Darryl
Nyznyk, author of The Condor Song, was
inspired to write the book by the 1960s and 70s Sierra Club battle with Walt
Disney over a proposed ski resort in the Sierra Nevada Mountains, home to the
endangered condor.
Drawing
from his legal background as an attorney and love for the environment, Darryl
has created a gripping thriller about conservation that appeals to suspense
lovers and environmentalists alike.
About the story:
Lawyers,
and killers, and endangered birds? Oh
my. This unusual combination sets the stage for a riveting legal thriller by
best-selling author and former attorney, Darryl Nyznyk.
Described
as “The Verdict”, starring Paul Newman, meets John Grisham’s The Pelican Brief, The Condor Song follows
Sean Donovan, a new partner in a major law firm who lost everything when he
took a costly ethical stand. Wifeless, jobless, and betrayed by his closest
friend, Sean spends 13 years trying to find his way back.
Barely
eking out a living on small cases, Sean’s redemption comes with the death of
renowned environmentalist, Buck Anderson. When the dead man’s niece requests
Sean’s help in resolving Buck’s last case with the Sierra Club, Sean happily
accepts, but learns too late the opposition is his former law firm and the
partner who betrayed him. He may have just signed his own death warrant.
Is
Atticus Golden, the Disney-like developer against whose project Buck was
working, connected to the Mexican Mafia and groups that would go to any lengths
to protect their investments? As Sean gathers evidence against “Uncle Atti,”
all signs lead to Buck’s murder. A battle to save a precious environmental
resource turns into a classic struggle of good versus evil where a national
treasure - and a man’s soul – is at stake.
The Condor Song is a gripping
thriller that appeals to suspense lovers and environmentalists alike.
DARRYL NYZNYK lives in Manhattan Beach, CA with his wife,
Loretta. After practicing law for 20 years, Nyznyk became a full-time writer
and teacher. He is also the author of the holiday novel, Mary’s Son; A Tale of Christmas. For more information, please visit
www.crossdovepublishing.com.
Synopsis:
France, 1209: A Knight Templar riding through an eerie forest is suddenly
attacked by an assassin as a man and woman watch from a distant hillside. When
his death seems certain, the woman takes up a sword...
Present,
Formula 1 race, Magny Cours: Observed by the very same couple, Conor Westfield,
a career-obsessed Scottish driver, is in a horrible racing accident.
Miraculously, he survives what seemed to be certain death.
As
he is recovering from his injuries Conor’s childhood nightmare recurs, a
strange jumble of terrifying images that feel more like memories than dreams.
Can it be mere coincidence that the very next morning he is informed a
mysterious woman with whom he had very brief affair has died and left him as
her heir? But this was no ordinary woman and no ordinary affair. Dogged by a
niggling feeling of déjà vu, Conor travels to Amsterdam to identify the body.
At her home he finds an illuminated book that transports him back in time, to a
woman he left behind and a life lived in the shadow of a tragedy that cries out
across 800 years for resolution.
Weaving
history with the present, fact with fantasy, The Knightmare is a story of
angels and alchemy, betrayal and sacrifice, and truly extraordinary love.
Q&A
with Deborah Valentine
Can
you tell us a little about The Knightmare?
My
first series of books were crime fiction. The Knightmare marks a change of
direction to stories with both a historical and supernatural twist. It’s about
a F1 driver who remembers a past life as a Knight Templar. Sounds weird, but
there’s logic to it. In both lives he’s the action arm of a corporate body: in
medieval times, the Church; in the present, big business sport. In remembering
his past life he finds the origins of the personal issues he has in the
present.
And,
of course, there’s dodgy racing accidents, sword fights, the occasional
massacre, betrayal and sacrifice... and, perhaps needless to say, a woman at
the heart of it all, Mercedes. She’s quite an extraordinary woman. A lot of
history and magic are thrown in for good measure.
What
made you change from writing crime fiction to supernatural stories?
Oddly,
it seemed a natural progression. At the heart of all stories is some kind of
betrayal, whether technically criminal or not. Life itself is a rather
fantastical adventure and the longer you live, the more fantastical it seems.
It seemed more fun to take it that step further. As one of the characters in
The Knightmare remarks: “Please note the word is ‘super’ natural, nature taken
that step or so further than generally accepted natural events. Not ‘un’
natural”. I believe in exaggerration of a fact, you can illustrate a truth in a
more impactful way. Perhaps, going back to the point I made earlier, it’s fun.
Also, I love medieval history so that was another natural progression.
Who
or what inspired the character of Conor?
I
had a friend once who wanted to be a Formula 1 driver. I had always
thought of him as a ‘hooray Henry’; good-looking and witty, but... a
light-weight. Then I went to watch him race – I went camping with him in the snow
(it still gives me shivers) – and was I surprised! In an instant, he changed to
a man with total focus, genuine discipline, a real tactician. Out of that, grew
the character of Conor.
Another
big influence is the medieval true story of Abelard and Heloise. I read their
collected letters as a teenager and what a story! The love between two famous
scholars that ended in horrific tragedy, yet with a bittersweet epilogue. I was
greatly influenced by her letters in particular – her attitude to love and
marriage. A truly modern woman! It stuck with me.
So
when I created the character of Conor, I also based him on what I imagined
would be the psychology of their son. What would it do to a lad to know his
father had been castrated as retribution for loving his mother? What would his
attitude to love be? What choices would he make? And, more universally, how
many children are embarrassed by
their parents and absolutely determined not to make their mistakes. Of course,
in reaction you can make some pretty spectacular disasters of your own...
At
the heart of this adventure story is how your past impacts your attitudes as an
adult and how a bit of hindsight and life experience can help show you how to
take responsibility and come to terms with it.
About
the author: Deborah Valentine is a British author, editor and screenwriter who
once lived in California but far preferred the British weather and fled to
London, where she has resided for many years. She is the author of three books
published by Victor Gollancz Ltd in the UK, and Bantam and Avon in the US. Unorthodox Methods was the first in the
series, followed by A Collector of
Photographs and the Ireland-based Fine
Distinctions. A Collector of
Photographs was short-listed for an Edgar Allan Poe, a Shamus, a Macavity
and an Anthony Boucher award. Fine
Distinctions was also short-listed for an Edgar. They featured the
characters of former California sheriff Kevin Bryce and artist Katharine Craig,
charting their turbulent relationship amid murder and mayhem. They will soon be
available as eBooks through Orion. With the publication of The Knightmare she has embarked on a new series of books with a
supernatural edge.
Review: If you are like me you will see this book is
a memoir of an actress, arguably the most famous Iranian actress of all time;
but the name did not ring any bells. So like me you will hit Google image
search and when Shohreh’s picture pops up you will immediately say “Oh
Her” because she is that one actress that you have seen in just about
everything but you just didn't know her name. Well now you do. If
you needed a gorgeous actress to play any Persian/Arabic part in a movie or
show, Shohreh is the go to person (i.e. she has played a lot of Doctors).
As for me I recognized her mostly from her fantastic work on 24 season 4.
We start off with her childhood in Iran, where she was raised
in an educated family with high expectations. Unfortunately for her those
expectations did not include a career on the stage, as it was deemed beneath
her family. But she loved the stage and her family loved her and she
found her way with a young acting collective. What breaks my heart with
every memoir of Iran that I read (and this makes 4 of them now) is how
wonderful and cosmopolitan Iran seemed. It was a country on the path to
become the jewel of the region; the center of culture of Persian thought,
science, and the arts. And just before it took those last steps the
Muslim revolution destroyed all chances of it happening. Free thinkers
were exiled if they were lucky, but most likely they were imprisoned and
tortured, or at times they were executed.
The book details how happy and promising Shohreh’s life in
Iran had been, only to have it turned upside down by the revolution.
After much deliberation she recounts her hasty departure from Iran, as
she got into her car and drove all the way to England. She tells how she
counter intuitively hid her valuables in the glove box of her car when crossing
the Iranian border. Most everyone else tried to hide them on their
person, or in more devious locations in their vehicles. But as the troops
scoured everywhere and caught the would-be smugglers, they paid no attention to
the obvious place she hid hers. Why would anyone try to sneak out jewels
in the glove box – it would be the first place they searched?
Once out on her own in England is where the story takes an
interesting turn. I think most of us would assume an actress would turn to more
shallow pursuits if dislocated from their careers, but not Shohreh. She
got a job at a high-end boutique (At 60 she is stunning, one can only imaging
what a 20 something Shohreh looked like) and then pursued a college degree in
International Relations. She sold her car and her jewels to pay her way
through school, but at the end of the day she emerged with degree in hand.
It is an amazing story of not obsessing of all that you have lost, but
taking what you have and just getting on with her life; very inspirational.
Eventually she worked her way to Los Angeles, started her own
business and began again as an actress. Along the way she utilized her college
degree and hosted a talk radio program on Iranian politics and culture. Her
acting skills then landed her an Oscar nomination for the House of Sand and
Fog, bringing the best of Iranian acting to the world stage. Unlike a lot
of acting memoirs she is not afraid to name names and discuss some of the
challenges she has faced in Hollywood, whether that be her fellow actors or the
business as a whole. I guess receiving death threats as a radio host
toughens you up a bit more than your average celebrity.
This is a fantastic story that highlights the demise of a
wonderful culture on the brink of greatness, the power of fundamentalism to
destroy culture, a young woman displaced and her ability to overcome tremendous
odds, and it also delivers on a juicy inside story of Hollywood. You
never realized how much substance are behind some people’s stories, and this
book is a wonderful read that will educate and inspire you. You cannot
ask for much more from a memoir. Publisher: Harper Collins ISBN: 978-0-06-200980-7 Copyright: 2013 Pages: 288 Quick Review: 5 stars out of 5 Why I read the book: Enjoy books
from other cultures. Where I Obtained the Book:
Sent to me by the publisher for review.
Synopsis: Oscar nominee and Emmy Award–winning actress
Shohreh Aghdashloo shares her remarkable personal journey—from a childhood in
the Shah's Iran to the red carpets of Hollywood—in this dazzling memoir of
family, faith, revolution, and hope.
Enchanted by the movies
she watched while growing up in affluent Tehran in the 1950s and '60s, Shohreh
Aghdashloo dreamed of becoming an actress despite her parents' more practical
plans. When she fell in love and married her husband, Aydin, a painter twelve
years her senior, she made him promise he'd allow her to follow her passion.
The first years of her
marriage were magical. As Shohreh began to build a promising career, Aydin
worked at the royal offices as an art director while exhibiting his paintings
in Tehran. But in 1979 revolution swept Iran, toppling the Shah and installing
an Islamic republic under the Ayatollah Khomeini. Alarmed by the stifling new
restrictions on women and art, Shohreh made the bold and dangerous decision to
escape the new regime and her home country. Leaving her family and the man she
loved behind, she fled in a covert journey to Europe and eventually to Los
Angeles.
In this moving, deeply
personal memoir, Shohreh shares her story: it is a tale of privilege and
affluence, pain and prejudice, tenacity and success. She writes poignantly
about her struggles as an outsider in a foreign culture—as a woman, a Muslim,
and an Iranian—adapting to a new land and a new language. She shares
behind-the-scenes stories about what it's really like to be a Hollywood
actress—including being snubbed by two of Tinseltown's biggest names on Oscar
night.
Lyrical and atmospheric,
The Alley of Love and Yellow Jasmines is a powerful story of ambition, art,
politics, terror, and courage—of an extraordinary woman determined to live her
dreams.
Author Quote:“What
I had learned from our encounter was invaluable. Never try to look like your
character, leave some room for the director's imagination. Turn yourself into a
blank canvas ready to be painted on. Give him the pleasure of discovering you
rather than finding you.” ―Shohreh
Aghdashloo,The Alley of Love and Yellow Jasmines
‘We took some prisoners and tied them up
on the airstrip and left them out in the sun to die. Then we tied some up, put
them in a DC3 and pushed them out of the door.‘
This is the
terrifying true story of international assassin Carlos Evertsz as he ricocheted
between the high life in London, Madrid and the island paradise of the
Dominican Republic – and some of the world’s most horrific jails.
It is the
complete dossier of an agent licensed to kill and who doesn’t hesitate to
unflinchingly state his own record of shocking atrocities. Written by the
journalist who knew him best – even ending up on the assassin’s hit list a few
times himself – the story is as gripping as it is unbelievable.
Also part of
Evertsz’s weird world is Dr Manuel Sosa, a demonic intelligence chief with a
taste
for orgies,
torture, blackmail, voodoo and murder. It’s a scene you will find stranger than
fiction – but remember as you read, it is all true.
“I don’t think
my life has been so extraordinary. It’s just been my life, it’s been routine to
me. I’ve never had any other kind of life. I just think that I’ve been well
trained to do what I had to do. I’m an operator, a liquidator just doing his
job. To me, it’s just a way of making a living. Some people learn a trade, well
this is my trade.”
Christopher Robbins began his career in journalism at the age of sixteen when he started writing jazz criticism for the Daily Telegraph. Since then he has written for numerous newspapers and magazines in Britain, Europe and the USA.
The Empress of Ireland won the Saga Award for wit, along with exceptional critical acclaim. In Search of Kazakhstan was short-listed for the Authors’ Club Best Travel Book Award 2008 in the UK and (under the title Apples Are From Kazakhstan) for the Best Travel Books of 2008 in the US. Air America, a worldwide bestseller when it was originally published, was made into a film starring Mel Gibson.
It happens each winter, and has for over 35 years. Every time the snow starts to fall late in the evening before a school day, the dreams begin again for Billy Stone. They are always the same – there’s a dark tunnel, and there’s blood, lots of blood, and someone is screaming.
In this chilling childhood tale, Billy, recounts the events of one unforgettable day in 1975. On that day, he and his friends played carefree in the snow, until an adventure gone awry left him far from home, staring death in the face, and running from a killer bent on keeping a horrible secret.
Set in a time before Amber Alerts, when horror stories were told around camp fires instead of on the nightly news, Snow Day is a blend of nostalgia and nightmare that makes us question if the good old days were really as good as we remember.
From a new voice in dark fiction comes a thriller about an idyllic childhood turned horrifying; a cautionary tale about how losing sight of the difference between feeling safe and being safe can lead to deadly consequences.
Free Audiobook Sample — Snow Day: Prologue
Dan Maurer is an independent author, publisher, theater producer, director, and digital marketer. He is also a proud member of International Thriller Writers, Inc. and the Horror Writers Association. Throughout his career in publishing and marketing, he has been involved in the publication of bestselling titles such as John Grisham’s The Firm, Richard Price’s Clockers, and Jim Lovell and Jeffrey Kluger’s Lost Moon, which became the film Apollo 13. As a digital marker, he has supported popular publishing brands including Curious George, Peterson Field Guides, and The Polar Express. He has also developed marketing strategies for many corporations, including Citizen, Dun & Bradstreet, RCN and Bristol-Myers Squibb. Dan is a member of an acclaimed New Jersey-based theater company and has won awards for his producing, directing and sound design. He lives with his wife and their daughter in Robbinsville, New Jersey.
Tap…tap, clang… Tap…tap, clang…
”Hello?”
My voice was cautious as I called into the darkness. It wasn’t my house and I had no business being down in that cellar. By the look of the boards on the windows upstairs, and the weeds that strangled the front yard, it hadn’t been anyone’s house for a long time. But still, even at ten, I knew in my bones that I’d made the biggest mistake of my life.
One of the windows was busted at the corner, and the cold wind whipped and whistled at the breach. Outside, a loose metal trash can rolled and rattled and knocked about with each new gust. It made a soft, distant sound.
Tap…tap, clang… Tap…tap, clang…
The only light was an old Coleman lantern that I found there. It lay at my feet, the mantle fading and sputtering. Beyond the meager glow that lit no more than my boot-tops, it gave me the terrifying certainty that someone was here, or close by, and would soon —
Was that a sound? I held my breath and listened carefully, trying hard to dismiss the pounding pulse that thrummed in my ears. Was that a shuffling sound, maybe feet moving and scraping across loose dirt?
“Hello…? Anyone here…?”
I squinted hard but it was useless. The darkness was unyielding and oddly thick with the smell of freshly turned earth. Someone had been digging down here.
Tap…tap, clang… Tap…tap, clang…
Running into the house to hide from the police was my only option. The place should have been empty, long abandoned. But it wasn’t, and I knew now that I had to get out. I turned to leave, to run; and then I heard it, a word from the darkness. It was whispered and pitiful and — it was my name. Someone in the darkness called my name.
”B-Billy?”
”Who’s there?” I called out.
”I…I…didn’t d-do nothing wr-wrong, Billy.”
Both the voice and its stutter were familiar. Just hearing it made my guts twist.
Tap…tap, clang… Tap…tap, clang…
I snatched up the lantern at my feet, recalled my scout training, and worked the pump to pressurize the kerosene. The lantern’s mantle hissed a bit, burned a little brighter, and pushed back the darkness.
”Holy shit…”
The light washed over a young boy. Like me, he was just ten, and I knew his name.
”…Tommy?”
It came out like a question, but it wasn’t. Tommy Schneider lived next door to me and was part of our snowball fight just a few hours before.
When the light touched him, Tommy flinched and turned his shoulder, as if anticipating a blow. He shivered and folded his arms across his chest, hands tucked in his armpits. He paced and shuffled his feet in a small circle, as if his bladder was painfully full, and he whined and muttered; half to himself, half to me.
“It w-wasn’t m-my fault, Billy. I…I just w-wanted to play.” His eyes were swollen and red, and the tears ran streaks through the dirt on his freckled face.
Tap…tap, clang… Tap…tap, clang…
“Tommy, what the hell are you doing down here?”
”I..I…I’m sorry, b-but I d-didn’t do nothing wrong, Billy. I’m s-sorry.”
He kept his hands tucked under his armpits, but motioned with his chin. And that’s when I saw it, just a few feet from where I stood.
Naked and half buried in a pile of loose earth lay the dead body of a boy that appeared to be our own age.
”Jesus Christ…what the hell, Tommy.”
”No….” His whining grew and fresh tears were coming.
”What the hell did you do?”
”Nooo…” he whined more and covered his ears. “I didn’t do nothing wrong.”
Frantic now, I held out the fading lantern, quickly looking around. We were still alone. The scene before me was unfathomable.
In the half-shadows of the cellar where the lantern struggled to reach, there was a pile of fresh, moist earth and broken shards of concrete. I saw some tools – a sledgehammer and a shovel, and I think a pickax, too. A few brown sacks of cement mix were piled against the wall. And there was a large hole; a gaping wound in the cellar floor that reached beneath the foundation of the house, a hole that led down into a place where the lantern’s light could not touch. Nearby, a stray boot lay in the dirt, just beyond it a gym sock, and another lay close by my feet. A faded, wadded up pair of jeans was perched at the edge of the hole.
Tap…tap, clang… Tap…tap, clang…
I shivered, despite my layers of clothing and new winter coat. Tommy was freezing. He wore only jeans and a t-shirt pulled over a long-sleeved sweatshirt. His breath, like mine, fogged in the January air, and his jaw waggled helplessly from his shivering.
“Who’s that?” I asked, pointing to the body.
At first, Tommy’s eyes followed my finger, but then he just moaned and cried some more, and turned away.
I couldn’t tell if the boy on the ground was from our immediate neighborhood, or my school, or Boy Scout troop, or baseball team. It was difficult to discern much about him at all. He lay on his belly in a pile of dirt, and the loose earth covering his face and parts of his torso were, it seemed, tossed on him carelessly by whoever dug the hole. The backs of his pale white thighs glowed in the lantern’s light. The only stitch of clothing left on him was a pair of white Fruit of the Loom jockeys tangled around one ankle.
I picked up one of the gym socks from the ground, pinched it into a ball and held it with the tips of my fingers. Kneeling beside the dead boy’s head, I held the lantern close with one hand and used the sock to brush the dirt from his face with the other. Like a fossil being unearthed by an archeologist, the truth came slowly. As the seconds passed, the light and each stroke of my hand brought broken, bloodied and indecipherable features into sharp focus. But the crushed and jellied eyeball put me over the edge.
I jerked back from the body.
”Oh, God! Tommy, what — “
My stomach lurched.
I dropped the lantern and fell backward onto the ground. Turning and scrambling away on hands and knees, I found a corner and began to wretch. My back arched and my body convulsed uncontrollably. It was the Coney Island Cyclone all over again, but this time nothing came up, only thin strands of bile dripped from my mouth and down my lips.
In time, the convulsions faded. I finally rolled over and just sat there, looking at Tommy, wiping the spittle from my lips with the back of a shaky hand. My head throbbed and my mind was fuzzy. No words would come.
The wind howled through the broken cellar window again. Outside, the passing cars made a distant shushing sound as they crept along Woodlawn Avenue, tires rolling through the snow and slush. My heaving, stinking breath clouded in the cold air, and Tommy just cried.
Clang, clang… Clang, clang…
I was ten years old and had just seen my very first real dead body – still and soulless, and battered beyond recognition – lying on the floor of a cold, dark cellar of an abandoned house. What the hell did I get myself into?
Clang, clang… Clang, clang…
Staggering to my feet, I picked up the lantern and held it out.
”Tommy… who did this?” My throat was dry and pained.
Just as the words passed my lips, something in my mind and in my ears opened up – popped open, really, like in the cabin of an airliner during descent. That sound.
Clang, clang… Clang, clang…
It was different. It was continuous. It wasn’t the rattling trash can anymore. The sound came from a distance but it was there, and it was distinctive. I knew exactly who was standing impatiently, hip cocked and jaw set, banging on the lip of a dinner bell with her soup ladle.
Clang, clang… Clang, clang…
Tommy looked at me. He heard it too and knew what it meant.
”Your Ma’s calling, Billy.”
”Who, Tommy?”
”I…I…didn’t d-do nothing wr-wrong, Billy,” Tommy whined. “I just w-wanted to play.”
”Tommy…”
”It was ol’ George,” he finally said. “He did it. Stay away from ol’ George.” And then he started to cry again, whimpering. “I just wanted to play,” he mumbled through the tears. ‘ …just wanted to play…”
Clang, clang… Clang, clang…Clang, clang
Pump Up Your Book and Dan Maurer are teaming up to give you a chance to win a new Kindle Fire HD!
Here's how it works:
Each person will enter this giveaway by liking, following, subscribing and tweeting about this giveaway through the Rafflecopter form placed on blogs throughout the tour. If your blog isn't set up to accept the form, we offer another way for you to participate by having people comment on your blog then directing them to where they can fill out the form to gain more entries.
This promotion will run from July 1 - September 27. The winner will be chosen randomly by Rafflecopter, contacted by email and announced on September 28, 2013.
Each blogger who participates in the Snow Day virtual book tour is eligible to enter and win.
Visit each blog stop below to gain more entries as the Rafflecopter widget will be placed on each blog for the duration of the tour.
If you would like to participate, email Tracee at tgleichner(at)gmail.com. What a great way to not only win this fabulous prize, but to gain followers and comments too! Good luck everyone!
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