Starter in ten

D Kai Wilson-Viola

Kai Wilson-Viola writes under various names, and in all genres. Co-founder and webmistress of the IAG site, she writes content on request of members. She has written several books including the Ten Hour Marketing Plan and 12x12 - tutorials for social media. When not writing, she can be found maintaining sites, designing themes, managing a charity called the Less than Three foundation, gaming, knitting or reading.

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  1. The night was dark and the streetlights glinted a faded blue wash across the street. It was very quiet. The little houses sat still and motionless, with curtains drawn and nearly everyone sleeping. Mr Katz looked at his watch. He was running late. Work had been so hectic this week and he was starving. He could feel his belly rumbling and his nose twitched, just like it always did when he was hungry. He began dreaming of food, lashings of food, mountains of it, steaming hot, and a nice warm mug of milk to send him off to sleep. He smiled at the idea of it. Nice and warm in bed with a nice mug of milk…tap tap tap… from behind him drifted the sound of footsteps in the dead night.

    From Kiwi in Cat City
    http://tinyurl.com/ckm6eeg

  2. Linda Hall says:

    It took her three days to dig the grave. Exhausting work, and made more so by the fact that it could only be done at night. She could not risk Audrey finding out. Better if she didn’t know. Better if she lived the rest of her small life not knowing.
    “She is gone. She’s just gone,” is what would be said to the child.
    There was no coffin, no satin lined casket, no memorial service photos on CNN.com, no flowers; just a body wound in a new blanket and hidden behind the foundation stones at the back of the house, then buried up the hill. She had toyed with the idea of taking the body out to sea. There was a wooden dory pulled up on the shore
    “You will keep this a secret, will you not?” she said. The sound of her own voice startled her. These were the first words she had spoken aloud in many days. Even to Audrey.

    http://www.amazon.com/Steal-Away-Teri-Blake-Addison-ebook/dp/B004XDBABI/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1334837229&sr=1-1

  3. Pamela Caves says:

    From The Influence

    I was four, and even then I remember Momma telling me what a heavy sleeper I was, that I wouldn’t wake for thunder. It was probably true, as it is with most kids that age; fall asleep with our heads in the floorboard of the car and our feet sticking way up behind us. Those were the days when there was no such thing as a bad night’s sleep.

    For whatever part of me was a deep sleeper, it wasn’t deep enough to keep me from waking in the middle of the night that May. To this day, I’m not certain what woke me. Sometimes I think it might have been the intensity of white light gleaming in my window. Sometimes I think it was someone talking, though it was jumbled; deep voices carrying on a conversation of a caliber I couldn’t understand.

    I was wide awake, startled but not frightened. I had rainbow patterned curtains on my window, the heavy kind that were thick, opaque, and hung to the floor. A light was bursting through the window. Straight beams cut around the edges of my curtains and somehow bled through the cloth itself, making the curtains look almost magical.

    http://www.amazon.com/The-Influence-ebook/dp/B007SNW0DW/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpt_7

  4. Tony Mancini was not ruthless enough to be a Mafia Don. He knew it, the Family knew it, and Colt Washburn sensed it. That was why Washburn chose Mancini’s turf for expansion into the New York underworld.

    The resulting gangland war—or rather the end of it—had brought Mancini from New York to Chicago to make the peace. Washburn’s luxury box at Wrigley Field served as a suitable venue: public enough that each felt safe, yet private enough for earnest discussions. Still, each Don had his team that maintained a multi-point protective vigil over their Family head.

    Negotiations went well. Kissinger and Lee Duc Tho could have learned from these no nonsense thugs, who recognized that killing on a wide scale was bad for business. An occasional takeout was necessary when someone got out of line, but accommodation was better than wholesale murder. Washburn had fulfilled many contracts as he earned his bones, and was more likely to use elimination as a business solution than was Mancini, who for years had learned how to survive in the divided New York market.

  5. From Toonopolis: Gemini’s Prologue

    When I first returned from my trip to Toonopolis, I found it hard to put into words what I had experienced. I worried that the story about my time in the cartoon world would be seen, at best, as an excuse for failing a mission; at worst, as the rambling delusions of an agent who had lost his mind.

    To this day, I still struggle when trying to explain my experiences. Fortunately for me, my superiors were not men to dismiss extraordinary tales easily, and my track record with the Agency was otherwise pristine. I reported to those stoic men just as I had done thousands of times before–specific, detailed, chronological, and truthful.

    At first, I simply hoped they believed me. After I completed my report, my feelings shifted to a hope that they wouldn’t have me exterminated as an insane liability. If it were not for the possibility that this avenue might open doors to a new realm of opportunity for the Agency, they probably would have. I am just lucky that they were willing to take risks.

    Based on my report, they funded Project Gemini.

    Amazon Link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0050P3YXA/

  6. It had been a day since Alric walked out of Death’s castle, on a mission to get killed. He was at a complete loss. As a soldier, he had always been extremely good at not getting killed. This was something new for him. He decided to go to the one place in Struglend where he could be alone and gather his thoughts, the place where he had so many lovely memories of playing among the trees: Woodland Forest.

    It seemed as if the forest hadn’t changed a bit since the last time he was there, more than a dozen years ago. The pines, elms, and chestnuts were still growing tall and stately as ever. Butterflies and bumblebees were flying from flower to flower, pollinating as they went. The twittering of birds filled the air around Alric. This pleasant symphony of nature was abruptly disturbed by the sound of one of the rarer birds of the forest.

    https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/129173

  7. From Dreamer, the second book in the Alwahi Series

    She awoke to the cold bite of steel against her flesh, two glowing green eyes staring at her. Her first thought was that a predator had made its way into Panrrela’s tree, the gleaming orbs reminding her of a cat’s eyes, reflecting in the dark. But she quickly realized no cat would be holding the sharp edge of a blade to her throat, or hissing the words that were being spoken.

    “Scream Dreamer and it’s the last sound you will ever make,” a male voice whispered, and Asenya felt the sting as the blade scratched her flesh, as if affirming the man’s words.

    Quiet noises were coming from the front of the tree, and Asenya realized that there was more than one of them. She heard the heavy breathing of the sisters as they slept at the farthest edge of the tree, followed by the soft snoring of Panrrela. For a moment, she thought of ignoring the deadly words, but the thought of the tree splattered bloody and the dead forms of Dreamers, stopped her rebellion.

    She made no sound as the figure pulled on her arm and dragged her to her feet. Her dress tangled on objects that littered the floor, what they were she had no idea; the only light in the tree the gleaming eyes of her kidnappers.

    Pursuer, the first book in the series available on Amazon http://www.amazon.com/Pursuer-Alwahi-Series-ebook/dp/B007PY3FRO/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1334849291&sr=1-1

  8. Scott Rhine says:

    From “Sirius Academy” the sequel to Jezebel’s Ladder, still in edit.

    “Mom, I want elephant ears!” the little girl insisted.

    Miracle had been talking about the UN “Desserts of the World” fair for the last month. Her friends in second grade at private school, the chauffer, and even the gardener knew about the fundraiser for the UNICEF vaccine program. At six, she was small, precocious, and a confirmed candy-holic. Waiting until 7:00 a.m. had been grueling.

    “That’s today?” asked Jezebel Hollis. Her hair, still unwashed, was confined by a pink banana clip. He face was sallow and her eyes had raccoon circles from exhaustion. The old gray UNLV sweats contrasted with the rich, dark wood of her desk and the paneling of her study.

    Her personal secretary, Trina, replied while sorting through the pre-breakfast mountain of data that was projected on the wall. “You’ve lost a day again, Jez. That happens when you don’t sleep.” The platinum-blonde assistant in black short-shorts had been a beauty contestant a decade ago and had stayed fit. Her voice had a soft Austrian accent, but only when she scolded.

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