Warner Sharp – The Bishop of Scorpius

Title: The Bishop of Scorpius

Author: Warner Sharp

ISBN: n/a

Page count: 70,000 words

Genre: mystery/thriller

Price: $3.00

 

Author Bio:

After graduating from college in Tucson, Arizona, I served as a commissioned officer in the US Navy. I’ve worked and lived as SCUBA instructor in Mexico and the Bahamas and I’ve been diving for over twenty years.

 

Tell us about your book:

THE BISHOP OF SCORPIUS details a definitive week in the life of Pete Townshend Bishop, Bish to his friends. Raised by a con artist mother, Bish is a thirty-six year old former baseball player turned SCUBA shop owner on the Caribbean island of Scorpius. With a slightly misaligned moral compass and a weakness for married women on vacation, Bish finds himself facing foreclosure.

Bishop is summoned to the newest and most luxurious of the several resorts on the island to meet with Tam-Lak, a Buddhist spiritual advisor with his own secrets, who offers Bishop a large fee to take him on a mysterious night dive. Desperate for money, he agrees.

The dive sets in motion a series of events that revolve around six SCUBA tanks resting on the ocean floor. With Erika’s help, Bishop begins to unravel the mystery of the tanks while gaining some insight into his own past through Tam-Lak, who is much more than he appears.

 

How long did it take to write the book?

About three months

 

What inspired you to write the book?

A love of writing combined with the support of family and friends to tell a story I’ve been forming from forty years of life on this planet.

 

Talk about the writing process. Did you have a writing routine? Did you do any research, and if so, what did that involve?

Writing is first and foremost a passion, but one that’s only cultivated by discipline. I set aside an hour per day (that occasionally stretched into three) for writing. I started with a step outline of the plot and pages of character background. For me, though, the real heart (and the most time-consuming aspect) of the writing process is in the re-writes. I passed around my initial draft to as many people as I could find to read it and paid attention to their feedback. With respect to research, I initially relied on my own life’s experiences and my years teaching SCUBA. Whenever possible, I interviewed experts in their fields. This was heavily supplemented with extensive internet research on marine life, anatomy, law enforcement and several other tangents. What did authors do before the internet?

 

What do you hope your readers come away with after reading your book?

A feeling of escape from the most tedious and least rewarding aspects of their lives as well as a sense of self-reflection and a desire to take diving lessons!

 

Where can we go to buy your book?

Amazon for Kindle.

 

Any other links or info you’d like to share?
Thank you for your time.

 

Excerpt from book:

I move my arms around to let the cool water into my wetsuit. The initial chill is sobering, and this is a good thing. If I had known I was going to be diving tonight, I wouldn’t have had the rum and beer. I’m just starting to enjoy the weightless sensation when I realize I don’t see Tam-Lak. He didn’t waste any time; I’ll bet he’s hoping to lose me. He probably assumes I’ll just give up and wait for him at my place.

I presume his initial heading will be toward the outer reaches of the marina and I swim in what I estimate is that general direction. After several strong kicks, I can just make out his silhouette ahead. The visibility here isn’t clear like on our open water dives. There’s a strong green hue from all the algae growing on the large rocks on the bottom, and the moonlight barely penetrates this far down into the murky water.

Tam-Lak is using long, smooth scissor kicks in a steady rhythm to propel himself, counting his kick strokes to gauge his distance. To keep us swimming in a straight line, he has one arm outstretched in from of him with his other hand grasping the elbow keeping the compass in his direct field of vision.

After about forty kicks I follow his glance upward and see the keel and hull of a sailboat that’s tied off to a mooring buoy. Once he is directly underneath it, he changes his heading by about forty-five degrees without breaking his stride.

It’s at this point that the coffee does its thing. Tam-Lak may have asked for the coffee to sober up a bit or fight off fatigue, but there’s another good reason for drinking coffee before a dive. It helps with what is technically termed “immersion diuresis.” In SCUBA talk, it’s called peeing in your wetsuit, and all divers do it. There, I said it.

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Tendai Huchu – An Untimely Love

Title: An Untimely Love

Author: Tendai Huchu

ISBN: 978-1-60313-923-6

Page count: 269

Genre: Thriller

Price: $6.99

 

Author Bio:

Tendai Huchu was born in 1982 in Bindura, Zimbabwe. He attended Churchill High School in Harare and from there went to the University of Zimbabwe to study a degree in Mining Engineering. He dropped out in the middle of the first semester, found work briefly in a casino and from there drifted from one job to the next. Four years later he returned to university and is now a Podiatrist living in Edinburgh, Scotland. His first novel was The Hairdresser of Harare.

 

Tell us about your book:

Love can find us in the most unusual of circumstances. This is what happens to Khalid Patel, a terrorist, when he falls in love with Smokey, a feisty and independent young woman who was to be Britain’s first female suicide bomber. On what is meant to be his day of martyrdom, his violent worldview is thrown into turmoil. We share his thoughts as Death and Duty become irrevocably and movingly entwined with Love and Life.

 

How long did it take to write the book?

About a year.

 

What inspired you to write the book?

I came across the work of Malcolm Potts and Thomas Hayden on the biological origins of human aggression. They spoke about how the Black September group which committed the Munich Massacre was effectively neutered when the terrorists were offered a chance at a normal life by the PLO and one of these conditions was that they settled down. I began to think, ‘hang on… there’s a story in this’

 

Talk about the writing process. Did you have a writing routine? Did you do any research, and if so, what did that involve?

The book is divided into three parts, The Last Day of a Suicide Bomber, An Untimely Love and Love’s Labours. The first part is inspired by Victor Hugo’s The Last Day of a Condemned man and the other two parts are faster paced with suspense, action and romantic elements thrown in. I had to research a lot of stuff about terrorism and terror cell’s group dynamics for the book.

 

What do you hope your readers come away with after reading your book?

I hope they come away with a better understanding of the psychology of terrorism and a human perspective of what attracts people to some of these ideologies. There’s also a message of hope, that we are not all bound to our circumstances, prejudices or beliefs, but that we can rise above that.

 

Where can we go to buy your book?

http://www.amazon.com/An-Untimely-Love-ebook/dp/B0056ULROC/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1332580819&sr=1-1

 

Any other links or info you’d like to share?
www.tendaihuchu.com

 

Excerpt from book:

The Last Day of A Suicide Bomber

1

 

An Untimely Love

Chapter 1

I’m drowning in my own sweat. These sheets aren’t Egyptian cotton; they must be made in China. I keep tossing and turning, doing the backstroke and then the breaststroke. Tonight I am converted. I now believe in global warming. It’s here, it’s real and it’s going to get us all, along with SARS, the Swine Flu, Ebola, and a meteor of course. These are times for the bold and the brave. Everyone else will be swept in a sea of fire.

How long has it been since I last slept? A week, maybe nine days, there is no way of being sure. Beside me is a tat- tered copy of the Quran which I don’t care to read. I know everything I need to know. In the next room I can hear Im- ran’s unrelenting snoring. How can he sleep at a time like this? He is a hero of our time. The room at the end beside the bathroom is Tariq’s. All night long I’ve been listening to him going in and out. Flush, flush, flush. I hope he washes his hands. I hate germs. In fact I can’t stand anything that is invisible. The ceiling in my room is

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An Untimely Love

lower than it was last night. I get up to check the calendar;

maybe I’ve got my dates mixed up. We are in August, darn it.

There is no hiding from it, today is the day.

Last night they did the videos. The ones that will be

played on world wide news channels, downloaded and up-

loaded on numerous websites hours before what remains of

our bodies is even scraped from the ceiling. I held the camera

and recorded them. I should get an Oscar. I am actually proud

of my work. First on was Imran. We had a white sheet with

“God is Great written in the background.” He sat down, legs

crossed, and ranted for ages. I was so sure the tape would run

out. He is an angry man, that one. It’s a pity we didn’t have a

gun to sling across his shoulder for added effect. When he was

done, he made us play it back and forth twenty times as if he

expected us to say something. I just don’t know what it is he

wanted to hear.

Next on was Tariq, his gaze dashing about the place.

“Look into the camera,” I kept telling him. He is definite-

ly more Bollywood than Hollywood.

We had to retake the shot over and over because he kept

mucking it up. Finally Imran wrote something on paper for

him to read out.

Muslims are dying everyday in Afghanistan, Iraq and

Palestine because of the actions of this government. We

want you to stop these unjust wars and the slaughter of in-

nocent Muslims. Today you will face a grievous punish-

ment; you too will taste the penalty of fire. I pray Allah

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An Untimely Love

will accept our sacrifice. Be warned that these attacks will

not stop until you stop killing innocent Muslims.

When he finished he looked nervously at Imran who gave

him the thumbs up. Then came Smokey’s turn and that’s

when the problems started. She walked onto the set in her

torn jeans and stained white t-shirt with massive bangles jin-

gling off her wrist. I won’t even mention the wet look lip

gloss and tons of purple eye shadow she had on.

“You can’t do the video like that,” Imran said.

“Duh,” she replied, rolling her eyes and dumping herself

on the floor. “Roll, Lab Boy,” she said to me.

“Turn the camera off,” Imran shouted. I did as I was told.

“This is gonna take all day,” Smokey said with a sigh.

“Go and put something decent on.”

“Like what?”

“A burkha or hijab at least.”

“Not gonna happen. In any case I don’t have any.”

“You don’t?”

“You must be deaf.”

“What kind of Muslim girl are you? This is nonsense; you

won’t be in the video if that’s the case.”

“Then I won’t do the job.”

Veins were bulging on Imran’s neck. Tony walked in.

We didn’t even hear him come in. He was our handler and as

slippery as an eel. Clean shaven, he smelled of contraband

Armani aftershave. Ten quid at the market and they don’t

even use urine as a base.

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An Untimely Love

“Do we have a problem here?” Tony asked, leaning in the

doorway.

“This stupid girl—”

“Language please,” Tony said, pointing at Imran. “We are

family.”

“She wants to do the video looking like a common white

slut.”

“All of you leave the room. I want to talk to her in pri-

vate,” he said.

****

Ten minutes later he called us back in. We filed through

and waited.

“Guys, you’ve got to respect her like your own sister.

She is very important in our operation. Never forget why we

are doing this. Your names are going to go down in history to-

gether with those of the 7/7 martyrs. She will do the video in

her own style.”

Imran shook his head at this. Smokey looked at him and

smiled.

“Give me a hijab and I’ll wear it.”

The grin on Imran’s face said it all. He gave her the

thumbs up. I switched the camera back on and focused it on

her.

“But we don’t have a hijab,” Imran said.

“I can go to the market,” Tariq volunteered.

“No you mustn’t stray out. Someone might recognise

you. We have come too far to take risks.” Tony spoke with

authority yet somehow still sounded like a fish oil salesman.

5

 

An Untimely Love

“What do we do?”

“Get a towel from the kitchen.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Smokey cut in. “This is an

eighty pound hairstyle. There is no way I’m gonna put a kitch-

en towel on my head. Nada.”

Back to square one. I had my finger on the off button

ready to switch off again when I had a moment of inspiration.

“The sheets upstairs, I’m sure we can cut one of them

up,” I said.

“Now you’re thinking, Lab Boy,” Smokey said.

Tariq went up to get one and we spent the next half hour

playing with it until it looked proper. Smokey even removed

some of her make up. She was so gorgeous without it. Her

only blemish was a solitary pimple on her right cheek. She

looked confidently into the camera. There was a sophistication

about her that none of us could match. It was the product of

private schooling and four years at Cambridge.

She spoke eloquently, with finesse, as if she were at a

dinner table. She went through the usual list of our grievances

and in an instant we were all hooked. I could see a half smile

on Tony’s face as she finished.

“Magnifique,” he called out, clapping his hands. She stood

up, gave him a curtsey and cast the sheet off before leaving the

room.

“It’s now your turn champ,” Tony said to me.

“I don’t want to be on TV. I’m doing this for the cause,” I

said, switching the camera off and handing it to him.

6

 

An Untimely Love

Chapter 2

But why am I writing this diary? It’s not for posterity. It

is sure to burn up in the blast. I need to collect my thoughts or

I will go insane. I also need to use the bathroom, but Tariq is

in there again.

What the hell is that sound? Damn it, the fire alarm is

going off. I can hear Imran leaping out of bed and Tariq bolt-

ing out of the bathroom. Did he wash his hands?

I follow them down the stairs and I can smell the distinct

aroma of high grade cannabis. Tariq is fanning the smoke de-

tector.

“What do you think you are doing?” Imran says in a rage.

“Sorry, man, I was just having a lil puff and it went tits

up,” Smokey replies, stoned out of her face.

“You will attract attention to us, you stupid girl.”

“I said I was sorry, dude.”

“Sorry isn’t good enough.”

“Well, what do you want me to say?”

Imran turns and storms out of the room. The alarm is

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An Untimely Love

switched off now so we can all hear him slam his door.

“That guy has an attitude problem. Does he think he is in

some sort of third world shit hole where he can treat a lady

like that?” Smokey says, grabbing a cup and filling it with wa-

ter at the sink. Tariq is just standing there, cushion in hand.

“Go back to bed, Tariq. I’ll keep an eye on things,” I say

to him. He begins his slow ascent up the stairs, looking like

some sort of rooster with his haircut.

8

 

An Untimely Love

Chapter 3

I’m sitting at the kitchen table and Smokey is sitting op-

posite me, trying to stare me down. I ignore her and carry on

with my writing.

“What are you doing?” she says.

“Nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing from where I’m sitting.” She

gets up, opens the window and lights a cigarette. “You want

one?”

“No thanks,” I reply, looking at her petite bum showing

through her pajamas. I stop when she catches my reflection

through the glass. She tries to blow smoke rings without any

success. An owl hoots from somewhere nearby.

“What time is it?”

I fish into my pocket and bring out my iPhone.

“Half past.”

“Half past what?”

“Two.”

“Thanks.” She takes a long drag. Her twenty-two-year-old

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An Untimely Love

lungs hold the tar and putrid smoke in. I try to strike up a conversa-

tion.

“You’ve got to look after your health.”

“I’m a final year medical student so I know what I’m

doing, Lab Boy.” She keeps calling me Lab Boy with the con-

descending air medical students have when they address other

health students. Smart ass.

“You guys couldn’t do your jobs without medical scien-

tists,” I say finally

She laughs like a lynx, turns to me and purrs, “You just

didn’t make the grade. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

I stand up to leave. This is not the sort of conversation I

am looking for at this time in my life.

“Please stay. I’m sorry.”

I sit back down and reach out for her half empty cup of

water. She leans over and pushes it to me, for a brief second

revealing her silver necklace under her pooh pajamas.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask her. We barely know her.

Tony dumped her on us two days ago.

“For Islam,” she says, turning away from me.

“Forgive me but you don’t strike me as being particularly

religious.”

“Is that because I don’t dress the way you expect me to? I

don’t speak like you want me to? True religion is in the heart,

not in outward appearances.” She gives me a superior smirk

and continues, “But you are right, I am not very religious.”

“You are not a spook, are you?”

“Stupid question,” she says.

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An Untimely Love

I feel a lump in my throat. I am not very good at talking

to girls.

“You really don’t know how to talk to women, do you?”

I half nod.

“That’s the problem with you religious types. Let me

guess, you expect mummy to find you a wife when you are

ready.”

“I’ve had a girlfriend before,” I blurt out.

“Asian or white?”

“White.”

“Doesn’t count, white girls are easy. What happened to

her?”

“She was moving too fast.”

“What you mean is she was independent and didn’t want

to be pushed around and so you bailed. Typical.”

A light switches on in the house opposite. She gestures to

me to come sit next to her.

“Do you see that black BMW?” She points to the bottom

of the road next to the stop sign. “Those are Tony’s goons in

there to make sure we see this thing through. So much for

free will in the service of Islam.”

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JOHN MARVIN P. ENORE – YEHOSHUA: ADON OLAM AIBISHTER

Title: YEHOSHUA: ADON OLAM AIBISHTER

Author: JOHN MARVIN P. ENORE

ISBN: 9781476169804

Page count: 38

Genre: GAY EROTIC LOVE POETRY

Price: $3.00

 

Author Bio:

THE AUTHOR IS JOHN MARVIN P. ENORE WHO HAS WRITTEN MORE THAN 12 BOOKS ALREADY SINCE MARCH 2012. HE IS ALSO AN ARTIST, A POET, A WRITER, A POLYGLOT AND A GENIUS. HE GRADUATED FROM THE DE LA SALLE UNIVERSITY, AND TOOK UP EUROPEAN STUDIES AS HIS MAJOR. HE NOW PLANS TO CONTINUE HIS MFA FOR CREATIVE WRITING IN THE SAME UNIVERSITY. HE WORKS AS A FULL-TIME AUTHOR AND SOMETIMES ACCEPTS SMALL PROJECTS RELATED TO WRITING AND ART.

 

Tell us about your book:

MY BOOK IS DEDICATED TO MY BELOVED FUTURE BOYFRIEND JOSHUA MARQUINA WHO INSPIRED ME SO MUCH TO WRITE A WHOLE BOOK OH EROTIC LOVE POETRY ENTIRELY ALL FOR HIM. THE TITLE MEANS JOSHUA: THE MASTER OF THE WORLD MOST HIGH AND IT IS A BIT BLASPHEMOUS FOR I USED THE TWO SACRED NAMES OF GOD TO DESCRIBE HOW MUCH JOSHUA MEANS TO ME.

 

How long did it take to write the book?

NOT SO LONG. JUST A DAY. I WRITE FAST AND I ALREADY HAVE A LOT OF POEMS ABOUT HIM IN STORE. I JUST HAVE TO COLLATE IT AND MAKE A BOOK OUT OF IT IN JUST ONE HOUR.

 

What inspired you to write the book?

MY PURE AND TRUE LOVE FOR JOSHUA MARQUINA, MY SERAPHINE, MY BREATH-TAKER, ART-INSPIRER

 

Talk about the writing process. Did you have a writing routine? Did you do any research, and if so, what did that involve?

NO NOT REALLY. IF YOU SEE JOSHUA HIMSELF, HE IS TOO BEAUTIFUL THAT YOU WOULD WANT TO WRITE POEMS ABOUT HIM TOO. MY ROUTINE IS JUST WRITE AND WRITE EVERYDAY UNTIL I NEED TO SLEEP ALREADY. I CAN MAKE TEN POMS A DAY VERY EASILY AND WRITE A LONGER PROSE PIECE TOO IN THE PROCESS.

 

What do you hope your readers come away with after reading your book?

FEEL THE LOVE AND ADMIRATION AND EVEN THE OBSESSION THAT ONE MAY FEEL BY JUST LOOKING AND FALLING IN LOVE WITH A WONDERFUL PERSON. THIS IS THE UNIVERSAL EMOTION AND CELEBRATION OF FEELINGS THAT EVERYONE WOULD BE ABLE TO SHARE AND KNOW.

 

Where can we go to buy your book?

YOU CAN BUY IT DIRECTLY FROM ME OR FROM THIS WEBSITE:

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/143893

 

Any other links or info you’d like to share?

FOR MORE INFO ABOUT ME AND MY OTHER WORKS, PLEASE SEE THIS AUTHOR PROFILE OF MINE IN GOODREADS WHICH I CONSTANTLY UPDATE:

http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5768055.John_Marvin_P_Enore

 

Excerpt from book:

MIZUAGE

Joshua,

The one I love,

Is sleeping on my lap.

He moans lightly

As if there are feathers

Growing out from

His cherry-sweet lips.

He breathes in and out,

The sound of clouds

Mating in the morning.

Joshua stirs in his sleep

And calls me by my name

He reaches for my hand

And touches it lightly

But he never opens

His eyes of granite

And crystalline absinthe.

Was he dreaming?

Was he thinking of me too?

Was he seeing this poor boy

Of me, dressed in a kimono

Of fallen leaves, and

Dead petals,

All made up with white cream.

And my hair so fine

So bluing-black, tied tight

With a jewelled-comb

Till I am all pretty

Like a true woman.

I smile.

And Joshua smiled too.

He opened his eyes and say

“Thank God I am with you.”

Then he kissed me

On the lips and started

The song of the universe

Flowing out from his opaline

Flesh and lithe leopard body.

He made me lie on his lap instead

It is my turn to dream.

It is my turn to be cradled

By love’s wings.

To be loved

By Joshua

And all other things.

WHAT YOU GIVE

What you give

And what you take

Are two different things.

For example, my heart.

I gave it but you never

Even held it in your hands.

But you took my heart away

With you. Hidden in your pocket

Beating and clamoring for love

But sad like a new-born bird

Still red and featherless.

I gave you my love but

You just ate a piece

And found that

it was bittersweet.

So you took one bite and threw

It down the deep brown

River Lethe towards River Tartarus.

I should have told you.

My love was bittersweet for you.

You never gave me anything

I could call my own.

Not even a memory.

Not even a word.

Not even a lie.

So give me now one chance.

That is all I ask.

Open your palm and trace

The heart lines of your destiny.

Maybe, just maybe

It will all lead to me.

All paths will lead to me.

WHEN I AM DEAD

Lay down my old blanket

Get my old books, get them all

And pick one with a beautiful cover.

Pick one, my darling I trust you long enough

That you know me so well.

Talk to it. Ask it which page does it

Want you to read from. I always answers.

Books love it when you speak to them.

Then read, my love, read

Read for my memory.

Read for the sunshine upon me.

Read for the bed of earth around me.

Read so I can hear your voice once more.

I have never forgotten it and I yearn

That Once again we meet.

But I will wait my dear

Wait until you too shall lie beside me.

So for now, lay down the blanket

And read some Rimbaud for me.

I want to hear “One is not serious

When one is seventeen years old”

It will remind of you.

It will remind me to be same and true.

BEAUTIFUL LIE-SAYER

eautiful liar, you make me falter. How your words of love bring me to the depths of the abyss and make heaven out of hell. Come, lie some more. Tell me you love me. Tell me you want to make love to this shattered body of mine. Tell me that you still care and remember. Tell me anything. I know all of them are lies and if there is a single truth in them, it is that you loved me. Even for a minute. That is enough for me to bring down all the secrets of the universe.

SERAPHINE

Sometimes I think of feathers

Growing out of your shoulder

Twisting like tree roots

Melting in the sunshine.

Sometimes I think of tattoos

Painted on your alabaster opaline

Skin like madness coiling and burning

The ink of murdered martyrs.

Sometimes I think of scales

Pollinating across your skin

Crescent and faint like eyelashes

Without color but smooth to the touch.

Sometimes I think of fur

On your pubis, the nest of your cock

Fragrant with the manly odour

Of hidden desires and wet dreams.

I will buy you liquid diamonds

I will sleep with butterflies for you

Fall from buildings tumbling

Catching light-weight lightning seeds.

Tonight, I’m gonna have myself

A real good time.

With or without you.

I will have demons raging inside me.

And you’ll wake up

Without me beside you.

Kiss me one last time darling,

I need just one memory

I could call magically my own.

Seraphine,

Love-Maker,

Liquid-Giver,

Lick my lips,

Put your tongue inside me

As if you want to taste

The last remnants of your come.

There are breathing sounds around me.

The boys are calling and they want

To make love to me.

Join me, beloved, join me

And we will circle this vast universe

Of endingless, meaningless, voidless

Illusions of grandeur and opulence.

Maybe, just maybe

We, we can truly be.

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