Charlie Flowers and His Alter Ego Riz Sabir | Between the Beats

Charlie Flowers and His Alter Ego Riz Sabir | Between the Beats

An Interview with Author Charlie Flowers

“Riddle” Book Cover Reveal | Between the Beats

“Riddle” Book Cover Reveal | Between the Beats

“Riddle”
Book Cover Reveal

Thanks to
all the readers who came out to support the cover reveal for “Riddle” today on
Facebook. It was a great turnout and I got to give away an e-copy and a signed
paperback.

Along with
the cover I shared a couple of excerpts from the book. If you missed it here
are the excerpts I shared. I hope you enjoy them and will come to my next
event. I will be doing a book launch on June 21^st when “Riddle” will
be released on Kindle and Createspace.

Blurb:

-"Seven years ago Kort Eriksen went to prison for
killing his girlfriend Desiree. Now he’s back in Riddle and some people think
he got off easy. Others, including long time friend Norma, think he was
railroaded because he’s the only Native American in town. Grace Donahue is
running away from her past. Trapped in Riddle until her car is repaired she
develops a friendship with Kort. Suddenly accidents are happening and people
are dying. Is Kort adding to his list of victim’s or has someone else taken the
reins? As mysteries from the past rise to the surface, more questions will be
raised. The suspect file grows as victim’s fall. Is Desiree’s killer back for
more or is someone trying to avenge her death? The riddle of Riddle will be
solved, but how many bodies will it take to find the answers?"

First
excerpt:

"An attractive young newscaster continued the story.
“Convicted killer Kort Eriksen was released from Eastern State Prison today.
Convicted of manslaughter in the death of his girlfriend Desiree Steele he
served seven years of a twelve year sentence.” A photo of a sweet faced teenage
girl flashed on the screen as the commentator continued, explaining the pair
had been high school students. “Eriksen pleaded not guilty and has continually
denied any involvement in the high school senior’s death.” A shot of a long
haired, slender, and much shorter Kort Eriksen crossed the screen. A close up
of his face showed a somewhat sullen looking boy.

 Grace stared at the
television, mouth hanging open in stunned silence. After a moment she realized
she was holding her breath. It exploded from her body in a whoosh. “Oh my
goodness. He is a murderer.”

Second
Excerpt

            “The room was tilting crazily and she
was unbuckling his belt. His hands had pulled her dress high above her hips.
The colors of the room seemed to run together and blend before separating
again. Suddenly she was above him and in control and he watched her long dark
hair swing over his face, teasing him with its softness and somewhat musky
scent. The blood was pounding in his head and he thought the top of his head
would explode any second. But even when he climaxed he wanted more. It was as
though she was a drug and he was addicted to her.”

Between the Beats | There is no box.

Between the Beats | There is no box.



On May 25th at 9:00 AM ET (until 6:00 PM ET) please join me as I reveal the cover for my new book, “Riddle”. I am very impressed with the artwork of Rachel Bostwick who has captured the essence of the story.
There will be games and prizes and, I hope, fun. So put on your most comfortable clothes, find a relaxing spot, grab your favorite beverage, and join me on Facebook.
What’s the “riddle”? Check out the Riddle page on Facebook for a clue.
https://www.facebook.com/Riddlenovel

https://www.facebook.com/Riddlenovel

https://www.facebook.com/rachelbostwick/about?ref=ts

https://twitter.com/RachelBostwick

“The Olympus Project” by Ted Tayler | Between the Beats

“The Olympus Project” by Ted Tayler | Between the Beats



When is a bad guy not really a bad guy? When he is Phoenix in Ted Tayler’s exciting book “The Olympus Project”. Tayler wastes no time in getting the action started in this high tech, guns blazing story of Colin Bailey. When I picked this book I didn’t realize Colin Bailey had made his initial appearance in an earlier Tayler book. This says a lot for “The Olympus Project” since it stands perfectly on its own. Tayler does a great job of giving Colin’s back story while weaving a tale of political intrigue, secret organizations, and romance. From the moment Colin Bailey is saved from drowning the story moves forward fluidly. Each new character is introduced and developed cleverly. Colin is drawn into the secret organization, The Olympus Project, and is re-named Phoenix. This seems a particularly brilliant choice since the rest of the world does not know that Colin is still alive. He has in fact, been raised from the ashes of his past life to be reborn as a trained and efficient killing machine. These killings are assigned by the mysterious group of British gentlemen and one very sexy woman based on the evil doings of the targets. These targets have escaped more conventional methods of punishment so the Project steps forward to take out the trash. Over the years they have developed a trained group of operatives with the demand their work remain secret. As Phoenix embarks on his assignments he perfects his already excellent skills and becomes a top champion of good versus evil. Using brilliant details and plans Tayler creates missions that are both exciting and believable. Underneath it all he generates a sexual tension between Phoenix and the emotionally wounded but very sensual Athena. Carrying painful baggage from her past she is reluctant to become involved with Phoenix but the desire increases and soon she has to admit what her fellow cabal members already know. Using current issues of political and economic concern Tayler gives the story an intensely realistic feel.  By the end of the book I was panting for more. I can’t wait to read the next installment. Tayler wisely leaves the reader with questions that demand answers. While I’m waiting for the sequel I plan to go back to Colin Bailey’s roots to learn more about what makes this fascinating character tick.
http://www.amazon.com/Olympus-Project-Phoenix-Book-ebook/dp/B00QU9FZTG

Dream | Between the Beats

Dream | Between the Beats

I know that
two hundred and seventy-nine people are going to die tomorrow. I know where it
will happen but not the location. I know the names of every person who will die
but I do not know them. For the last month I have seen their faces in my
dreams. I have heard their screams. The first time I had the dream the only
thing I recalled on waking was the disaster. I watched the plane as it dropped
lower and lower in the sky. The sky was a beautiful cerulean blue. There were a
few fluffy white clouds that resembled puffs of pillow stuffing. The plane dropped,
faster and faster. I opened my mouth to scream but no sound came from my
throat. I jumped awake seconds before the plane would have hit the earth,
leaving a long gouge in the green grass, exposing the rich red earth beneath.
My body was covered in a thin film of cooling sweat.

People dream
about plane crashes. I’ve had friends tell me about dreams like that. They
dream and when they are awake the next day they go about their business, the
dream forgotten. They have pushed the dream to the back of their minds and
unless something out of the ordinary happens they will likely forget it
completely in a day or two. I pushed my dream to the back of my mind. I pushed
it as hard as I could. But when I sat in front of my computer at work, poring
over meaningless information, I could still see the plane dropping from the
sky.

Five nights
later I had the dream again. I had the dream again but it was not exactly the
same. The sky and clouds were the same. The plane was dropping slowly, like a
paper airplane that had lost its hold of the drafts that would keep it
airborne. Now I was inside the plane. I looked out the window to my left. I saw
the crazy tilted angle of the wing. I looked to my right. There was a middle
aged man beside me who I did not recognize. His eyes were wide and his hands
clenched the back of the seat in front of him. Next to him was a middle aged
woman. Her mouth was moving but I could not hear any sound. I thought she might
be praying. Looking out the window once again I realized the green earth was
rushing up to meet us. I wanted to close my eyes but some compulsion made me
continue to watch as death opened her arms to welcome me, to welcome all of us.
There was a jolt and I sat up in bed, breathless, heart pounding, and a silent
scream in my throat.

The next day
I could hardly function as the dream filled my mind. It played over and over
behind my eyes. I accomplished nothing at work. I spent the day staring at the
computer monitor. I placed my fingers on the keyboard but they never moved.
Co-workers asked if I was sick, told me I looked pale, suggested I go home
early. I did not want to go home. If I went home I might sleep and if I slept I
might dream the dream again.

After a
couple of days it began to fade. It never left my mind entirely but it faded
like an old color photo that’s hung on the wall for years, the sunlight
striking it until all the color and life had been leached out of it. I began to
feel safe. I began to sleep through the night again.

I should
have known better. Hope is a funny thing. Hope combined with fear is even
funnier. It lulls you into a false sense of safety because anything else is too
horrifying to accept. I was lulled into that lie, that make believe peaceful
place, where dreams are only dreams.

It was seven
days after the second dream when the third dream came. It came with a newfound
vividness. It came complete with sights, sounds, and smells. The man beside me
smelled of whiskey and sweat. Beads of that sweat stood out on his upper lip
like shiny transparent globes. His voice was a low deep throated moan that
escaped his lips and lingered in the air like a mournful song. The woman was
not praying. She was repeating a name, over and over like an old vinyl record
that skipped on a scratch, unable to proceed unless someone gave it a tap. The
tap came. Te tap came as the plane impacted the earth. I felt the vibrating
seat, watched the grass and dirt fly up outside the window. I smelled fuel and
flames. Mercifully I woke. I did not jolt awake. I did not suddenly find myself
sitting up in my bed. I simply opened my eyes. It was still night. The only
light was the reflection of the streetlight outside my window throwing bars
across the ceiling as it forced its way between the slats of my blinds. I did
not go to work the next day.

I did not go
to work for the next three days. I could not bear to hear the comments on my
appearance, the very polite suggestions that I should see a doctor. I could not
stare at the computer monitor, terrified I would see that man’s face staring
back at me, pleading for me to help him.

Then I had a
week without the dream. Just when I thought I was safe, just when I believed I
could sleep at night and wake the next morning, shower, dress, grab a latte and
head to the office, just then the dream came again.

I was not in
a seat in the cabin. I was in the cockpit. My hands were locked around the
plane’s wheel. I was watching the white fluffy clouds float by in that
beautiful cerulean sky. When I looked straight ahead I saw that bright green
grass; grass that looked as though it had been painted a blade at a time by a
magical brush. The earth was rushing at me. I was not afraid. I was not
unafraid. I was nothing. It was inevitable and I accepted it. When I met the
ground this time it was not a gentle jolt, it was a punch that drove my entire
body sharply back in the seat. I watched the blades of grass separate and fly
into the air and the rich red earth part like a woman giving birth. Only we
were not being born, we were dying. We were being surrounded by earth and grass
and the yellow orange of flames. I did not wake up. The dream faded and I slept
on.

The next
morning I woke and went to work. I waited. I waited that day, I waited the next
day. I waited a week. I walked in a dream. I worked in a dream. Everyone said I
looked much better. I told them I felt better. They said it must have been a
bug, an allergy, the change of seasons. I agreed. I agreed with every one of
them.

On the way
to work I passed a store with televisions in the window. A crowd of people stood
and stared at the screens, every one turned to the same program. I saw the
flames. I saw the blue sky and the green grass, and the angry red gash in the
earth. Two hundred and seventy nine people died. I watched for a few minutes.
The crowd around me murmured horror, fear, and mourning. I went to work.

That was
three months ago. Last night I dreamed I was standing beside train tracks. I
could see the bright headlight of a train speeding toward me. I did not hear
it. I watched it approach, the light cutting through the black night like a
sword splitting dark velvet. Gray fog like mist drifted along the tracks,
clinging to the ground like hungry fingers. I watched the train speed past and
then it leaped from the tracks as though it could fly like the plane. It left
the tracks and began its journey across the grass and the earth, cutting through
it and leaving a swath of red like an open wound. The cars tumbled one on top
of the other, crumpling like aluminum foil that will be discarded when it is no
longer of any use. The lights behind the windows flickered and some went out.

I woke. I
was not screaming. My heart was not racing. One hundred and eighty eight people
were going to die. Sometime in about a month they would board a train
journeying to homes, on vacations, to jobs, until they would be embraced by the
flames. I knew their names. I knew the names of everyone of them. 

“Aria: Left Luggage” by Geoff Nelder | Between the Beats

<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/15784860-aria" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px"><img alt="ARIA: Left Luggage" border="0" src="https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1344026577m/15784860.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/15784860-aria">ARIA: Left Luggage</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/863686.Geoff_Nelder">Geoff Nelder</a><br/>

My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1242892183">5 of 5 stars</a><br /><br />

This is perhaps the most innocently thought provoking book I have ever read. What would happen if everyone began to experience memory loss? How would the world be affected by the gradual but constant loss of days, months, and years by every single person on earth? What happens if we all eventually regressed to infancy? Geoff Nelder attacks this question with fear and humor in “Aria: Left Luggage”. When the crew of the International Space Station finds a metallic suitcase mysteriously stuck in the struts of the space station the first question that arises is how did it get there? Then the inevitable question follows, should they open it or send it back to the labs on Earth to be examined? When the case is finally opened using less than secure procedures a virus is released on Earth that is unlike anything scientists could have imagined. Little by little people begin to lose their memories. Called ARIA, Alien Retrograde Infectious Amnesia, it sweeps the world, seemingly airborne and unavoidable. This is a fascinating tale of how important our memories are and how much we take them for granted. Nelder weaves a subtle tale where recent memories go first but as time goes by more and more memories are lost. Tension builds as younger victims are reduced to childhood and even infancy. Professionals like doctors and scientists regress until they are unable to perform job duties because they have forgotten what they learned to do. Panic ensues as violence and chaos sweep the earth. Amazingly there are pockets of people unaffected by the virus because they were able to avoid contamination. Meanwhile another suitcase appears on the ISS. Will this contain a cure or is there an even more disastrous virus about to be released on Earth? This is not simply a science fiction story. This is a story of the collapse of civilization as we know it and the behaviors of people thrust into unknown territory. The characters are real people confronting a frightening new world, some desperate to retain some semblance of normalcy while others struggle to function in spite of their mental deterioration. How much of our humanity relies on our ability to remember? How far would we go to protect ourselves from a sweeping virus that could eventually take everything that defines us? This is a story that confronts basic issues and makes the reader stop and think. A unique and insightful story it is a must read.<br>

<br/><br/>

<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/list/4737796-elizabeth-horton-newton">View all my reviews</a>

“Aria: Left Luggage” by Geoff Nelder | Between the Beats

The Writers' Lens: Horton-Newton: Senior citizens are protagonists in...

The latest interview about "View From the Sixth Floor" and "Riddle".



The Writers' Lens: Horton-Newton: Senior citizens are protagonists in...: Welcome to this week's guest, Elizabeth Horton-Newton. She was born and raised in New York City. She began writing when she was a chi...

Airline Contrasts -First Class Luxury | Between the Beats

Airline Contrasts -First Class Luxury | Between the Beats



With the growing sales of my book I am looking at the world through rose colored glasses.

Author: Elizabeth Horton-Newton on Indie Book Discovery

Author: Elizabeth Horton-Newton on Indie Book Discovery

“The Price of Silence” by Ulla Hakanson | Between the Beats

“The Price of Silence” by Ulla Hakanson | Between the Beats



<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17894619-the-price-of-silence" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px"><img alt="The Price of Silence" border="0" src="https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1381751603m/17894619.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17894619-the-price-of-silence">The Price of Silence</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1402405.Ulla_Hakanson">Ulla Hakanson</a><br/>

My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1259170167">5 of 5 stars</a><br /><br />

Amy Robinson is being stalked by her ex-fiancé Tyler but she has even bigger problems. In “The Price of Silence” by Ulla Hakanson, Amy finds the cost of keeping silent can be very high. While enjoying a kayaking trip with her cousin Willa in the remote part of British Columbia she makes new friends. Among her fellow kayakers is a police detective, Ben Malik, who develops an interest in pretty Amy. Before the trip is over Amy is drawn back to Vancouver and is soon embroiled in a dangerous dance of life and death with Tyler and the criminals who are pursuing him. As Amy struggles with hiding the truth of her abduction by Tyler from friends and family she finds herself growing closer to Ben who has developed strong feelings for the frightened hairdresser. As Ben and Amy grow closer they face obstacles to their relationship, from the threats against Amy’s life to interference from her judgmental parents. Hakanson weaves her tale with skill, introducing characters and developing them into real life figures you either love or hate. Sometimes extremely violent and terrifying, this is a page turner that keeps the reader waiting for the next twist; a gritty story of organized crime, corruption, family turmoil, and growing love.

<br/><br/>

<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/list/4737796-elizabeth-horton-newton">View all my reviews</a>

Another Amazing 5-Star Review | Between the Beats

Another Amazing 5-Star Review | Between the Beats



"View From the Sixth Floor: An Oswald Tale" is taking off!

The Witness Protection Program- Who is Your Neighbor? | Between the Beats

The Witness Protection Program- Who is Your Neighbor? | Between the Beats