Sunday, March 8, 2015

Free for Kindle during Crimelandia - Left Coast Crime 2015!
Celebrating the premier of Skyshooter at Crimelandia, Troubleshooter is absolutely free for Kindle during the convention, March 12-15. If you haven't read it, you're missing something worthwhile...

Tuesday, March 3, 2015

Same race - new finish line.
I'll be attending the Crimelandia - Left Coast Crime convention in Portland next week, and I'm looking forward to it. I've attended writer's conferences many times during my 30-plus-year rise to the top (riotous laughter and hooting), but never before a convention - maybe I'll know the difference soon. The interesting thing to me is that I'm attending as a proudly self-published independent author. This is significant because, until recently, self-published indies were considered losers...period. Nowadays quite the contrary is true. Out here on the new perimeter where the self-pub indies roam is where astute readers are finding today's good stuff. The trick is connecting.
I hope Crimelandia will prove to be a place where writers and readers can mingle. This sense of author/reader connection is one of the things I treasure about being self-published. Another, of course, is an altruistic lack of monetary motivation (more laughter...with stomping).

Thursday, February 26, 2015

The new Ezra Hooten crime thriller, Skyshooter, is now available at in print and Kindle versions for eager readers, and will be available in select independent bookstores after Crimelandia - Left Coast Crime 2015.
Troubleshooter ended with Deputy US Marshal Ezra (Hooten seriously wounded, but relieved that his lifelong nemesis was dead at last. 
In Skyshooter: Not one to take forced early retirement too seriously, Hoot has taken a job with the TSA as an undercover air marshal…just his bad luck that he’d become the first air marshal ever to shoot an assassin on a commercial airliner in flight. Skyshooter finds Hoot in the arms of a cold-blooded killer while simultaneously stuck in the middle of a high-stakes smuggling game with terrorists intent on sneaking a dirty bomb onto American soil. This is serious business, not exactly the stopgap job that he’d expected, and Hoot doesn’t know if he’s up to it; but he has no choice – the smugglers have taken his grandson hostage…
I sincerely hope that fans of Troubleshooter will enjoy the latest from Hoot!

Friday, January 16, 2015's only coffee at Floyd's!

It's and conversation with Rod Lindsey at Crimelandia! See the Crimelandia program, Author/Reader Connections, for details. Go ahead...torture me with acid reflux - I dare ya!

Sunday, October 19, 2014


Bringing Skyshooter to a close, checking every detail, looking forward to Crimelandia in March

From Skyshooter: Jesse had little experience with cocaine compared to other drugs. She was on the cusp of disappointment and still waiting for the kick when her purpose suddenly became crystal-clear as her head filled with light. Her ears deaf with the vacuumy sound of silence and her fingers itching with renewed purpose, she pushed open the door…

Thursday, September 18, 2014


Hoot awoke at 4:00 AM just as he had every other morning of his life for as long as he could remember, always reasoning to himself that it was 4:00 AM somewhere in the world twenty-four times a day and the best he could do was get his own personal ass out of bed on time to take care of his own shift; let others worry about the rest. This morning he woke up to discover he was lying next to Jesse in what he presumed was her bed at the resort. He had only the dimmest memory of tumbling into a bed that he couldn’t even be certain was this same bed, Jesse all over him, and he all over her. Never a good thing, waking-up in a place you don’t recognize, he told himself as if needing a cryptic reminder of the obvious.
It was warm, and a ceiling fan was stirring a breath of air. He reached above his aching head to move aside a heavy window curtain and peek outside. Dawn had yet to break, but the horizon was starting to take on a hint of color, the sky above clear and starry, the nearly-full moon hung low in the west like a beacon reflecting off wave tops.  He remembered it was around 2:00 AM when he met Jesse at the clubhouse last night, so wherever he was, he figured he either hadn’t been here very long or entirely too damned long. Probably both.

Sunday, August 10, 2014



Clack-clack, clack-clack…clack-clack – clack-clack, clack-clack…the thirty-car Rayonier logging train snaked its way downhill from the sizing and grading yard at Black Pass to the sorting and holding yard in Hoquiam, its steel wheels seeming to tap coded messages as they rolled over joints in the track, the rails telling tales of great trees from long ago, survivors of fires, floods, and pestilence eons before man and axe ever saw these woods, felled and hauled away in a mere blip of earthtime; this particular tale was being tapped-out on a warm and humid evening in the summer of 1995:
Twilight had set, full dark was coming, and Jesse Vega’s three-girl gang was riding the logs, a strictly-forbidden favorite pastime of theirs.  Fourteen-year-old Christine was sitting up on top of the load and holding on to a log’s loose bark for dear life.  Bolder and braver Jesse with tagalong Billiejean, both fifteen-years-old, were down lower on one of the lengthier logs that extended well past the cradles – they rode like perched ravens, cantilevered out over the couplers between the cars where the longest log almost touched logs protruding from the cars ahead and behind, the space between them a treacherous place constantly flexing wider and then narrower as curves were negotiated by the train, rough stobs swiping past each other with the promise of Poe’s pendulum.
“What do you think the rails are saying?” Billiejean Wisdom asked Jesse, practically yelling her head off just to be heard.
“They’re saying if this train doesn’t get across the skinny and rickety Queets River trestle before full-on dark somebody’s gonna go pee-pee in her panties.”
“I’m not scared!” Billiejean protested.
“Oh yes you are.  No fibbing allowed.”
Jesse stood up and turned loose with her hands.  Balancing atop the cantilevered end of a sizeable log, she looked up at her white-knuckled sister sitting on top of the load.  Filled with wicked glee, she glanced back at the last few cars following them around a bend, and then, with a little hop, she turned and looked ahead as they rounded another wide curve, seeing the train stretching out ahead and behind, the entire quarter-mile-long rail-car ribbon of logs that had been living trees only a week or two ago.  Mimicking a soaring raptor staking her claim to the forest, she extended her arms out to her sides like wings with fingers at their tips instead of feathers.  The wind in her face dusty and smelling of cedar and tamarack, she screamed like a screeching red-tailed hawk, her spirit guide according to
Billiejean’s grandmother, “Skeee!  Skeee!”
“Cut it out, Jesse!” Billiejean cried.  “You’ll fall!”
“Not me!  Watch this!” 
Without further warning Jesse took two quick steps and leaped across the treacherous space between cars onto the rough stob of the longest log protruding from the car ahead, waving her arms to catch her balance as she landed.
Billiejean screamed, “Jesseeeee!” at the top of her lungs while the rails kept on tapping out their code, repeating clack-clack, clack-clack – clack-clack, clack-clack. 
“Hey!  What’s going on?” Christine demanded, raising her head up, long blonde hair blowing all directions at once in a zillion tangles, her eyes squeezed shut.
“Jesse jumped!  She jumped ahead!” Billiejean yelled hysterically, pointing and tattling on her friend.  “She could’ve fallen!”
“I’m not gonna fall, you big chickenshits!” Jesse hollered back to her so-called posse. Then she leaped across the open space again, returning to where she had been, Billiejean grabbing and hugging her furiously while beating her fists against her back.
Christine peeked out from under a hand over her eyes, yelled, “Stop showing off, Jesse!” with all the overdone petulance she could muster considering the chaotic circumstances, and Jesse laughed, plopping down to sit atop the log while Billiejean wailed “Not funny!” giving Jesse’s shoulder a hefty girl-gang punch for good measure and sitting down beside her with her brows knitted into half-hitches.
Jesse had often wondered since that day how differently things would’ve turned out if Billiejean had just stayed put and pouted.  But the path never is a straight one, and even the best of minions will sometimes wander…