Wednesday, February 27, 2019

Blue Devil Island for Your Kindle, 99¢

Publisher Crossroad Press is offering the Kindle edition of my WWII novel, Blue Devil Island, for only 99¢. You can spend a buck, get yourself an exciting book to keep you busy for a coupla days, and still have enough to snag yourself a cold one or two.

AUTUMN, 1943: The beginning of the American offensive against the Japanese in the South Pacific. Just west of the Solomon Islands lies a remote, desert island called Conquest, where the U.S. Navy stations a new fighting squadron, led by Lieutenant Commander Drew McLachlan, an ace pilot and veteran of the Battle of Coral Sea.

With his group of air warriors, who call themselves the Blue Devils, McLachlan soars into frequent combat with the Japanese, inflicting serious casualties upon the enemy. However, on the squadron's island home, signs appear that it may not be entirely alone, for in nearby volcanic caves, McLachlan finds evidence of habitation by unknown natives — natives that resemble no known living race, and that may yet exist in the mysterious subterranean catacombs. As the tension on the island mounts, McLachlan is forced to fight on two fronts: against their known enemy, the Japanese, and an unknown, predatory force that leaves mutilated victims as the only evidence of its presence.

As the Solomons campaign enters into its final skirmishes, the Japanese, at last, turn their attention to Conquest Island. In the final conflict, the Blue Devils find themselves the target of an overwhelming assault by the desperate Imperial Japanese forces—and McLachlan must face the reality that the key to his men’s survival lies deep in the dark and deadly caves of Conquest Island itself.

"Rainey skillfully mixes military fiction with alien encounters to present a fast-paced tale of wartime heroics and unearthly terrors. Blue Devil Island is a good selection for large science-fiction or horror collections."—Library Journal

Tuesday, February 19, 2019

Excerpt #2 from Michigan: The Dragon of Lake Superior

Here's an excerpt from my in-progress Ameri-Scares novel—Michigan: The Dragon of Lake Superior. Jeff and Anna, two thirteen-year-olds, meet for the first time at a mysterious waterfall in the forest....

Jeff looked out at the vast, crater-like gorge. To his surprise, he noticed a movement off to his left. There! A figure moving among the boulders. He realized it was a girl—at least, he thought so, judging by the long, flowing black hair. Her back was to him as she crept toward the path that led to the top of the gorge.

“Hey! You!” he called out.

For a second, she paused but did not turn around. Then she started moving again.

“Wait up, all right? I want to talk to you!”

This time she stopped. Slowly, she turned and gazed at him.

Wow, he thought. She must be a Native American. She had copper-colored skin, high cheekbones, and wide, very dark eyes. She wore blue jeans and a gray, long-sleeved T-shirt. From here, she looked pretty tall. He made his way along the rocky floor of the gorge toward her. She watched him with suspicious eyes. He raised a hand and smiled, hoping she would understand his intentions were friendly.

“Hi,” he said as he came up to her. She was taller than he—by a couple of inches—and she looked strong and muscular. Probably strong enough to pop him a good one if the mood took her. “I’m Jeff. I was just exploring back there.”

She raised one eyebrow but said nothing.

He pointed to the roaring cascade. “Exploring. Cave. Behind waterfall.”

“I heard you the first time,” she said. Suspicion still gleamed in her dark eyes. “You’re not a Yooper, are you.” It wasn’t a question.

“No, I’m from Midland. I’m on vacation here with my parents. So I guess you are a Yooper.”

“Oh, yah.”

“Have you been to this waterfall before?”

“Yah, a good many times.”

”I didn't even know it existed till now.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“I rode out on my bike this morning, headed down Miner's Castle Road, and I just sort of ended up here.”

“Odd place to just ‘end up.’”

“Speaking of odd—there’s something very weird about that cave. When you go only a little ways inside, it gets quiet—like you’re suddenly far, far away.” Trying to explain seemed awkward. He motioned to her. “It’s easier if I show you. Come with me, how about?”

She hesitated, once again eyeing him with suspicion.

“Hey, it’s not like I’m a serial killer or anything.”

She finally offered him a faint smile. “I know you aren’t. How do you know I’m not?”

Her question took him by surprise. For a second, he could find no words.

She must have found his expression amusing because she laughed. “Now I know you’re not dangerous,” she said. “A little goofy, maybe.”

“Well, thanks a lot,” he said, embarrassed. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Singing Bird of the Forest.”

“What? Really?”



She gave him a mocking smile. “It’s Anna. Anna Hendricks.”

She seemed to enjoy poking fun at him. He sighed. “I’m Jeff.”

“So you’ve told me.”

“I mean, I’m Jeff Grigg.”

He must sound completely stupid. Why had he become so nervous?

“So, you want to go to the cave and see what I mean?”

“Actually, I do.”

“Okay, then.” He started walking back toward the waterfall. A little of his confidence returned when she fell in behind him. “What about you? How come you’re out here all by yourself?”

“It was something—” She cut herself off. After a moment, she said, “I spend a lot of time by myself. Today, I just decided to come here.”

Jeff stopped and looked back at her. Her gaze shifted away from his.

She was not telling the truth.

Friday, February 15, 2019

Happy Bloody Valentine's Day

Brugger and I once again devised a satisfying Valentine's Day experience: after work, we hauled ourselves over to GIA: Drink. Eat. Listen, which has long been one of our favorite wine & dine destinations. We don't frequent it as much as some others because the price tag runs a bit on the high side, but they do have half-price wine nights, which we have been known to enjoy on occasion. While they do have some mighty fine wines—and the chef and sommelier collaborate to present some excellent pairings—my favorite drink on the premises is a martini called the Tiny Cat (that's T-I-N-Y, mind you, not T-I-D-Y, as Ms. B. prefers to call it). It's Tiny Cat Vodka, Death’s Door Gin, Lillet Blanc, House Pimento Bitters, and Olives. I shouldn't have this concoction very often because it's so good it would way too easy to overdo it. Way. Too. Easy.

For dinner, we indulged in a couple of excellent small plates—spicy sausage, pepperoni, and yellow pepper schiachiatte for Ms. B. and Chicken Liver-Foie Gras Paté with daikon radish, prosciutto, honey, and toast for the old man. Heavenly from top to bottom, it was.

For afters, we viewed William Castle's original 13 Ghosts (1960), which I was due a viewing, since I will be playing Dr. Zorba in filmmaker Myron Smith's upcoming parody 39 Ghosts. We followed this with 1999's House on Haunted Hill, which didn't impress viewers in its day, but I've always rather enjoyed it. Geoffrey Rush is superb, as is Famke Janssen, and the supporting cast all seem to have a good time. The climax features an impressive otherworldly thingummy, and I like the ending. So I'm gonna stand out from the crowd and give this one overall high marks.

And that is how one celebrates a most romantic Valentine's Day. No shit.

Sunday, February 10, 2019

A Weekend at the Crossroad

Author/Crossroad Press Founder & CEO David Niall Wilson
riles the crowd at the Page After Page Author Fest

Come lunchtime on Friday, I bolted out of Greensboro and set out for the most haunted and horrific Wilson House (a.k.a. Dave and Trish's residence) in Herford, NC. For this was the weekend of the Page After Page Author Fest in Elizabeth City, NC (see my blog entry from Wednesday, February 8), and we were all set to appear.

Actually, I first had to swing up to Martinsville, VA, to take care of business at my mom's. Then I hit the road for the most haunted and horrific Wilson House. I did stop for a number of geocaches along the way, and somewhere about Emporia, VA, I discovered what is surely one of the few Shoney's restaurants still in business. Back in the dawn of man, I worked as a fry cook at Shoney's in Martinsville. Their food was never exactly gourmet fare, but for old time's sake, I stopped for dinner, and I've gotta say, it was not bad at all. The HOP (half o' pound) hamburger steak was quite satisfying, as a matter of fact.
I really didn't know there were any of these left. The restaurants, I mean, not strange old white men.
Don't see one of these every day...
My route took me out US 58 to just this side of Suffolk, VA, where I got on some back roads that skirted the Dismal Swamp into NC. Now, mind you, these were some of the same back roads upon which I found myself a mighty bit confused back around 2006. Those unexpected detours directly inspired my novel, The Monarchs, which is set in that area. This time, with the aid of a (mostly) functional phone GPS, getting through that area proved a breeze. I did lose service for a spell out there, but by then, I was most of the way toward familiar territory.

As I was driving past Elizabeth City, only a few minutes shy of Hertford, I did see what at first struck me as an unusual phenomenon. Along the western horizon, as far as the eye could see, what appeared to be a thousand red lights were flashing in unison. I wasn't entirely sure what I might be seeing, but I suspected it might be a wind farm. And that is exactly what it turned out to be. I'd never seen one before at night, and I found the view spectacular.

Once I'd settled in at the most haunted and horrific place, my hosts and I stayed up till the wee hours sipping whiskey and trading most excellent tales of comedy and tragedy.
At the waterfront. A gull on every post.

Come Saturday morning, we headed out to Elizabeth City and the author fest. Page After Page is a small but well-stocked bookstore in a scenic area of town along the waterfront. About 20 authors attended the event, including children's authors, young-adult fiction authors, adult-fiction authors, poets, and creative writers of every ilk. To my surprise, rather than have the writers set up in strategic locations, we were sequestered at the back of the store so each of us could give a presentation about our showcased works. It was an unusual approach, and while I enjoyed listening to these recountings of personal inspiration, I felt we had been essentially separated from whatever customers did show up. And a few did. Clearly, there was less selling than personal and professional fellowship happening here. If I'd had any great expectation of making a killing, I might have been put out, but knowing that Elizabeth City is not necessarily the Mecca for that kind of thing, I had come more for the joy of hanging out with other writers, specifically Dave and Trish (not to mention more than a modicum of geocaching). It is well that these were my expectations.
Trish Wilson tells you what's going down in the business
Author Reginald Buchanan recounts an exciting passage from his novel.
Books from Crossroad Press

All in all, it turned out to be an enjoyable and informative day. At the fest's end, the Wilsons and I transported ourselves to Volcano Japanese Restaurant, where I had dined once before ("These Are a Few of My Favorite Things," June 24, 2012). It was good then, and it was good now. I ripped up three superdynawhopping sushi rolls—a spicy shrimp & scallop roll, a spicy volcano roll, and a spicy tuna & seaweed concoction called "A Christmas Tree." For dessert, I partook of some geocaches and a chai latte from Starbuck's. We had to pick up the Wilsons' daughter Katie at the nearby college campus following a field trip, but the kids were a bit late getting back. So we three adults sat in the Vladmobile for some time, shooting shit and shitting you not.

Back at Chez Wilson, for the evening's entertainment, we watched The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra, one of my all-time favorite comedies, made by champion of science Larry Blamire; followed by Polar, a violent thriller starring Mads Mikkelsen. In general, I quite enjoyed the latter, though it feels rather odd to say so, considering the gratuitous sax and violins, not to mention an over-the-top body count. It did have great atmosphere and a driving musical score. We also availed ourselves to some exceedingly pricey whiskey, which I enjoyed, but Dave and I agreed that we both enjoy a lot of whiskeys that cost a quarter of its price at least as much or more. Still, many thanks to Dave for sharing a healthy splash of it with me. There's no one I'd rather share expensive whiskey with.
A big honking bottle of Eagle Rare. Not the most expensive stuff, but among the best.
Brother Tomás

This morning, we had to make a quick stop in Elizabeth City to pick up some copies of my novel, West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman, from Dave's office. That done, we said our goodbyes and I hit the road—and began a long day of driving and geocaching. I claimed about 30 this weekend, more than half of which I snagged on the trip home today. It was a long but not-at-all uncomfortable drive back, as I stopped every few minutes to do a bit of hunting. The majority of the hides I found this weekend were park & grabs, but I still managed to turn up a good number of ingenious, appealing caches, such as "Where Eagles Soar" (GC7N4K2), and "Harbor Log" (GC6CQ24), a short distance down the street. It's always fun to have a few challenging hides in the mix. It's not always just about the numbers....

All in all, this proved a most enjoyable weekend with a couple of the best friends I have, both in the wild and woolly writing business and the wild and woolly business of life in general. Back home now, a bit weary and a little peeved that tomorrow is another day at the office. What I could use right now is a good couple of full days working on Michigan: The Dragon of Lake Superior, which is going swimmingly but deserves a good spell of uninterrupted writing time.

Till then.
Old Rodan on the prowl along the waterfront

Wednesday, February 6, 2019

Page After Page Author Fest

This Saturday, February 9, I'll be at the Page After Page Bookstore's Author Fest in Elizabeth City, NC, from 10:00 a.m.–4:00 p.m., along with Crossroad Press Publisher/Author David Niall Wilson and author Patricia Macomber. I will have paperback copies of Blue Devil Island, The Monarchs (which is set in that area), and my newest, West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman on hand, and you can bet I'll be happy to devalue any and all of them with my John Hancock.

If you're anywhere in the area, please come on by. It won't hurt a bit—well, not much, anyway. For more info, visit...

Sunday, February 3, 2019

From Bringle Ferry Bridge to My Witty's End

In addition to making forward progress on my second Ameri-Scares novel (Michigan: The Dragon of Lake Superior), I managed to work in some fairly serious geocaching this weekend. Yesterday, Team Three Stooges, comprising Gerry (a.k.a. BigG7777), Bridget (a.k.a. Suntigres), and Old Rodan (a.k.a. me), headed down toward Salisbury, primarily to hunt a run of caches called "Road to Bringle Ferry Bridge." Of the 25 we hunted, we snagged 24. It was a nice bunch, with lots of different container and hide types. I most enjoyed a hike out to the hydroelectric dam at High Rock Lake, which involved negotiating a slightly precarious trail and a considerable terrain challenge getting to the cache. And we had the pleasure of meeting the cache owner—Ralphkitty—who popped by one of the caches to meet us.

After the Bringle Ferry Road run, we headed back into Salisbury for lunch at The Smoke Pit, which I had discovered with Old Rob and Ms. Fishdownthestair a few weeks back. I think I've found a new favorite BBQ restaurant, as their beef brisket, Texas-style green beans, and fried okra might best be described as heavenly. Hoooo!

After lunch, we took a walk around the downtown area to snag a few more hides, one in a nice old cemetery. I got back home in time to go to dinner with Ms. Brugger at Simply Thai in Elon, which is my favorite Thai restaurant—and apparently a lot of other people's as well, as the place was more packed than I've ever seen it. Still, most enjoyable, and then we retired to Ms. B.'s to watch Prometheus, which neither of us had seen in a while. It's okay, not great. But since we'd watched the director's cut of the original Alien the other night, we were kind of in a mood.

Today, friends Tom (a.k.a. Skyhawk63) and Linda (a.k.a. Punkins19) hosted a pre-Super Bowl geocaching event at their place in Brown Summit, which Ms. B. and I enjoyed immensely. A big, big crowd; good chili; and door prizes that included an autographed copy of West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman, which I donated to the cause. Following the event, Ms. B. and I rode out to Witty Road, north of Greensboro, so I could do some much-needed maintenance of that series of caches. Got 'er done.

My TV shows me one football game a year—the Super Bowl. Tonight, I've been sitting here watching it, and my TV is threatening to turn itself off.

Not spectacular. Getting back to writing Michigan: The Dragon of Lake Superior is bound to be more exciting.
"Alas, poor Yorick. I knew him, Suntigres." At the Evil Spirit of Gravity Hill
"Hey, don't fall and break your face, you dorky old fart!" I swear, that's what I heard Bridget yelling at me.
A conclave of birdies on the river. Great Blue Herons, cranes, seagulls, ducks, geese,
and I think a Pteranodon or two.
Part of the caching crew at the Pre-Superbowl Chili Event at Tom & Linda's place

Friday, February 1, 2019

Enter the Lair of the Mothman

It's here. Today is the official release day for West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman, my debut novel in Elizabeth Massie's Ameri-Scares series. Just for good measure, last week I placed an order for the Kindle edition at and—sure enough—at precisely 12:01 a.m. this morning, the e-book appeared on my device. I will say I was pleasantly surprised to find that the paperback edition actually hit the streets a few days back, ahead of schedule; I even have a few copies in my possession at this point. Crossroad Press did an impressive job packaging this one. The cover, composed by artist David Dodd, consists of a photograph of the entrance to one of the TNT bunkers (called "igloos") in Point Pleasant, WV, which I took on my visit there in September; my own little doodle of the Mothman; and one of the Ameri-Scares series's signature kids' silhouettes.

The flyer above is one I whipped up at lunch one day last week. It's part of a package I've put together to send out to various outlets to hopefully generate some interest. Like all the books in the Ameri-Scares series, West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman is aimed primarily at readers ages 8 to 14, but adults will also enjoy these stories.