Comics Corner: The First Week of July

Comics Corner: The First Week of July

I got into collecting comics in the late 1980s. Unfortunately, I lost my collection in a vehicle fire while moving in 1997. For decades, I didn’t bother collecting again, as it felt like a lost cause. However, my love for comics never waned.

This year, I decided I wanted to start again. I love talking about comics, so a weekly post about my pull list for the week felt like a great idea. Without further ado, let’s get started!

The War of the Realms event is over (even though I had a tie-in book left over), so this week’s selections were a mixture of ongoing runs as well as something new. (I was very excited to check out Aero #1.)

1. Dceased #3

This continues to be one of my favorite limited series of the year. The perfect mix of drama and horror sets the stage for a fast-moving story that (for the most part) manages to feel like it is telling a part of a larger story and leaving us with a requisite cliffhanger. My only real complaint is that since it is a universe-wide event, there are more heroes than they can reasonably spend time with. The artwork is paired well with the kind of storytelling I enjoy.

RECOMMENDED. Looking forward to more!


2. Batman and TMNT III #3

I love the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and I love Batman. This series (the third one over the years) has an incredible twist. The story is fantastic and the artwork is pitch perfect for the narrative. I love the reframing of Batman as being rasied alongside the TMNT by Master Splinter. I love the Smile Clan led by the Joker. This series is fantastic!

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED. Give me more!


3. Aero #1

Truth be told, I was looking forward to this book. While reading War of the Realms, I picked up the New Agents of Atlas tie-in books and was introduced to Aero. I really enjoyed what the first issue had to offer: the writing was tight and left just the right amount of mystery leading up to the next issue (on shelves August 7th). It is a nice non-Western perspective to the superhero genre. The artwork reminded me a lot of manga, which I felt was a nice touch. The team-up story toward the end (written by the amazing Greg Pak) was a nice continuation of where New Agents of Atlas left off. The artwork here was different, but great as well. Overall, I would recommend Aero going forward if you’ve enjoyed Greg Pak stories in the past or are looking for something new.

RECOMMENDED. Really enjoyed it!


4. Buffy the Vampire Slayer #6

I was a huge fan of Buffy the Vampire Slayer when it was on TV. The idea of a reboot intrigued me. Six issues in and I am most assuredly hooked. The writing is fun and the artwork really helps move the story along. I like a lot of the changes to the details of Buffy’s world while keeping the mythos largely intact. Willow starts out closer to the badass we’ve come to expect and Xander is improved as well. I’m a fan.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED. I’ll keep reading until they stop making issues. 


5. Doom Patrol: Weight of the World #1

I am a fan of DC Universe’s Doom Patrol, so this new run written by Gerald Way piqued my interest. It didn’t disappoint. The story is deliciously strange and the artwork is exactly what it should be. My previous experience with Doom Patrol as comics is decades removed, but I really enjoyed this issue. I look forward to more.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED. Give me more!


6. Lois Lane #1

What immediately set this issue apart from everything else I read this week was its timely nature. Lois Lane is the hard-hitting journalist in the pursuit of truth, and it is set very much in the current political climate. The writing is top-notch and the artwork reminds me of Gideon Falls (which is exceptional). There is a lot to love here, but perhaps what I enjoyed the most was that this story was told without the lens of Superman. Don’t worry, Superman plays a role, but in a way that feels truer to telling the story of Lois Lane, dogged reporter.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED. Can’t wait for the next issue!


7. The Magnificent Ms. Marvel Annual #1

My first exposure to Ms. Marvel was during War of the Realms. I was looking forward to reading more, and this book DID NOT DISAPPOINT. I loved the writing and the artwork. Kamala is endearing, but confident and self-assured as well. I am officially hooked on Ms. Marvel.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED. Can’t wait to read more!


8. Savage Avengers #3

For the most part, I’ve been enjoying his series. It is a bit slow despite having a lot of violence and action. The artwork is perfect for the kind of storytelling, but pairing Conan, Wolverine, Punisher, Venom, and Elektra seems a bit much in order to really deliver on any of them. Regardless, I liked this issue. It finally saw the full team-up aspect promised by the covers. Conan and Wolverine continue to shine from a storytelling perspective.

RECOMMENDED. I want to see where it goes. 


9. The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl #46

I enjoyed the first tie-in issue with War of the Realms, but this issue came a week too late perhaps. Since the event already concluded, this ongoing adventure felt a bit out of place. I don’t hold it against it per se, but I enjoyed it less than the previous two issues. Overall, I like the quirky artwork and thoroughly enjoy the dialogue and storytelling style. I might consider picking up with the series now that the event is over to see where it goes.

SOMEWHAT RECOMMENDED. Fun and funny. 


10. Green Lantern #9

I’m a fan of Grant Morrison’s writing style. The artwork reminds of Heavy Metal in the 8os and 90s. I continue to enjoy the stange adventures of Hal and the cosmic threats that he encounters. This issue had an interesting twist in regards to another lantern Hal knew well, and it portends an interesting storyline going forward. I jumped into this series late and read the first five issues back to back, so reading a single issue left me wanting more.

RECOMMENDED. Continues to hold my interest. 


11. Soldier Supreme (Secret Warps Part 1) Annual #1

I didn’t expect much going into this issue. However, I was pleasantly surprised. The absurdity of the “warped” heroes makes for interesting storytelling. The Soldier Supreme (Dr. Strange and Captain America) is as righteous and arrogant as you would expect their amalgam to be. I liked the artwork for both stories, but enjoyed the character arcs in the first story better. The notion of a universe within the soul stone interested me on a philosophical level.

RECOMMENDED. A lot of fun and I look forward to more Marvel annuals.


12. Superman: Up In The Sky #1

Superman has always been one of those books where I’m not particularly invested. Largely, it’s because Superman is about the margins for me. He is more than his power; he’s a person. When stories bend toward his humanity in spite of his power, I find them interesting. I picked up this issue because I thought it was a one-shot. However, it looks like it is a mini-series of sorts. I didn’t expect much, but I honestly enjoyed it. Framing a story around how people see Superman, and him internalizing that, made for a a compassionate narrative. Overall, I enjoyed the story and the artwork.

RECOMMENDED. Interested to see where it goes. 


13. Fantastic Four: The Prodigal Son #1

I loathe to speak ill of a comic book, so I won’t here. However, I grabbed this issue on a whim. It has been a long time since I read Fantastic Four, so I wasn’t sure what I would be getting. The writing was solid, but the story didn’t grab me. The artwork conveyed a narrative well and I enjoyed the color usage. Overall, this book wasn’t for me. However, if you’re a fan of FF, then you would likely enjoy it.

NO RECOMMENDATION. 


My favorites for this week were: The Magnificent Ms. Marvel Annual #1Lois Lane #1Dceased #3, Batman and TMNT III #3, and Doom Patrol: Weight of the World #1.

Since I’m just getting back into comics, if there is an upcoming series you think I should check out, please let me know in the comments!

The Last Drive-in Rides Again

The Last Drive-in Rides Again

If you’re a horror fan and watched late-night TV in the 1990s, then you know who Joe Bob Briggs is. (And if you’re horror fan and you don’t know, you’re missing out.) Recently, Shudder resurrected “The Last Drive-In” following a couple of successful holiday marathons, and the streaming world is a better place for it.

So why does a double dose of dorky horror movies matter? Community.

The world has grown smaller with the advent of social media. If you love something, you can certainly find others who do as well. However, the likelihood of sharing that passion in a tangible way is unlikely unless you live near them.

Enter the resurrected “The Last Drive-In.”

Once a week (Fridays at 9EST/6PST), you can join Joe Bob Briggs and Darcy the Mail Girl on Shudder and enjoy a double feature of horror movies. If you are active on Twitter, then the hashtag #TheLastDriveIn connects you with fellow mutants (horror fans who love the drive-in) and is moderated by Darcy (@kinkyhorror).

So who cares?

Horror fans across the country who can’t sit down with one another and enjoy a classic they’ve never seen before or re-watch a favorite for the hundredth time are treated to an online community of similarly interested horror fans. And in a digital world where social interaction is a metric, the horror community that tunes in each Friday and commiserates via the #TheLastDriveIn hashtag (or tweets to Darcy) feels like a group of friends enjoying the movie together even though they aren’t located in the same physical space.

Through the first four weeks, we’ve been treated to behind-the-scenes commentary from Joe Bob and classics like The Changeling and C.H.U.D, relatively unknown films like Wolf Guy and Q: The Winged Serpent, cringe-worthy films like Society and Castle Freak, classic slashers like Madman, and incredible New Zealand horror like Deathgasm.

Who knows he’ll screen next?

But if you’re not doing anything next Friday and you love horror movies, then join the rest of us mutants at “The Last Drive-In.”

 

Slouching Toward Agoraphobia

Slouching Toward Agoraphobia

I’ve put off writing this a few times.

Perhaps it’s because it reeks of privilege and ego. Or perhaps because being honest about how we feel, especially when it comes to pain and mental illness, is frowned upon. After all, aren’t we all supposed to be happy and smile?

Questions assault me as I sit down to write this:

Who cares about an unknown writer?

Why bother everyone with your problems?

I think that I should just keep this stuff in, unless of course I want attention.

Then again, maybe owning up to how I feel can make me a better person.

I have the unconditional love of a partner who supports me at every turn. Yet, I don’t love myself. I see myself in the mirror and I cringe in horror. I hate my face, my body, my voice, my words––perhaps even down to the very essence of the self.

I realize it is popular to imagine that artists are awash in self-loathing, but there is something to be said about sinking into a vortex of emotional and mental refuse that drags you down like quicksand.

Great art comes from great pain: We’ve all heard this clever turn of phrase.

And maybe you’re wondering what a middling writer knows about the pursuit and labor of great art. That’s a fair question. I do know that seeing only the worst in yourself creates an internal world full of doubt and mistrust.

So what does this have to do with agoraphobia?

Agoraphobia is “an extreme or irrational fear of entering open or crowded places, of leaving one’s own home, or of being in places from which escape is difficult.” As I sat drinking coffee on an objectively beautiful day, I realized how uncomfortable I was. Even though I was dressed comfortably and spending time with someone who loved me, I felt like I didn’t belong. I felt disgusting. It didn’t matter that my partner was supportive and complimented me; I still wanted to disappear.

How did this happen to me?

In that question, I suppose I realize there is a cascade of choices that led me here. It didn’t happen to me; it arose from the consequences of a series of choices. I moved from one place to the next, not bothering to form new social relationships and instead leaning into a virtual world that offered convenience and a comfortable distance from my work.

 

Living Remotely

I’ve moved around most of my life. As an adolescent and a teenager, I went to a different school every year from kindergarten until I graduated high school. Once I was on my own, I lived in six states and eight cities more. With each subsequent move, the pool of close personal connections diminished. And once I was done with graduate school and moved from northern California to Portland, almost a decade’s worth of friendships were dissolved simply based on distance.

I would move twice more after Portland to Arizona before settling in Las Vegas. Whatever friendships I forged along the way were gone. I had a handful of close friends spread out across the country, but I rarely saw them.

The allure of social media made it seem like I could continue to maintain and perhaps grow those relationships, but it proved to only be a slow obsolescence of social interaction. What replaced it was the pursuit of connection most accurately described as screaming into a rainbow-colored void. You could search for people who had similar interests, but most people still formed meaningful relationships in the real world.

I had marooned myself on an island of my own creation.

When I spoke with those friends who survived the flurry of moves over the almost four decades of my life, I feigned joy. I pretended that this isolation was really a form of literary utopia––a fantasy-land where a writer was free to focus on writing without the niggling social responsibilities that impeded progress.

It was a fiction of course.

It continues to be a lie I tell myself with a self-assured smirk. I tell myself that I don’t like going out because I have food allergies or joint pain or some other subjective reason. However, the real reason is that each time I go out I feel uncomfortable and awful about myself, and that simply confirms my desire that staying in is the better choice.

Truthfully, it is easier than ever to work from home as a writer. So I lean into it and choose to rob myself of possible social relationships. I do myself greater harm in the pursuit of convenience by isolation. I’m thankful for the relationships I have maintained, and I mourn for those that were never given life.

 

Functionally Unhappy (Or How I Learned To Exist)

Unhappiness by way of over-analysis is not uncommon. I’m not special. The idea of a perfect life haunted me for years. I thought I needed to look a certain way and achieve certain things in order to be the kind of partner who would be worthy of love.

In theory, I understand why that idea is foolish.

The idea of a perfect life is a lie.

However, the pervasiveness of undermining myself and doubting what I have to offer is overwhelming. Despite doubting myself at every step, I stay productive. I write books; I publish books. I secure writing and editing contracts.

And despite the forward progression, I am functionally unhappy. I work through the self-doubt and pain. I internalize the hateful feelings instead of sharing them because that is my legacy. That is the toxicity of a learned behavior spreading throughout my being.

I don’t have any answers. I’m leaning into honesty to see what it yields. Perhaps by owning up to these ideas about myself, I can finally exorcise them. I do know that in doing this necessary thing and being honest, I am also being kind to myself, even if the ideas themselves are unpleasant.

So maybe I’m agoraphobic––maybe not. I really don’t know.

But I do know that without reaching out, I will continue to sink into an abyss.

 

If you or somebody you know is struggling, there is help available.

Bitten is only 99 cents this weekend!

Bitten is only 99 cents this weekend!

Bitten is 99 cents for this weekend only!

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005METJLU

A predator stalks a cold northern Minnesotan town. There is talk of wolves walking on two legs and attacking people in the deep woods. Lauren Westlake, resourceful and determined F.B.I Agent, has found a connection between the strange murders in the north and a case file almost a hundred years old. Traveling to the cold north, she begins an investigation that spirals deep into the darkness of mythology and nightmares. Filled with creatures of the night and an ancient romance, the revelation of who hunts beneath the moon is more grisly than anyone could have imagined.

If you love paranormal and supernatural books, you’ll want to pick up Bitten while it is only 99 cents.

Read the first chapter here: https://authordanobrien.com/2019/02/08/chapter-preview-bitten/ 

 

Chapter Preview: Bitten

Enjoy this free preview of the bestselling Bitten:

 

Chapter I

 

Madeline Leftwich sat at the train station every day at exactly thirteen minutes past midnight. The faded brown bench on which she sat did not often have consistent occupants, as transients and hobos were sparse this far north.

But there she sat, hands crossed over her lap. The floral pattern of the thick skirt she wore was handmade. Buckles and clasps galore adorned the uneven cut and fold of the garment. Her face possessed an absent quality––not that characteristics were missing, but instead a vacancy of spirit. That bench meant a great deal to her. This was the very place that childhood was left behind.

It had been exactly thirty-nine years since her mother placed her on that very bench, brushed back her hair, and told her everything was going to be alright. She said she would be right back. A promise to a child is a sacred thing. Even as an adult, Madeline couldn’t tear herself away from the compulsion to come wait for her mother every day.

The whistle blew each night as the passenger train rolled into town. Cold air rained down upon the open station. Often, sheets of ice were expelled from the track, lining the waiting area. Attendants were accustomed to her presence. Some even offered her coffee in the wee hours of the morning when they had no other friend.

However, this night she was quite alone.

The heavy bleating of the distant train horn filled the night, filtering through a cloudy fog. The susceptible and otherwise occupied Ms. Leftwich was not yet privy to the gossip of the town. Murder, a topic of great concern no matter the venue, would be especially virulent in such a small community. Distance revealed a dark object hurtling through the night, steam and precipitation sluicing from the hot steel.

The station was empty.

A half-lit banister showed the narrow, icy path that crawled back out to the blacktop just outside the front of the station. She watched the train collide with the open air of the darkness, the squeal of the tight brakes announcing its arrival with startling clarity. Heavy doors opened; artificial light spilled from the side of the train.

Madeline watched the open door––waiting.

Seconds passed into minutes; yet, there was no sound external to the cold nature of Minnesota. Winter had a feeling all its own. Groaning trees fought against the arctic grip of snow and ice. Lakes moving in the distance, far beneath the heavy weight of the ice that had taken residence upon them, filled the night.

Someone stepped out. Her coat was wrapped tightly around her lithe frame. Sandy blonde hair was tucked beneath a brown wool cap. The scarf around her neck, braided and frayed, looked as if it’d been sewn by someone she knew well––not the simple manufacture of mass production. Brown eyes watched the empty train station with great interest and a precision that marked her immediately as more than a mere observer.

A bulge at her side revealed a weapon. The simple black bag slung over the shoulder of her long brown trench coat made her appear to be a woman on the run––or perhaps one who simply liked to travel light.

She made her way toward Madeline. Her voice was sweet, her tone full of purpose. “Excuse me, ma’am. Is this Locke? Locke, Minnesota?”

Ms. Leftwich watched the woman with wide eyes that pooled with tears. She was severely confused. Was this her mother? She hesitated. This woman was younger––younger than she was. Was this possible? A mother who was younger than you?

“Ma’am, I…”

“Mother?” Madeline asked, her voice rising shrilly.

“Pardon me?”

Madeline didn’t stand; instead, she shuffled her purse at her waist. “Are you my mother? You left me here a long time ago. Said you would be back…said you would be back soon.”

Staring into the vacant eyes of Madeline Leftwich, it took the woman a moment of complete incomprehensibility to see that there wasn’t much left. All that remained was a sad example of what could laughingly be called a life.

“No. I’m very sorry. I’m not….”

Madeline stood quickly, her features scrunching in anger. “Why would you lie to me? Why would you leave me here? Why?”

“Ma’am, my name is Lauren Westlake. And I am neither your mother nor a trained therapist. Can you tell me if this is Locke?”

Madeline interrupted Lauren. Her words were filled with venomous rage. “Don’t pretend I’m a child. I know where I am. I know who I am. Just because you’re my mother, doesn’t mean you can leave me behind.”

Lauren looked at the woman in a mixture of shock and horror. She resisted the urge to physically restrain the woman, concerned about the reaction she might have. “What’s your name?”

Madeline’s face was the very picture of surprise.

“You don’t remember your daughter’s name?”

Lauren was uncertain how much further this charade should be carried, whether or not disengaging from the woman would be simpler. Looking at the woman carefully, she noticed that her clothing was handmade. The name Madeline was sewn into the breast of her outermost jacket. Stifling an irritated sigh, she continued. “Madeline. Your name is Madeline.”

And then as quickly as the madness had come, it dissipated. “Why are you talking to me?”

“Excuse me. I….”

Madeline looked at Lauren strangely and stood, gathering her belongings. She moved past Lauren and out into the night as if the interaction didn’t even happen.

Lauren watched her go, scrutinizing the entire exchange in her own mind. Shaking her head, she adjusted the bag at her back and moved forward past the dock of the train station and into the cold area just above it.

Ms. Leftwich was nowhere to be seen.

As far as Lauren was concerned, that was for the best.

The night was cold. A heavy veil of fog seemed to grow like a behemoth. She looked down the lane and saw only two endless views of darkness. The blacktop was crystalline, frozen precipitation having created an icy sheet better suited for ice skating than vehicular travel.

“Not exactly a warm welcome,” she muttered, drawing the top of her coat closer to her face. There were muffled sounds in the distance––muted voices. Sounds that could originate from only one kind of establishment: a bar. Lowering her head and pulling the strap of her bag tight, Lauren soldiered on.

 

MADELINE MADE a mistake that would cost her life. Each night she would wait for the sun to rise and then scamper home, ashamed. This night, her emotions got the better of her. Soon, she would now find herself in the presence of a creature of the night, one that would come to haunt and terrorize the inhabitants of the small town of Locke.

The moon overhead stung the fog, driving the ethereal wisps from its view. Wide and threatening, it looked peaceful when viewed in the company of others, in the arms of a lover perhaps. To Madeline Leftwich, a woman lost in her own mind, it was a portent of doom.

Thick branches grew over the sorry excuse for a path she walked each day. By daylight, the intricacies could be gleaned; at night, it was a haunted maze littered with obstructions and potential trip falls.

Her shoes were not suited for hiking through the woods at breakneck speeds, though that is what Madeline would need that night. When she paused at the center of the trail to make sure she wasn’t being followed, the dead silence of the night became a far more frightening sound.

“Who’s there?” she half-whispered, her voice cracking.

A branch snapped, frost claiming yet another soldier.

Another sound echoed in the night; this time much heavier, like weight lingering as a fledging branch gasped for its last breath before being trampled. She pulled her bag close to her chest, her face twisting in fear. Her eyes were wide as she searched the night frantically. “There’s nothing there,” she whispered, tearing her eyes away from the tree line.

Continuing forward, her steps were quicker, more deliberate. The woods around her thinned the faster she walked, white-speckled pines giving way to broken branches. The trail widened in places, enough that little pockets of dirt and soil were pushed up from use.

As if something were urging her forward, she began to run slightly, her breath expelled in heavy puffs of condensed air. She wheezed then––a panicked, hiccupping sound that erupted deep from within her chest.

And that was when she heard the first growl. There was something wrong with it. It sounded like an animal, the guttural low pitches. However, there was something human to it, a strange gargling sound.

Her feet were not as sure beneath her as she thought. The tips of her fabric shoes dug into the hard soil, making her wince in pain. Biting her lip hard, she forged forward, stumbling into an open area of the trail.

Trees crowded the edges of her vision and the clearing. The trail continued on the way she had been trampling, and then split suddenly into two smaller trails. The fog hung ahead of her, pulling away as if it were an entity all its own.

Silence permeated the area.

And then the growl came again. It sounded hungry, desperate; it was the pinnacle of auditory fear. “Who’s there? What? Why are you hiding?” She whimpered. “Please. Please.”

It seemed to come from all around her, enveloping the cold night air. The fog stirred; deep in its belly a shadow formed. Tall and hunched, it was a mass of darkness shaped like a man. Heavy in the shoulders, spines seemed to rise unevenly from the arms and body. Its head was lowered and the knees bowed as if it were ready to pounce.

It did not.

The figure stood, chest heaving. It was safely veiled by the fog bank. Hands that seemed to melt into long thin claws were obscured by the swirling mass of miasma ebbing and flowing within.

Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

Her mind raced. Panicked thoughts flooded her mind, erasing judgment and reason. She watched helplessly.

It took a single step forward.

Madeline Leftwich wasn’t a god-fearing woman. In point of fact, until that moment she never thought about death. Now, when confronted with something drawn from nightmares, her pulse raced and she realized, with a desperate certainty, that she wished to live.

The rain trickled then, a fat droplet striking her hair. Her feet hit the ground hard. She abandoned her bag. Churning, her feet dug into the hard winter earth. Her breath sputtered in front of her in rapid fits of exploding clouds. She whimpered as she ran, tears running down her face as trees slapped her hard across her cold, sensitive features; some left bruises, others broke skin.

The forest was now alive with sound.

Creatures hooted and hollered in the night.

They knew something was happening.

She could hear herself breathing.

She wouldn’t last much longer.

Her foot caught something lodged deep within the frozen ground. The world spun in circles as her back collided with the unforgiving earth.

Frightened and defeated, she kept very still. Where she had landed proved defensible: high brush bristling with heavy branches and evergreen leaves that hid her partly from view.

The forest beat a heavy drum.

Footfalls of animals loose in the night filled the air. There was one set of footsteps that rung above the others: something primal, something large. She covered her mouth with her hand. Pressing tightly, she watched as a shadow crept across her vision.

She peered out the side of the brush.

It stood like a man.

Up close the fur was matted, uneven, missing in some places. The legs were muscular and covered in fabrics that seemed to sluice fluid. Hemorrhaging from the torso, it moved with a predator’s grace.

Its face was covered in shadow.

Madeline felt a scream rise from deep in her chest and she pressed her hand harder against her mouth. Closing her eyes, tears streamed from them. Her chest heaved, but she tried not to move, locking her body into a paralysis.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from it.

Turning, the face was still well hidden.

Long slender fingers, like dull blades, bounced against the creature’s legs. The clothing was torn and dirty. A smell emanated from it that could only be described as nausea in the depths of a septic tank. Lifting its head, it sniffed the air, a hood pressing against its mangled hair.

Her breath caught in her throat.

The slow turn of the creature and the bend of its legs as it lowered closer to the ground was more than Madeline could take. And before she could remove her hand from her mouth to scream, it was upon her.

Grab it on Kindle today!

Frighten is now available!

Frighten is now available!

Lauren’s time in San Francisco hasn’t gone as planned. After reconnecting with her brother Billy and discovering that vampires are at the heart of the murders in the foggy city, Lauren is faced with a terrible decision that will affect her career. Can she find a way to bring the killers to justice? Will she be able to find the Stranger in time to stop the nightmares in San Francisco?

Grab it today on Kindle!

 

 

Lauren’s pursuit of the Stranger has led to Las Vegas. A series of supernatural murders leads the team to believe that warlocks are behind the deaths. The return of an old ally and a new threat complicates Lauren’s investigation. Can she stop what’s coming in time to avert the apocalypse?

Pre-order it today!

Re-release: Hobbes Family

Re-release: Hobbes Family

Synopsis: The world had ended abruptly and without warning. How will a family navigate a world that seems bent on destroying them? Follow them in this exciting new serial adventure.

 

An excerpt from Hobbes Family:

As Michael looked out the broken window of the convenience store, he grimaced. The tall blue oaks that surrounded the building on two sides were dusted with frost; the ground was an amalgam of crystal sheets broken only by brave stalks of undergrowth that dared the frigid touch of the gales. The building wouldn’t serve as a long-term solution. However, it would be useful until the weather broke.

The trek out of the suburban areas began in the family Subaru. Highway 99 was so overrun with smoldering and abandoned vehicles that the Hobbes family was forced to make the remainder of the trek on foot. The winter months proved disastrous. Often, the snow levels came down into the valley for a day, sprinkling unsuspecting areas with brief, beautiful moments of frozen precipitation.

This was different.

A storm settled in the valley, trapped and angry.

When the sun managed to peek through the clouds above, it almost felt bearable. But the great star was soon obfuscated behind a gray wall once more, bloated and teeming with fury as a fresh zephyr of snow and blinding particulates dragged the valley.

Michael looked over at his wife. Susanna’s high cheekbones were prominent and the sallowness of her cheeks from periodic starvation saddened Michael as much as he was capable.

He hadn’t fared much better.

His beard grew in with dark clumps and gray patches; his bedraggled hair was curly in places despite its length. Were it on purpose, he imagined Susanna running her long fingers through it and calling it cute.

The store weathered the apocalypse.

Shelves remained intact for the most part, though they were barren fields. Coolers were popped open. Overturned cans, smashed and left for dead, littered the floor.

This was someone else’s last stand.

 

Get it today on Kindle!