A few months earlier, she took the helm of her father’s security company and nearly lost her life. She spent the summer improving her skills and learning the business. But when a shadowy group tries to setup her murder, she senses an international conspiracy and begins mapping out the players.

Her adversaries think she’s just a spoiled rich kid, a washed up soccer star who’s in over her head. She uses their mistake to her advantage, but who is she really up against—child traffickers or governments?

What prompted this serial?

Trench Coats is a serialized thriller that addresses a real-life question: If enhanced interrogation is an acceptable practice, what else could be used in the pursuit of information? Rape, pedophilia, drugs, murder?

I was alarmed by the casual portrayal of torture in the movie, Zero Dark Thirty, the fictional account of the hunt for Osama bin Laden. For years I’d read articles by JAG attorneys, respected conservative veterans, and those involved in actual terrorist interrogations stating that waterboarding was indeed torture and that the useful information gleaned from detainees came only from traditional, legal methods.

And yet, a decade after the fact, Hollywood portrayed our nation’s use of torture as an effective and acceptable means to justify an end. This is not a Republican versus Democrat debate, nor a liberal versus conservative debate — this is a right versus wrong debate. A good versus evil debate. Should we, a democratic nation allow our elected officials to engage in criminal acts because they assert it’s expedient?

We will examine that question over the coming months in Trench Coats.

Trench Coats, a Pia Sabel thriller in six episodes, begins today with the release of Episode I: The Meeting. I hope you’ll buy it, read it, and discuss it online. The first fifty people to write honest and positive* reviews will get the remaining episodes for free. Be sure to join my mailing list (see box on the right) to receive notices of the subsequent releases.

Peace, Seeley

* I will assume that a review of three stars or less means the reviewer is not interested in reading the rest, so I’ll spare him/her (I’ll also send an exorcist to remove the demons that obviously infest them). Anyone wishing to suck up to the author will be perennially encouraged and rewarded.

What I Did Wrong Before Becoming a Parent—and You Can Too!

The biggest mistake I made is the one everyone lauds me for: unplanned parenting.* I thought it would be easy. I thought I could figure it out. I thought I would have help. Wait, I take all that back. I didn’t think. Not actively. I was nineteen (if you’re just joining us, start at the beginning). My plan for parenting didn’t develop until my daughter was nineteen. One day, sixteen years after becoming a parent, I had a stroke of genius: Hey, I should get married.

Most people put more conscious thought into changing jobs than family planning. Thinking about what you will need to raise a child is the most important part of parenting. I made the mistake of single parenting. That was a huge problem.**

Before starting my second family, I made up a parenting priority list of how to avoid everything I did wrong the first time. I’ve drilled this list into the heads of my new kids (even though I’m still short on a few items). This is what I now believe is the right preparation before the first pregnancy attempt:

1)      Go to college

2)      Go to graduate school

3)      Get a job that you love AND makes money

4)      Buy a house

5)      Get married*** and commit to that marriage for life

6)      Stay married for a few years. Have fun, work out your problems, go to Paris

7)      Volunteer with an organization that helps troubled families/teenagers

8)      Decide why you want children.

Long list? Do I sound like a fundamentalist? Far from it. I’m a former anything-goes hippie who lived through the sexual revolution and Woodstock (vicariously) and survived experimentation and other things I’m not ready to admit. I came to understand those eight steps after adding up my mistakes and reading the Bible.

WHOA — the Bible? You’re not turning this into a religious thing are you?

No. I highly recommend a spiritual life—but some of the best parents I’ve known are atheists, so … who knows?

What I learned from the Bible, a thirty-five hundred year old record of parenting, is: Families have been messed up for thousands of years. Just ask Ishmael. His folks wanted a kid, so they had him through a surrogate, then all of a sudden the barren mom gets preggers and *wham * Ishmael gets a pink slip quicker’n a North American auto worker.

When I hear fundamentalists talk about family values, I wonder if they know that Abraham married his half-sister. Or that Lot, having escaped Sodom’s demise because he was a righteous man, slept with both his daughters. We’re not even halfway through Genesis.

When I was adopted by my daughter, I had a job but no career, a homemade education but no college, a party lifestyle with no partner, and family with no support. When, later in life, teenagers would say to me, you did OK despite your obstacles, my response has always been: You can get to the top of the Empire State Building by climbing up the outside or taking the elevator.

You’re smarter than me. Take the elevator.

My first mistake was taking responsibility for a child before finishing Steps 1-4, above.

No matter how easy they make it look on TV, raising children is hard.Fictional  Temperance Brennan on the TV show BONES is a genius, has huge income, a child, and an unmarried partner–yet she runs off in the middle of the day or night to chase bad guys without ever stopping to say, Hey, who’s going to watch my baby for the next hour or three? Try that in real life and you’ll meet Child Protective Services. Unplanned parenting only works in fiction.

My second mistake, #5: I did not get married before taking responsibility for a child. Two heads are better than one. What makes America great is the government’s checks and balances. You need those same checks and balances at home. You will lose your patience. You will be too patient. You will be too tough. You will be too lenient. You will not care when you should and vice versa. That second head brings a little sanity to your decision-making process.

Getting married (not hooked up) is taking the elevator.

I’ll leave numbers six through eight as self-explanatory. Whatever you do, don’t skip Number 8.

The best parenting advice I’ve ever heard came to me from a janitor at my engagement party. He said, “Remember, if everything goes right, the kids will leave you and the wife won’t.”

Peace, Seeley

* I am not referring to abortion. My view on abortion is simple: until the males of our species collectively provide more emotional and financial support for our errant sperm than the current rate of 42.5%, we should keep our collective mouths shut. Mine is.

** Not everyone becomes a single parent willingly or intentionally. This is not about blame. I’m stating a fact: single parenting is exponentially harder than double parenting.

*** My marriage is currently under construction—and has been since the beginning, twenty years ago. The only thing I’ve learned from observing other marriages is: staying married or falling apart has nothing to do with gender, sexual orientation, income, education, class, or arrangements (as in arranged marriage). Most of the divorces I’ve witnessed had more to do with ego than insurmountable problems. Staying married requires someone to surmount problems.

Part I: Never Take Parenting Advice from an Expert Who Has Not Bailed a Child Out of Jail

Why? Because without hardship, anything they tell you is just theory.

Thirty-seven years ago, I was adopted by a precocious three-year-old. She saved my life. I wrote about it in a blog post (How Adopting a 3-yr-old at 19 Formed the Basis for a Thriller). That post garnered a boatload of emails asking me every question imaginable, from What Were You Thinking? To, You Must Be a Saint. to answer those questions, I decided to write this series of posts. Here is the first thing I learned:

I wasn’t thinking. I was nineteen. I wasn’t a saint. I was nineteen. Etc.

How did it go? I turn to my favorite Presidential quote: Mistakes were made.**

I learned a lot. I tried all kinds of things as she grew older. I read a lot of books and received all kinds of unsolicited advice. Along the way, I figured out the universal truth about parenting:

NO ONE KNOWS DIDDLY.

Tiger Mom? Bite Me.

This blog post will be a ~ weekly, post about parenting. Sign up for email updates on the right. You’ll have to wade through my quirky reviews of thrillers and my incessant pleas to buy my books (go ahead, make my day, click here), but the delete key is pretty easy to press, so sign up and don’t whine.

For the sake of clarity — I have no qualifications, no degrees, no expertise, no real reason to pontificate on the subject of parenting. I’m not even smart. But I do have two anecdotal insights into parenting that will benefit you: 1) I raised a child to self-sufficient adulthood, and 2) later married a wonderful woman, had two more biological kids, and—so far—have made FEWER mistakes.

Comparing what worked against what failed opened my eyes to many things. I’ve even compared notes with other parents with two families and confirmed some of my ideas. I will share those ideas and concepts with you. You will disagree with me. I don’t care (see universal truth, above).

The upcoming posts will tackle parenting in this format:

• Part II: What I Did Wrong Before I Became a Parent
• Part III: Toddlers, Foundations both Shaky and Strong
• Part IV: Golden Years 5-10, Buying into The Daddy-Deity (or Mommy-Deity)
• Part V: 10-15, Dad-You’re-So-Stupid –or– The Crucible of Middle School
• Part VI: 15-College, How to Accept Your New Role as Consultant and Financier
• Part VII: Post-Graduate, the Return of the Prodigal Child – Deal With It

Once I’ve covered those issues, I might go back and add color and depth in a second round. Or, I might be lazy and repeat what my father-in-law (a Harvard-educated surgeon who did a damn fine job of raising two children) said when I asked for parenting advice, “Oh, I don’t know, it doesn’t really matter.”

For those of you who want to know, here is the short version of how I came to be an accidental parent:

When I was nineteen, an friend-of-a-friend told me daycare costs were killing her. She had been sixteen when she conceived her daughter and three years later the bio-dad was gone, the euphoria was over, her friends & family faced their own life-struggles, and her future was bleak. She had an opportunity to work the night shift which would move her up one notch on the poverty ladder. She asked me to help by watching her child from the time I got off work until she went home at midnight.

With no clue about how that would change my life, I said, “Sure!”

The next day, I stopped at the daycare facility and announced that I was there to pick up a child. I didn’t know the mother’s last name, and didn’t know the child’s name. And they looked at me blankly. (This was before people worried about child abduction.)

I’d seen the girl once at a distance and described her to the daycare workers: she’s about so high, three years old, blonde hair. They took me to a room filled with three-year olds about so high with blonde hair. It struck me that I might have been a bit unprepared for the responsibility I’d agreed to shoulder.

The workers looked at me. I looked at them.

A little girl came running out of the crowd, her arms outstretched, shouting, Daddy, Daddy Daddy, and leapt into my arms.*** She squeezed me tight with unconditional love and never let go—for the next thirty-seven years and counting.

I had no idea what happened. I only knew that for the first time in my life I was desperately important to someone. And in that same instant, she became the most important person in my life. What could be better than that?

How did she turn out? She’s now forty, living in Seattle with her husband, raising her children as best she can, and is a sought-after cosmetologist. I am proud of her!

To answer the question that’s been bothering you since you read the headline: no, I never bailed her out of jail. Someone else did.

Peace, Seeley

* Or should have learned anyway.

** Ronald Reagan responding to the press about why his administration ignored a congressional law forbidding the sale of arms to Iran.

*** Yes, I’ve often wondered what those workers thought when a girl, whose name I did not know, called me Daddy.

Copyright 2013, Seeley James – don’t even think about reprinting this in part or in whole without contacting me in writing. Huge sums of money will be involved. Could be … you never know.

Mr. Giammatteo has written another great story.

Pals Frank & Nicky are back and still living up to their childhood oath of friendship and honor. Frank goes home for a funeral and ends up beating up his brother-in-law, who is later found dead. The local cop thinks Frank is the killer. As he leaves town, Frank asks Nicky to clear his good name and find the real killer. In this strange and clever twist of events, you have a reformed mob hit man playing detective to clear the name of his friend, the homicide detective.

Woven into that story is a straightforward serial killer story. But Mr. Giammatteo doesn’t hand you a standard killer from central casting. He presents the creepiest killer you’ve ever read about. He makes you want to get in the book and kill him yourself. In fact, he’s so well drawn that you’ll start to question the author’s sanity.

The story is laid out in a format that follows four points-of-view. If you’re a fan of James Patterson, the format will be familiar except that the characters have much more depth and the dialogue is a good deal more realistic.

It is Mr. Giammatteo’s characters that bring his stories to life. He doesn’t trim the dialogue or the background down to maintain pace, he fleshes out the characters through the idle banter of everyday life and the observations of everyday places. In this passage, a character walks into the neighborhood bar:

I opened the door and walked in, the smoke overpowering me as soon as I entered. The fire marshal might have something to say about that, with the no-smoking ordinance and all, but I saw him slumped over a chair in the corner.

What makes this book a great read is the pace. Mr. Giammatteo starts you with familiar events, a death in the family, obnoxious relatives, combative friends, then he eases you into their personal lives and struggles. He even injects a little humor, as found in this exchange between father and teenage daughter:

“Are you ignoring me, Dad?”

“I would never ignore you, sweetheart. I’m just allowing time for your wisdom to sink in.”

With the patience of a seasoned writer, he then turns up the heat on the characters, adding roadblocks and challenges and dangers and time elements. When you reach the conclusion, you are fully engaged with the characters and the pressures they face to solve problems. It is this understanding that heightens your sense of danger and creates the thrilling ending you didn’t expect.

To his credit, he wraps up with a completely unexpected ending involving the neighborhood kid that reminded me of how I became a parent. The heartwarming ending will make you sign up for the author’s next book right away.

Bottom Line: a MUST READ for anyone who loves mysteries and thrillers.

Peace, Seeley

Sock Puppet NOTE: MY REVIEWS ARE MY REACTIONS TO THE BOOKS I READ. I have no relationship, financial or familial, with the author. I do not expect, but would not refuse, any cash, gifts, or reciprocal reviews. Just sayin.

This book feels so real you get high just reading it. And you find yourself looking over your shoulder when you hear strange noises. Zat the cops? Flush it! Quick! Oh, wait … man, that’s my cat. Most writers struggle for pages to put the reader in the right frame of mind. Mr. Hobbs will take you there page one.

The hero is an unapologetic anti-hero. There’s not much good about him. You won’t be inviting him over for Thanksgiving dinner. But you’d invite him to your bachelor/ette party in a heartbeat. He’s killed people. He’s robbed banks. He reads Greek and Latin for fun.** Of course, to hear the Ghostman tell it, he’s only killed the guys who needed killing. And he’s only robbed the banks that … Well, don’t all banks need robbing?

Roger Hobbs has mastered the staccato voice of Lee Child without imitating him. It’s not a trick. It’s not forced. Lee Child set the bar for prose in thrillers so high that Roger Hobbs is the first guy to get close in fifteen years. That’s a testament to the skill of both men. Best of all, Mr. Hobb’s prose does what the MFA professors tell you not to: he dumps expository details, like the history of casino heists, early on—and it will fascinate you.

What about the writing? Here is a bit of that literary no-no I mentioned:

Take the elevator down from the suites, walk up to the high-roller roulette table, take out your gun and put a bullet right through the double zeros. Everybody runs at the sound of the shot, especially the croupier. Rich people aren’t brave, and employees even less so. Once they’ve scattered, get a bag and scoop up all the chips.

What about the most important element, the story? Mr. Hobbs excels at spinning a yarn that makes logical sense, keeps you on the edge of your seat, and never lets you see what’s coming. You might work out a few guesses about what’s coming in the next few pages, but you’ll be wrong. And you’ll be happy about it. The best part is: it’s a complex web of treachery that can only lead to bad things happening. You’ll want your anti-hero to live through it, but you’ll be resigned to the idea that he might not. And that might not be bad.

Recommendation: One of the best books I’ve read this year. It deserves the accolades it’s been getting. If you like Jack Reacher, if you like thrillers, if you like fictional murder and mayhem: you’ll love Ghostman. If you don’t … there’s something terribly wrong about you.

Peace, Seeley

* Pretty sure I didn’t, but there are a few cavernous gaps in my recollections.

** The only time Mr. Hobbs stretches credibility is when he convinces you (and he will convince you) that the Ghostman translates ancient Greek and Latin the way others doodle on scratch pads. After a few months helping prisoners in a jail a few decades ago, I find that part very hard to believe. VERY. However, I went with it and the detail was well worth the stretch.

Sock Puppet NOTE: MY REVIEWS ARE MY REACTIONS TO THE BOOKS I READ and not a response to the voices in my head. I have no relationship, financial or familial, with the author. I do not expect, but would not refuse, any cash, gifts, or reciprocal reviews. Just sayin.

Notorious Nineteen: A Stephanie Plum Novel

Nineteen books means you have a predetermined plot, repeat characters repeating their tired shtick, familiar clues on the same page number as the last book, and déjà vu chase scenes. If it were written by any other author, that would be a bad thing. In the hands of Ms. Evanovich, it’s like catching up with an old friend.

The book opens with a rocket attack on Stephanie Plum’s car. I believe this is a variation from the standard formula because she usually doesn’t lose it for twenty or thirty pages. This time it’s right up front on page eight. The scene reads like a cartoon and will make you laugh. And that’s why we read Ms. E’s work, is it not?

This one is funnier than ever.

Yes, Stephanie and Lulu eat doughnuts and cake and visit the Cluck-in-a-Bucket and have dinner with Grandma Mazur, while mom reaches for the flast, and arrest Trenton’s whackos. Standard stuff. But with a couple new twists. For example, they find one skip at a nudist colony:

“I’m not going out there naked,” I said.

“Yeah, I see the problem. It’s sort of awkward trying to arrest someone with your hoo-ha showing. Kind of takes away the dignity of the apprehension procedure.”

Stephanie Plum and dignity. Imagine that.

Of course, they have to try apprehending him naked. Think that scene will make it into the next  movie?

This book does not break new ground, but it will satisfy that basic human need to laugh. And it will deliver more laughs than most of the previous eighteen. How does Ms. Evanovich keep us laughing at the same old plot with all new jokes? I don’t know—but it works.

The only issue I had with this book was the ebook price. $13.99 for a Kindle version? Really? I bought the hardback, which I now OWN*, for a couple dollars more and got Ranger/Morelli stickers to boot. My wife and I are both Evanovich fans and, had we followed ebook licensing regulations, would have been forced to buy the ebook twice ($27.98 if you’re not a math wiz). That pricing is ludicrous. Bantam and other publishers should be ashamed of themselves for gouging their customers. They are begging indie authors and publishers to take over their business.

Peace, Seeley

* You don’t own an ebook. You license it from Amazon. You do not have the right to give it to your library, sell it, bequeath it to your kids or anything.

Sock Puppet NOTE: MY REVIEWS ARE MY REACTIONS TO THE BOOKS I READ and not a response to the voices in my head because all they talk about are those awful shoes you’re wearing. But I digress. I have no relationship, financial or familial, with the author. I do not expect, but would not refuse, any reciprocal reviews or recommendations. Just sayin.

NYT Book Reviews are irrelevant – You NEED Rabble instead. As I write this blog post, Amazon lists ninety-one thousand, seven hundred ninety-eight (91,798) books in the “new releases, last 30 days” section. The NYT has eleven reviews on their books webpage.* The LA Times doesn’t mind making you scroll through all twenty-one of theirs; the Washington Post, sixteen; and the Wall Street Journal – kings of the scroll down – one hundred eighty-nine. Collectively, 91,600 short (give or take).

Goodreads? Sure, there are reviews there. Many of them are honest, thoughtful and well written. But even when I look at the reviews of my book, I wonder: How many were written by a jealous writer trying to leap-frog me on Amazon’s rankings? (I know of one.) How many were written by people who wrote a review of a book they won through one of Goodreads’ ubiquitous giveaways, but don’t really like the genre and really shouldn’t be reviewing it?

Why bother reading reviews anyway? You only buy books that were recommended to you by a friend, right? Surveys have proven that we buy books via peer pressure. You still want to know if your brother-in-law’s favorite book is another eye-rolling tale about strippers and whiskey before you plunk down your cash.

Where do you turn?

Is there a reliable review mechanism? You know that no publisher, retailer or author (traditional or independent) has an economic incentive to give you an honest opinion about the content. And you can’t expect Amazon to create a verified review process. Nor can you expect the newspapers to keep up with the tsunami of books coming at them from all sides.

You need a review site that pulls together vetted and reliable sources into one place. And you need someone you TRUST to make it happen. Someone like Amy Edelman, who opened IndieReader.com in 2007.

YOU NEED RABBLE. Amy told me that Rabble is “a website that will aggregate trusted, verified reviews into consensus, like Metacritic and Rotten Tomatoes.” All she needs to make it happen is for you and a few of your friends to back the project with a few dollars on Kickstarter.

Look at your bookshelf, ask yourself, “How much did I blow on books last year?” and put in half that much. (Unless you’re a grumpy old man who doesn’t like any of them anyway, then double it and quit whining.) If you’re like me, maybe a fraction of what you spent on books. But you know in your heart that having reliable reviews is something worth backing.

1. If you believe intelligent book reviews play an important role in the world, BACK THIS PROJECT.
2. Do you distrust reviews on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Goodreads and elsewhere? BACK THIS PROJECT.
3. Ever look at the 3,000 reviews on a hit like “Wool” and wonder which one you should read? BACK THIS PROJECT.
4. Tired of reading 5 star reviews that say little about the book or have too many spoilers? BACK THIS PROJECT.
5. Do you want one place that you can trust to give you an aggregated review? BACK THIS PROJECT.

Amy Edelman is a hardworking entrepreneur who is the only person capable of creating this kind of resource. As a reader, you need Rabble. As an author, you need Rabble. Get behind it for $1 or $1,000 or $10,000, whatever you do -

Tweet it, blog it, Facebook it – Spread the Word!

NOTE: I am not connected to or compensated by, financially or otherwise, Amy or her project. My ONLY interest in this project is knowing the overwhelming need for it in the marketplace. Yes, I am a backer and have put my money where my mouth is.

Join me.

Peace, Seeley

* Plus, they’re mostly intellectual or literary books which represent a very small percentage of what readers buy. I mean, really, who reads crap like James Joyce anyway? “He faced about and blessed gravely thrice the tower, the surrounding land and the awaking mountains.” Really. Thrice? Gimme a break.

We Have a Winner! 

You people never cease to amaze me. You drove my debut novel into the top ten on Amazon!* I’m always worried that people will buy my book and never get around to reading it, so I devised a plan to reward the readers in the throngs of new readers. By posting two reviews, one on Goodreads and one elsewhere, then sending me an email with links to both, you were entered in the drawing.

Maybe the two-week window was not enough for some people but the number of entrants was surprisingly low: sixteen. Yes, that was after disqualifying sock puppets and family members, plus removing a few entrants who recused themselves (already have one, want others to win, etc; yes, there are nice people in the world).

To make sure it was fair, I asked my 13-yr-old son to use his worst, most inaccurate BB gun from ten paces. I recorded the proceedings for the cynics among us … and those who know me. The first two takes were deleted because the masked man could NOT hit the target at all, a feat of marksmanship I will remind him of for years to come.

The list of names was pinned to a saguaro (suh-War-oh) cactus in my side yard. This species is only found in Arizona and is endangered due to the development of the Sonoran Desert. The cactus we used is estimated to be a hundred and fifty years old. My son is forbidden to shoot at it with any implement, but in this case, the pace and the distance mitigated any potential damage to the plant itself. A quick check afterwards found the BB stuck in the cactus needles, no damage.

The winner, chosen by the masked man’s terrible marksmanship, is: EILEEN! (of Goodreads, I’ve no idea what her last name is, but she’s often contributing charm, wit and positivity by the bucket full on the Action/Adventure Aficionados forum.

Congratulations Eileen!

Peace, Seeley

* Briefly, but hey once you’re there, you’re there!

Why? It couldn’t be random; Mossad didn’t do random. Payback? He braced his elbows on the green laminate desktop, lowered his face into his hands.

Mossad did payback.

Just like that, maybe five hundred words in, and you have a question you want answered. That kind of writing is rare in a debut author and when you discover it, you feel like Howard Carter opening that tomb.

James Patterson owns the thriller market in terms of sales with books that keep you on the edge of your seat. But no one ever accused Mr. Patterson of writing realistic scenarios. No one ever accused Mr. Patterson of creating deep characters that resonate. And no one ever accused Mr. Patterson of writing bad guys made of flesh and blood*.

Mr. Charnes has beaten James Patterson in all categories. His story centers on a new threat to society whose pieces are all in place. Not only could this terrifying scenario happen—its components already have. The fact that his story refers to many historical events you’ve seen on the news underscores his authority as a subject matter expert. This is chillingly real.

The characters are ordinary people drawn from your family, your neighbors, your coworkers. There are no demigods, no super humans, no magical powers, no extraordinary luck. These are people who toil in lower to middle-income jobs reacting to danger the way you would, rising to the occasion as you would, falling apart as you would. Their emotions are deep and visceral. Here is one example:

Cop parties. Jake never knew whether to believe he was incredibly safe or one drink away from a firefight.

And one of my favorites:

Every inch of Miriam trembled. While gallons of adrenaline saturated her system, she was Superwoman, bulletproof, invincible. But her adrenaline had run down a storm drain, leaving her full of watery Jell-O, borderline sick to her stomach.

But the terrorists are where Mr. Charnes sets himself apart from ordinary writers like Mr. Patterson. Where Patterson relies on central casting for cardboard cutouts to represent evil, Mr. Charnes creates sympathetic terrorists, divided on the mission, uncertain about their leadership, argumentative at times, straining under pressure, and breaching their own ethical limits. You will even find yourself rooting for one of them … the one with a conscience.

He’d never been part of a martyrdom operation. He’d never wanted to. What had lured him from the Party’s intelligence group into direct action was the style of operation Alayan advocated— focused, accurate, efficient, with a minimum of collateral damage. The very opposite of what was about to happen. The Party was abandoning its proud adulthood and regressing into its wild-eyed adolescence.

A lot has been said about traditionally published authors presenting a cleaner, more readable story than indie authors. There is a certain amount of truth in that argument because Amazon presents no filter, no standard for editing and proofreading. And, as an indie reviewer, I have seen a disappointing number of indie books that should never have been released. The good news is that there are many great indie books out there rivaling traditionally published novels.

Mr. Charnes has established a higher standard: Doha 12 is better than any traditionally published thriller.

Indie writers have arrived and Lance Charnes is leading the charge. You should buy this book, be one of the first discoverers of an exceptional writer.

Peace, Seeley

* Before Mr. Charnes arrived on the scene, John Sandford wrote the most realistic bad guys.

Sock Puppet NOTE: MY REVIEWS ARE MY REACTIONS TO THE BOOKS I READ and not a response to the voices in my head. I have no relationship, financial or familial, with the author. I do not expect, but would not refuse, any reciprocal reviews or recommendations. Just sayin.

I wanted to make a thriller heroine who was a whole new thing from a unique experience in my life that I felt perfect for a heroine’s backstory. The part I cannot know, the elements that my character keeps hidden, presented a challenge.

The true story is stranger than fiction.

James Rollins once said, “You can write a story about telepathic marsupials in Antarctica as long as you have the Starbucks in Kansas City on exactly the same corner as the real one. Put it on the wrong side of the road, and telepathic marsupials cease to exist in the reader’s mind.”

Thrillers tend to avoid family members for that reason.* If we get the family relationships wrong, we lose you. Did Sherlock Holmes’ mother hound him about marriage? Did James Bond ever drive his daughter to soccer practice? Would Hercule Poirot take cooking tips from his sister? Writers leave out the one thing we all have in common, family, to avoid complications.

Cowards.

I wanted my heroine to have an involved father. And not a wise, calm and patient father from central casting either. I wanted an accidental father. One who was not even the biological father but was tossed into the role by fate.

When I was nineteen, an acquaintance told me that daycare costs were killing her. She had been sixteen when she conceived her daughter and three years later was working a night shift. She asked if I could help by watching her child from the time I got off work until she came home at midnight. Without realizing how that would change my life, I said, “Sure!”

The next day, I stopped at the daycare facility and announced that I was there to pick up a child. I didn’t know the mother’s last name, and didn’t know the child’s name. And they looked at me blankly. (This was before people worried about child abduction.)

I’d seen the girl once at a distance and described her to the daycare workers: she’s about so high, three years old, blonde hair. They took me to a room filled with three-year olds about so high with blonde hair. It struck me that I might have been a bit unprepared for the responsibility I’d agreed to shoulder.

The workers looked at me. I looked at them.

A little girl came running out of the crowd, her arms outstretched, shouting, Daddy, Daddy Daddy, and leapt into my arms. She squeezed me tight with unconditional love and never let go—for the next thirty-seven years and counting.**

As so often happens in unplanned teenaged parenthood, her biological mother had every intention of being a good mother, but jumped at the chance to start over when I offered to raise the child.

I had no idea what was involved.

I only knew that for the first time in my life I was desperately important to someone. We all want to be important to someone. It is the primary motivator in human life.

Experiencing the dynamics of an inextricable relationship was something I felt you wanted in a thriller. The trick was to make it fascinating. The real story would never work in fiction; it would come off as manipulative or melodramatic. It needed a better, more believable catalyst.

I experimented with short stories, piecing together the things I know and the things I cannot know, and came up with a back story. When my editor read it, he said, No one will believe it in one big chunk. Dole it out over the course of three books or so. I took his advice.

After all, my first priority was making sure the Starbucks was on the right corner.

Peace, Seeley

NOTE – Comment and Win! I will give away three ebooks (chosen at random) to commentors. So don’t be shy, add a comment.

* Yes, I know there are exceptions like Zoe Sharp’s Charlie Fox and James Rollins’ Gray Pierce, can you just bear with me a minute?

** There was a small gap in that love-fest when she was a teenager, but we survived. She just turned forty and lives in Seattle with her husband and children. We talk regularly.