“Powerful men clash and fathers are pitted against sons in this action thriller. Maelstrom is a book you don’t want to miss.”
This tweet really took off yesterday with multiple re-tweets and likes. The e-book for Maelstrom hit the virtual shelves of Amazon on Wednesday and I have been busy getting the word out.
Of my collection of self-publishing hats, promotion is my least favourite one to don but if any time requires me to cram that hat on my head and get busy it is the week of a new release.
If you follow me across a few social media platforms, you will be gently bombarded with Facebook updates, tweets and blog posts – all related to release of my latest novel. I’ve heard that it takes a minimum of three exposures to a message before people think of acting. Nowhere does it say how many exposures make people want to hire a hit man to take out the sender. Hmmm … hoping I get the message across without irritating too many of you.
Here’s a short excerpt from the opening page of Maelstrom for your value-added enjoyment.
The heat of the past day hung heavily over Suicide Ridge. A rifle shot shattered the still night air. The young woman walking across the gravel pullout took the shot in her back; the bullet smashed through her body, winged out and kissed the air alongside the arm of the man she had been waiting to meet.
The dead weight of her crashed into him and Myhetta fell to his knees. He searched the darkness in the direction of the shot. Blood pumped from the exit wound in the woman’s chest. The headlights of her car, parked against the battered barrier near the drop-off to the river below, blinded him as the sound of gravel crunching underfoot came closer. Polished, brown boots appeared. A rifle casually smacked against a leg. The wide brimmed sheriff’s hat obscured the eyes but the moonlight caught the silver line of a scar as a voice drawled, “You move along now, Breed. No need for you to hang around.”
Myhetta rose and whistled as he drew out the knife tucked at his back. Two timber wolves loped out of the trees and flanked him. Lips pulled back to reveal yellow fangs as the animals snarled.
The sheriff raised the rifle at his side and took aim at the wolf to Myhetta’s right. “Get going or one of your precious pets dies.”
Sheriff Bert Calder did not make idle threats. As Myhetta backed up a step, hate smouldered in his dark eyes. He kept the animals close to his side with a gesture of his hand as he walked away into the trees. His horse was grazing on the scrubgrass that grew under the tall pines. Swinging his body into the saddle, he urged Black along the trail. He wound his way up the switchback and stopped at a point where he could look down to the dirt pullout on the corner of the stretch of road known as Suicide Ridge. His tall form was outlined in the light of the full moon.
The sheriff returned from the police cruiser parked in the nearby trees with a jerry can in his hand. He had already loaded the body into the driver’s side of the car. He doused the vehicle with gasoline. Reaching inside, he shoved the battered Volkswagen into gear and rolled it forward. He stepped back, lit a match, flicked it into the car and raised his boot to nudge the bumper. The car clunked down the rough, rock face of the ridge. All was dark for a moment then a whoosh of fire lit the night sky.
Hope that has you hooked.