“SO WHAT ABOUT THIS EBOLA BUSINESS?”

By Buzz Bernard www.buzzbernard.com

http://buzzbernard.com/2014/08/ebola-business/

The deadly Ebola virus has been making headlines recently, especially in Atlanta, Georgia, where two Ebola victims from western Africa will be placed in an isolation unit at Emory University Hospital. Emory, by the way, is adjacent to the main campus of the Centers for Disease Control, the CDC.

Some people are quite concerned that we now have “Ebola in America.” While it’s front-page worthy news, the reality is the situation doesn’t present a threat to the general public. Ebola, though exceptionally virulent, is not easily transmitted. It’s passed from person to person only through close personal contact. You’d have to be exposed to a victim’s blood, urine, vomit, etc., before you’d be a candidate for contracting the disease.

Ebola isn’t like the flu, for instance, which can be transmitted through the air or by touching objects that a victim has handled. In other words, Ebola isn’t an airborne disease . . . except in my novel, PLAGUE.

In PLAGUE, my antagonist, a rogue microbiologist, bioengineers the virus into a weaponized airborne form. The novel, ironically, is set in Atlanta.

So, an airborne form? Yes, there may be such a thing. In the late 1980s, there was an Ebola outbreak among lab monkeys in Reston, Virginia. It was thought that it may have been an airborne form of the virus that triggered the flare-up. Fortunately for us, that particular strain of Ebola turned out to be non-fatal to humans. The monkeys weren’t so lucky.

At any rate, that event became the basis for the bioengineering feat in PLAGUE: marrying an airborne, non-lethal (to humans) form of Ebola to a strain deadly to humans, such as that currently ravaging western Africa.

Be assured, that’s the stuff of fiction, however. I have no knowledge that anyone, friend or foe, is actually attempting–or has ever attempted–to do that.

The really scary thing about Ebola is that there’s no vaccine, no cure, not even an established treatment protocol. Death by Ebola is god-awful. Here’s a character in PLAGUE, Dr. Dwight Butler, a virologist at the CDC, talking about it:

“Ebola attacks your body’s blood-clotting capabilities with particular ferocity. It goes after your major organs, devastating your kidneys, liver and spleen. You’re racked with crippling fatigue, agonizing pain, boiling fever. Your eyeballs become blood red. Your throat turns mushy and raw . . . to the point you can’t even swallow your own saliva. And there’s absolutely nothing that can help you.” He paused. “Not even prayer.”

Ebola is terrifying, but here in America, you’re more likely to win the Mega Millions Lottery than get struck down by Ebola.

Coffeetown Announces the August Release of The Devil Takes Half

The Devil Takes Half is now available!! ($14.95, 256 pp, 6×9 Trade Paperback ISBN: 978-1-60381-965-7), a work of mystery/suspense by new author Leta Serafim. A police officer with domestic problems and no experience with homicide sets out to find the killer of a beautiful archeologist.

“[An] impressive debut… Serafim has a good eye for people and places, and sheds light on the centuries of violent passion that have created an oppressive atmosphere hanging over the sunny Greek landscape.”

—Publishers Weekly, June 23, 2014

“The Greeks have a word for it, and in this fast-paced, delightful mystery, that word is murder… The real buried treasure is pure pleasure in Serafim’s debut novel.”

—Mary Daheim, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Alpine and Bed & Breakfast mystery series.

The Devil Takes Half is Book 1 in the Greek Island Mystery series.

Sudden Violence Rouses a Sleepy Greek Island

At an archeological dig on the idyllic Greek Island of Chios, a severed hand is found lying in a blood-filled trench. Could it belong to Eleni Argentis, a beautiful archeologist who is also the wealthy daughter of a local ship owner? She and her young assistant, Petros, are both missing.

The chief officer of the local police force, Yiannis Patronas, suspects that Eleni and Petros happened upon something of real value. However, his search turns up nothing but handfuls of broken clay, and then, another body—that of Petros, whose throat has been brutally cut. Body parts belonging to Eleni are left behind on a remote beach, confirming her demise. Then an old priest with a fondness for TV detective shows is attacked and left for dead. The dig site is located near the monastery where he was the only resident.

Patronas interviews Petros’ longsuffering grandmother, his flighty mother and her money-grubbing boyfriend, as well as Eleni’s greedy stepmother and her charming son. He also confronts two archeologists, one British and one American… If Eleni’s find is, as they insist, worthless, what are these men doing on Chios? Although Patronas has little experience with homicide, he is determined to conquer the evil that threatens this formerly peaceful island.

Says Leta, “I have visited over twenty-two of these islands and spent the equivalent of a decade among the people who inhabit them. Of all the qualities I have come to know, I most cherish the Greek sense of humor, that bittersweet viewpoint, both pungent and cynical, that is so uniquely theirs. In my view, the Greeks are always laughing at the unexpected, whatever adversity is thrown their way, passing along a bit of truth about human behavior as they go. Sages, every last one of them.”

The Devil Takes Half is available in eBook and 6×9 trade paperback editions at Amazon, B&N, European Amazons, and Amazon Japan. Wholesale orders can be placed through info@coffeetownpress.com, Ingram, or Baker & Taylor. Libraries can also purchase books through Follett Library Resources or Midwest Library Service.

Camel Press has acquired two more novels by Leta Serafim: When the Devil’s Idle and From the Devil’s Farm, books two and three in the Greek mystery series!

When the Devil’s Idle

When an elderly German is found with his skull bashed in on Patmos, the same isle St. John wrote the Apocalypse, Yiannis Patronas, Chief Officer of the Chios police, is called in to investigate. He asks his top detective, Giorgos Tembelos, and his friend and amateur sleuth, Papa Michalis to join him.

With only a handful of suspects on such an isolated island— the gardener, the housekeeper, the deceased’s son, daughter-in-law and two grandchildren— Patronas is limited, and yet even more challenged. Who is capable? Who has motive? Who wanted the old German dead? Why? Could the answers be immediate or far reaching?

From the Devil’s Farm

A child’s body is found in the ruins of an ancient temple, a famed landmark marking the entrance to the harbor of Naxos, one of the largest Cycladic Islands in Greece. The boy has been bled dry, his carotid artery nicked and the blood apparently collected as there is little in evidence. “The work of two people,” Yiannis Patronas, Chief Officer of the Chios police who is called in to investigate, decides when he arrives at the scene, “one to hold the boy down, the other to do the cutting.”

Was it cult related? Is it a sadistic murderer? Did the boy perhaps know his deliverer from this world?

Leta Serafim was a journalist at the Los Angeles Times Washington Bureau before moving to Greece, where she taught art and illustrated books. Upon her return to the United States, she wrote feature stories for the Boston Globe before trying her hand a fiction. She continues to spend her summers in Greece. www.letaserafim.com

ABOUT Coffeetown Press—Based in Seattle, Washington, Coffeetown Press has been publishing the finest fiction and nonfiction since 2005. www.coffeetownpress.com

Represented by Loiacono Literary Agency www.loiaconoliteraryagency.com

“Archie”

By Trisha O’Keefe

Archie looked like a mistake. He wasn’t a hunting dog—long-eared, keen nose, and vocal cords like a gospel choir. He was pigeon-toed in front and spraddle-legged in back; the kind of dog that made you laugh just looking at him. His eyes were slightly crossed, his tail arched at an angle, and his ears didn’t match. One went up and the other down and then they would change places as if they couldn’t make up their minds which one should be on top.

But Archie had heart. He was a scrapper and could hold his own in a yard fight. He would wag that crooked tail if you just looked at him, let alone spoke a kind word. He would do a little dance on those bowed hind legs for treats, the picture of ecstasy at such attention. He was used to being ignored.

I forgot to mention Archie was a stray. Tossed from a car on a country highway, he wandered into our yard limping with a torn ear. Probably some fox thought this little mutt would make fine eating or a coyote pack approached him with the same thought in mind.  In spite of being slightly worse for wear, there he was at suppertime, wagging that crooked tail.  You can’t do much with an animal like that but love him.

Archie had been abused, it was plain in the way he shied when you raised your hand too fast. He was particularly afraid of feet, being on the same level as they were and no doubt on the hurtful end of some kicks. Little dogs get underfoot sometimes. He therefore would growl at your feet and make a pre-emptive strike if you got too close.

Archie was with us only a short while when he saved the church. It was a stormy night; the worst lightening we had seen all summer. All the dogs were asleep in a pile except him.  His crossed eyes were wide open and his ears moved up and down with each thunder clap. He seemed to sense something was going to happen. We don’t know why, but all of sudden, he started scratching at the door to go out. You see, Archie hadn’t grown accustomed yet to three squares and pigs’ ears treats. He often had to go charging out in the middle of the night, so someone  opened the screen door and off he went as if he were on a mission.

We never saw him alive again. Apparently, he raced down to the village in that raging storm. A lightening strike had set the roof of the wooden church ablaze and the choir was inside, oblivious to anything but making a joyful noise when in rushed Archie, yapping insanely. Now we had put a collar on Archie, but no tags. He’d had the requisite shots, though we kept the tags at home, just in case they got lost. Nevertheless, he cleared out that church in a heartbeat before the fire even burned down to the first beam. He gave every appearance of a rabid dog.

Then he raced back to the volunteer fire station to see if they were doing their job. They were, climbing on the ladder truck and heading toward the burning church. The volunteers came flying in their trucks, a flashing red light on their dashboards. One of them hit Archie in the pouring rain; we don’t know which one. It doesn’t much matter.

We found our little hero by the side of the road, just a small grey mound of fur. The fireman held a service for Archie and made him posthumously a member of the volunteer fire crew. They even buried him in the churchyard behind some rosebushes. Somebody made a little headstone. It said “Archie of the Julia Springs Volunteer Fire Crew. Big heart. Little Dog. Died saving the church. We’ll Miss You, Archie.”

Archie would have loved all that attention. I just hope there are pig’s ears up in heaven.       https://loiaconoliteraryagency.com/authors/trisha-okeefe/

God wants you to know that you have an opportunity this day to really affect
someone’s life for the better.  Watch for it.

Someone is needing something from you, and they are going to come right to you to get it.  Someone—friend or stranger, I don’t know–will cross your path in the hours ahead, looking for the most important gift you can give them: uplift for the soul.

Your job: return them to themselves.  Find a way to allow them to feel good about themselves again.  Just
a word, or a smile, can do it.  You’ll know what’s needed it the moment!  www.CWGPortal.com

God wants you to know that all the problems you face today are going to go away, unless you worry them to stay.

Problems like worry.  Worry is a magnet for them.  If you just “let it be,” the current worrisome condition
will not even be part of your life a short time from now.

If you worry enough about it, however, you can be sure that it will stick around.  So, just do your best around all this…then turn it over to God. Yes? www.CWGPortal.com

Buzz Bernard signs with Loiacono Literary Agency for the 4^th novel in his disaster/thriller series, BLIZZARD!

Bernard is on a roll and we hope he never runs out of momentum. BLIZZARD lives up to the same fast-paced, sit-on-the-edge-of-your-seat quality as EYEWALL, PLAGUE and SUPERCELL.

BLIZZARDfocuses on a man who must get from Atlanta, Georgia, to Durham, North Carolina, through the worst blizzard in the history of the Southeast. Highways are closed and air transportation, shut down. And the storm isn’t his only enemy. He’s working against the clock and an outlaw biker carrying almost a million dollars’ worth of stolen cocaine.

There’s also conflict at The Natural Environment Television Network (NE-TV) in Atlanta: do they go public with a prediction of an historic snowstorm or not; be the first to cause mass chaos either way?

And then there are those affected by the white, fluffy stuff: some are involuntary victims and others have chosen to battle Mother Nature.

Life goes on either way…or does it?

Naïve or nefarious?

Bernard is writing from vast experience. He has a B. S. in Atmospheric Science, University of Washington, was a Weather Officer in the United States Air Force Reserve 1963-1996 (two tours in Vietnam 1965-1966, Meritorious Service Medal 1993, flew with Hurricane Hunters 1995, and Legion of Merit 1996), and worked as a meteorologist and defense contractor 1968-1996.

EYEWALL, PLAGUE, SUPERCELL, published by BelleBooks www.bellebooks.com

www.buzzbernard.com
www.facebook.com

Represented by Loiacono Literary Agency www.loiaconoliteraryagency.com

Rogue Phoenix Press acquires Shanty Gold, a story strength and perseverance, by Jeanne Charters!

In 1849’s famine-ravaged Ireland, thirteen-year-old Mary Boland is found lying mostly dead on the side of the road to Cork Harbor, Queenstown, Ireland. She just buried her mother and baby sister after they both died of starvation. Now she is headed for Boston to find her father— no matter what.

Raped and beaten by the motley crew of The Pilgrim’s Dandy, she is rescued by a fifteen-year-old Negro slave who had been used in like manner for some time and had vowed to throw himself to the sharks that very night. Together they survive, helping others as well, the harrowing two and a half month trip. Their friendship is the key to the new world for both of them, carrying them through hardships and trials, and eventually to happiness.

A grand tale that is truer than we would like, yet spurs us to endeavor what people consider the impossible.

Charters became VP of marketing for Viacom TV, then branched-off and opened her own advertising agency, Charters Marketing. She has written for WNC Woman magazine and website. Her columns under the title, funny, isn’t it? have appeared in most issues for the past twelve years. Funny, isn’t it? (Catawba Press (now defunct), 2008) is a compilation of some of her best columns; illustrated by noted North Carolina artist, Marie Hudson, of Asheville, NC. Clothes Lines is a compilation of women’s writings from across the state and country. Charters was honored to be included by Editors Celia H. Miles and Nancy Dillingham. She is currently working on the sequel, Lace Curtain. www.jeannecharters.com  Rogue Phoenix Press www.roguephoenixpress.com Represented by Loiacono Literary Agency www.loiaconoliteraryagency.com

“Deep Woods”

By Trisha O’Keefe

We Southern women are tough as nails on the outside, but marshmallows within.  Therefore, it follows the males should be square-jawed versions of Clint Eastwood: gun-toting, spitting accurately, and cussing a blue streak.

This describes my male cousins which is why this story is all the more believable.

So when two of them took it in their  heads to go hunting one night down in a swamp, where I wouldn’t even set foot in the daytime, no one thought they were crazy. Nobody but me.  Not even if someone told me there was buried treasure three feet inside the tree line, would I go there.  I told them so.

See, this swamp is the site of an old Mississippian burial mound and rumor has it some funny things have happened there.

Undeterred, they left their truck at the trailhead, and hiked to the first deer stand, about a quarter of a mile into the woods. They had miners’ lights on their hunting caps; their knapsacks held sleeping bags and beer. They both carried their rifles in case of snakes or meth dealers.

The bolder of the two, I’ll call him Robbie, went on to the second deer stand about a mile and a half further into the swamp.  He told Len, the less experienced hunter, to stay where he was and if there was any trouble, fire two shots in the air. They agreed to meet in the morning back at the truck.

Robbie continued on, deeper into the swamp. At some point, a branch cracked behind him and, thinking it was a deer, he turned around.  Taking his flashlight from his belt, he scanned the woods behind him. Seeing nothing, he continued on, concentrating on negotiating the forest floor. He had been here in daylight enough to know there was a stream somewhere up-ahead… with alligators.  They didn’t snap at humans unless stepped on, but he was careful not to risk it.

Then he heard it again—a snapping twig, a crunching of underbrush. He stopped, and whatever was making the noise stopped.  Robbie went a few more steps and hesitated. Whatever it was stopped, too, but not without taking another step.

Robbie figured whatever was following him couldn’t really see through the massive foliage. It was following the sound of his footsteps.

“Len, where are you, man? I’m over here, you idiot!” Just like Len not to follow my directions, Robbie thought. Probably got scared staying by himself and thinks he’ll scare me.   Only the throbbing of the frogs and cicadas answered him. “Len, that you?” He shone his light through the bushes. That’s when he smelled the peculiar odor of chinaberries. Robbie felt the hair on his head and back of his neck stir.

He knew one thing. That wasn’t a deer over there, or anything walking on four legs. Whatever it was walked upright.  Robbie took the safety lock off his gun and, treading as quietly as he could, moved on down the trail at a brisk pace. He wasn’t far from the deer stand now, only a few hundred yards.

That’s when both his lights went out—simultaneously.

Shoving his flashlight in his belt, and holding his rifle chest-high in case he tripped over a root or fell in a hole, Robbie began to jog. He was sweating now, not from the heat—it was a cool night—but from fear.  The footsteps increased their pace, too, but always staying just parallel with him, shielded by the thicket.

Following the trail by moonlight wasn’t easy, but fear heightens all the senses.  Now as he neared the deer stand, he knew there was a creek just thirty feet away. They had built the stand with that in mind; knowing deer drank there at night. He knew the creek curved inland a little way upstream, so whatever was stalking him would have to cross the water ahead of him. By that time, he would have reached the deer stand. Sure enough, he heard a splash as if something heavy had plunged into the water.

As he reached the safety of the stand and climbed up, he heard his stalker wading through the creek, heading upstream. As Robbie tells the story, “it” was taking steps, not as an animal would, but like a man.

Then, as the footsteps faded, both his flashlight and miner’s light came back on.

***

In the morning, the two hunters rendezvoused at the truck. “You see any deer?” Robbie asked, trying to see if Len had been playing a trick on him.

Len yawned. “Hell, no. Not a one. Finally gave up and went back to the truck to sleep. Damned mosquitoes were killing me up there.”

Go figure.

God wants you to know that yearning for a new way will not produce it. Only ending the old way can do that.

You cannot hold onto the old all the while declaring that you want something new. The old will defy the new; the old will deny the new; the old will decry the new.

There is only one way to bring in the new.You must make room for it. www.CWGPortal.com

John Flynn, author of Intimate Bondage, will be attending his 15th San Diego Comic Con http://www.ign.com/events/comic-con Wednesday, July 30^th – Saturday, August 2^nd.

SDCC www.comic-con.org/cci  is always a very big deal for fan boys and fan girls. As you may know, this is the largest convention in the world for books, movies, comics science fiction, fantasy, popular culture, etc.  There will be 150,000 people in attendance at the convention in its 4 days.  Most publishers will be there with displays, even small mom and pop operations.  Lots of writers and artists attend, as well as actors and actresses, directors, and other Hollywood types.  The new issue of Entertainment Weekly (with the new Avengers movie on the cover) has about 25 pages of Comic Con coverage, and CNN, FOX, MSNBC, and many other news outlets will be there covering the convention with live coverage throughout the weekend.

Although this year Flynn is not scheduled on any programming, ( he is usually on a panel or two) he will be heading to the big exhibit floor (about the size of several football fields) talking to vendors and signing books.  There’s a freebie table on the upper floor that’s about the size of a ballroom that will have giveaways. Fans will have the ability to come by the table and pick up freebies that are out on the table.  Flynn will have postcards and Intimate Bondage available. When the books run out, attendees will have the opportunity to scan the postcard, read an excerpt of Intimate Bondage, and order it immediately. So come out and join the festivities, meet some of the most exciting people in the industry and get a signed copy of Intimate Bondage.

This is the first in the Kate Dawson mystery/thrillers. Coming up is Intimate Disclosure (2015). and Intimate Denial. Flynn has whet the appetite and aims to feed. Available: Amazon BAM B&N FIsh Pond Waterstones Kobo Powell’s Books Published by BelleBooks www.bellebooks.com Represented by Loiacono Literary Agency www.loiaconoliteraryagency.com

Dr. John L. Flynn is an author, psychologist, and college dean. Born in Chicago, Illinois. He earned a Bachelor’s and Master’s Degree from the University of South Florida and a Ph.D. from Southern California University. He is a member of the Science Fiction Writers of America, and has been a regular contributor and columnist to dozens of science fiction magazines.

In 1977, he received the M. Carolyn Parker award for outstanding journalism for his freelance work on several Florida daily newspapers. He sold his first book, Future Threads, in 1985, and has subsequently had twelve other books published, including Cinematic Vampires: The Living Dead on Film, The Films of Arnold Schwarzenegger, Dissecting Aliens, Visions in Light and Shadow, War of the Worlds: From Wells to Spielberg, 75 Years of Universal Monsters, 50 Years of Hammer Horror, 101 Superheroes of the Silver Screen, 2001: Beyond the Infinite, The Jovian Dilemma, Phantoms of the Opera: Behind the Mask, and Future Prime (with Bob Blackwood). He has also written the introduction to Signet’s new edition of Gaston Leroux’s Phantom of the Opera, and the afterword to Signet’s new printing of The Island of Dr. Moreau by H.G. Wells. From 2002 to 2004, Dr. Flynn was nominated for three Hugo Awards for his science fiction writing. John also received an honorable mention for his unproduced screenplay for The Jovian Dilemma in the 2003 Screenplay Festival writing competition. Drs. John Flynn and Bob Blackwood have co-authored two nonfiction pop-cultures which is available for acquisition: Future Prime: Top Ten Science Fiction Films and Everything I Know About Life I Learned From James Bond (available for acquisition).

In 1997, John switched gears from writing and literature to study psychology, and earned a degree as a clinical psychologist. His study, “The Etiology of Sexual Addiction: Childhood Trauma as a Primary Determinant,” has broken new ground in the diagnosis and treatment of sexual addiction. www.john-flynn.com