Phoenix Tree Publishing

A preview of the Apocalypse

2012-02-07T14:53:00.002-05:00

80,000 words in 8 months and Welcome to the Apocalypse is finished. Well, there's editing, and the cover, formatting, etc, but the first novel in a new apocalyptic series is written. I'd like to offer up a wee nugget from the first chapter to display what you're in for . . .

Phillipe was on his satellite phone with the director of Doctors Without Borders-Afghanistan, headquartered in Kabul. “Everything’s ruined, everyone’s hurt: broken bones, lacerations, malnutrition, infection, pneumonia, dysentery, gangrene, scurvy . . . yes, scurvy. . . I don’t know how much we can help with what little we have.”
Sergeant Jason Warner was a few feet away, monitoring the electric generator, satellite feed, computer server, and wi-fi transmitter. Having adjusted various settings on the machines, he consulted his smart pad. It was done. All communications beamed out from the system were blind copied to every link in their own chain of command from Task Force 134 up to the Pentagon, National Security, and Central Intelligence.
They were situated among the wrecked tombs looking down on the remains of Bozai Gumbaz, the mission site, and the confluence where the waters from Chaqmaqtin and Wakhjir merged into the Wakhan Darya. When the doctor finished and disconnected, Warner asked, “How was the signal, sir?”
“Very good, as if we were in the same room,” Baptiste lit a cigarette and pulled the collar up on his pea coat, “Snow in May. Where I’m from the girls are in sundresses.”
“Where is that, sir?” Warner wondered.
“Carcassone, a town in the south of France, I haven’t been home in over three years.” Baptiste looked up at the white peaks barricading them, graying the dusk. “Oh, what I’d give for a peak of sundress right now.”
Doctor Jorge Garzia came rushing up, sliding in the snow.
“Hey, careful around the equipment!” Warner stepped between the Brazilian and the system.
Garzia gripped Baptiste’s arm, “Phillipe, you need to see this, now.”
The urgency in the Brazilian’s eyes and firmness of his fingers easily convinced Phillipe. They rushed for the medical tents without a word.
“No problem,” Warner waved at their backs, “I’ll cover this all up and secure it by myself. Wait, that’s my job, damnit.”
As the two doctors made their way to the medical tents, Sergeants Sultana Philby and Ilkhan Snowden were sharing cups of chai with Rahman, adult son of Chaga Khan. They were huddled in the center of a circle of yurts not far from the mission site; Khan’s family cooking up a long overdue feast for their people straggling in.
“No,” Sultana shook her head as they conversed in Dari, “My mother’s Uzbek. I have family in Samarkand. How long has your family been here?”
“Oh, many generations,” Rahman shrugged. “My grandfather refused to leave when the Russians invaded. Father says if we can survive the Russians we can survive anything.”
Ilkhan broke a cashew bar in half and offered a piece to Rahman, “Here, it’s good with chai.”
Rahman eyed the rectangular conglomeration of cereals, nuts, and paste then dunked it in his tea like Ilkhan. He moaned at the luxury of it melting in his mouth, then gave the rest to his wife.
Sergeant Isaiah Bristow walked by the outskirts of the Khan’s ordu with Rahman’s brother, Samir. They were escorting another group of families towards the medical tents. Rahman got up and greeted the family elder, collected sad news, and offered them supper once they were settled. Upon returning, he pointed in the direction of the family.
“They’re from this side of the lake, walked all day when they heard helicopters. The grandmother didn’t make it.”
“That’s terrible,” Sultana said a prayer to Allah for the old woman.
Ilkhan and Rahman finished the familiar prayer with her, then the khan’s son commented, “Allah called to her, and she flew to him. It could have been worse.”
An uncomfortable silence stretched like a chasm, then Rahman asked Ilkhan, “Your friend, what people is he from?”
“Bristow? I’m not sure, Americans are a mixed lot.” Ilkhan replied, “Why do you ask?”
Rahman lit a recently provided cigarette and swayed as the buzz comfortably numbed him, “The only other dark people we’ve ever seen are Doctor Mubumba, who says he’s a Kongo, and another who says he’s Sudani. Are there as many dark peoples as there are Turks?”
“Yes,” Ilkhan explained, cutting a quick glance at Sultana, “They are Africans, but many have . . . roamed, much like the Turks; sometimes not always by choice, like Bristow’s ancestors.”
“He does not look so much like the others.” Rahman pointed out, “He looks like a dark Ahmed Shah Massoud.”
His wife laughed then unleashed a slurry of Kyrgyz.
“She say’s it’s the Chitrali cap, his smile and beard,” Rahman puffed on his cigarette.
Sultana stood and thanked Rahman’s wife for the meal. “I should go help Bristow. Rahman, this Sudanese you mentioned, does he work for one of the charities? Might we expect him to come help?”
Meanwhile, Phillipe and Jorge made it into the medical tent, barely noticing the boy huddled outside the flaps. Eugene Sampson stood from the microscope he was peering through and walked over to the patient on the table.
“Her temperature’s 104.”
Eugene removed the blanket covering her. She was strapped to the table and her ragged robes were pulled down to her waist. There were smooth bulbous lumps around her armpits and neck, and pinkish swirls amidst graying flesh. Blood was congealing around her ears, nose, and lips. She was sweating profusely, delirious in agony, twitching and jerking violently.
“God,” Baptiste muttered.
“Wait,” Eugene waved to the microscope and Phillipe took a look.
“We’ve given her a maximum dose of ibuprofen and pumped her full of doxycycline,” Garzia didn’t sound confident.
“Was she like this upon arrival?” Baptiste turned once again to the patient. Her fingers and toes were blackly necrotic.
Sampson shook his head, offering his smart pad, “fever, migraine, body aches, and tenderness in the nodes upon arrival. Did you amplify the slide? Take a close look at the cellular makeup.”
Baptiste returned to the microscope and zoomed in. When the autofocus cleared, he was stunned. “Is that what I think it is? It doesn’t look quite right. I mean it does, but it’s almost as if . . . as if. . .”
“As if the bubonic plague is infected,” Eugene speculated.

MORE ON THE WAY!

Doing Things My Way

2011-12-30T11:02:00.004-05:00

Expanding into the non-fiction biographical genre, Phoenix Tree Publishing is proud to present the story of Melissa and her battle with a brain aneurysm. Doing Things My Way is a great page turner if you know of someone who has battled with a health issue, and stayed true to themselves.

Melissa De La Rosa tells her story of the events that transpired when she was struck with an aneurysm. Her storytelling is very compelling and her storytelling puts you right in the middle of everything going on.

I was diagnosed with a 9mm busted aneurysm located in the ophthalmic carotid artery right behind my left eye. I remember the surgical staff prepping me for it in my room. I remember the anesthesiologist explaining to me how the anesthesia worked at which point I told him not to over do it, because if "I die from too much of your goods, my mother will make sure you'll have hell to pay".

The book is currently only available as a paperback through CreateSpace and Amazon for just $7.00.Publish Post

2011-11-26T23:20:00.003-05:00

ALL E Book formats of Spy in the House of Fitzwalter are on sale for 1/2 off ($2.99) till Christmas!

Just click on the ebook tab on the PhoenixTree Homepage and use the coupon code: DK43H

The tyrant King John must fall!

Fall For Art Reception

2011-09-29T16:43:00.002-04:00

Saturday, October 1 · 5:00pm - 8:00pm
Arlington Arts Gallery
5179 Lee Highway

This Saturday, October 1st come view Russ McIntosh's artwork at the Arlington Arts Gallery.

In addition to the reception there will be a raffle drawing for $50 to go towards your purchase of any piece in the gallery.

PMExhibition: Through October Meet the gallery artists and enjoy food, conversation and wine as well as some great art. In addition, fill out a raffle ticket and drop it off at the gallery before 7PM on Saturday, Oct. 1st, for a chance to win a $50 gift certificate redeemable at the Arlington Arts Gallery, 5179 Lee Highway (MAP). The raffle ticket applies only to art purchased at the Arlington Arts Gallery through Oct. 31, 2011. Only raffle tickets delivered in person, not mailed, will be accepted for this special opportunity. No purchase is required and you need not be present to win.
FREE PARKING:Parking is available in front of the Arlington Arts Gallery building, at Preston's Pharmacy and in the surrounding neighborhoods.

And the reviews have begun!

2011-08-31T14:06:00.003-04:00

Over at Amazon, the reviews have started coming in!

A Gripping Page-turner., August 31, 2011
By Jasmine - See all my reviews

This review is from: Spy in the House of Fitzwalter: Lost Crusader Saga (Volume 1) (Paperback)

This book will hold you captivated from start to finish. As you meet Robert de London, and his story unfolds, you are immediately pulled into his world of secrets with deception at every turn. As the story switches from England to Mongolia, you find yourself desperately trying to piece together the missing story to connect the two plotlines. The war scenes are realistically bloody and descriptive that will have you cringing and crying in pain, and then just crying in general. This book appeals to all emotions and really draws you in; you'll feel for Robert, laugh at Falmouth's unfortunate speech impediment, and grow to despise King John. I recommend this book for anyone, and I eagerly await the next installment of the saga. Rarely have I encountered a series that has captivated me such as this one. Definitely a delightful read.

Me, My Book, and I!

2011-08-30T15:32:00.007-04:00

So, here's what the paperback edition of Spy in the House of Fitzwalter looks like!

Now you can order the book from Amazon!

PHOENIX TREE’S QUICK GUIDE TO BETTER NOVEL WRITING:

2011-08-25T21:38:00.003-04:00

1. Voyeurism: Show Don't Tell

Prose that's in a hurry falls flat and lacks emotional impact. She was scared. Whatever. Her head twitched and fingers trembled. Maggots seemed to be crawling in her belly and her knees boiled to noodles. She couldn't think due to the feedback deafening her mind. Poor girl, I remember feeling like that when . . .

2. Let's Chat: Dialogue On Every Page

Even if you're alone all day, at some point you're going to talk to yourself. Tom Hanks' character in Cast Away made Spalding for a reason. While there is little dialogue in Wall E, the robots communicate with one another regularly. Talking humanizes characters and places the reader in a 'you are there' setting. Dialogue, or some other form of communication, on every page expresses and develops character traits, and limits the potential for lengthy sections of narrative; which shifts focus to the narrator.

3. Nobody's Perfect: Character's Need Quirks

Part of what makes us human are our imperfections: foibles, idiosyncracies, nervous ticks, and instinctive habits. If you want characters to be believable individuals instead of cliche caricatures, they need their own physical and emotional reactions to the events happening around them. Think about the last time you were hanging out with your friends and something surprising happened. Did everyone react the same? No? Who covered their mouth with their hand? Who screamed? Who was jittery? Who couldn't stop talking about it? Who thought it was funny? Who thought it was terrible? The more characters react to stimuli in their own unique way, the more believable your writing will be; no matter the genre or topic.

4. Nietzche Was Right: Hurt Your Main Characters

Are you unscathed from the course of your life? No scars, physical or mental, that come with interesting stories? Didn't think so. Readers will sympathize with characters who are hurt and humbled; it forges a bond between them and the reader in a way that is different for every reader. I like reading a book series as much as anyone, but I despise it when characters walk away unscathed from everything that happens to them; its just not realistic. People are not infallible, even if they're really good at something; recognize that in your characters and give them a chance to gain wisdom through painful experiences.

5. That's Confidential: Some Things Are Best Left Unsaid

Everyone has been in a situation where they wanted or needed to share something they know, with someone that deserved that information, but kept their mouth shut. Unshared knowledge is dramatic. Not everything that happens in your story, your character's heart and mind, needs to be narrated. Give your story tension by leaving 'blank spaces' that leaves either characters or readers or both uncertain about something that's rather important. Give your readers the autonomy to stew over a plot arc or a character's emotional dillema; once your story is in their hands, its as much theirs as it is yours. Here's the secret to keeping a good secret . . .