Finding November


Finding November cover

Being sixteen can be hell, and life at Liberty High isn’t doing Sarah Daniels any favors. Bullies, boys, an abusive mother, and now this: an old journal left to Sarah in her aunt’s will. With each passing entry, she grows closer to transforming the skeletons in her mom’s closet into proven facts. Everyone has a story. For Sarah, one boy’s journey across Great Depression America will set her free.

Now on sale in eBook and paperback!

<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Finding-November-J-E-Dyer-ebook/dp/B00IMPK9GK

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Seapunk — forging a new genre


This is purely an experiment in writing. The following is a short fiction piece in which I have attempted to take all things steampunk to sea. Please let me know your thoughts and impressions. No time like now to act like Victor Frankenstein.

Cat and Mouse

 

The Captain of the USS Endeavor fixed his blue stare on the rippling horizon. The massive ninety-foot paddlewheel of the carrier plodded a frothy course through the Atlantic’s undulations.

“He’s out there,” Captain Walker said peering through the large glass observation dome.

The ginger-haired skipper flicked the first two digits of his upturned hand.

“The spyglass.”

“Aye, sir.” One of his Junior Officers set the small brass tube in Walker’s meaty palm.

He scanned the choppy waters for any sign of his foe.

“Right paddle, half-stop,” he barked to his crew in the observation dome. “Bring her around to starboard.”

Two of Walker’s First Classes echoed his order. The taller of the two slammed the paddle lever down to the large ‘half-stop’ in red lettering, and then brought it back up to its neutral position.

“Right paddle, half-stop, sir.”

“Very well, Jones,” Walker said as he studied the seas.

“Coming around to starboard, sir,” the Quarter Master said.

Walker set down his telescope and put the receiver to his right ear.

“Lookout,” he said watching his other shipmates scurry across the foredecks of his vessel, “anything from your vantage point?”

The young Seaman rotated his large set of binoculars around on their post. “Nothing from here, sir.”

It’s not going to get any easier once the sun sets, he thought eyeing the orange and black clouds to the west. Might be time for aerial –

The Endeavor’s warning sirens cut the still of the evening air.

A cluster of white tees and dungarees amassed amidships off the port side. “Enemy sub off port!” several sailors exclaimed jabbing fingers to Walker’s eleven o’clock.

Walker flipped the switch on his console and picked up the small receiver.

“Battle stations, battle stations! All hands.” His voice rang out over every nook and cranny on the massive aircraft carrier.

“Get me a line of bearing on that fish,” he said pointing his spyglass in the direction of the sighting.

“Sir,” a Second Class said from behind her position, “I have them at 74 degrees, four minutes, two seconds at a distance of six miles.”

“Copy that,” Walker said. He turned to the short portly man to his left. “Commander?”

“Sir,” the Endeavor’s Executive Officer said.

“Get three of our birds airborne on that line!”

“Aye, aye, sir,” his short sidekick said.

Walker watched as three planes made their way out onto the flight deck. An aviation deckhand fired up the front propeller on the first bi-plane. Its narrow-spaced pairs of wings unfolded as four more handlers locked them into place. The pilot shot a thumbs-up from his cockpit to the handler in front of his plane. The jet engine on the underbelly of the fighter fired to life pushing the restraining cables to their limits. The handler stepped to port and motioned his hands down the flight deck. Each of the AC-231 Avengers bolted down the runway and darted off into the darkening skies en route toward the enemy.

“Left paddle half-stop,” he commanded. “Bring us around on their bearing.”

His able crew executed the order with precision as the observation dome slowly spun counterclockwise.  Once the bow of the vessel had reached the desired point, the Endeavor sped all ahead into the fray.

The three Avengers wove narrowing circles around the last known position of the enemy submarine.

“Any sign of them from above?” Walker asked. His inquisitive gaze rolled toward his XO.

“Nothing yet, sir,” a pilot said through broken static.

“Get me another line of –”

A bright blue bulb flashed over the copper map of the Endeavor on his console.

“Direct hit off starboard, sir,” a Lieutenant said studying the map.

“Damn!”

The hand receiver next to the blue bulb rang into his bridge. Walker knew who was on the other side and what they wanted.

He placed the handset to his ear. “Walker here.”

“Looks like I win this round, Tim,” the voice said over the weak connection.

Walker watched as the black metal body of a giant swordfish broke the surface a quarter of a mile over his right shoulder. The boat’s clear bubbles glared back at him like a huge pair of insect’s eyes.  

“I won’t go as easy on you next time, Mike,” he said watching the sub bob on the waves.

 

  

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Just in time for Halloween


castle old cover

A small fortune, unknown until now, remains hidden on a small estate in Buckhannon, WV known by its residents as the Castle. Local legends tell of angered spirits, a curse and even a series of underground catacombs associated with the estate. Greed is a powerful drug. One that binds people to their most prized possessions all throughout life and even afterward.

 

The Castle’s ethereal master still stands watch over the property from the tower’s second level preying on those who would be tempted by the treasure.  Lift the curse. Go where I could not, and release the tormented spirits from their prison.

Get a free copy of my investigation today.

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/239906

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The Furlough Song


So, maybe I got a little bored at work today:

Fur… I say Fu-u-uur-lough!
Take Congress’ pay, don’t let em go home.
 
Come Mr. Congressman, repeal the Obama.
Furlough come, and we all stay home.
 
It’s six days, seven days, eight days OFF!
You won’t get paid, and you can’t go home.
 
A difficult bunch of bright persona who can’t work togeTHA!
Furlough come, and we all stay home.
 
It’s six days, seven days, eight days OFF!
Furlough come, and they all stay home.
 
Harry Reid push it back, push it back to Boehnner.
Furlough come, and we all stay home.
 
I get to pee in any stall I wanNAH!
Furlough come, and they all stay home.
 
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The Shutdown Sandwich


Okay. So, it has happened. The world hasn’t come to an end by any means, but for millions of Americans life will get more difficult. It is with you in mind that the following recipe is offered up for a few bites (and laughs):

•Start with two slices of your favorite bread. You’ll want them toasted, so really hold them over the coals and grill them.

(to view the full article, go to http://ireport.cnn.com/docs/DOC-1042375.)

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Fantasy/Western


My new book is free  from Sept. 18 – 22. Shootouts, love, gambling, zombies and mayhem… Enjoy.

Axe and Emerald cover silver

Rhone McLean can only watch his entire world burn as his wife’s lifeless body
disappears into the raging inferno. A mysterious cowboy in black emerges from
the ashes of Rhone’s home with a message of hope. His words push McLean into a
quest to free Clara, but how much of himself is he ready to sacrifice?

As the nation heals from the deep wounds of a bloody Civil War, McLean ventures
into the underbelly of the Western frontier. Here Rhone must confront his worst
fear if he is to lower the veil and cross the fog in to the macabre world where
Clara is imprisoned.

The Forces of Creation and Destruction position their
pieces as their eternal conflict nears its boiling point. With the help of the
Pegasus, Bellerophon, Rhone attempts to liberate the seven Towers of Light from
the Baron and his legions of the damned and restore balance to Everdark. He will
soon learn that the path to Clara passes through the Stones of Power and the
collapse of the Dark Territories. Rhone must endure more than Hell if he ever
wants to see his wife again.

 

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Episode 1 Program Notes and Credits


drumwvu:

Flash Point Theater’s debut radio show. All writers, producers and musically inclined folks are encouraged to submit.

Originally posted on Flash Point Theater:

Originally aired August 28, 2013.

Musical guests: Kevin MaCleod. 

Special thanks to Ever Desireless.

Written, directed and produced by Joshua Dyer. All rights reserved.

The podcast feed can be found at:

http://flashpointtheater.podbean.com/

http://flashpointtheater.podomatic.com/rss2.xml

View original

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Friends, Countrymen Lend Me Your Ears


After several long months of painstaking work and editing, the audiobook of “Hunter Cell” is finished! It is currently up on Amazon and audible.com and will be made available on all platforms in the next few days. Click the link below, and head on over. Check it out.

http://www.amazon.com/Hunter-Cell/dp/B00EDHDJK4

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The Great (American) License Plate Game


The road can be a long and boring place for the kids in your family. No matter how hard you may try to explain to them that getting there is half of the fun, they will still get restless. The following is a game that has been around for a good while and has several variations. This particular version entertained my three for the seven hour trip we recently made into the Smokey Mountains of Tennessee:

  1. Make a list on a sheet of paper of all 50 states.  Leave two blank spaces next to each one: one labeled ‘vehicle’ and the other labeled ‘rig’.
  2. The point values for finding a regular personal vehicle is two points. The point value for a rig is one point. The reason being that rigs are more likely to travel cross-country than a personal vehicle would be.
  3. When you get on the road, have one of the kids or the person riding shotgun hold the score sheet and keep track of all of the plates that you see drive by. Each state can only be marked off in either category only once. Thus, there are a total of 153 points for all 50 states plus one of each category from D.C. Bonus points are given for plates from Canada, Mexico, or any other international plate: 3 points for a rig, and 5 points for a personal vehicle( once per province: Ontario and Quebec are separate for example). The vehicles must be in motion on a road of some type. Parked vehicles at rest stops and parking lots don’t count.
  4. Once you have returned from your trip, tally up all points, your distance traveled, and the time that it took your family to obtain your results. Post them here in the comments section to see how your family fared against all other players.

Results for my family:

Trip length: 900 miles round trip

Trip time: 13 hours

Total points: 77 points.

Not too shabby. So, you think your family can beat it on your next road trip? Have at it!

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A Sneak Peek Into Upcoming Fantasy/Western


The following is an excerpt from the draft of my upcoming work tentatively entitled, Tempest: Everdark Saga Book I.  As this post title suggests, this work will blend the traditional western saga into a work of fantasy for what I hope will be an entertaining tale. As always, comments are welcomed and encouraged.

‘The exhaustion pulled Rhone McClean’s features into the dust under his battered body. Blood oozed out of the laceration in his left shoulder soaking his already soiled white shirt. The cowboy raised himself to his knees, stabbed the blade of his weapon into the charred earth and leaned on the hilt of his broadsword. His legs trembled beneath his torn spirit as he lifted himself up off of the desert floor. McClean examined the damage done to his mortal shell. He lifted the black duster and matching vest to get a better look at the cut in his shoulder. The claw of the winged nightmare had managed to cut right through the gold scale-mail. He winced as he pulled the shirt away from the torn flesh. His left thigh had also been torn open by the talons of the monster. Rhone’s black slacks were ripped and the leg armor was pried open where the claw had cut.

Rhone tugged the brim of his hat down as a gust of warm Everdark wind blew up into his face. The foul odor of spent flint and brimstone clouded his nostrils. He halfway expected something to come right out of the breeze and try to strangle him then and there. Just one of those things he had gotten accustomed to in this unpredictable world.

Brilliant bolts of light streaked across the heavens in flashes of purple and red. Their brief lives illuminated the hellish landscape and the mound of scaly gray flesh before him. McClean sheathed his blade on his back and staggered over to the mortal remains of the Beast. None of its seven heads so much as whimpered when he kicked its chest with his good leg.

“Serves you right, you son of a bitch,” Rhone said pulling his revolver out of its holster on his right hip.

The outlaw scanned the battlefield as he chambered six fresh rounds into his trusty sidearm. A massive nine-pointed star within a circle pulsed in crimson light ahead. Rhone’s winged companion Bellerophon lay just beyond that; his snow-white hide covered in deep bleeding wounds. Rhone had to go through the circle and finish this. It was the only thing left standing between him and the love of his life, Clara. Who or whatever it was beyond this gate still had her, and was doing God knew what to her.

“No time like the present,” he said starting toward the pulsing gate.

The outlaw nearly stumbled to his face again when his right boot drug up something shimmering just beneath the desert soil. He turned and knelt down over the golden object.

“There you are,” Rhone said tugging the shield from the clutches of the scorched earth.

Its surface had seen better days. The left half of the angular shield had been charred and tarnished by the flames and acid of the Beasts’ many heads. McClean rubbed the right portion of it with the sleeve of his duster bringing it back to its former luster.

“That’s seen better days, too,” he said staring at his own reflection in the shield’s gold surface.

He smoothed down his thin moustache with the back of his right thumb and got lost in his own blue gaze. Why her? Of all of the mortals in the world, why did it choose Clara? The Oracle had given him the answer, but he still found it a harsh bite to swallow. Rhone had murdered just to collect enough souls to get here. Not to mention the hordes of undead he had been forced to overcome to free the seven towers.

“How in the hell did I wind up here?” he asked his reflection.

It sure was a long way from the dirt road that led to her front porch back in West Virginia.’

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