We Are Off and Running!

Run, River Currents has been launched and it's climbing the charts thanks to those of you who have already read and posted your reviews to Amazon, Kindle and B& N. I thank you for the extraordinary support!!

In the next few weeks I will be hosting a variety of wonderful writers AND I'll be having a contest that will be filled with some great prizes! So sign on as a follower to make sure I can find you if you win! Then go and tell your friends to stop by as well!

Boy, after Gale Martin's great interview, finding someone that has her charisma and charm was tough. But I think you'll enjoy our next guest Michael J. McCann, author of several crime novels, including the Donaghue & Stainer series. Michael hails from Canada and I think you'll love his candor as he speaks about his writing style. Here's a sneak peek of an excerpt from Marcie's Murder. Some strong language and viloence for those who'd like to know ahead of time:)

The Harmony Motor Inn consisted of a central lodge and two long single-story wings, one extending north and one extending south. Hank’s room was three doors from the end of the southern wing. His rented vehicle, a Grand Cherokee with Maryland plates, was parked in the spot directly in front of his room. Beyond it, blocking the driveway on the left where it wrapped around the end of the south wing, sat a darkened police cruiser. Another cruiser sat two doors up on the right, also on an angle. A third vehicle was parked close enough to Hank’s car to make it impossible to open the driver’s side door. This one was a black Ford Explorer with a Town of Harmony Police Department crest on the doors above the legend Chief of Police.


“Move,” Branham urged Hank, guiding him around the Grand Cherokee to the cruiser on the right.


Hank’s bare feet stumbled on a crack in the asphalt.


Branham caught him, hauled him up and promptly stuck a knee into the back of Hank’s knee, taking him off balance again long enough to push him over the trunk of the cruiser. It was a fairly impressive maneuver, given that Hank was six feet three inches tall and weighed two hundred pounds.


“Don’t move.” Branham opened the back door of the cruiser and hauled Hank upright. “In you go.”


Hank tumbled into the back seat. Branham pulled him up and swiftly released one of the bracelets, dragging Hank’s arms around to handcuff him in front.


“Sit tight. Stay calm.” He slammed the door on Hank and went back into the motel room.
Hank sat alone in the dark interior of the police cruiser. His left cheek felt wet from a cut that was bleeding. His left temple ached madly and his rib cage, his buttocks and his left thigh were sore from having been kicked. His right shoulder, which still wasn’t one hundred percent thanks to a four-month-old gunshot wound, throbbed dully. He looked down and saw that his t-shirt and boxers were spattered with what he assumed was blood.


He wasn’t exactly dressed for company.


He’d done nothing wrong and it was obviously a case of mistaken identity, so Branham’s advice to sit tight and stay calm was solid, the kind of advice he himself would have given a suspect he felt was not the person he wanted. The chief had said something about a killer, so there must have been a murder in town. They’d jumped on Hank’s handgun, a Glock 17, but since it hadn’t been fired in a while Hank was confident it wouldn’t take them anywhere they shouldn’t be going. They would find his identification and badge in his room and know he was telling the truth about who he was.



Be sure to visit this site on August 14 to read Michael's interview!