IPG, and perhaps they are. But without seeing those demands I cannot know. Here is what I do know, though. Amazon is the largest ebook retailer in the world and they are growing, and any distribution agreement for one of my books that does not include Amazon is unacceptable to me. Period.

Amazon is perceived as the big, bad bully on the block, and if IPG, or anyone else, wishes to make a stand against them on principle, that is their right. More power to them. But their principled stand is affecting plenty of other people who may or may not wish to be affected.

I'm not here to shill for Amazon. I don't know whether they're trying to bully IPG or not. But the nature of negotiation is that the side with the power gets to dictate the terms of the agreement. The more the power rests with one side, the more that side can set the terms. It's the way of the world.

And here's the thing. Amazon is the eight hundred pound gorilla in the ebook world because they are not afraid to try new things, to innovate. My thriller, THE LONELY MILE, has become successful largely due to promotional processes Amazon has developed and used to promulgate their success.

Anyone who does not like the way Amazon does business is free to shop elsewhere, and, in fact, should do exactly that. But my goal as an author is to entertain readers, and being asked to do so without having the opportunity to entertain the millions of readers who routinely shop at Amazon does not work for me.

FINAL VECTOR is still available at other outlets, such as Barnes and Noble, Books-a-Million and others, and of course Kindle Fire users can download apps allowing them to purchase the book elsewhere and still read it on their Kindle. But all of that is beside the point, which is this: IPG's job is to distribute my book to where the readers are. If they are unable or unwilling to do that, they should step aside for a distributor who will.

Adventures in email

I received a very distressing email this morning, informing me my entire career is at risk. The email came from Robert Reed of the American Institute of CPA's, and Robert told me...well, maybe you should read it yourself:

Dear valued AICPA member,

We have received a notice of your alleged assistance in income tax return fraud on behalf of one of your employees. According to AICPA Bylaw Paragraph 700 your Certified Public Accountant license can be cancelled in case of the fact of submitting of a incorrect or fraudulent tax return on the member's or a client's behalf.

Please find the complaint below and provide your feedback to it within 21 days. The failure to respond within this period will result in termination of your Accountant license.

Mr. Reed then very kindly provides a link below his notification, titled "Complaint.doc" for me to click on in order to provide my feedback. Within 21 days, of course, lest I risk termination of my Accountant license.

See what I mean? Distressing.

I'm apparently suffering from some sort of multiple personality affliction, becase I didn't even know I was an accountant! I don't remember going to accounting school or passing the accountancy exam. Hell, I barely even know how to use a calculator.

So to find myself at risk of losing this career I only just now discovered I have, well, that's the ultimate irony. And because I submitted "a incorrect or fraudulent tax return on the member's or a client's behalf."

Hard to believe, isn't it? Not only am I an accountant, but I have actual clients! If only my dad had lived to see this day.

I've never actually read AICPA Bylaw Paragraph 700, and only partly because I just discovered I'm a CPA twelve hours ago. Let's face it, I'm a lazy bastard, and even had I been aware all along of my wizardry with numbers, I probably would never have gotten all the way to Paragraph 700. I would have read through the first five or six Paragraphs and thrown the damn Bylaws aside. Who needs all those rules and regulations, anyway?

I checked the AICPA website and discovered, on their home page, a link stating, "Alert: Fraudulent 'Phishing' Scam Email Not from AICPA." Now, this is obviously important; you can tell by the generous use of capital letters.

So I ask you: How dare these Phishers try to take advantage of a longtime accountant like me? These people are messing with my livelihood, and all because of "the fact of submitting of a incorrect or fraudulent tax return..."

I don't know what I'm going to do yet. But on the bright side, I can't wait to attend the AICPA annual convention this summer. I hear those CPA's really know how to party.

Review - APOCALYPSE ISLAND, by Mark Edward Hall

Strange things are happening to Danny Wolf. Imprisoned for a murder he claims he did not commit, Danny is tormented nightly by horrifying dreams; nightmares filled with death and destruction and chaos. Bizarre fugues torment him, during which time he becomes violent and uncontrollable, remembering nothing afterward.

Offered an opportunity for early release from prison subject to intensive psychological counseling, Danny eagerly accepts. But the minute he hits the streets of Portland, Maine, a series of ritualistic murders begin occurring. The common thread? Each of the victims is a young female; all have slept with Danny Wolf.

The nightmares intensify and Danny begins to doubt his own sanity. Perhaps he really is a homicidal madman. When young female detective Laura Higgins is assigned to the case, with instructions to get close to Danny in order to gather evidence, things begin to spiral out of control, leading to a shocking conclusion in a secret underground lab, far beneath a small island with a horrifying history off the rocky Maine coast.

APOCALYPSE ISLAND is an ambitious thriller, written by the talented Mark Edward Hall, an author I discovered about a year ago. It's a novel not easily pigeonholed: Part political thriller, part police procedural, part supernatural gothic horror and part action-adventure, all rolled into one fast-moving book. There are rogue CIA operatives, dirty cops, ghosts, corrupt church officials and double-crossing colleagues.

But at its heart, APOCALYPSE ISLAND is a tale of one man's desperate attempt to find his identity, when his history is a complete blank and his motives - and even his sanity - are called into question by all, including himself. The tension builds slowly but steadily, until by the end of this explosive book, you simply cannot put it down.

Simply put, APOCALYPSE ISLAND is a winner.

The Making of a Bestseller

You've undoubtedly heard the expression, "overnight success," right? It's one of those things people say when someone comes out of nowhere and does something noteworthy. Sometimes it's meant as a compliment and sometimes it's not, but I think it's safe to say almost no one ever means it literally.

Except me, right now. I literally became a bestselling author overnight.

I know how ridiculous that sounds, but it's true. Here's how it happened:

My thriller, THE LONELY MILE, was released back in July in ebook format by StoneHouse Ink. I promoted the hell out of that book every way I could think of - blog tour, Facebook and Goodreads advertising, Kindle Nation Daily sponsorship. You name it, I tried it.

And for the first month-and-a-half the book sold decently, although it was far from making a splash on Amazon's radar, or anyone else's, for that matter.

In September, sales lagged, and in October, they picked up a bit with the release of THE LONELY MILE's trade paperback edition. November and December came and went with the book not really selling much. A copy one day, a couple of copies the next.

Along about then I heard of Amazon's newest strategy: The Kindle Select Program. In it, an author could agree to make his or her book exclusive to Amazon for at least ninety days, and in exchange, the author would receive up to five days of free promotion. The only catch was that the author had to agree to make his book free for the length of the promo.

I thought it was stupid. Why the hell would I give my book away? What possible benefit could there be? The idea of making my book exclusive to Amazon for three months didn't bother me - my sales were lower at the other outlets even than they were at Amazon. But the thought that there might be some benefit to giving my work away made no sense at all.

Then I began reading reports from other authors, people with more guts than I, who were willing to give it a shot. The reports were all basically the same: Make your book free for anywhere from one to all five days, and when you start charging again your sales will spike for a while.

It still didn't make any sense to me, but by now it was mid-January and sales of THE LONELY MILE were still averaging around thirty per month. One a day, give or take.

Being the sharp-witted guy I am, it occurred to me that risking sales of one book a day for a few days would be pretty painless, given the potential for a sales spike which might follow. I talked to my publisher, Aaron Patterson at StoneHouse Ink, and he enthusiastically endorsed the idea.

He set up the Kindle Select free promo of THE LONELY MILE to run for two days last weekend, Saturday and Sunday. I figured the book would be downloaded by maybe five hundred brave souls, maybe even - gasp! - a thousand, and then we would resume charging for the book and instead of a sale a day, we might see five or ten a day.

Then all hell broke loose. THE LONELY MILE started Saturday at something like #11,000 free in the Kindle Store. Then it started climbing. By Saturday afternoon in had landed on the Top 100 Free list, and by the time I went to bed Saturday night it was #2 on the list.

Sunday morning I woke up and discovered it was #1 free in the Kindle Store and it stayed there all day. Aaron suggested we ride the wave and extend the promotion another day, into Monday. We did, and the book spent a good portion of the day at #1 before beginning to lose steam, finishing Monday at #5 Free.

We decided it was time to end the promo and begin charging for the book again. The final tally was 42,000 downloads of my thriller over the course of three days, and an untold amount of free (literally) promotion.

I was ecstatic, as you might imagine. The thought of gaining 42,000 potential fans was intoxicating. However, I was still uncertain what to expect once the book was no longer free.

Well, here's what happened. Tuesday morning, THE LONELY MILE started the day ranked at #13,612 paid in the Kindle Store. Those 42,000 downloads were nothing but a happy memory.

Then the book started climbing in the Paid rankings, this time thanks to interested readers forking over their hard-earned cash for my work. Within one hour, the book was ranked #5529, and by noon it stood at #453. We entered the Top 100 at 5:00 pm and continued climbing.

As I write this, THE LONELY MILE stands at #22 in the Kindle Store, #15 in Fiction and #2 in Suspense Thrillers, sandwiched between Lisa Gardner and John Grisham. It's a thriller writer's wet dream. We sold 6000 copies of the book in the first two days after the free promo ended. That's compared to one (1) sale in the two days prior to the promo.

To say I'm flabbergasted would be an understatement. I'm stunned, amazed and extremely, eternally grateful to everyone who has shown an interest in my work, both when it was offered for free and in the three days since.

I'm working hard to maintain my newfound success and build on it, and to prove myself worthy of the vote of confidence people have shown in this novel. I wish I could thank, individually, every single person who has taken a chance on a mostly unknown author, not to mention StoneHouse CEO Aaron Patterson, a guy who has made a living out of understanding the potential of ebooks, and is now helping me do the same.

So there you go. I think it's safe to say there was definitely a spike in sales thanks to giving stuff away, and I fully expect that spike to continue for the foreseeable future. I'll keep you updated as this Big Adventure continues.

*P.S.: THE LONELY MILE is an international bestseller, too, currently ranked #80 in the Kindle Store at Amazon UK, and #6 in Suspense Thrillers. Thanks very much, Merrie Olde England! I continue to shake my head in amazement.

PASKAGANKEE Excerpt - Chapter Six

Day Seven of my free PASKAGANKEE excerpts brings Chapter Six. If you're here for the first time you might want to check out the first six posts before reading this one:

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Now here's Chapter Six:


6


The auditorium on the University of Maine campus was big, old, drafty and, at the moment, nearly empty. Professor Kenneth Dye looked out at the smattering of college students seated in a more or less random pattern throughout the room and wondered if even one single person was paying the slightest bit of attention to his lecture. Judging by the bleary looks on most of their faces, he guessed not.

It was 8:30 on a stormy, icy morning, which meant it was roughly four hours too early for most of these kids to be awake. The few that did seem chipper and bright-eyed, large Styrofoam cups of coffee fueling their engines, seemed much more interested in text-messaging, game-playing, and whatever the hell else kids could do on their cell phones these days than in paying much attention to Professor Kenneth A. Dye.

The professor paused in his lecture, looking up from his notes, not even really needing them. He had been giving the same stock presentation for more years than he cared to remember. The only reason he was still teaching at this institution of higher education located in the middle of nowhere was that he needed a reliable source of income so he could afford the purchase price on his next bottle of Tennessee Sippin’ Whiskey. In fact, now that he really thought about it, Professor Dye decided he probably looked more bleary-eyed than most of the kids slumped in their seats in the unnecessarily large auditorium.

Lecturing in the monotone he had perfected over the past two decades about material he had been teaching for nearly that long, Ken Dye reflected on the incident that had become the turning point in not just his career but his life.

At one time, he had been an up-and-comer, an aggressive young teacher and researcher rocking the academic world with controversial theories based on extensive research in his chosen field of Native American studies. Dye didn’t just peruse historical accounts of life in North America prior to the European invasion of the 1600’s and 1700’s, he traveled extensively in the field, interviewing Native American tribal elders all over the United States and even going so far as to live with a number of different tribes in different regions of the country for several illuminating years.

After completing his research and reaching some controversial conclusions regarding the mysticism inherent in virtually all Native American cultures, Kenneth Dye made the fateful decision which would change his life forever and not for the better. He wrote a book detailing his findings and almost overnight was reduced to a laughingstock, both in his beloved academic community as well as the real world outside the ivied walls of academia.

Dye came to consider publication of the textbook the biggest mistake of his life. Publish or perish indeed, he thought wryly. More like publish, then perish. Following the book’s release, other professors gradually stopped coming by his office to discuss campus politics, invitations to academic affairs dried up, and colleagues began crossing to the other side of the quad when he approached so they wouldn’t have to be seen with him. Ken Dye became a pariah; the guy no one wanted to get too close to, lest his disease of insignificance rub off on them as well.

He had never married—who had time for romance when there was so much research to be done?—and after the release of his book, the professor became such a celebrated kook that the only women interested in dating him were either a little unhinged themselves or curious to discover whether he was really as loony as he was portrayed in the media.

Eventually, Professor Dye retreated into his solitary prison of semi-academia, lecturing bored kids who needed an easy elective with which to pad their schedules without expending too much effort. Administrators at the University of Maine at Orono were only too happy to let him keep his job—in the beginning—because he brought a measure of welcome attention to the out-of-the-way school.

After becoming the subject of near-universal academic scorn, though, the administration felt it even more prudent to retain the man, if only to keep an eye on him. Out on his own in the world he could potentially do real damage to the school’s academic reputation. Better to keep him under wraps.

Outside, the storm pounded the centuries-old building with high winds. Rain pelted the campus, freezing solidly on every surface within minutes. Professor Dye tried to convince himself that the low turnout for today’s lecture was due in large part to the treacherous weather—college students will take advantage of any excuse to ditch a class—but he knew from long experience that even if the conditions were seventy degrees and sunny, there wouldn’t be many more bodies in the lecture hall than were here right now.

Dye shot a glance at the portable alarm clock he had placed on the podium. It was important to track how many more minutes he had to suffer through before he could get home and dive back into his bottle of Jack. Eight-fifty-five. Ten more minutes and the day’s first class would be in the books. Only three more tedious, boring, mind-numbing lectures to go. He wished he had poured some whiskey into his water bottle before leaving for work this morning. A powerful thirst was starting to build, and it was barely past breakfast.

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PAKAGANKEE is priced at $2.99 and is available here. Have a great day!

Interview with crime/thriller author J. Carson Black

J. Carson Black has done it all. Traditionally published author, struggling midlist writer, self-published novelist, and now one of the charter crime writers signed by Amazon's fledgling imprint, Thomas and Mercer. She represents thousands of writers to whom the success of a Connelly or an Eisler or a Child has at times has been tantalizingly close, and at other times, seemingly a pipe dream.

She's also one hell of a nice person, not to mention a talented and engaging writer.

Today is release day for her thriller, THE SHOP (Thomas and Mercer), and she agreed to set aside a few minutes and answer my questions, some of which even make sense:

After selling over 60,000 copies of your thriller, THE SHOP, you seem to be one of the new breed of overnight success stories: Someone who toiled for years as a novelist before hitting it big in electronic media. Can you describe your journey, and were you ever tempted to pack away your typewriter and go sell insurance?

I sold my first book in 1990. (I was three.) DARKSCOPE is a horror novel inspired by Peter Straub’s GHOST STORY and Stephen King’s THE SHINING, although of course it’s not in their league. I thought I’d make a million dollars (even though I was paid $2500) and from then on it would be clear sailing.

But instead of a Carnival cruise, I ended up on a carousel in the parking lot. I’d sell a book, then get kicked off the carousel. I’d get back on and after another couple of books get kicked off again. It was the ultimate game of Rope a Dope. It wasn’t just me. That happens a lot.

Each time I got kicked off I’d go nurse my wounds and try to become a better writer. Raising my game became a way of life. I wrote a thriller I’m very proud of, DARKNESS ON THE EDGE OF TOWN. I sold it in a two-book deal to New American Library, and got a very nice paycheck for once. Naturally, I thought I’d made it to the Promised Land, and all I had to do was write more books for NAL. Then came The Great NAL Bloodbath of 2006, where any book that wasn’t hot romance, urban fantasy, vampire, or cozy mystery was purged from the roster. My third book, THE DEVIL’S HOUR, never made it into print. I’ll never forget my wonderful editor, who is responsible for the Signet Classics, giving me the bad news, then asking, “Do you know anyone who writes erotica?”

So I went back to the drawing board and came up with a thriller called THE SHOP, which managed to net me my top choice of an agent, one who could open every door in New York. Once again, I thought: this is it. Turns out, not so much. We were turned down by somewhere between thirty to thirty-five editors at every big publisher in NY. I lost count around thirty.

Meanwhile, my husband Glenn was getting the rights back to our books and putting them up on the internets. I said, “Are you kidding? Ebooks? That’s never gonna happen.”

Turns out, I was wrong. I’d been so busy chasing the Big Six publishers like Ahab after Moby Dick, I’d missed the bigger picture.

We put up DARKNESS, and I sold one book the first month and one book the second month. By December, we’d gotten up to a whopping fifteen books a month.

DARKNESS had a spike in March – surprised the heck out of me. It dropped back down, but suddenly I began to see that there was something to this ebook thing. So I told my agent I was going to put THE SHOP up on Amazon, which I did the last week of March.


You originally released THE SHOP last March. When did you begin to get an inkling you might be on to something special in terms of sales?

I had a lot on the line with this book. Had I improved as a writer? Was it better than the Laura Cardinal novels? Would it bomb? It sure bombed with the A-List editors in New York. We put it up at $3.97 at the end of March, but planned to take it down to 99 cents starting in April. It didn’t do very well. Two days before the end of March, we dropped the price. On April 2nd it took off.

This started me on a number-counting kick that kept me busy for three months. It was ridiculous, but I couldn’t stay away from the numbers. I was like a day trader. I forgot about being a writer and became a small businessperson with aspirations of grander things. Four of my books did very well--THE SHOP and the Laura Cardinal novels, DARKNESS ON THE EDGE OF TOWN; DARK SIDE OF THE MOON, and THE DEVIL’S HOUR. But what goes up must come down (or, in amazon parlance, what goes down must go back up) and by August I was lamenting those golden days of summer. The spring and early summer saw me through the loss of two of our animals to old age and my year-long struggle with my new book, ICON, which I’d neglected for long stretches of time. I’d almost given up on the book when Thomas & Mercer showed interest. Let me tell you, I whipped that baby into shape in a hurry, and in doing so, rediscovered how much I loved it.


You recently signed with Amazon’s brand-new imprint, Thomas & Mercer, for the release of an updated version of THE SHOP, releasing today. Do you have any idea what to expect after selling so many copies of the first edition of the book?

I thought Thomas & Mercer would be different, and it is. They consult with me on everything—the cover, the cover copy, marketing, down to who I see as my main audience and what my personal style is (so the copy editor won’t mess it up). They hired a topflight developmental editor who worked me over good. I never had that at any of the traditional publishers. The marketing team knows what they’re doing and they’re with us every step of the way.

Judging from the other Thomas & Mercer books I’ve seen, THE SHOP should do well, but nothing’s a given. Thomas & Mercer is giving us a lot of marketing help and training, but it’s up to the book. Thankfully, I have my secret weapon: my husband (and publisher) Glenn. He guards the ramparts. He. Never. Sleeps.

Your second Thomas & Mercer book will be ICON, scheduled for release in June. Can you talk a little bit about that one?

Max Conroy, an A-list Hollywood actor, escapes a rehab center in the Arizona desert. He’s sick of his life and disillusioned by stardom. He sees this as a chance to get back to his roots. A couple of things, though. One, he’s suffering from hallucinations and has lost pieces of his memory, and two: somebody’s coming to kill him. Only one person seems to care whether Max lives or dies—Bajada County Sheriff’s deputy Tess McCrae. Tess has an “autobiographical memory”---she remembers virtually everything she sees.


What is a typical writing day for you? Do you set goals in terms of word count? Pages written? Hours spent playing Scrabble when you should be writing?

I know how to goof off so I have to guard against it. “Procrastinate” is my middle name. I’m an early riser so I have to hit the book first thing in the morning and go. When I’m writing a book, I write at least 750 words a day, every day. (If it’s good enough for James Lee Burke, it’s good enough for me.) Once I start writing, it’s unlikely I’ll stop at 750 words. But it’s a bite-sized piece that I can commit to getting down on paper every day. I do have to take time-outs for continued plotting, since I don’t outline the whole book.

I like Elizabeth George’s way of writing a novel. She comes up with several scenes--say, six to ten of them. She outlines some briefly, deciding on point of view, what the point of the scene is and how it moves the story along, what the character is feeling, a description of where they are and what they’re doing or about to do. She doesn’t go farther into the book than those scenes—which go out ahead just enough to keep her from hitting a dead end. I try to do that, although I’m not always successful.

Sometimes when I’m really stuck, I work on a jigsaw puzzle. There's something about physically putting pieces in place, having to work one section and then another, spotting a piece and realizing it will fit—I think it helps, subconsciously.


At what age did you first realize you wanted to write books? Was there any one person most influential in guiding or inspiring you to make that decision?

I was just a little kid when I started “writing and illustrating” books. I think I was four when I started a story about the Easter Bunny—crayon scribbled on the backs of my father’s old test papers (he was a schoolteacher). The title was THE EASTER EEG. I wrote a ton of Chapter Ones, with titles like HOTSPUR: A STALLION, or DARK MISTRAL OF WHISPERING PINES.

I read a lot in school. When I read Ray Bradbury’s SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES, I wanted to write a book like that, to own something that wonderful and say I’d produced a book. He made me really want to be a writer. Stephen King also inspired me, which led to the writing of DARKSCOPE many years later.


What are you reading right now? What’s next on your “To Be Read” list?

I just started Lee Child’s THE AFFAIR. I haven’t had as much time to read as I would like, but finally, with ICON almost in the can, I get to indulge. V IS FOR VENGEANCE (Grafton), THE DROP (Connelly), TAKEN (Crais), VICTIMS (Jonathan Kellerman), THE JAGUAR (T. Jefferson Parker), THE HUNTER (John Lescroart), NIGHT VISION (Randy Wayne White)—these are some of the books I plan to read in the coming months. I try to read the best in my genre and learn from them. I buy physical books and then I write in them: “Look how he did that! He set it up perfectly.” I also plan to read your book, THE LONELY MILE; M.H. Sargent’s books, Dani Amore, Robert Bidinotto, to name a few of the indie and small press authors on my list. Traditional publishing doesn’t have a monopoly on good writing.


If you could pick one character someone else has written that you wish were your creation, who would it be and why?

Gus in LONESOME DOVE. Or Call in LONESOME DOVE. Damn it! I can’t decide!


Hypothetical situation #1: You are marooned on a desert island, but before your ship sinks, you can grab one book of your choosing. What book would that be?

LONESOME DOVE. (Are we beginning to see a pattern here?)


Hypothetical situation #2: You are given a choice by the Gods of Publishing. Your books can either bring you tremendous monetary wealth or they can be universally acclaimed as outstanding by the critics. Which do you choose, and why?

Both and neither. I try (often unsuccessfully) to ignore what critics say, whether or not they think a book of mine is good, because ultimately, it’s only one person’s opinion. I’d like enough money to stave the wolf from my door and be comfortable, but I’m doubtful my lifestyle would change if I had a lot of money. Mainly, I just want to write. Writing isn’t just a profession. It’s not even a choice. There’s something that makes me want to write, and if someone took that away from me I’d lose all sense of identity.

Thanks for taking the time to visit A Thrill a Minute. Any last words of wisdom you’d like to share with my thousands hundreds dozens handful of readers?

Does a hot tip on a horse count? I’m betting the filly Royal Delta to win the Dubai World Cup in March.

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THE SHOP releases today from Thomas and Mercer and is available here. I read it a few months ago and highly recommend it. You can also preorder ICON here, or check out J. Carson Black's other books here.

PASKAGANKEE excerpt - Chapter Five

Day Six of my free PASKAGANKEE excerpts brings Chapter Five. If you're here for the first time, you might want to check out the first five posts before reading this one:

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Now here's Chapter Five:


5


Ida Mae Harper had lived in Paskagankee her entire life. Eighty-six years and counting, all spent in the little town a few miles south of the Canadian border, and Ida Mae was still going strong. She had gotten married at age 16 to a young man by the name of Wallace Harper, eight years her senior, a laborer at the leather mill located hard by the Penobscot River. The couple spent nearly fifty years together before Wallace’s sudden death more than two decades ago turned Ida Mae into a widow.

A stroke, they had told her after Wallace buckled and fell to the floor one Sunday afternoon over boiled dinner. Ida Mae thought to herself that they could call it a stroke if they wanted to, but she knew what had really killed Wallace—too many decades of sixty hour work weeks at the mill. Regularly scheduled double shifts, the occasional triple shift, week after week of working without a day off, you name it, and Wallace did it because he wanted to provide the best life he could for his Ida Mae.

The couple had never been able to conceive children, so Wallace’s death meant Ida Mae was all alone for the first time in her life. She had moved from her parents’ home straight to Wallace’s tiny but comfortable house when they married, and in that little house she still lived. Their inability to conceive had been a blow to Ida Mae and Wallace, but they had come to terms with the heartbreak after years of trying and had been happy for the most part ever since.

After Wallace’s death, Ida Mae bought a golden retriever puppy, Butch, for company, needing a living, breathing subject upon which to lavish all her love and attention. When the first retriever passed away, Ida Mae bought another, naming him Butch II. Now, Ida Mae was on the phone to the Paskagankee Police Department, sobbing and requesting assistance immediately.

“What’s the nature of the difficulty, ma’am?” the dispatcher asked.

“It’s Butch, something’s happened to my poor Butch,” she wailed into the telephone receiver.

“Who is Butch, ma’am, and what has happened to him?”

“Just send an officer, please, and tell him to hurry,” she said, tears running down her face. She provided her address to the bewildered dispatcher and hung up.

Now the cruiser moved slowly up the long dirt driveway, sliding and lurching from one pothole to another, nearly bottoming out in spots but making steady progress, finally easing to a stop in front of the house. Ida Mae opened the front door and shivered violently as a gust of cold air blew freezing rain into her home, soaking her housecoat and plastering her silver hair to her head.

Two police officers exited the cruiser, simultaneously pulling the collars of their jackets up against the wind and rain and running clumsily on the icy ground for the shelter of Ida Mae’s small porch. She opened the door further to allow them to enter the house, then quickly slammed it shut, moving to the thermostat and cranking up the heat, despite the fact the temperature inside the house already hovered around seventy-five degrees.

She turned to see the two officers, a man and a woman, holding their wet hats in their hands and dripping water on to the hardwood floor of the foyer. “Oh,” she exclaimed. “Where are my manners? Please, come in. Have a seat on the couch, officers.”

“We’re fine, ma’am,” the male policeman said. “What seems to be the problem? The only information we were given is that something has happened to someone named Butch. Is that your husband?”

“Oh, goodness, no,” she said. “My husband was named Wallace, and he’s been gone since probably before this little thing was born,” she said, nodding at Officer Dupont, who smiled back at her. “No, Butch is my dog. It’s actually Butch II, but I just call him Butch. It’s easier for me, you know, and he doesn’t know the difference.”

“I understand,” said the man, who seemed to be in charge. It only made sense, thought Ida Mae; the young man looks to be at least ten years older than the young lady. “So, can you tell me what has happened to Butch?” he asked.

“Oh, dear,” sniffled Ida Mae. “I put Butch out to get some air and, you know, to do his doggie business, earlier this afternoon, and when he hadn’t returned within a couple of hours, I went to the back door to call him and, well . . .” The elderly woman burst into tears, leading the two officers through the kitchen to the back door. She opened it and gestured bleakly toward the yard.

The two police officers crowded into the doorway, hips and elbows touching. They cringed simultaneously at the sight that greeted them. In the elderly woman’s back yard, just visible in the waning grey light of the late afternoon, were the gruesome remains of a golden retriever dog. The animal had literally been ripped apart; its body parts strewn around a circle roughly ten feet in diameter. A portion of a foreleg had come to rest midway up the wooden steps leading to the door, and blood was everywhere. The dog’s head was nowhere to be seen.

The petite, young female officer placed her hand on Ida Mae’s elbow and guided her back into the small living room to the couch. She sat her down and held her hand, doing her best to console her. The other officer, the man who seemed to be in charge, closed the door and stood uncomfortably as Ida Mae wrapped an afghan tightly around her shoulders. The little house seemed to have gotten much, much colder.

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