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Topics - Edward C. Patterson

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The Book Bazaar / NEW & FREE Today & Tomorrow 10/8 & 9: MASTER WU'S BRIDE
« on: October 08, 2016, 07:43:44 am »
NEWLY PUBLISHED & FREE October 8th & 9th

Master Wu's Bride

by Edward C. Patterson

292 pages

It is Chi Lin's wedding day - an exciting time for any bride, unless the groom has died before the ceremony and the ceremony, as per contract, must proceed. Chi Lin becomes the Fourth Wife - the ghost bride in the House of Wu, a respectable Ming Dynasty household. But to keep her honor, Chi Lin assumes her role under the stern command of her mother-in-law and the disdainful eye of the First Wife. Still, as Mistress Purple Sage, Chi Lin survives, managing to bring fresh breath into this ancient household.

Women in Fourteenth Century China played a subservient role. Most accepted their lot and worked within a man's world, supporting their husbands, revering their fathers and elders, and assuring their children followed the same dauntless path. Still, within the narrow confines of a subservient life, there was always a place to leave a mark and make a difference for the future.

Master Wu's Bride is a journey seen from a woman's point of view - a woman who held secrets and cultivated them to everyone's advantage. From yesterday's stale cabbage, Chi Lin manages to cultivate her world to bloom. Come take this journey with Mistress Purple Sage, the ghost bride. Come take this journey that many women in a host of cultures still take today in the shadow of inequality's quagmire.

Edward C. Patterson


Boots of Montjoy

The Farn Trilogy - Book II

by Edward C. Patterson

"A New Day - A New World - Rising from the Ashes"

549 pages
Kindleboard Profile for Boots of Montjoy
In Boots of Montjoy, Lord Belmundus returns to Farn and battles for control of the realm. The Cetrone raise their cry for equality, while the Yunockers wage war for dominance. Intrigue and politics hold sway, while the Electors decide the fate of Farn. Darker and more sinister threats lurk and the Zinbear is set loose to wreak havoc. When the dust clears, many questions linger. Will Harris Cartwright prevail as the Protector of the Realm? Will he fulfill his greatest role as Boots of Montjoy?

The second book of The Farn Trilogy brings our hero to the brink in his attempt to transform Montjoy’s oppressive society into a better order - the New Day, an amalgamation of the four principle races. The days of learning are over. The days of doing are here. All citizens are called to rise above warfare’s ruin and face challenges from other realms. Love and magic and witchcraft flourish now under Farn’s two suns and seven moons, in the gardens of the Scaladar roses astride the Temple of Greary Greer in the shadow of Mount Taotarhiti. Yet, the crown is heavy on our hero’s head.

“Alone in the Scarlet Chamber, Lord Belmundus sits on the small seat before the Elector’s throne, the room dim in the lamp light with only his driver reclining at the far end of the hall waiting on the chance that his lord might need his services. Harris opens his eyes and sighs — a sad gust, but one with fitful resolve.”

The Farn Trilogy
Boots of Montjoy
The Adumbration of Zin

Edward C. Patterson

Writers' Cafe / Another Countdown for ME - Coming to 60,000 mark
« on: January 13, 2015, 12:06:57 pm »
Hi Kboard family. In a countdown to 60,000 books in circulation.

Currently at


across 26 book published

Edward C. Patterson

FREE 3 Days Oct 5th, 6th & 7th

Mother Asphodel
a Novella by
by Edward C. Patterson

Kboard Profile for Mother Asphodel
"Clothes don't make the queen. The queen makes the queen."

It's Santa Saturday in New Hope, Pennsylvania and Mother Asphodel is trudging through the snow to a gig at the Phoenix Club - her drag queen couture bundled in a shopping cart - her bony feet stuffed into galoshes. At seventy-seven plus, Mother has seen the glory days and, in the course of this evening, she'll share those memories with a younger queen, Brooks MacDonald (a.k.a. Simone DeFleurry of The Jade Owl fame). Listen to these stylish dames as they plan Mother's return into the spotlight, to shine once again in the eyes of the community and peers.

Mother Asphodel, a novella, bubbles with the secrets of a raging entertainer, who has rubbed elbows with the famous. Still, time knows no friends and Mother cleaves to life's ornery path on a bleak wintry evening when hope is as sparse as bread crumbs thrown to the birds. The possibilities are endless on the road least taken - a kaleidoscope glimpsed only by those who take it.

"I was just rambling, dear - reflecting on the word gay. Just when did they give us that name?"
"I think we took it when no one was looking."

60 pages
Available also as KindleUnlimited and Prime Member Purchases

FREE for 3 Days Sept 21st, 22nd & 23rd at Amazon

The Twinning of Vincent Cassidy
a Novelette by
Edward C. Patterson

by Edward C. Patterson
Kboard Profile for The Twinning of Vincent Cassidy
From the dim, dark reaches under the overpass, sits a man with a story -- a tale he'll tell to anyone who will listen. His name -- Vincent Cassidy. His occupation -- well, he'll tell you himself. His fall from grace -- a strange encounter in a mirror and his own misguided curiosity. From the pinnacle to the pit, come listen to his tale.

The Twinning of Vincent Cassidy is a short fiction piece meant to tantalize you for an evening unless you decide to read it twice, in which case, be prepared to double the experience and magnify the outcome.

42 pages
Available also as KindleUnlimited and Prime Member Purchases

FREE Today & Tomorrow October 3rd & 4th at Amazon

The Sapphire Astonishment -- A Nick Firestone Mysterys
Edward C. Patterson

A Tale of the New and Old China Hands

by Edward C. Patterson
Kboard Profile for The Sapphire Astonishment
The last time we encountered Nick Firestone (in The People's Treasure and In the Shadow of Her Hem - Book 4 and 5 of The Jade Owl Legacy) he was a five year old scamp, precocious and filled with the spirit of adventure. Now he's all grow'd up, as Simone DeFleurry would say, and itching for an occupation worthy of the scratch. It's 2025 in San Francisco (post-earthquake of 2020) and things have changed for the adventurer as he wakes up to the sparkle of a rare relic -- a Chinese hat-pin called The Sapphire Astonishment.

This first Nick Firestone mystery will take you on a wild ride through the city by the bay as young Firestone seeks the provenance of the curious hat-pin and its secrets. Many want this prize, including characters familiar to the readers of The Jade Owl Legacy series, but you won't need that story to enjoy this one. So, slip into your eShirts and hold on to your gillifrickers for a ride down the hills of San Francisco into the world of the youngest China Hand. Your GlimmerGlasses will never feel the same.

227 pages
Available also as KindleUnlimited and Prime Member Purchases

Related series - The Jade Owl Legacy

The Jade Owl
The Third Peregrination
The Dragon's Pool
The People's Treasure
In the Shadow of Her Hem

Writers' Cafe / Another Countdown - this time its to 50,000 BOOKS!!!!
« on: June 14, 2014, 04:47:16 pm »
Just started my countdown to


I'm at 49,498 - Just 50 more books to go!!! It's only taken 23 titles and nearly 7 years, but although some big-time authors do that number in a day, still 50K is the equivalent of the population of a small sized American city - think Poughkeepsie OR filling a Gymnasium from ceiling to floor.

Edward C. Patterson

The Book Bazaar / FREE 3 Days - Nov 3, 4, & 5: The House of Green Waters
« on: January 25, 2014, 10:17:52 am »
FREE for 3 Days Nov 3rd, 4th & 5th at Amazon

The House of Green Waters
Edward C. Patterson

Book IV of the Southern Swallow Series

by Edward C. Patterson
Kindleboard Profile for The House of Green Waters
"Exile is a state best experienced to understand. To spend thirteen years in a fly-infested wetland, slogging through jungle streams and unfurled on deserted beaches - to be blown hither and thither by storms and falling palms, is a lesson no book can teach. Still, I, K'u Ko-ling, had lived so long to tell of the fire, which heats the back until noodles could be tossed on it and stew made from the sweat." Thus begins the sweeping fourth installment of The Southern Swallow Series - a tapestry of historical adventure and intrigue set in 12th Century China. While Li K'ai-men and his companions are in exile on a tropical island in the south, the political world explodes as a mad prince invades the Sung Empire. It's a time for heroes and riveting warfare, including the first recorded battle in history to deploy poisonous gas as a weapon.

Book IV of the Southern Swallow series -- The House of Green Waters, like its predecessors (The Academician, The Nan Tu and Swan Cloud) is told by K'u Ko-ling, servant to the exiled-Grand Tutor, Li K'ai-men. It depicts the harsh life on Hai-nan Island and the progress of family -- fathers and sons from Emperor, to officials, to commoners. The roots of modernity stir within the soul of the daily life of Sung China and nowhere greater is it witnessed than in the fabric of this tale.

The Southern Swallow Series:

The Academician
The Nan Tu
Swan Cloud
The House of Green Waters
Vagrants Hallow

Related series - The Jade Owl Legacy

The Jade Owl
The Third Peregrination
The Dragon's Pool
The People's Treasure
In the Shadow of Her Hem
508 pages

Writers' Cafe / COUNTDOWN Again - This time 40,000
« on: January 06, 2014, 10:50:12 am »
It's that time again in this author's life when I enter a circulation countdown - this time to 40.000. Currently stand at:

39,978 books

floating out there in the readersphere.

Edward C. Patterson

Writers' Cafe / Here we go again, folks - Count down to 30,000!
« on: September 19, 2013, 03:06:38 pm »
Well, because of KDP Select, my circulation has taken a great leap forward. To date I have 29,873 out there, and since the books are being downloaded at a goodly clip, I thought I start this countdown with a larger margin.

So here it goes.

29,873 books in circulation across 22 titles (sales at $24,279.07 and royalties at $10,955.15). The first title was published 1,205 days ago (that's 69.24 months on the Kindle - November 18, 2007).

I'm 100% Indie, have free editing at my disposal, design my own covers and have nearly 300 reviews. I've spent near to nothing in this enterprise. So, if you're on the fence about publishing or discouraged - hang in there and keep the faith.

Edward C. Patterson
on Kboards since February 2009

Fire Talk / Kindle Fire HD Upgrade??
« on: August 09, 2013, 11:40:15 am »
My Kindle Fire HD just took an upgrade. Does anyone know of any new features included in this upgrade, if any?

Ed Patterson

Reached it - 20,000 Thanks AllFinally, after working at this since my first published Kindle book on November 18, 2007 and 22 titles out there, I'm nearing the 20,000 circulation mark (sales and promotions - eBooks and paperbacks). I currently stand at 19,950, so I'm just 50 off the mark.

I still pinch myself because, after writing for over 50 years, my words (some 2.4 million of them) are in the hands of readers. With 7,950 pages in print and eInk, I feel fortunate each day for the privilege to share my work and to receive so much good feedback (I've garnered 297 reviews on Amazon, Smashwords and Goodreads - 212 5-stars, 58 4-stars, 13 3-stars, 7 2 stars and 7 one-stars - and grateful for every single one).

Although many other Indie authors have sold considerably over 20,000 and my sales have sloped down with the current changes in Amazon's matrix and the marketplace's adjustment to the ever-growing dominance of eBooks, I'm proud to say I remain in the forefront of the Indie movement. We've made a difference, changed the industry, and will continue to do so.

Now all this sounds like Washington's farewell to his troops, but it's not. I have 12 projects on the burner and two active works-in-progress for release in the Fall. But I couldn't let the approach to the magic number pass without thanking my readers and fellow Indies for their support. God knows, the authoring community has survived like islands in the stream. Now, as the dawn has come and midday approaches, we stand to inherit the minds of the future — to linger in the imaginations beyond our own brief contributions. If I never sell another book beyond the 20,000 mark, at least I can put that notch in my belt and call it a legacy.

Thanks to all,

Edward C. Patterson

Strange. I haven't had a US since the beginning of the month. I get at least one a day. I show sales blips on the Author Central ranking. So I still have my Bbos, which is the longest since the repoting glitch of 2009 (which last 2 weeks). I have had sales in the UK, but they run on a seperate bot. Just asking? I mean, my books are on promotional on Snashwords, so I expected cannibalization, but not everyone knows about the SW month long sale. (Well, maybe they do now).

Any hu. Just asking.

Edward C Patterson
From one a day to none a day

Well, for the 4th year in a row, Smashwords is running it's Winter/Summer sitewide Promotion for the entire month of July. Participating authors will offer their books for FREE, 25%, 50% or 75% off using a sitewide coupon. If you're participating, let me know and link to your bio page (whereyour books will be, as well as the Promotion catalog).

I'm going FREE for most of the month with all my books (I did that last year too). Except for my last 3 books (which are on KDP Select), It's great opportunity and also will explain why Amazon sales or Indie authors drop during July.
promo code SW100

Edward C. Patterson

Writers' Cafe / FREE Huh?
« on: June 20, 2013, 12:45:43 pm »
Has anyone had any experience with, a FREE .pdf Download service (or scam). I found 4 of y books out there offered, and when I went to request removal from their contact us page - the email link is broken (once sending is attempted).

Edward C. Patterson

FREE 3 Days - Sept 28, 29 & 30 at Amazon
Pacific Crimson -- Forget Me Not
by Edward C. Patterson
Kindleboard Profile for Pacific Crimson - Forget Me Not
Pacific Crimson - Forget Me Not is a tribute in verse to the men and women who fought War II in the Pacific. The world owes more than it could ever muster to these defenders of freedom during humankind's deepest, darkest and dire hours - a century rivaling the bleakest days in human history. Still, when the lights went out, the lamps came on. It was the everyday citizen, who suffered, but it was the everyday citizen who lifted the lamps and gave their sweat and lives to assure the world would be free of the more bestial end of tyranny's spectrum.

These verses seek to capture the inner heart of the individuals, who put themselves on the line. Each poem is specific to a place and date and . . . vernacularly correct. I have spared my readers the hypocrisy of flowery verses in this chapbook. If this offends, I'll not apologize, because to do so would insult the memory of those who fell on those islands and to those who fall daily as their time runs out in service to humankind.

Fear no more the mortar's blare,
See no more the star shell's flare -
Rest beneath your comrade's prayer
And let the ash become the dust,
Because the battle's ceased
And for you, the war is over.

Edward C. Patterson

Writers' Cafe / The Power of the KB Bazaar
« on: March 07, 2013, 06:07:39 am »
It's been a long time (over 4 years) since Kindleboards separated author activity into the Bazaar. Many (most) probably don't remember the pre-Bazaar days. When it was established, there was much debate and many doubters. But today, I'd like to celebrate the Bazaar by first thanking Harvey and team for being the most open forum on the web in this regard and the moderators for being the epitome of what moderators should be.

I would also like to encourage authors to put their books in the bazaar and promote as per rules. Sales you may get, readers you WILL get and friends you shall make. But today I celebrate the Visitors and Viewers to the Bazaar book pages. On my own modest 21 Book pages I have had 182,459 visitors and that type of exposure for an Idie author is pure gold.

Thanks all, again and let's celebrate the Kindleboard Bazaar - both author and reader alike. The management deserves to be proud of their accomplishment.

Edward C. Patterson

FREE Today and Tomorrow Sep 22nd & 23rd at Amazon


The Farn Trilogy - Book I

by Edward C. Patterson
Kindleboard Profile for Belmundus
Harris Cartwright, a young A-list actor, is at the crossroads. His career's on fire - in a good way, but a missed step on an evening romp with an alluring stalker brings him to the brink of a strange world. He finds he's been drawn into a dystopian realm and is transformed into the new Gulliver.

Belmundus is the first book of The Farn Trilogy, an adventure into the realms of high society and tyranny -- a place were the native cultures have been displaced by an elite force of magicians and a conqueror's brutal hand. Harris Cartwright has been drawn into elite society, but soon discovers his sympathies for the underdog as he searches for an exit and his true-self. Along the way, he makes indelible friendships and encounters . . . love.

Belmundus, your passport into the Realms of Farn, introduces a tale of ancient history, lingering mystery, tantalizing promises and enduring prophecies. Harris Cartwright soon learns that this alternate reality is truer than any movie set he has ever graced. He's up for the shoot, but is always on the lookout for "exit - stage right."

Chapter One
Astral Beauties
"I'm a star," he whispered to the young man in the mirror. "A star," and then chuckled as he thought about a giant gas ball, ignorantly fixing planets in orbit for no other reason but gravity.
Harris Cartwright, born nineteen years earlier and christened Humphrey Kopfstutter, smiled dimly in the mirror. Dimly, because the hotel room shone amber with its upscale ambience -- flattering light designed to be so. Still, in any light, this star of stage and screen was a Narcissus; although his reflection sometimes tamed him.
Harris moistened his bottom lip with his upper, and then winked. He shrugged, and then preened, coming closer to his reflection, nearly kissing the glass. Pucker he did; then laughed. His grin exposed a brilliant smile, a gap between his two front teeth -- a chasm his mother meant to have corrected when he had landed his first role as a wee urchin in a Dickens remake. However, the gap and his alluring eyes kept the roles coming until . . . well, until the adolescent leaped the gulf between child actor and teen idol; done with ease and without scandal, drugs or an arrest record. Now Harris leaped the second gulf -- youthful high school parts to the dashing hero. Still, he could hide his secrets safely from public view -- although the public pried.
He winked again, and then turned around on the stool, which faced the dressing table. The hotel was accommodating -- equipped for a range of actors from A-list to C, now that the Tribeca Film Festival had rolled in this town. The SoHo Grand, the classiest bed roll in this lower Manhattan neighborhood, had no vacancies this weekend.
Harris stood and stretched. He had slept the day away and, now as evening hugged the New York skyline, he was up for nocturnal festivities -- a sneak preview of his new film The Magic Planet to be followed by a Q&A panel and light refreshments. Who knew what would come beyond that? These junkets were regulated to a point, but burst like fireworks when the rockets spent. Harris might take an evening romp with his co-star. The prospects loomed, so Harris stretched, chucked his underwear, and then headed for the shower.
The hotel room was small by luxury standards, but the Grand had arisen like morning cream. The warm rooms shimmered with golden walls and amber lighting. All that wasn't silk, was satin. When not occupied by a nineteen-year old, the king size bed wore an olive satin spread, seagreen silk sheets, a princely counterpane and stately pillows. Now the bedding was tossed asunder as if cats had fought in the sack. Clothes were strewn on the floor in a trail from dresser to bed, from bed to shower. Books and scripts kiltered in piles on the dressing table, and the telephone directory sprawled beside a tray with last night's room service caking in partnership with this morning's breakfast. No lunch -- evidently.
The shower room opened directly into the boudoir, a glass panel separating it from the minibar. To Harris, the steaming water would be his wake-up call. He wasn't sure what time it was (and he didn't worry, because Tony watched those details). However, a schedule would kick in eventually. It always did on publicity junkets. Soon, a flock of studio bullies, who, as well-meaning as they pretended to be, would erase his freedom. They were the paycheck, after all, and who was he?
"I'm a star," he gurgled, spitting out a mouthful of amber water. He laughed again, the stream plastering his curly hair into black slick. He shook the cascades from his eyes and laughed again, and then ran a soapy cloth over his newfound biceps. His last flick demanded his body beef up from a teenage lanky noodle to a swashbuckling space pirate. He was unaccustomed to the added musculature, although the chicks dug it.
At the thought of chicks, Harris smiled, leaning against the glass wall and letting the shower permeate every pore -- every crevice. He felt giddy, his hormones having run the gamut of sexual urges and experiences lately. Still, he refused to declare a preference in public. He couldn't even admit his affinities in the shower stall, because he wasn't sure he had a preference -- a weather vane at times; at other times, as sure as the partner who shared his bed. One thing was positive. He hadn't time to ponder the issue now or do more than scrub his groin in this shower-call.
"Maybe later," he mused, and then hastened to finish, turning the taps and waiting for the steam to clear.
Harris reached for a towel -- a preliminary dry, beginning with face and hair, and then creating a silly turban, which didn't squat well on his noggin. He grabbed a second towel for his nether parts, marrying this more ample terry around his waist into something akin to Pharaoh's kilt.
"A star," he said again, and then slid open the glass door.
The room's chill met him and he noticed something queer. On the shower door, written in the condensation, were letters. He squinted, thinking he might have accidentally etched these sigils, but he hadn't. These were letters -- clear and definite.


"What the [expletive]?" he said, pawing the initials. "See you later -- CMJ?"
He turned, looking for uninvited company.
"Tony?" he called. "Are you here?"
Harris inspected the room, walking over his debris, pushing linen with his feet and picking up his clothes as he went. Opening the closet door cautiously, he expected to encounter Anthony Bentley-Jones, his co-star and best friend. A joke, perhaps. However, the closet, devoid of actors, contained only tonight's wardrobe.
Harris threw off the turban, and then returned to the shower door, hunkering for another inspection before the initials faded. But they were still clear. He rubbed them. They remained. He pushed back, landing on his *ss.
"They're inside. Whoever wrote this was in the [expletive] shower with me."
He crabbed back to the bed, took the room in again, and then laughed.
"You're nuts, Humphrey. Scared by a little soap scum?"
He shook his damp hair, and then sought the dryer.
Again the mirror loomed while Harris dried his hair. He inspected his cheeks for blemishes and his chin for the scar remnant -- a nick from a sword accident on the last film. It healed nicely -- nothing makeup couldn't hide, and was more pronounced two weeks ago, when he had walked the red carpet in L. A. Tony fussed over the scar so much, Harris thought Mom had tagged along. Mom wasn't the stage door kind, but she had rules -- good rules, which worked well for a child actor transitioning through this Thespian world. Mom's rules guided Harris to regard acting as a job rather than a privilege. A good thing, because he loved his job. He hated these junkets and the crowd's rush. The red carpet was his least favorite thing, although he was gracious to his fans and never withheld his autograph.
He mused on his last prance on the red carpet. Unlike tonight, a public preview at a festival, two weeks ago the event was an invitation-only premiere. He was tuxedoed and spotlighted -- the press in full attendance -- interviewers great and small, each with frivolous questions like did you find the battle scenes hard? Did you perform your own stunts? We hear talk about you and Romey (Romaine Rowan -- the heroine). Any truth to it?
Drone. Drone. Drone.
Harris danced around these questions. He hugged Romaine and Tony and the director, McCann Phillips. He stood with them and posed and preened and bathed in a shower of flashbulbs and strobes behind the usual studio spoiler backdrop. It was a whirl until he saw . . . saw her.
She, a fan, cocked her head and grinned. She, dressed in black denim and a leather cap, was unlike other fans, who stretched arms forward, pens in one hand, books in the other -- this girl in black denim stood patiently, smiling confidently, and then . . . winked.
"Do you see her?" Harris whispered to Tony.
"What ya talkin' about, mate," Tony replied. "All I see is a sea of screamin' Mimis, and you know not one of 'em's me type."
"I didn't mean that," Harris said. "I mean, focus your *ss and look at that one over there -- the one that's casing me."
"They're all casing you. I mean, who wouldn't, you d*mn cutie?"
"Stop it."
But Tony wasn't in the mood for sightseeing. The whirl distracted him. They were the attraction. The stars. The fans, white noise.
White noise.
Except that one, there. That one in black stillness. Then Harris, compelled to speak with her, broke ranks, despite the push to enter the theater.
"Where ya goin', mate?"
"Nowhere," Harris muttered, his eyes drifting to that wink in the crowd.
He went to the sidelines, suddenly accosted by hundreds of arms and pens and books and screaming women. They broke his reverie. He grasped one book, and then another, and yet another, signing and scribbling on demand. When he looked up, she was gone.
"Gone," he said, now into the mirror, and then pouted.
But he had seen her again; last week near his mother's house in Santa Monica. While heading to the Yatzy Club with his little sister, Harris wore his usual public disguise (thick glasses and a false nose). He encountered a gaggle of fans. Sarah, his sister, always a good shepherdess, tugged him across Santa Monica Boulevard to avoid detection. There were times for adulation, and times for anonymity. Harris liked the Yatzy Club because the DJ, although recognizing him, would never blow his cover.
Crossing the boulevard, he spotted a lone wolf coming in the opposite direction.
"It's her," he muttered.
"Her who?" Sarah asked.
"I don't know," he said, loosing himself from his sister's arm.
The lady wore black denim -- the same outfit she had at the premiere. She strolled with swagger, her head down, but she looked up when she passed him. She winked, her chalk-white skin amplifying her crimson lips. She had a green beauty mark on her right cheek. Harris gasped -- his chest hitching. But even as he turned to follow her, she hastened to the curb.
"Wait," he called.
She didn't. She raised a departing hand -- an alluring fist wrapped in a black fingerless glove -- on her finger, a captivating jade ring. Then, as if the night had swallowed her, she disappeared. Harris reached the curb.
"Do you know her?" Sarah asked. "You look . . ."
"No." he replied. "She's . . . How do I look?"
"Smitten, Humph. Let me fix your nose."
They had neared the gaggle of club girls. One latex slip and Harris would be a rooster fending for his life in the henhouse. He let his sister repair his nose and straighten his thick glasses. Still, he meant to pursue the phantom lady, only . . . where did she go?
"She's a dream now," he said into the mirror, the hairdryer aimed at emptiness.
The lady in black denim -- the evasive girl of the night, no longer remained in reality. She stalked Harris' dreams this last week. He spent the afternoon trying to escape her clutches. But she lingered -- on the red carpet and at the curb, winking and waving, and then coming close to his ear, her crimson lips and chalky cheeks an arabesque to his quaking soul. These were good dreams, but fell short of The Magic Planet. Harris had spent so much time on bizarre sets, this shade had to be a remnant hallucination from a cut scene -- a scripted snippet chastised by better reason, never to be seen in the projector's flicker.
"You're spoiling me," he muttered, shutting the dryer and nodding his head before his image.
A knock at the door interrupted this reverie.
"It's open," he shouted.
"What d'ya mean, it's open, mate?" came a voice from the hall. "'ow can it be open?"
Harris set the dryer down and let the towel fall. He let his co-star in.
"Well, don't cover your nuts for me," Tony said, bouncing in as if it were his room. "And what d'ya mean, it's open?"
"I was testing you," Harris replied. "And you didn't mind me butt naked last week."
"Well, we've no time for that sort of thing now. We're late, and King McCann'll have those balls if there's a repeat of . . ."
"Hush up," Harris said, without malice.
"Is your minibar stocked?" Tony announced, aiming directly for it. "Or should I ask? You sip only fizzy drinks and water, unless there's a bloody 'eifer up 'ere filling jugs with chocky milk."
"You know we have to pay for that [crap]."
"You're payin', thank ye. Me cooler's gone empty some'ow." He shrugged and grinned. "Get dressed and . . ." Tony raised his hand toward the bed. "What a toss we 'ave 'ere? Did you 'ave some birds in? I'm green with envy."
"No. Nothing like that," Harris said, pulling on his briefs and heading for the closet. "I slept, mostly."
"Looks like you wrestled the queen 'ere."
"No, you weren't anywhere around," Harris replied, chuckling. "Get your drink. I'll be ready in a shake."
Anthony Bentley-Jones, the draw of the East end and many a rear end, bowed first to the bed, and then the minibar. He was a good egg, as they said across the pond. He was four years older than Harris, but in the biz longer, having made his first cereal commercial at age two, his Mummy hell-bent on keeping herself in gin and marijuana. The Bentley-Jones franchise (which began as the Koslowsky enterprise) was not as smooth and carefree as the Cartwright-Kopfstutter dynasty. Little Antonin's Mummy drove him from stage door to audition to rock video to TV commercial to rascal roles until, by age ten (just over a decade earlier) he was a bundle of talented nerves and molested by a string of equally talented directors. He still landed plum roles, but his decadence factor overshadowed many jaded actors three times his age. However, he had his good looks and came out of the closet three years ago, with much aplomb. The rumors that he had slept with every one of his co-stars (male and female) were true, or so he told the press.
They don't call me Bentley-Jones for nothin', dearies.
 Tony pulled the minibar door ajar and perused the choice of little bottles.
"I see the munchies 'ave gone missin'." He glanced at the floor. "Your aim is bleedin' off. I 'ope you made it to the loo better'an you did the dustbin." He rattled through the shot bottles, putting a few in his jacket pocket. "And what'll grace your glorious body tonight?"
"Something simple."
Harris alluded snidely to Tony's over-the-top outfit -- very Dorsetshire -- a flowery shirt beneath a blue blazer, a pink hankie mushrooming from where the yacht insignia should have been -- a fedora (duck feathered -- green) and, of course, an Ascot.
"Simple? Jeans and [crap]ekickers?" Tony drawled like a Dallas native just short of Yorkshire. He turned, and then glanced over his tinted glasses at the young American. "Now that's bloody fetchin'. Turn 'bout and let your Auntie Antonia assess."
Harris had donned a green silk shirt and a white jacket with matching pants. He was stunning. He knew it, but dummied down this wardrobe choice. He was more comfortable in, as Tony had stated, jeans and [crap]ekickers. He refused to do a runway twirl for Auntie Antonia, although he had seen the runway on many a fashion week.
"Listen," he said sternly. "I told you the judge is still out on me and the coming-out ball."
"I 'ate when a man can't make up 'is own mind," Tony said, pouting. He held a gin sample in one hand and a Post-it in the other. "You just want the best of both worlds -- and I guarantee that you'll never get anything better'an me."
"Stop it." Harris squinted. "What's that?"
Tony lifted the bottle.
"No . . . that?"
"Oh. This was stuck inside ya minibar. Maybe a note from the mice that you ate their munchies. Stole their splif too, I bet." He looked at the Post-it, and then frowned. "Not the mice. It's from a secret admirer. It says," he adjusted his glasses. "It says -- I C U and C U l8r, CMJ."
Harris shuddered. He rushed to Tony's side, swiping the note, and then stared hard.
"You did 'ave a bird up 'ere in this cage today," Tony said, fretfully. "You needn't 'ave lied. I mean, we're not a couple or anything like that."
"Nothing like that, and I didn't have  . . . a bird in this cage today."
Tony shook his head knowingly.
"Ah, you said the door was open. So that's 'ow it's done. You know in some cat 'ouses an open door is a signal for . . ."
"Stop it. I had no one here. At least, no one that . . . Anyone could have stuck this in the fridge."
Tony pocketed the gin and shut the minibar door with his foot.
"Keep your little secrets. Let's just get a move on, mate. The limos'll be lining the curb and we mustn't keep a Rolls-Royce waitin'."
Harris Cartwright, star of stage and screen, sighed. He glanced about his home away from home and wondered about the journey. This was the only life he knew, and now he must move along a professional course.
"You're right," he said. "We're stars -- giant balls of gas. Let's go fill the galaxy with our stink."
"Why, what's crawled up your arse, mate?"
Harris grinned. He was the master of the moment in his green shirt and white duds. He had a Q&A to give and flashbulbs to embrace. It was illusion, but he knew no other life.

Writers' Cafe / Once I was an Kindle Indie Virgin too!
« on: November 17, 2012, 06:45:55 am »
Tomorrow marks my Five Year Anniversary as a Kindle Author (As an author, a bit more - like 50 years). There was a handful of us who started out on this brave new venture back in 2007. Many of the original pumpers still keep in touch via email and forums. I'm so proud of us. We stood up as Indies when the world shouted at us "Vanity!" and "Subsidy." But the world has changed, and who is to say we didn't have a part in it? The vision was grasped. (Do you hear that April and Zoe and Timothy M and Maureen M and Brendan C and Michael M and Dennis B and Sondi M and a host of others. Oh, how I miss L.C. Evans at such moments)

Now I have published 20 books and have 9 more in the pipeline for the next few years. I've sold 17,980 (I'm on a countdown to 18,000) and, although it's a trickle in change (I'm one of those $ .99 believers, although my heftier 600 page books I price at $2.99), I'm happy I can dance in the moonlight with the people in the dark and bring them a lamp for their comfort in the night. It's a one on one experience and a legacy to know that someone out there is imbibing from a winecup you crafted in solitude with music blasting and Milano cookies disappearing. Yes, Five years tomorrow and my fervant wish is that Indies are here to stay and you all have staying power and are in this for the right reasons, because:

Edward C. Patterson

Writers' Cafe / An Anatomical Email from
« on: November 05, 2012, 11:33:06 am »
Here's an funny story for all. Amazon has a wonderful follow up policy which sends an email to readers after the fact encouraging their review of a book (or product). I like that. My readers are prompted for their opinions. Now, as a reader, I also get prompted for reviews for books I've purchased. Recently, I purchased a few titles by the new Nobel Prize for Literature winner, Mo Yan from the People's Republic. I'm currently reading his book (and loving it) "Life and Death are Wearing Me Out." Most of his titles are oddly fetching, including one called "Big Breasts and Wide Hips." So it was hilariously funny today when on my Blackberry appeared an email from with the subject line: "Would you give 5-stars to "Big Breasts and Wide Hips." My coffee went up my nose and sprayed my lap. Hurray for Amazon's efforts, but we must remember we're dealing with a gigantic computer, who doesn't know English, let alone Chinese.

Edward C. Patterson

DID IT. Thanks all for the count down cheering!

Here's the stats:
Started: 11/16/07
That's 1,830 days
Books Published to Date: 20
One Book a Day Selling Streak (and still going, knock on wood): 1,320 days
Total Number: 18,000
Total Sales: $22,607.15
Total Royalties: $10,049.90
(not bad for $.35 a book on the average plus a few perks, like awards)

I like this Indie Publishing thing because -

Readers Rock!!!!

Thanks all again and I'll be back to brag at 20,000.
Edward C. Patterson

The OP

This is a double count-down. I have 13 days before I reach my 5th Anniversary as a Kindle author, my first book at Amazon Kindle Store on November 18, 2007 (that was Cutting the Cheese) and I sold 2 copies in December 2007 making my annual royalty take for that year ( ;D) $ .70. (BTW, 11/17/07 is the anniversary of my Mom's passing. I promised her I'd undertake this enterprise and have kept my word).

Now five years later, I'm in a count down to 18,000 circulation for 20 published books (#21 is approaching market - probably Jan 2013, and #22 is nearly finished also).

so today I stand at

That 20,000 mark ain't too far off.

Edward C. Patterson

Writers' Cafe / The Strange Case of the MISSING LINK
« on: October 01, 2012, 06:01:50 am »
Is he talking about sausages? Perhaps handcuffs? But no. I talking and the absence this morning on KDP of a UK reporting link. It was there an hour ago, when I clocked in my first sale of the month. Now, whosh, it's gone and in the community there's lot 'o howlin'. I believe that during the UK Amazon UK party last evening someone must have OD's on the splif.

Let's call Scotland Yard, because . . .

the LINK has gone MISSING.

Edward C. Patterson

Writers' Cafe / Another silly count down - but why not?
« on: July 23, 2012, 07:02:12 am »
Just saying that I'm at 16,925 books in circulation and am 75 away from the 17,000 mark.

Edward C. Patterson
20 books out there - 2 more coming this year.

« on: July 13, 2012, 07:49:26 pm »
Dear on-line family and friends:

I, like 450,000 other users had my email account stolen by thieves. I rebounded quickly, changing scores of passwords on countless accounts (including Kindleboards). However, today I received a phone call on my land line (a phone I really don't use anymore - but it came with my cable connection) - and generally I don't even pick it up (it has no messaging, so the callers go no where). But I did this time and someone with a heavy accent (a man who sounded like "Hello, this is Peggy") asked for me specifically. When I asked what this was about, I was told that he was with the copany in charge of PC Windows. "Microsoft," I asked. "No, they are just distributor. We are in charge of Windows." He then asked me if I had my computer on - "I didn;t respond." I was then told that it could be infected. Now, when I was hit by the hackers, I did a complete Norton scan and came up clean. So if I wasn't suspicious before, I certainly was now.

"Just turn on your computer and I will help you get rid of the infections on it. As you know, he internet has been hit with many infections in the last few days."

Aha! I was speaking to one of the hackers - now locked out of my accounts because I changed passwords.

"Which computer do you want me to turn on?" I asked.

"Any one to start. Let me know when."

"What company are you with?

"In charge of Windows. You have your computer n and ready?"

"I'm not turning it on for a few hours yet. Can I call you back? What's the best number."

"You no want to have the help? You not turning your computer on?"

"Your name, please."

"You shall have bad problem," said he as he hung up.

I hit #69 and was told that the last number received was unknown (date and time).

So, if you get such call, be aware that they are out there and stepping beyond the usual pfishing and pharming. They are actually calling to help you help them to your computer's treasures.

Edward C. Patterson

In the Shadow of Her Hem

The Jade Owl Legacy - Book V

by Edward C. Patterson
Kindleboard Profile for In the Shadow of Her Hem
"China Hands! To Me!"  A green fog has engulfed the Wei River Valley. The First Emperor's tomb is mysteriously rumbling. The Big Goose Pagoda is glowing like a lighthouse. And to blame? A bunch of Americans stranded in the consulate at Bei-jing, who, at the end of the last installment, came bursting through a portal in the People's History Museum. "China Hands! To Me!" With that command, Rowden Gray has summoned his forces to return to the action - to the Dragon's Pool in the shadow of Her hem, where the Jade Owl's overlord commands an army of creatures, engineering the end of the world; or at least, the world, as we know it.

In this last book of The Jade Owl Legacy, our mixed bag of adventurers face their greatest challenge. They must negotiate the perils of the People's government, the mysteries of the Palace of Broken Dreams, the dangers of the Ghost Lands and the mythic realm of the Classic of Mountains and Seas. Their odyssey delivers them to the final showdown -- the Battle of the Full Moon, where all mysteries are revealed and every threat is settled. What began as a Sinologist's dream converges on everyone's nightmare. The Jade Owl calls you, but so does the muster to arms. Heed them both, but answer only one. "China Hands! To Me!"

The Jade Owl Legacy is a five book series. The first book (The Jade Owl) introduces a peculiar quest led by Professor Rowden Gray and a rag-tag team who follow a mysterious thread of instructions to thwart an ancient Chinese prophesy. Instead, they managed to set off events, igniting the crisis. Two demons, which possess a relic known as the Jade Owl, each in turn, after eons of imprisonment, test their land legs among the living. In The Third Peregrination, the Destroyer takes his turn with wrath and fire. In The Dragon's Pool, the Great Marshal takes his spin, preparing the way for a curious ritual that will restore the world to a prehistoric state. To combat these spirits, our heroes acquire extraordinary powers in an attempt to thwart destiny's course. However, destiny is not easily thwarted. In The People's Treasure, all hell breaks loose as our heroes are manipulated to serve destiny's course to fulfill the prophesy. However, In the Shadow of Her Hem, they bounce back against insurmountable odds and fight to save life from ultimate destruction. From San Francisco to New York, from Florence to China with her many faces, the Jade Owl proclaims an ancient evil that intends to triumph. This is the story of the brave hearts who rise to the challenge to tangle with the dark forces of yin.


Book Five of The Jade Owl Legacy
In the Shadow of Her Hem
Table of Contents

Part I: The Green Mist

Chapter One: Terracotta Tapestry
Chapter Two: The Last Tour
Chapter Three: The Hall of the Timeless Mirrors
Chapter Four: Sleepers, Arise!
Chapter Five: Gathering the Storm
Chapter Six: The Room of the Recalcitrants
Chapter Seven: Diplomacy at Its Worst
Chapter Eight: Mother's Day
Chapter Nine: Taking Stock
Chapter Ten: Beyond the Pale
Chapter Eleven: Quarantine Facility Number Four
Chapter Twelve: A Reasonable Request
Chapter Thirteen: Milk into Cream
Chapter Fourteen: The Mystery at the Big Goose

Part II: The People's Secret

Chapter One: The Pressure of Leadership
Chapter Two: Their Sunday Best
Chapter Three: A Jar of Fireflies
Chapter Four: In the Spirit of Cooperation
Chapter Five: The Lynchpin and the Spider
Chapter Six: On the Home Front
Chapter Seven: The House that Gray Built
Chapter Eight: Foiled Again   
Chapter Nine: The Visitation
Chapter Ten: The Ruler of this Place
Chapter Eleven: Return to the Red Chamber
Chapter Twelve: In the Ruins with Bad Company
Chapter Thirteen: List and Learn
Chapter Fourteen: Nocturnal Ghosts

Part III: A Visit to Mao Sheng

Chapter One: Shadowy Return
Chapter Two: Trouble in Cricketland
Chapter Three: Night Rain
Chapter Four: The Palaver of the Map of the Mind
Chapter Five: Jian-ping
Chapter Six: Through the Outhouse
Chapter Seven: The Palace of Broken Dreams
Chapter Eight: The Interlopers
Chapter Nine: Mao Sheng
Chapter Ten: Squeezing the Keeper
Chapter Eleven: A Surprising Aftermath

Part IV: Mountains and Seas

Chapter One: Benediction
Chapter Two: The Tolling of the Bells
Chapter Three: The Bronze Road
Chapter Four: The Ghost Lord
Chapter Five: The Pincer Labyrinth
Chapter Six: On Mount Monkeywing
Chapter Seven: The River Spoon
Chapter Eight: The Bridge to Mount Teawillow
Chapter Nine: In Herring Bone Meadow
Chapter Ten: Nan Ya Makes a Plan -- Plain and Simple
Chapter Eleven: Turmoil at Xi-an
Chapter Twelve: A Tale Like No Other
Chapter Thirteen: Guan-yin's Heddle
Chapter Fourteen: Dinner with the General
Chapter Fifteen: To Mount RaiseShake
Chapter Sixteen: The Mother of the West
Chapter Seventeen: Mount CherrySunny
Part V: The Battle of the Full Moon

Chapter One: The Ship Has Sailed
Chapter Two: To Meddle with the Heddle
Chapter Three: Niu-wa's Feathers
Chapter Four: Reeling in the Bird
Chapter Five: Sydney's Hornpipe
Chapter Six: The Ultimate Weapon
Chapter Seven: The Struggle for Yu-shui-ch'ien
Chapter Eight: So This is How it Ends


Excerpt - from Chapter One

Chapter One
Terracotta Tapestry

In the shadow of Her Hem, a green mist crept down Mount Li to engulf the West China Plain. Not the golden dust that often visited Shan-xi Province, sparkling and choking both resident and visitor alike, but a gaseous cloud, creeping through crags and ravines, fermenting a hum in its wake. Lightning rippled beneath this juggernaut cloud, frightening the towns and villages wreathing the mountain. The mist swallowed Hua Xing Hot Springs and closed the Great Meadow Market, and other tourist attractions, including the Terracotta Warrior exhibit, the region's greatest drawer. Although only edged by the mist, the government closed it as a precaution.

P'i-ho gung-yung yin-wei nung-wu.

Closed to the public because of the fog.

Thus the sign read until it eventually was engulfed also. Then people could see the fog for themselves and figure things out.
Most residents in Lin-tang, the city at the base of Mount Li, found it convenient to visit relatives in neighboring towns, even though this unexplained miasma still dogged their heels, drifting through lanes and alleys like swamp gas. Many people hopped the last bus out of town, heading for the provincial capital, Xi-an. However, even that great western metropolis became alarmed by the events at Mount Li. Still, the weather was the weather. Who could control it? It must run its course. Much was said, but little done. One could send an army against invaders, but who could argue with a fog?


Militia Constable Pang Fu-wei kept his vigil inside the massive pavilion that housed the Terracotta Warrior excavation. He wasn't sure why he was guarding the ancient wonder, because the public wasn't coming and each relic was too big and heavy to haul away conveniently. Thousands of these warriors stood as they had for nearly three millennia. These were exposed to the elements, while their clay brethren (the majority) still lay buried undisturbed between Lin-tang and the monstrous tomb of the First Emperor of China -- Ch'in Shr Huang-ti, twenty li westward. Still, to Militia Constable Pang Fu-wei, it seemed a waste of time to guard the clay warriors, now that the place was closed -- now that Lin-tang was nearly abandoned.

As he patrolled the catwalk, Pang Fu-wei spotted his companion on duty, Militia Constable Jin Lu-to. He was smoking a cigarette near the entrance doors, while leaning against a wall. Jin Lu-to may have been whistling, but Pang Fu-wei couldn't tell, because of a constant whistling in the air -- a humming which approximated a tune sometimes -- and at other times, a saw blade in the wind.

He's got the better post, Pang thought. He can stick his head outside for some air.

Then Pang thought again. Some respite that would be if the mist overtook the parking lot like the cigarette smoke overtaking Militia Constable Jin's lungs.

Perhaps the musty air in here is better.

Constable Pang marched across the catwalk, his sidearm rattling on his hip. He wondered what he'd be shooting at. If he hit one of these clay beauties, the local committee would have his balls in a soup. He'd lose his cherished whiskey ration and perhaps be shipped off to guard the Great Wall -- the far end portion in the wilds of Tsing-hai where some Uighur terrorist could blow him up with an IED. No. Better leave the revolver holstered.

He halted, and then grasped the railing, staring at the first line of warriors -- his familiars. He could describe them better than in the guidebooks. His eyes settled on one of his favorites -- an ugly chap with a broad beard, two swords fisted and bow legs. This was the warrior for him -- a fugitive from justice, who served the First Emperor in death as he had in life. Pang Fu-wei imagined this clay brute, who he had nicknamed chu-yu tun-bu -- Lard *ss, playing fan-tan all night, drinking himself silly, and then rising in the morning to fight the First Emperor's enemies.

"Fool," Pang muttered. "Where did it get you? You're nothing but a clay effigy, like the rest of your army."

Suddenly, Pang Fu-wei thought he saw Lard *ss blink.


Still, Constable Pang's hand went to the top of his revolver. His thumb unhitched the holster. Then, a green light flashed from the warrior's blank eyes. Pang jumped back. He thought he saw several warriors flash their eyes. He looked toward Constable Jin, who had finished his smoke and casually paced at the far end. Pang Fu-wei was about to shout to him, but then . . .

"They'll lock me up in a black jail and throw away the key."

Better to chalk it up to nerves.

It was not easy to ignore this observation, but it was harder to disregard the mist now seeping between the rows of warriors. Horses and chariots and men of clay were now glowing faintly, but distinctly. Then, Pang saw a . . . saw what? Something scurried between the statues. He slowly slipped his weapon from its holster and aimed it at a vacancy -- a lane between the serried ranks assembled.
"Is anybody there?' he asked, his voice trembling. "Show yourself or I'll shoot."

And it did. A creature -- small, but hideous, reptilian but bird-like, red and yellow feathers sparking from its head. It perched briefly on the railing and squawked.

"Da-tiao!" Fang screamed.

He dropped his gun and ran.

Enjoy. ;D
Edward C. Patterson

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