tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24924865924971020542024-03-12T18:50:34.922-07:00Sean Black BlogSean Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15910574214815850092noreply@blogger.comBlogger42125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492486592497102054.post-35040758983819334162014-01-25T05:47:00.000-08:002014-01-25T05:47:43.487-08:00Post - On Sale NowThe new <span class="GINGER_SOFATWARE_correct" ginger_sofatware_markguid="c93eb30a-d42f-4461-8160-1b989e41e4e9" ginger_sofatware_uiphraseguid="c1275e21-0826-48fa-8c5f-61b4c0d5c50e" grcontextid="thriller:0">thriller</span> is now on sale.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">THE WAR IS COMING HOME</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Exhausted by years of combat, and haunted by the ghosts of his past, nothing is going to stop special forces veteran Byron Tibor returning home to the woman he loves. But is Byron who he appears to be, and why is the American government determined to stop him?</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">From the blood-soaked mountains of the Hindu Kush to the glittering lights of Manhattan, via the dark underbelly of the Las Vegas Strip, POST is the story of one man's struggle to retain his humanity - before it's too late.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Buy it at <a href="http://a-fwd.com/asin=B00I10ESZE" target="_blank">Amazon here</a></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/post-sean-black/1118229531" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble here</a></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.nook.com/gb/ebooks/post-by-sean-black/2940148186557" target="_blank">Nook UK</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="GINGER_SOFATWARE_noSuggestion GINGER_SOFATWARE_correct" ginger_sofatware_markguid="7561ebaa-2f6c-4fc9-9908-a447e9a7d1a3" ginger_sofatware_uiphraseguid="d66662f6-25f4-4c69-91b9-2a5dd6641b88" grcontextid="Kobo:0"><a href="http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/post-3" target="_blank">Kobo</a></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>Sean Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15910574214815850092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492486592497102054.post-67166379305616982192014-01-17T00:57:00.000-08:002014-01-17T00:57:08.146-08:00The new novel - POST - arriving soon<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IEnlyo5zKEg/UtjwBpMOx9I/AAAAAAAAADg/A_7NzMHpmAI/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-01-17+at+8.54.45+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IEnlyo5zKEg/UtjwBpMOx9I/AAAAAAAAADg/A_7NzMHpmAI/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-01-17+at+8.54.45+AM.png" height="320" width="209" /></a></div>
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The new novel, POST, will be released very soon in paperback and ebook. In the meantime, here is a short promo trailer for it.<br />
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<br />Sean Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15910574214815850092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492486592497102054.post-24803788268542954502013-03-05T08:31:00.000-08:002013-03-05T08:31:31.530-08:00Lock & LoadThanks to everyone who took the trouble to buy and read Lock & Load, the long short story/novella, I published before Christmas. It was a great success and I know lots of people had fun reading it. In a few weeks it will be rolling out to Apple, Barnes and Noble, and Kobo. For now you can buy it <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Lock-Load-Ryan-Story-ebook/dp/B00ALYGCZM/" target="_blank">here</a>, both in <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Lock-Load-Ryan-Story-ebook/dp/B00ALYGCZM/" target="_blank">e-book</a>, and <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Lock-Load-Ryan-Short/dp/1481087894/" target="_blank">paper</a>. If you have read it, enjoyed it, then please take a few moments to post a short review. Online reviews are immensely helpful to authors.<br />
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I have been busy on two fronts. Most importantly I have been writing a new thriller, which I should finish next week. Also, before Christmas I wrote a children's book. It was a story I have been thinking about for a while but had never got round to tackling. I wrote it in a little under five weeks, and I have to say that time was perhaps the most enjoyable I've ever had as a writer. I have no idea what route I'll take with it but it's been huge fun.<br />
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So, two books in under six months after the travails of the summer. Shortly, it will be back to Ryan and Ty, as I start work on the fifth novel featuring those characters.<br />
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After a lot of hard work, and support from my terrific readers, and fellow authors, the Lock series is really getting some traction in the United States. Lockdown spent Christmas Day on the top 100 ebook bestseller list on Amazon. Here it as at No. 32 alongside some people you may have heard of.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IwpJpRnhjek/UTYbJo1UjuI/AAAAAAAAADA/zhKrXokj8Xk/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-12-25+at+9.29.57+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IwpJpRnhjek/UTYbJo1UjuI/AAAAAAAAADA/zhKrXokj8Xk/s320/Screen+Shot+2012-12-25+at+9.29.57+AM.png" width="174" /></a></div>
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Last month, Gridlock repeated the same feat on Amazon and also made the top 20 on Barnes and Noble, my first time hitting the B&N bestseller list.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ekq3T9uZnbU/UTYbxX4LGLI/AAAAAAAAADE/xkDRAON7quc/s1600/B&N+Bestsellers.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="135" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ekq3T9uZnbU/UTYbxX4LGLI/AAAAAAAAADE/xkDRAON7quc/s320/B&N+Bestsellers.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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In other news, Ekscom, Russia's largest publisher, recently bought rights to The Devil's Bounty, and will be publishing the entire series. Translations are also coming in French (Lock & Load - <span style="color: #1a1a1a; line-height: 100%;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>L'envers
du décor), </i>and there will be a Spanish edition of The Devil's Bounty, with Italian translations of some of the series also pending.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; line-height: 100%;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">If you are a publisher in an unsold territory you can either contact me directly or Scott Miller at Trident Media in New York to discuss.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; line-height: 100%;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Thank you again to all my readers for their continued support.</span></span><br />
<br />Sean Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15910574214815850092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492486592497102054.post-50635916390036548342012-12-11T03:47:00.000-08:002012-12-11T03:47:00.326-08:00On Sale Now - Lock & Load<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Lock & Load, the first Ryan Lock short story, is now available as a Kindle ebook at Amazon. It's also on sale at Kobo, and will be available shortly at all 50 Apple iBookstores, and in Nook format. The trade paperback is on its way.</span><br />
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Here are the Amazon links:</div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Lock-Load-Ryan-Short-ebook/dp/B00ALYGCZM/" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank">http://www.amazon.com/Lock-<wbr></wbr>Load-Ryan-Short-ebook/dp/<wbr></wbr>B00ALYGCZM/</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Lock-Load-Ryan-Short-ebook/dp/B00ALYGCZM/" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank">http://www.amazon.co.uk/Lock-<wbr></wbr>Load-Ryan-Short-ebook/dp/<wbr></wbr>B00ALYGCZM/</a></div>
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The ebooks are all DRM free so you can transfer them between devices, and don't have to worry about losing your copy if you switch to a different e-reader or app.<br />
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If you read it, enjoy it (or not), please take a few minutes to write a review. Reviews really do help.</div>
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Sean Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15910574214815850092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492486592497102054.post-49207233682973422182012-12-05T11:31:00.000-08:002012-12-05T11:31:34.878-08:00Lock & Load CoverThe very talented Joie Simmons, whose work can be found <a href="http://www.jsimmonsillustration.com/" target="_blank">here</a>, has completed the e-book and print cover for the very first Ryan Lock short story, Lock & Load.<br />
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Here is the e-book cover:<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4DQTRG7_1Y0/UL-feUN1wQI/AAAAAAAAACg/7crdu8p_EJg/s1600/LockLoad-ebook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4DQTRG7_1Y0/UL-feUN1wQI/AAAAAAAAACg/7crdu8p_EJg/s1600/LockLoad-ebook.jpg" height="320" width="210" /></a></div>
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Great job, Joie!<br />
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It's in final proofing and formatting stages. In the meantime, here is the next chapter....<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 21px;"></span><br />
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
Two</h2>
<div class="noindent" style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="small">NEXT TO THE</span> word bodyguard, Ryan Lock's least favourite description for his profession had to be bullet catcher. Although sacrificing your life to save the person you were protecting was the ultimate price you may have to pay, close protection work was more a matter of intellect than muscle. In a world that mostly attracted what his former colleagues in the British Royal Military Police's elite close protection unit dubbed 'thick-necked twats', Lock saw himself as more of a problem solver than hired muscle. Right now he was headed to Los Angeles to deal with a rather obstinate Antipodean problem who went by the name of Jason Durham.</div>
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"Man, I could get used to this," said Ty Johnson.</div>
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Lock glanced over at his six foot four African American business partner as he stretched out his long legs and waved over a member of the private jet's crew to freshen up his drink. Next to Lock, his fiancee, Carrie, was busy tapping away at her Mac Air, their yellow Labrador, Angel, asleep at her feet. She looked over at him and he smiled.</div>
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"You okay, cowboy?"</div>
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He leaned in for a kiss. "Better than okay."</div>
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Across from them, Ty rolled his eyes. "You two are disgusting."</div>
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"Not jealous are you, Tyrone?" Carrie teased.</div>
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"Hey, don't even go there, sister."</div>
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"I dunno, prison together? I've heard the stories about how that goes. And it's not like I'm saying there's anything wrong with it," she teased.</div>
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Ty tutted his disapproval, put his headphones back on and went back to reading his magazine. For his part, Lock was glad that Carrie could find some humour in what had been a terrifying experience for both men when they had recently gone undercover in Pelican Bay Supermax in Northern California.</div>
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"You're bad," Lock said, feigning seriousness.</div>
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"I know," she said brightly, returning to her work.</div>
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Lock dug out a folder of papers outlining his and Ty's latest job and began to review them for the third time. It all looked pretty straightforward – an easy, well paid gig that would tide the business over and pay for his and Carrie's wedding.</div>
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The principal – the term used in close protection circles for the person you were actually protecting – was a young actress called Summer Clements. The problem was a highly unpredictable movie star boyfriend called Jason Durham. Durham had grown up in Australia and built his career on a carefully cultivated tough guy image. From what Lock had gathered, the bar for tough guy status in Hollywood wasn't that high. He also suspected the relationship was partly one of convenience. While Summer's career was in the ascendancy, Jason's was a little rocky. He'd had two recent stints in rehab, several arrests, and obviously had, what in modern parlance had come to be termed as, an anger management issue. Lock thought of them more as asshole management issues.</div>
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Summer's representatives had contacted Lock directly, making him a susbtantial offer for what amounted to a week's work. Not only did they want their young client protected, he also suspected they wanted Lock to offer a longer term solution by explaining to her ex by whatever means he felt most appropriate that the relationship had indeed ended. Saying yes had been a no-brainer.</div>
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Lock and Ty could be highly persuasive in such situations and they both could use the injection of cash. Plus, free first class travel and a pretty heavy stipend that included hotel accommodation and a separate place for Lock and Carrie (a beach house in Malibu owned by the actress) hadn't sounded too shabby either. More than that, if there was one thing that Lock didn't have any time for it was guys like Jason Durham. Over the years he had seen the havoc wreaked by men who abused their partners, and while he wasn't sure what the long term solution was, he was happy to make the world a little better one asshole at a time.</div>
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As Ty went to collect their rental car, Lock waited with Carrie. She had a get together planned with a former colleague who had relocated from New York to Los Angeles a few years ago. That would leave Lock free to go meet Summer and get a better feel for what he was dealing with.</div>
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He slipped a hand around his fiancee's waist. Their relationship hadn't been without its bumpy patches, most of which were related to his work, but he still felt like the luckiest man alive. Carrie was beautiful inside and out, a strong woman who knew her own mind yet hadn't allowed her career as a news reporter to render her cynical about the rest of the human race. He couldn't wait to begin their life together. They already had the dog who was busy trying to eat the end of the lead and now they could go for the rest of the package; the house with a white picket fence, and kids. They'd both had a life spent on the move. Now they craved some quiet domesticity.</div>
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As Ty pulled up in the rental, a black Range Rover, Lock helped a taxi driver with Carrie's luggage and kissed her goodbye. He waited until the cab was out of sight, put Angel in the back, and clambered in next to Ty who took off at speed as they headed for West Hollywood.</div>
<br />Sean Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15910574214815850092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492486592497102054.post-68621889464935609972012-11-28T00:27:00.002-08:002012-11-28T00:31:31.881-08:00Lock & Load<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 32px;"><br /></span>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 32px;">The first short story featuring Lock and Ty is on its way. It will go on sale shortly as an e-book, and then in trade paperback.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 32px;"><u>About The Story</u></span><br />
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Fresh from a stint
undercover in Pelican Bay Supermax prison in Northern California,
close protection operative Ryan Lock and his business partner, Ty
Johnson, are in Los Angeles, tasked with protecting a young Hollywood
actress from an abusive movie star boyfriend who refuses to accept
that their relationship is over. But as Lock knows only too well, and
Ty is about to learn, keeping someone safe from harm can be harder
than it looks, and damage can come in unexpected forms.</div>
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<u>Author's Note</u></div>
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This short story can
be read separately, as can each full-length novel in the Ryan Lock
series, but for readers following the books in order, the events
described here take place between the second book in the series,
Deadlock, and the third, Gridlock. See the <a href="http://seanblackbooks.com/books.php" target="_blank">book page</a> of the website for all four books in order with links.</div>
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A little like Lock, I am incapable of doing things the easy way. I have wanted to write a short with my central characters for a long time now, but couldn't come up with a story that worked, and believe me I tried. It had to be something that worked for existing fans of the series and for new readers. Then I remembered the paragraph or two in Gridlock about why they happened to be in Los Angeles. In a few paragraphs near the start of that third book, I gave you a thumbnail of events, but did I? So that was my challenge writing this for readers of the series. I already told you the ending, but I didn't really. It took some careful reverse engineering but I hope I delivered.</div>
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And here's the opening chapter:</div>
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<u><b>Chapter One</b></u></div>
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<i>Malibu,
California</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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With<!-- Strong opening. Clear stakes. -->
his hands tightening around her neck, choking off her air supply, and
leaving black shapes clouding her vision, Summer Clements was too
damn scared to think about the irony of being strangled to death by
her boyfriend. After all, this was precisely how their relationship
had started. The difference was that the first time they had been
acting.</div>
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She had met Jason
Durham on the set of a movie called <i>Killing Dawn </i>and their
first scene together had called for their characters to have a
blazing row, at the end of which he strangled her to death. Although
it took place near the end of the movie, for scheduling reasons it
had been their first time working together. The art house movie's
low-budget hadn't allowed for any rehearsal time and he had only
become available when a studio film he was due to shoot had fallen
through at the last second due to his drinking<!-- Just to set up that he’s dangerous and on his way out. -->
problems. Now, six months later, with no crew standing around, or
cameras rolling to capture the moment for posterity, and no director
to call cut, it was happening for real.</div>
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The fingernails of
Jason's right hand dug deep into her neck and he squeezed harder,
pinning her against the wall. She could feel a breeze tumbling in
through the sliding glass doors of the beach house's lower deck, but
she was no longer sure whether the roar she could hear in her ears
came from the Pacific or the surge of her own blood.</div>
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Jason stared at
her, pupils pin prick black against the widescreen backdrop of the
lights of the Queen's necklace, the curve of coast that ran from
Point Dume in the north through Malibu and all way down to Rancho
Palos Verdes in the south<!-- No idea what this is. I’m guessing it’s a place? -->.
Through the glass she saw the blinking red dots of airplanes taking
off from LAX, and she wished that she had been smart enough to listen
to her friends' advice and jump on one of them instead of taking his
word that he'd never lay a finger on her again, a promise that he'd
broken on two previous occasions.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
This time had
started like the others. They had been out at a nightclub on the
Sunset Strip – Jason trying to do his best to convince the town
that he could still roll with young Hollywood even though he was
pushing fifty up a hill – and her saying hello to a young producer
she had worked with a few years back had led to Jason punching the
guy and them being asked to leave.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<!-- I cut this because it didn’t go anywhere and I’d like to have him quiet, then start with the swearing and violence, kinda build. --></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He had fallen into a
sullen silence for the rest of the drive north along Pacific Coast
Highway, which should have been warning enough. At the house she had
gone to get a drink from the bar.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Do you want
one?” she asked him.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“I'm still
waiting for you to answer my question, Summer. Did you want to fuck
him?”</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She knew what was
coming next. Her hand shook as she pulled a long stemmed wine glass
from one of the glass bar cabinets and poured herself some Pinot
Noir. That was one of the other habits she had picked up since
hooking up with Jason – a bottle of wine a night habit to chase
down the Ambien she took to get herself to sleep.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“I'm not
answering it because it's stupid. Okay, Jason? It's stupid. Too
stupid to give you an answer.” She took a slug of wine, thinking
this was it, she had finally had enough and no amount of bended knee
apologies or flowers or heartfelt love letters would change it. “How
many times, Jason? I'm with <i>you</i> but I'm not going be if you
keep behaving like this.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She could see him
in the reflection of the glass bar cabinets as his eyebrows furrowed.
“If <i>I</i> behave like this? We're not talking about me here.
We're talking about you.”
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He was off on a
tear now, his voice bouncing off the walls with that Australian
accent she had thought was so cute when they had met and that now had
the same effect on her as someone drawing their nails down a chalk
board.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Do you know how
many women I have throwing themselves at me every single time we go
out?”</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She rolled her
eyes. “I said hello to the guy.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Sure you <i>said</i>
hello, but that wasn't what you meant.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<!-- I don’t want her picking a fight, raising the stakes. Let him build his castle all by himself. At this point, she’d know enough to be careful. --><br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Maybe he would
sleep it off. She picked up her wine glass. “I'm going to bed.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She walked around
the bar and towards the set of stairs on the far side of the duplex
which led to the master bedroom. As she passed him, he grabbed her
wrist. She tried to shake him off but his grip was too strong.<!-- OK, I think this is her escalating again. Maybe she would escalate with words, but wine in the face is a pretty big step. A weary, “I’m done with this, Jason,” might scare him into action—i.e., he’s afraid of her leaving him instead of he’s mad because she threw wine in his face. I’m not trying to make excuses for him, I just want her motivations and experience to be clear, and I think she knows better than to antagonize him right here, since he’s hit her twice before. --></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“I mean it. I'm
done talking about this, Jason.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He froze, his eyes
closed. After what seemed like minutes but was probably only a few
seconds, he reached up and swiped at his face. “Well maybe I'm
not.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
His lips thinned,
his eyes opened, and she knew he had lost it. His let go of her wrist
and grabbed at her neck. She clawed and scratched at him as he
grabbed her with one hand around the throat, and pushed her towards
the wall. The more she tried to fight him off, the harder his grip
became until she couldn't breathe<!-- Now some detail that links us back to that first paragraph, because we’re caught up in time. -->.
The black spots in her vision grew bigger and merged into a giant
mass.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
When she came round
she was lying on the floor and he was sitting on the couch on the
opposite side of the room. His head was bowed and he was sobbing,
fingers kneading his scalp. “I'm so sorry. I
get jealous. I can't help it. You're so beautiful and I see guys
looking at you and I can't handle it.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He got up and
started towards her. He reached down and helped her to her feet. She
was still too weak to do anything so she let him, but she knew she
had to get away from him, for good this time.</div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Sean Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15910574214815850092noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492486592497102054.post-32620683956695636642012-07-14T01:25:00.000-07:002012-07-14T01:25:25.660-07:00The Devil's Bounty - Opening Preview<br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><b>The new Ryan Lock thriller goes on sale August, 2nd. It will be available in hardback and e-book in the UK and paperback and e-book in the US. A Spanish language version will be available later in the year.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Prologue</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Santa Barbara,
California</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">It was eight o’clock on
Friday evening and the bars and clubs that ran the length of State
Street were already filling up. Three frat boys wove an unsteady
path out of the James Joyce Irish bar, before collapsing in a
good-natured heap on the sidewalk where one of them grabbed his
two buddies in a fraternal headlock. Outside the Velvet Jones
nightclub, a bouncer carded two young co-eds, making a big show of
examining their no doubt fake IDs before unclipping the red
rope and letting them inside. He watched as they wiggled past
him and into the club.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Up and down the town’s
main party drag, the same scenes of mostly good-natured youthful
debauchery played themselves out, as they had done every year for
about as long as anyone in the wealthy California beach community
could remember.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Charlie Mendez stood on
the corner of State and West Haley and surveyed the scene. He
plucked a fresh cigarette from the pack of Marlboro Reds tucked
into the rolled-up sleeve of his T-shirt, dug out a Cartier
lighter from the front pocket of his jeans and lit up. He
pulled the smoke deep into his lungs as he continued to scan the
street. A crowd of girls passed, one, a long- legged brunette,
turning to smile at him. Charlie gave her his best
California-surf-bum smile in return and ran a hand through his
thick mop of blond curls. She giggled and looked as if she was
about to say something to him, but her friend grabbed her elbow and
pulled her back along the street.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Charlie took out the
small digital camera he always carried with him for just such
opportunities and called after her, ‘Hey, beautiful! Smile!’</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> The cheesy line and the
picture-taking would have earned most men of Charlie’s age a raised
middle finger or a look of disgust, but Charlie wasn’t most men. In
his late teens and twenties, he had been good enough to work for a
time as a model in New York, and despite his lifestyle, his looks
were still merely faded rather than entirely departed. His hair
and teeth were perfect, and his face, beaten by sun, sand and
surf, was rugged.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> The girl blushed,
whispering something to her friend, then walked on with the rest
of her group.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> He gazed at the image
on the screen. She must have been startled by the tiny flash
because her eyes were closed. It gave him a shiver of anticipation
for what might come later.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> These were the nights he
lived for. There were many things he loved about the town where he
had grown up, but perhaps none was greater than the opportunities
it afforded a man like him. Every year the seniors left, and every
year the freshmen arrived. The town was in a state of constant
transfusion and replenish- ment. But Charlie remained
constant. Watching. Waiting. Choosing his moment. Always ready to
add to his collection.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> He glanced at his
wristwatch, a very un-surferlike five- thousand-dollar Rolex
Oyster Submariner. The night was young. He would go home and get
things ready. Then, around eleven, he would return to see what
the rest of the evening held for him. Tomorrow the students would
begin to drift away, and over the following few days Santa Barbara
would shift from college town to tourist town. The people who lived
in LA or San Francisco but kept summer homes in the area would
arrive. Couples. Families. None of them any use to him. They would
crowd the beach he surfed every morning and generally make his life
miserable.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> That meant he had to
make tonight count. He had to make it special. Tonight would
have to sustain him through the long, lonely months of
summer before fall semester when fresh meat arrived.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> He turned and walked
back to his car, a low-slung red Aston Martin convertible. He jumped
into the driver’s seat, gunned the engine and took off, heading
northwards up the coast, eager to set the scene for what lay ahead.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Part
One</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>One</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Sixteen Months Later</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Los Angeles, California</b></span></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Heart pounding, Melissa
Warner pushed her way through the crush of bodies towards the
front of the stage. Almost directly above her, a sweet-faced black
kid, dressed in baggy jeans and an LA Lakers top, was singing
about bitches and hoes while two similarly attired DJs worked the
decks behind him. Either side of the rapper, a dozen female dancers,
in bondage gear and lingerie, gyrated in apparent ecstasy as the
words poured forth.</span></div>
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</div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>Y’all know that hoes
and bitches, They only after one thing.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"> Two spotlights zigzagged
across the mass of bodies filling the arena. The bass pounded so
hard from the speakers that Melissa could feel the floor beneath her
moving in time with it. The rapper grabbed his crotch with one hand,
and waved a roll of dollar bills in the other. The crowd of
mostly white suburban teenagers screamed and hollered their
endorsement of the lyrics. Lyrics that reduced their sisters and
mothers and girlfriends to what exactly? To prostitutes. To people
who served only one function. To pieces of meat. Stay focused, she
told herself.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i> Remember why you’re
here. To find him.</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Not that he had been an
easy man to locate. Far from it. But she had stayed doggedly on
his trail, ignoring everyone around her who had told her it would
be best if she let it go. And now her persistence was about to pay
off. He was close by. The man who would bring her justice and, with
it, the chance finally to move on with her life.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> She scanned the
barrier, and the line of muscular, T-shirted security guards.
There was no sign of the man she was looking for. She pushed her way
to the side of the stage, ducking under flying elbows and pushing her
arms out, like a swimmer, to create gaps in the wall of flesh that
surrounded her.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> The press of bodies
against her made her feel sick and light- headed. She was gasping
for breath, but the air seemed to hold heat and moisture rather
than oxygen. Then, just as she was starting to worry that she
might pass out, she found a space and she was out of the crowd.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> A lone security guard,
wearing a Triple-C tour shirt (it stood for Compton Clown Crew)
and a laminated picture ID hooked to a black silk lanyard, stood
next to the crush barrier. Beyond him, a wooden black ramp led
towards the backstage area. Melissa dug out her cell phone and
pulled up the only picture she had been able to find of the man.
She showed it to the security guard. He looked at it and shrugged.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> ‘Don’t know that
dude,’ he said.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> ‘But you must,’ she
pressed. ‘He’s in charge of security.’</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> ‘Not here, he ain’t.’</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> ‘No, I mean security
for the band.’</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> He gave another shrug.
‘I don’t know nothing about that.’</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> She stood on tiptoe and
tried to get a glimpse of the backstage area. The security guard
shifted his position, blocking her view. He had damp patches of
sweat blossoming under his arms. She caught a whiff of body odour
and her stomach churned.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> ‘You want to get
backstage, huh? I can arrange it. Get you in to see the artists too,’
he said, with a nod towards the stage. ‘Gonna cost you, though,’
he said, staring at her breasts.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> She took a step back and
closed her eyes, trying desperately not to cry. If only he knew, she
thought. If only he knew what his leer- ing was doing to her. If only
he could experience a tenth of the pain she felt.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> She opened her eyes, but
his attention was elsewhere now. He was on a walkie-talkie, barking
instructions and staring at the crowd.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> She turned to see people
scattering in all directions. Music was still pouring from the
speakers but the rapper had stopped rapping and now he was at
the edge of the stage, one hand raised as if to calm the crowd. ‘Be
cool, people. Be cool out there.’</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Following the security
guard’s gaze, Melissa could see panic taking hold as clusters of
concertgoers scrambled in all directions, a shoal of fish parting at
the approach of a predator.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> She strained to get a
better view.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> There must have been a
half-dozen of them: young, male and Hispanic, they wore blue hats
and bandannas – gang members. They pushed through the crowd,
throwing punches and kicking out at anyone within striking
distance. A kid, no more than seventeen, took a fist to the
face and went down. Three of the gang members swarmed him, kicking
him in the head and body, grabbing other people in the crowd to
steady themselves and give their blows more purchase.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> At the edge of the group,
a lone gang member stood perfectly still and watched the beating
with cold detachment. He was smaller than the rest but he seemed
the most in control. He called to the three delivering the beating
and they stopped.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> He raised his head and,
as he did, Melissa saw that it wasn’t a male after all. A young
girl had been leading the rampage. She looked around, perfectly
calm in the middle of the mêlée as, on stage, the group made
its retreat into the wings and security guards poured over the
barrier in a futile attempt to restore order.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> The gang leader
glanced at the stage. Her gaze settled on Melissa and their
eyes met. She raised a hand and extended her index finger,
pointing Melissa out to the others.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> In that moment, Melissa
knew this was no random event. They were here for a reason. As
she was here looking for him, so they were here looking for
her. She began to edge away until she felt the cold metal of the
crush barrier at her back.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Now the gang members were
shrugging off whatever resistance they were meeting, and starting to
move in her direction. Melissa felt a wave of terror wash over her
as the girl leading the gang lifted her T-shirt to reveal the dull
black handle of a gun.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> The sight of it snapped
Melissa back to the present. She looked around for an escape route.
Twenty yards away, she saw it – a single-door fire exit.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> She sprinted towards
it, not daring to look back. If she could get through the door, she
could reach the parking lot. If she could make it that far, she could
jump into her car, and get away.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Her quest abandoned,
Melissa Warner burst through the door and out into the warm Los
Angeles night. She had to stay alive long enough to find him. What
happened to her after that didn’t matter.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Two</b></span></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">In his line of work,
Ryan Lock was constantly vigilant for two things. The first was
the absence of the normal: a security guard missing from his post,
a blank corner of an office, which had previously housed a
security camera, a silent junkyard normally patrolled by a
bad-tempered Dobermann. The second was the presence of the
abnormal, something strange and out of place: an unfamiliar car
appearing outside a school at pick-up time or a newly installed
manhole cover on a parade route.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> That evening, as he
scanned the crowded hotel lobby, which was filled with revellers
attending the after-show party for his latest clients, a
double-platinum rap group called Triple-C, Lock spotted
something that fell, most definitely, into the second
category. Unnoticed by the rest of the partygoers, a young woman
stepped gingerly from the barrel of the gleaming gold revolving door
into the hotel lobby, and stopped, eyes darting around,
searching someone out.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> In and of itself, her
arrival was hardly worthy of note. The defining feature of
Triple-C’s after-parties was the number of young women in
attendance. They tended, he had noted, to out- number the men by
at least six to one. But no one looked even vaguely like the
young woman walking through the press of bodies towards him.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> For a start, their hair
was perfectly coiffed instead of damp and matted on their foreheads.
Their eyes sparkled with life, or excite- ment, or too much alcohol,
while this young woman’s were like a doll’s: black and
lifeless. And none of the other young women crowding the
lobby had blood pouring from her abdomen, running down her
legs and splashing, like thick scarlet raindrops, on to the hotel’s
white marble floor.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> As she staggered across
the lobby, people fell silent. Cocktail glasses and champagne
flutes hung in suspended animation inches from lips. Eyes
widened in disbelief and horror. People stepped back,
unconsciously clearing a path, as the blood continued to pour
from her belly, leaving a trail on the marble.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> As the silence washed
behind her, the only person to react was Lock. Taking off his jacket,
he half turned towards his best friend and business partner, the
six-foot-two African American marine Ty Johnson. ‘Get the guys
upstairs into the suite.’</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> There had been a
disturbance at that night’s concert, a series of brawls among the
crowd, possibly gang-related, and he was taking no chances. Ty did
as he was told, quickly marshalling the rap group and their
management towards a bank of elevators. Their movement punctured
the silence, and a babble of incompre- hension filled the void
as Lock went quickly to the young woman, reaching her in four long
strides.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Her shoulders were
hunched and she was shivering. She flinched visibly as Lock
reached out to her. He could see the pain pinching her face as he sat
her on a nearby couch as gently as he could, hushing her whimpers
with words of reassurance.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Blood was oozing through
a hole in her shirt and he could see where the fabric had charred.
A gunshot wound – clear as day. Just the one by the look of it.
He balled up his jacket and pushed it hard against the wound. She
screamed as he pressed, talking to her while he tried to staunch the
bleeding.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> A male receptionist
had made his way over to them, lips puckered in apparent
displeasure at the sight of so much blood on his formerly pristine
marble floor – and now the designer couch. He nodded from the girl
to the door, indicating, Lock assumed, that she belonged outside.
He met the man’s eyes with a level gaze.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> That was all it took.
Lock’s stare was frightening. He had blue eyes that burned with
rage at lives lost or taken.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> The receptionist flushed
bright red.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> ‘Call nine one one,’
Lock told him. ‘Tell them we have a gun- shot victim and she’s
bleeding out.’</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> As the receptionist ran,
Lock looked around the lobby at the last of the stragglers. There
was a knot of glamorous party girls in their twenties who had
backed against a wall. He shouted across the lobby, ‘Ladies,
check your bags and see if you can find me a tampon or a sanitary
towel.’</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> They stared at him,
horrified.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> ‘Check your purses,
goddamnit,’ he repeated, raising his voice. A willowy blonde in a
black cocktail dress pulled out a pack of tampons. ‘Will these do?’</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> ‘Perfect. Bring them
here,’ he said, waving her over with his free hand.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> She tottered towards him
on high heels, holding a still-wrapped tampon at arm’s length
between thumb and forefinger.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> ‘Take the wrapper off,’
Lock barked, ‘and see if you can find me some hand sanitizer.’</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> An Asian girl with the
group piped up, ‘I have some.’</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> ‘Good. Let me have it.’</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Lock turned back to the
victim. ‘Okay. I’m going to take the jacket away, and then I’m
going to have to take off your shirt so I can pack the wound. I’ll
be as gentle as I can but it’ll hurt.’</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> She looked up at him, her
eyes tracing the contours of his face, like a finger running over
a road map. Her pupils widened a fraction and life seemed to
return to them.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Up close, he could tell
that she was younger than she had first appeared. Nineteen. Maybe
twenty at a push. Her skin was pale and sallow. She had small,
delicate features, and bright green eyes. Her hair was a deep
chestnut brown, almost auburn.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Finally she nodded. He
looked at the blonde who had given him the tampon. ‘What’s
your name?’ he asked.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> ‘Ashley,’ said the
blonde.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> ‘Okay, Ashley, I’m
going to need you to hold her jacket where it is for a moment.’</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> ‘But I . . . the
blood . . . What if she, like, has something?’ Ashley
protested.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Lock fixed her with the
same gaze he’d used on the reception- ist. ‘If we don’t do
this, she is going to die right here in front of us. So, please,
just do as I asked.’</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> She complied. He cupped
his hands and the Asian girl pumped four squirts of sanitizer into
them.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> He rubbed it in. ‘Okay,
Ashley, you can move the jacket away now and give me that tampon.’</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> She did as she was told
and Lock began to peel away the cotton shirt from the edge of the
wound. It was maybe a half-inch in diameter, bad but not the worst
he’d seen. It looked as if the bullet had stayed inside – better
than there being an exit wound and two places to lose blood. He
pulled out the blue cord of the tampon and pressed the other end
into the wound. Almost immediately it began to expand as it absorbed
the blood, puffing out and filling the hole in the girl’s stomach.
Blood seeped from the edges of the wound but just moments before it
had been pouring out.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> He glanced at the desk.
The receptionist had the phone at his ear. ‘They’re on their
way,’ he called.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> ‘How long?’ Lock
asked.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> The receptionist went
back to the phone.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Lock worked the numbers.
Where had the girl been when she was shot and how long ago? Life or
death would be separated by seconds rather than minutes.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> ‘Mr Lock?’ she said,
tears welling in her eyes.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> She knew his name. He
tried to place her. Had he met her before? He didn’t think
so, but something about her was familiar. Had she been at the
concert earlier, maybe at the stage door? Over the last month he had
seen some pretty elaborate stunts to grab Triple-C’s attention,
not to mention that evening’s near-riot.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> ‘You were looking for
me?’ he asked her.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Her chin fell on to
her chest. ‘They tried to stop me,’ she stuttered.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> ‘Who? Who tried to stop
you?’</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> ‘He sent them. He
wants me to stop looking for him. But I won’t.’</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> The hairs rose on the
back of Lock’s neck. He scanned the crowd, which was slowly
drifting away, their backward glances a mix of disgust and
curiosity. No one stood out. No one appeared to be a threat.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> ‘Who?’ he asked her
gently. ‘Who does?’</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Her lips started to form
a name but no sound came.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> ‘Is this person after
you?’</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> She shook her head, the
deadness settling back in her eyes. ‘You have to catch him.’</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Lock’s patience was
fraying. ‘Whoever you are, whatever this is about, I’m not a cop.
I don’t catch people, I keep them safe.’</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> ‘That’s why it has to
be you,’ she said.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> ‘Why what has to be
me?’ he asked.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> ‘The one who brings him
back.’</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> She was talking in
riddles. Every answer she gave led to more questions. ‘Bring who
back?’</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> ‘Joe tried. But they
killed him.’</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> ‘Joe? Is that the name
of the man you want me to find?’</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> ‘It’s not fair. He
should be in prison for what he did.’</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> ‘Who?’</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> She stared at Lock and a
sudden intensity flared in her eyes, like the last burst of a
candle flame before the wind snuffs it out.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> ‘You’re my last
chance. If you don’t catch him and bring him back, they’re
going to kill me.’</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Lock kept the pressure on
her wound as best he could. The fire was dying down. She was
blinking. If he didn’t keep her conscious, he would lose her
before they made it to a hospital. He had to keep her awake, and the
best way of doing that was to keep her talking. ‘Listen, let’s
start over, okay? Can you tell me your name?’</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Her eyes focused. That
was good. ‘Melissa,’ she said.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> A tiny victory. ‘Okay,
Melissa,’ he said. ‘I’m going to come with you to the hospital,
and on the way, I want you to tell me every- thing. But start at the
beginning. Can you do that for me, Melissa? Can you tell me your
story all the way through? If you do that, and I feel I can help
you, then I promise I will. Do we have a deal?’</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> ‘Deal.’</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Lock turned back to the
receptionist. ‘ETA?’ The man looked at him blankly.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> ‘How long until they
get here?’</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> ‘They said ten
minutes.’</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Lock did the math. If the
EMS ambulance had deployed from the hospital, that would mean
at least another ten minutes. In twenty she’d be dead.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> He scooped the girl
into his arms and ran for the door, struggling to stay on his
feet as his shoes slipped on the bloodied floor.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>Sean Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15910574214815850092noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492486592497102054.post-39776254916245070692012-06-27T00:10:00.000-07:002012-06-27T00:10:25.312-07:00Goodbye, Dad - James D Young (1931-2012)On Sunday at quarter to eight in the morning, my father died. He was at home with his family. He had been ill for some time but in his final days the deterioration was fast. We were extremely close and I am heartbroken that he's gone but hugely grateful that I had this man as my father.<br />
His story is a remarkable one. Born in 1931 into a working class family, economic necessity meant that he had to leave school at fourteen to go and work as a laborer in the local saw mill. Hard, back breaking work for someone of that age but in those days there was no choice.<br />
A job working as a checker on the railways followed and with it came a growing political awareness and involvement with the trade union movement. It was through the unions that he won a scholarship to Newbattle Abbey College to study under Edwin Muir before going on to Oxford, and Strathclyde, ultimately gaining his PhD and a teaching job at Stirling University. His first book, the seminal work, <i>The Rousing of The Scottish Working Class</i>, was published in 1979 but before then he had made a name for himself by being the only faculty member to support student opposition and occupation of the campus buildings in protest at a visit by the Queen. It was one moment, along with fighting hand to hand battles with the fascists when he lived in London, and being described in the House of Commons as being 'to the left of Lenin', that he was most proud of. His autobiography was entitled <i>Making Trouble</i>. He also blazed a trail when it came to documenting the history of working class women in Scotland with his book <i>Women and Popular Struggles</i>.<br />
He was an international socialist with a strong love of his country. He hated totalitarianism in all its forms - state communism and Stalinism was as much despised as fascism. He saw a system of privilege and patronage and class bias around him that was deeply unfair and led to so much wasted talent.<br />
JD as we called him, as well as Jim, Jimmy, and plain Dad, was a prolific scholar - producing dozens of books. He was still working on a new biography of Irish republican James Connolly until a few weeks before his death. My earliest memories are of waking to the sound of the flying keys of his manual typewriter. He wrote as he lived - boldly, and with passion, unwilling to be cowed and always ready to stand up for his family and those who had no one to stand up for them. He had made the decision early on in life that you could go for the easy option and live on your knees or stand on your feet. He stood on his feet. It cost him dearly at times but he never once complained about the consequences.<br />
He was a remarkable man who has left a proud legacy. I loved him. I still do. I'll miss him every day.Sean Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15910574214815850092noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492486592497102054.post-49816294838253033242012-03-27T23:27:00.002-07:002012-03-27T23:51:31.182-07:00The Big Blog Post of Lock LinksThe full Ryan Lock series is available for Kindle here:<br />
These links will also take you to a page where you can link to print and in some cases the audio versions of the series. The Devil's Bounty (Lock 4) is out in August - links coming soon, including to Waterstones, WH Smith, Asda (Walmart) etc.<br />
<br />
Amazon.com<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B005J6YML8/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=sean05c-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B005J6YML8">Lockdown (Ryan Lock 1)</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=sean05c-20&l=as2&o=1&a=B005J6YML8" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B005JUPU6K/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=sean05c-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B005JUPU6K">Deadlock (Ryan Lock 2)</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=sean05c-20&l=as2&o=1&a=B005JUPU6K" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B005JUPVFA/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=sean05c-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B005JUPVFA">Gridlock (Ryan Lock 3)</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=sean05c-20&l=as2&o=1&a=B005JUPVFA" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
<br />
Amazon UK<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B0038AUYGE/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=wwwseanblackb-21&linkCode=as2&camp=1634&creative=19450&creativeASIN=B0038AUYGE">Lockdown</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/e/ir?t=wwwseanblackb-21&l=as2&o=2&a=B0038AUYGE" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B003VWBMHO/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=wwwseanblackb-21&linkCode=as2&camp=1634&creative=19450&creativeASIN=B003VWBMHO">Deadlock</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/e/ir?t=wwwseanblackb-21&l=as2&o=2&a=B003VWBMHO" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00546DOV2/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=wwwseanblackb-21&linkCode=as2&camp=1634&creative=19450&creativeASIN=B00546DOV2">Gridlock</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/e/ir?t=wwwseanblackb-21&l=as2&o=2&a=B00546DOV2" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
<br />
Amazon Germany<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.de/Lockdown-ebook/dp/B0038AUYGE/" target="_blank">Lockdown</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.de/Deadlock-ebook/dp/B003VWBMHO/" target="_blank">Deadlock</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.de/Gridlock-ebook/dp/B00546DOV2/" target="_blank">Gridlock</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.de/Code-3-Thriller-ebook/dp/B004OVF1J6" target="_blank">Code 3 (German Language version of Lockdown)</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.de/Rattennest-Thriller-ebook/dp/B007A5N05U/" target="_blank">Rattennest (German language version of Deadlock)</a> - available from 15th May, 2012<br />
<br />
Amazon France<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.fr/Lockdown-ebook/dp/B0038AUYGE/" target="_blank">Lockdown</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.fr/Deadlock-ebook/dp/B003VWBMHO/" target="_blank">Deadlock</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.fr/Gridlock-ebook/dp/B00546DOV2/" target="_blank">Gridlock</a><br />
<br />
Amazon Spain<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.es/Lockdown-ebook/dp/B0038AUYGE/" target="_blank">Lockdown</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.es/Deadlock-ebook/dp/B003VWBMHO/" target="_blank">Deadlock</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.es/Gridlock-ebook/dp/B00546DOV2/" target="_blank">Gridlock</a><br />
<br />
Amazon Italy<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.it/Lockdown-ebook/dp/B0038AUYGE/" target="_blank">Lockdown</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.it/Deadlock-ebook/dp/B003VWBMHO/" target="_blank">Deadlock</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.it/Gridlock-ebook/dp/B00546DOV2/" target="_blank">Gridlock</a><br />
<br />
For hardback versions with <b>free worldwide shipping</b> try <b>The Book Depository</b>.<i> Hardback editions of Lockdown and Deadlock are in short supply so if you want one order now.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<a href="http://www.bookdepository.co.uk/Lockdown-Sean-Black/9780593063378" target="_blank">Lockdown (hardback)</a><br />
<a href="http://www.bookdepository.co.uk/Deadlock-Sean-Black/9780593063392" target="_blank">Deadlock (hardback)</a><br />
<a href="http://www.bookdepository.co.uk/Gridlock-Sean-Black/9780593063415" target="_blank">Gridlock (hardback)</a><br />
<i><br />
</i>Sean Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15910574214815850092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492486592497102054.post-13206179418059311002012-03-09T03:39:00.001-08:002012-03-24T08:37:07.518-07:00The Devil's BountyWe now have an official release date for the fourth thriller featuring Ryan Lock and Ty Johnson. <a href="http://www.waterstones.com/waterstonesweb/products/sean+black/the+devil27s+bounty/8777543/" target="_blank">The Devil's Bounty</a> will be released by Bantam/Transworld in hardcover in the UK, and will also be available internationally (with free shipping) <a href="http://www.bookdepository.co.uk/Devils-Bounty-Sean-Black/9780593068847" target="_blank">here</a> on the 2nd of August this year. The paperback of the third book, <a href="http://www.bookdepository.co.uk/Gridlock-Sean-Black/9780552162562" target="_blank">Gridlock</a>, is slated for release on the 6th of July.<br />
<br />
As with the rest of the series if you haven't read any of the other books then don't worry, you can jump straight in with this one. They all function as stand-alones.<br />
<br />
This time, Lock and Ty travel south of the border in pursuit of a wealthy serial date-rapist who has skipped bail in California, and who is being sheltered by a powerful, and extremely violent Mexican drugs cartel. But, as with the other books in the series, all may not be as it first appears. As readers have come to expect there is lots of fast-paced action with plenty of twists and turns. And let me tell you, as a man used to protecting his Principal, Lock makes for one hell of a bounty hunter!<br />
<br />
Okay, so that's the pitch. But what, as one of my old screenwriting teachers at Columbia used to ask, is it REALLY about?<br />
<br />
For me, it became a book about violence against women, and beyond that about the reaction of society, and more generally men's reaction, to how women are treated. Like a number of crime writers recently, I am mining the epidemic of violence in the border area of Mexico, and more particularly the thousands of mostly young, working class women who have been abducted, raped and murdered in the area that Ed Viullamy calls <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Amexica-Along-Borderline-Ed-Vulliamy/dp/0099546566" target="_blank">Amexica</a>. It's an area at the cutting edge of globalisation (i.e. somewhere multi-national companies can pay a Mexican worker a tenth of what they'd have to pay an American worker), a place where the murder rate dwarfs that of Kabul and Baghdad, a land convulsed by spasms of horror that show no sign of abating.<br />
<br />
The research shocked me - especially some of the documentaries, including the graphic, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lgfALPVnAew&feature=fvsr" target="_blank">City of Lost Girls</a>. You can read the headlines in the newspapers but underneath are stories of unimaginable torment, especially for those families who have lost daughters and sisters. This isn't a Ugandan warlord who isn't even in Uganda anymore, this is right on America's doorstep, and it is arguably being driven by the seemingly ill-fated War on Drugs. It's <u>unarguably</u> being driven by America and the West's appetite for illegal narcotics. Crucially for the story, it's a part of the world where you have no idea who you can trust.<br />
<br />
So, that's a little about <a href="http://www.bookdepository.co.uk/Devils-Bounty-Sean-Black/9780593068847" target="_blank">The Devil's Bounty</a>. Oh, and what does the title mean? Well, for that, you're gonna have to read it.<br />
<br />
<br />Sean Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15910574214815850092noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492486592497102054.post-34637607062832634532011-12-30T03:29:00.000-08:002012-03-24T08:38:09.052-07:0020112011 was a year of surprises. Most of them pleasant. The third book in the Ryan Lock series, Gridlock, was published in hardcover over the summer, and so far it seems to be performing even stronger, especially in e-book, than the first two books in the series – a good omen for this summer when it's released in paperback.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Initial sales of the paperback of Deadlock were, per the usual sophomore slump, a bit down on Lockdown's numbers but it still made the top 50 in its first full week on sale and its sell-through (the percentage of copies sold in relation to numbers that went into stores) was as good, and, in the cases of the big supermarkets, even better, than before. It also had staying power and hung in there well enough that it made the top 1,000 bestselling books of 2011 (see the link below - it's No. 886).</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/news/datablog/2011/dec/29/books-best-sellers-2011-nielsen#data">http://www.guardian.co.uk/news/datablog/2011/dec/29/books-best-sellers-2011-nielsen#data</a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In my professional life, there were a few goodbyes, including a parting of ways with my agent, Luigi Bonomi. A lovely man and rightfully voted Agent of the Year, I wish him all the very best. I also said goodbye to my editor, Selina Walker, who left Transworld to head up the Arrow and Century imprints at Random House UK. No one in publishing was more deserving of such a promotion, and those close to me know just how much I admired and valued Selina's advice and championing of my career.</div>
<div>
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<div>
But alongside those departures came some exciting new arrivals, including the very talented Transworld editor Simon Thorogood, and my new agent, Scott Miller of Trident Media in New York. CAA in Los Angeles also came on board to help the doughty Luke Speed at Marjacq in London with film/TV rights to the Lock series.<br />
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Fans of the Lock books will be glad to know that I also signed a deal for one more book, which will be published in August 2012. It's being edited as I write and I am at work on a new thriller, also set in the States.</div>
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I wish everyone who has supported my work a happy, healthy and productive 2012.</div>
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<br /></div>Sean Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15910574214815850092noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492486592497102054.post-9467943847534285412011-10-14T06:44:00.000-07:002012-03-24T08:38:35.936-07:00Lee And MeWednesday night saw me on stage in Dublin with Lee Child as he dropped by on his whirlwind promotional tour for the new Jack Reacher thriller, The Affair. Incidentally, if you haven't read it yet, you should. It's the big man at the top of his game, and you just know he had fun writing it, which is the guarantee of a cracking read.<br />
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Lee is a model professional, and despite the fact that he'd had an extremely long day he was both entertaining and engaging. There were the inevitable questions about Tom Cruise's casting as Reacher, which he dealt with honestly. It was a very enjoyable couple of hours so thanks to Easons for organising it and to everyone who came along.<br />
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<br />Sean Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15910574214815850092noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492486592497102054.post-89253052386568298022011-09-27T07:36:00.000-07:002011-09-27T07:38:02.782-07:00News<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">A quick news update:</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Work continues apace on Lock 4, and it's starting to vaguely resemble a novel.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Next month I'll be appearing alongside Lee Child at the Easons store on O'Connell Street in Dublin. Details here: <a href="http://www.seanblackbooks.com/events.php">http://www.seanblackbooks.com/events.php</a></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The audiobook of Gridlock is on the way, and I am delighted to tell you that the narrator is Jeff Harding, who also narrated The Da Vinci Code, The Bourne series, and, yes, Lee's Reacher books.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Finally, the agency that reps my books, Trident Media in New York, have announced a new e-book division. A great move by them and one that this client welcomes. It's going to make my life a lot easier.</span></div>
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Sean Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15910574214815850092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492486592497102054.post-52413975065417599802011-09-01T09:47:00.000-07:002011-09-01T09:54:16.729-07:00Tess Gerritsen Is Stalking Me<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">...or perhaps it's the other way around?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I give you Exhibit A, where Ms. Gerritsen is to be found strategically placed next to a whole dump bin of paperbacks of Lockdown. By the way, that small child has the look of a man gathering forensic science tips in order to pull off the perfect murder at a later date.</span><br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Xe8S6Y00AhE/Tl-1hiY1kGI/AAAAAAAAABQ/cIkvbPG557c/s1600/Tess+Lockdown.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Xe8S6Y00AhE/Tl-1hiY1kGI/AAAAAAAAABQ/cIkvbPG557c/s320/Tess+Lockdown.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Exhibit B: Who is the first author who should appear in the 'Also Boughts' next to the Kindle version of Lockdown on Amazon.com?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B005J6YML8/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=sean05c-20&linkCode=as2&camp=217145&creative=399373&creativeASIN=B005J6YML8">Lockdown (Ryan Lock 1)</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=&l=as2&o=1&a=B005J6YML8&camp=217145&creative=399373" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Yes, you guessed it. What is the loveliest woman in crime fiction slumming it next to me for? One can only guess.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Restraining orders on the back of a postcard carved from human flesh to Sean Black, Black Towers, Dublin, Ireland.</span><br />
<br />Sean Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15910574214815850092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492486592497102054.post-52695699949892067302011-09-01T04:34:00.000-07:002011-09-01T04:34:20.413-07:00Lock Comes Home<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">All three of the Lock books are now available for Kindle in the USA and Canada. They'll be rolling out to Barnes and Noble Nook, the Apple Store (US and Canada) and Kobo soon. But for now Amazon is the place to go for the ebooks, which are very reasonably priced compared to the UK, German, Dutch and Russian paper editions.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">If you are in the US or Canada, would like a hardcover or paperback, and are having trouble finding one, please contact me via the website or on Facebook (www.facebook.com/seanblackthrillers), and I will try to point you in the right direction.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">If you have stumbled across this blog post and are thinking 'huh?', 'what?' then check the website to find out more about the books and their author.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">If you would like a signed first edition you can contact me via the website, and I will try and accommodate your request.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">In the meantime, here are some links:</span><br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B005J6YML8/ref=as_li_ss_il?ie=UTF8&tag=sean05c-20&linkCode=as2&camp=217145&creative=399373&creativeASIN=B005J6YML8"><img border="0" src="http://ws.assoc-amazon.com/widgets/q?_encoding=UTF8&Format=_SL160_&ASIN=B005J6YML8&MarketPlace=US&ID=AsinImage&WS=1&tag=sean05c-20&ServiceVersion=20070822" /></a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=&l=as2&o=1&a=B005J6YML8&camp=217145&creative=399373" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" /><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B005JUPU6K/ref=as_li_ss_il?ie=UTF8&tag=sean05c-20&linkCode=as2&camp=217145&creative=399373&creativeASIN=B005JUPU6K"><img border="0" src="http://ws.assoc-amazon.com/widgets/q?_encoding=UTF8&Format=_SL160_&ASIN=B005JUPU6K&MarketPlace=US&ID=AsinImage&WS=1&tag=sean05c-20&ServiceVersion=20070822" /></a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=&l=as2&o=1&a=B005JUPU6K&camp=217145&creative=399373" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" /><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B005JUPVFA/ref=as_li_ss_il?ie=UTF8&tag=sean05c-20&linkCode=as2&camp=217145&creative=399373&creativeASIN=B005JUPVFA"><img border="0" src="http://ws.assoc-amazon.com/widgets/q?_encoding=UTF8&Format=_SL160_&ASIN=B005JUPVFA&MarketPlace=US&ID=AsinImage&WS=1&tag=sean05c-20&ServiceVersion=20070822" /></a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=&l=as2&o=1&a=B005JUPVFA&camp=217145&creative=399373" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" />
Sean Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15910574214815850092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492486592497102054.post-1190715781760428812011-06-18T02:24:00.000-07:002011-06-18T02:26:43.521-07:00The Early Reviews Are In<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Gridlock is now available for pre-order on Amazon (at a very reasonable price). It will also, so I'm told, be available for sale in hardback (again at a good price) at Asda.</span><br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/0593063414/ref=as_li_ss_il?ie=UTF8&tag=wwwseanblackb-21&linkCode=as2&camp=1634&creative=19450&creativeASIN=0593063414"><img border="0" src="http://ws.assoc-amazon.co.uk/widgets/q?_encoding=UTF8&Format=_SL160_&ASIN=0593063414&MarketPlace=GB&ID=AsinImage&WS=1&tag=wwwseanblackb-21&ServiceVersion=20070822" /></a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/e/ir?t=&l=as2&o=2&a=0593063414" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">As ARCs have rolled out and Amazon Vine reviews have rolled in, it's been gratifying to see the overwhelmingly positive response. All I can is say that writing it, I felt like I was getting closer to what I wanted than with the previous two books. A lot of that is down to my editor and friend, Selina Walker, who is moving from her post at Transworld to head up the Arrow and Century imprints at Random House UK (they have some writers you may be vaguely aware of. Somebody Grisham. Oh, and some Patterson guy. James, I think the first name is.)</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I am obviously gutted, as everyone at Transworld is, to see her leave, but I am looking forward to working with my new editor, the highly-rated Simon Thorogood.</span>Sean Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15910574214815850092noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492486592497102054.post-84542736030792339332011-05-28T09:57:00.000-07:002011-05-28T09:57:53.418-07:00NewsHappy to report that the paperback of Deadlock made the UK's official Top 50 Bestselling Books chart. So I'm now two for two as Lockdown achieved the same feat. Thanks to everyone who went out and bought the books and made it all possible.<br />
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I think everyone in publishing was happy to see a deal to secure the future of Waterstones. I have visited quite a few branches as an author and the one thing I will say is that the staff are unfailingly excellent. From what I gather they've not had the easiest time of it over the past few years but this is one author who really appreciates their dedication and hard work.<br />
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Last but not least, congratulations to fellow thriller writer Barry Eisler on his deal with Amazon's new crime imprint. There is no doubt we are living through interesting times. Agents are setting up as publishers. Publishers are doing deals without agents. Amazon are signing up writers. Amidst all that sound and fury, this writer has decided to focus on getting on with his next book. Reading Robert Twigger's wonderful book 'Angry White Pyjamas' last night, I came across this great quote from Japanese martial artist and philosopher, Tesshu, which neatly summed up my current approach: "It is best to keep one's heart clear, face the work at hand directly, and act boldly.' Sage advice indeed.Sean Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15910574214815850092noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492486592497102054.post-5052376903519205902011-05-21T06:21:00.000-07:002011-05-21T06:21:06.178-07:00ReadersWith the release of Deadlock, I've had quite a bit of email and Facebook messages from readers. Some are just discovering Ryan Lock and some have been eagerly awaiting the release of the second book. I can't begin to describe how much it means to me when people get in touch to share their enjoyment of the books. Doing media, swanky publishing events, book launches, all of these pale in comparison to someone taking a few minutes of their time to drop me a line. It's a massive buzz for me and I really appreciate it.<br />
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And, on that note, here's my favorite Facebook status update of the week:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yUoqjtDLp3k/Tde774P2tFI/AAAAAAAAABI/1mXNXPA6f5M/s1600/Picture+1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="101" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yUoqjtDLp3k/Tde774P2tFI/AAAAAAAAABI/1mXNXPA6f5M/s320/Picture+1.png" width="320" /></a></div>Sean Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15910574214815850092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492486592497102054.post-19564822017694696052011-05-05T07:13:00.000-07:002011-05-05T07:13:38.414-07:00Million Dollar Riot<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">To research the first book in the series, which was also my debut, I underwent an intensive three and a half week bodyguard training course in the UK and Eastern Europe. Living in barracks with over a dozen other men, as well as the rigors of learning the close protection game, took me well outside my comfort zone. DEADLOCK would take me even further outside those boundaries.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">In January, 2009, after an extended period of negotiation with the California Department of Corrections, I arrived at Pelican Bay. The statistics surrounding this institution tell you all you need to know about the environment I was entering.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">The Bay holds three and a half thousand men. Somewhere between seventy five and eighty percent of those men are serving sentences of life without possibility of parole. It has no death row, that's at San Quentin, but it does have a Secure Housing Unit which is home to around twelve hundred men who are locked down for twenty three out of twenty four hours.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">I was already aware of the prison's no hostages policy before I drove the seven hours north from San Francisco. My permission to visit was granted at the last moment. I was told not to, under any circumstances, wear anything blue in colour. The inmates wear blue and so it would be an escape risk for me to wear it. Also, if there was an incident on the yard, sometimes live rounds are fired, so it was important for me to be visible. I promptly went out and bought the reddest shirt I could find.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Part of the reason for the hesitation in allowing me access was that the week before there had been a riot on the main yard. Riots are not infrequent at Pelican Bay. Racial tensions, powerful prison gangs, and a healthy commerce in all range of goods and services conspire to create a lively atmosphere among men who are especially articulate with their fists and spend large amounts of time either working out or fashioning makeshift weapons.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">This time the flash point had been a white inmate who on the outside was a member of the Crips, which is a predominantly African-American street gang. On arrival he had been advised to associate not with his fellow gang members but with other white inmates. As I was told by a guard, as far as the white inmates are concerned a white man who associates with black men 'is lower than a child molester' in the prison pecking order.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Having ignored some well meaning advice, the end result was inevitable and they showed me the footage. There is no pavement dancing as a prelude to an attack on the yard; no veiled threat; not even a succession of body language signals. There is only brute and brutal violence, swift and without warning. Violence on the yard doesn't so much break out as descend.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">There was an almost comedic pause in the first few seconds after the young Crip was attacked. You could almost hear the wheels of his African American compatriots turning over. He was one of their own and yet he was other. Finally, they piled in to aid their fallen brother and it descended into a scene from Braveheart with tear gas taking the place of a misty moor.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Then came the puff of dust. Tiny. Barely perceptible. The first gunshot from the tower signaling that playtime was over, the point had been made, and now it was time for everyone to kiss the dirt or face the consequences.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">On New Years Day, 2000, thirteen inmates at Pelican Bay were shot during a major riot. Miraculously, only one inmate died. It took a hundred and twenty guards a full half hour to stop the violence. But as I walked the yard one statistic was pressed upon me by my guide. The medical bill had been a million bucks.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div>Sean Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15910574214815850092noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492486592497102054.post-44163081986850021692011-03-30T07:39:00.000-07:002011-03-30T07:39:26.879-07:00PMTWhich, in my case, stands for Pre Manuscript Tension. I suffer from it. I'm fine when I have events and promotion and media to do, but when I am between books, as I have been recently, I confess freely that I am not the happiest camper.<br />
Last year I bumped into Brian Kennedy, the very talented Northern Irish singer and writer, while doing a radio interview in Dublin. We got chatting, as you do, and he used the word hormonal in connection with his own work and in particular his prose. In our sexist society it's a word most often associated with women, but it applies equally to writers of both genders. It definitely applies to me.<br />
Part of it comes down to guilt associated with the infamous Protestant work ethic, which was drilled into me growing up. My Dad (who'll be 80 in a few days) was a prolific historian and scholar, and even now, with his health very bad, he is working on a new book - a biography of James Connolly, one of the leaders of the 1916 Easter Rising in Dublin.<br />
My earliest and fondest memories are of waking up as a boy to the clack-clack, or, more accurately, the hammer-hammer (Dad was a labourer in a sawmill from the age of 14 long before he was an academic) of a manual typewriter being wrestled into submission.<br />
Although writing to me is work, work is a positive thing. I was brought up to believe that one of the most important duties you had was to make a contribution to society. If you had even a small modicum of talent then you used it. So that plays a part in my unease when I am not working.<br />
On the plus side, I am rarely happier than when I've had a good day writing. So it's with some relief that after weeks and weeks, I have finally cracked the opening of my new book. Once I get that part done it tends to flow for the next forty thousand words until I hit the mid-book blahs. But, right now, it's a voyage of discovery. I am productive, and free of guilt.<br />
In other news, if you are in London in May then look out for this poster on the London Underground.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Tm2JW5HF0X0/TZM_QSDBLoI/AAAAAAAAABE/CFoFF8R7VJ8/s1600/CBS-4-sheet-at-half-size-3-copy-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Tm2JW5HF0X0/TZM_QSDBLoI/AAAAAAAAABE/CFoFF8R7VJ8/s320/CBS-4-sheet-at-half-size-3-copy-1.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>Sean Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15910574214815850092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492486592497102054.post-7249657808909529402011-03-26T19:29:00.000-07:002011-03-27T09:32:01.552-07:00Paradise Lost<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“</span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">I'm fifty-nine-years old, man. I never thought my life was going to end up like this.</span></i><span style="text-decoration: none;">”</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"> The words belong to Steve and they haunt me as I write this, a few short days after I meet him for the first time. We are standing next to Steve's home, a small tent positioned six hundred yards inside a ten foot by ten foot concrete storm drain next to one of the most famous landmarks in Las Vegas, Nevada. Steve has lived here for the past six years. He has bright blue eyes, a neatly trimmed beard and speaks with a soft, articulate desperation. I stand with Matt, my guide to the tunnels, and listen. When I leave, I slip Steve twenty dollars, and while he is grateful, I feel the inadequacy of my gesture. In some ways, I am as much a tourist as the people twenty-five feet above me having their picture taken with Elvis.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"> Minutes before, I was talking to Steve's neighbour, Michael, as he told me how his descent into the tunnels began with witnessing the woman he loved being killed in front of his eyes by a drunk driver. Death. Loneliness. The fragility of our existence. Never has the phrase 'there but for the grace of God go I' resonated more deeply for this atheist.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"> I am armed going into the tunnels. I have a big, carbon steel knife with me, sheathed and slung around my neck. The blade is dulled a little by several days use in the high desert of neighbouring Arizona, where I have been living on the land, sleeping under a Juniper tree. There, a knife keeps you alive by carving dead fall traps to trap pack rats and squirrels. Here, it may serve a more direct survival function. People worry me far more than coyotes, or bobcats or packs of wild dogs.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"> Junkies come down here to get high. Gangs sometimes venture into the tunnels looking for sport, with the homeless as their prey. There is talk of a Wild Man who randomly attacks the tunnel dwellers, descending on them in the darkness. Generally, the Metro police are never seen. There is no cell phone reception. If something happens, Steve tells me, you had best be able to deal with it yourself. He is thinking of getting a gun. Matt and I advise him that in a tunnel like this a gun may not be the best choice.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"> Despite my initial apprehension, I soon relax as I meet these men. I am old enough, and I have had enough of my own victories and screw-ups, to know that the choices they have made have played a part in their downfall.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"> They have alcohol issues. They have drug issues. Issues run through them like lettering through seaside rock candy. There is help available to them. Some have gotten out of the tunnels only to come back. Ricky-Lee tells me that he knows sooner or later he will end up back here, 'so why try to leave, man?' He will, in all probability (and the vast wealth of Vegas is premised on the general public's inability to understand that single concept), die here.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"> After more tunnels, more dragging my boots through dank standing water, past walls plastered with human excrement, and a graffitied quote from Milton's </span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Paradise Lost <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">(see the video)</span></span></i><span style="text-decoration: none;">, I call it a day.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><br />
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</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">After many hours, I get back to my hotel room. I strip off my clothes and take a long, hot shower. Looking out my window, twenty-five floors up, the neon signs of the Strip shimmer in the darkness.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"> In the morning there is an email on my Blackberry, bad news from my agent in New York. I'm facing a hefty cut in my income down the line. I feel deflated. </span><span style="text-decoration: none;">It's a juvenile reaction to something, which is, after all, only business.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"> At this point, I should think of Steve, and find perspective. But I don't. Back home, I wake jet-lagged, and start to write this blog post. I think about how I can harness all the fear I have about being able to maintain the comfortable life I have built for my family, alongside the residue of emotions and thoughts from my research trip, to inform my central character's interior journey in the new book. It occurs to me that this reaction, this thought process, means I'm still a writer. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"> Finally, I feel better.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
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</div>Sean Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15910574214815850092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492486592497102054.post-87335688505898805052011-03-02T00:13:00.000-08:002011-03-02T00:13:04.201-08:00Going UndergroundRight now I am reviewing copy edits for the third Lock book, Gridlock, which will be released in hardback in August. I'm also hastily putting together a new research trip, which is going to involve learning how to survive in Arizona's bleak but stunning Painted Desert, followed up by some time exploring a side of Las Vegas which the tourists don't see.<br />
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The key to organising the research I do is to not think about it. I'll be out in The Painted Desert over at least two days and one night with a guide, and a knife, and little else. Well, that's not strictly true, there will be plenty of coyotes and snakes to keep us company.<br />
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Just as I did before I flew off to do my bodyguard training, and certainly just like the morning I woke knowing that I was going inside Pelican Bay, I'm sure I will be nervous as hell. Hence, you don't dwell, you commit.<br />
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Of course it would be more pleasant to sit at home drinking tea and eating biscuits and looking up stuff on the internet or reading books, but where is the fun in that? Also, having written three Lock books, I am in need of new details, new characters, and new experiences.*<br />
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So, flights are booked, and contacts have been made. New horizons await me. Then, when I get back, comes the really exciting and nerve-wracking part - writing that first draft of the new book - but first I have to go buy a new pair of boots.<br />
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*Don't worry, Lock, Ty and the crew will be back, although there may well be a book in between.Sean Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15910574214815850092noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492486592497102054.post-65488565255730378962011-02-19T08:27:00.000-08:002011-02-19T08:27:30.276-08:00It's great to see the success of Gregg Hurwitz's latest thriller, You're Next, in the UK. I am a huge fan of Gregg's work and it's gratifying to see that more and more people are discovering one of the great modern thriller writers whose work often eclipses much bigger names. Now all those people who loved You're Next need to go and read his fantastic backlist, including the unbelievably good Rackley series.<br />
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</div>Sean Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15910574214815850092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492486592497102054.post-8598271568324868302011-02-15T05:16:00.000-08:002011-02-15T05:16:41.440-08:00OnwardsThe third book of the Lock series, Gridlock, is now with the Transworld copyeditor. It will be released in the UK and Ireland (and lots of other places) in August. Authors can be notoriously bad judges of their own work but I will say that I am intensely proud of Gridlock. It has all the action and suspense of the previous two Lock adventures but this time we go a little deeper and there is more of a psychological edge. It also has a truly shocking ending. Anyway, here is the cover for it, designed by the handsome and talented, Richard Shailer.<br />
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Not one to rest on my laurels, I am planning a new research trip to the US for next month. Then it is head down over the spring and summer as I carve out the first draft of a new book.<br />
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Along with my London film agent, Luke Speed, CAA in Los Angeles are helping us package Deadlock. Speaking of which, the paperback is out on May the 12th.<br />
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I am entering a difficult period for a new author. You no longer have the sparkle which surrounds the debut and you have yet to establish yourself on the bestseller list. It's when characters are tested. A lot of hard work lies ahead, hence my motto for this year: Dig In. Dig Deep.<br />
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Thank you to everyone who has supported me so far. I truly appreciate it.<br />
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SeanSean Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15910574214815850092noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492486592497102054.post-25321357764526947252011-01-04T12:13:00.000-08:002011-01-04T13:28:53.385-08:00Cut and RunOn the 6th of January, Matt Hilton's latest Joe Hunter thriller <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/1444705369?ie=UTF8&tag=wwwseanblackb-21&linkCode=as2&camp=1634&creative=6738&creativeASIN=1444705369">Cut and Run</a> goes on sale in paperback in the UK and Ireland. Matt's series is terrific fun, full of action and he gets better with every book so look out for it.<br />
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