Redemption (Enigma Black Book #3) Prologue

Can't wait until summer?  Read the Prologue below (subject to further editing and revisions):

Prologue

            I could hear the beat of the drums. They reverberated in my head, a war cry only audible to me. Their disembodied rhythm tore its way through my veins, energizing my soul, reviving my battered body. Ignoring the pain, the holes in my tattered suit, the screams from the dying city I once called home, I charged on to the sound of their deafening chorus.

            With each footfall, images crept into my mind, playing in a continuous loop. Images of my father and mother, of Jake, Lucy, and Blake, whose lives had been lost in this decade of chaos we’d come to know as life.

            It would all end tonight.

            No more would a child know the meaning of the word death.  No more would our cities remain abandoned, hollow shells of the hubs of prosperity they once were. Fear would loosen its grip on society.  The deaths of those we loved and of those who loved us would not have been in vain.  Tonight would be the end, and we were willing to die to ensure its demise. 

            We would die to ensure his demise.

            Next to me, Ian ran, keeping up with my fevered pace, his body just as bloodied and bruised as my own. We were both numb.  Too numb to notice the agony we should have felt, too numb to care what happened to us anymore; for we had been deceived in the worst possible way, and deception had a way of turning suffering into fuel, igniting unbridled rage.  Ian lunged forward, overtaking me, a flap from his torn suit bounced with each step he took, exposing his left shoulder blade.  Blood, caked with dirt, dotted his exposed flesh, revealing a hint of an injury kept hidden by the remaining material. I wondered whether he could hear the drums, too, or whether he heard anything at all.

            I sped up to catch him, jumping over a pillar that had been toppled over, presumably by one of the many explosions that had rocked the city over the past couple hours. Had I not grown up here, I wouldn’t even have recognized some of the buildings for what they once were.  My former high school, the bank where’d I’d spent my final days of normalcy, and the diner where Blake offered me the chance to rid myself of my nightmares, were now nothing more than indiscernible piles of concrete.

In the streets, dodging debris, escaping smoke and flame, survivors of the attacks ran haphazardly, seeking refuge where none existed.  Above us, the late evening sky, reddened by the flames that hugged nearly every block, took on the appearance of fresh blood flowing from a gaping wound. If someone had asked me before that moment what I thought the end of the world would look like, my description would have paled in comparison to the scene that was splayed out before us now.  We were no longer on Earth, but in the very bowels of Hell itself.

This attack had been personal, but then again, they all had been personal in a way. The crazed vendetta, the evil that resided in the entity the people had come to know as The Man in Black had unleashed itself to the nth degree. Perhaps sensing his reign of terror drawing to an end, he was determined – no, desperate – to go out with a bang…and take out the last of those I had known and loved in my former life in the process.

“Turn left down the next block,” I instructed Ian, hoping he could hear me through the insanity surrounding us.

“There’s a next block?” he responded, his pace slowing a notch. “How do you tell where one ends and the other begins?”

“Follow me.” I passed Ian, picking up my pace. Whatever happened tonight, whatever happened to me, I couldn’t – no, I wouldn’t – let them suffer for the choices I had made. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Ian, matching me stride for stride, unwilling to let me dive  headfirst alone into the imminent confrontation that awaited us. Swiftly, I rounded a corner next to a small café near my old apartment building and bolted down an adjacent alleyway.

“How much further?” There was a touch of apprehension in his voice.  I had noticed it building with each step we made, with each breath he took. 

“Five blocks,” I answered him in an unaffected tone, trying to keep my own fears from betraying me. “The lodge is five blocks ahead.” My voice shook more than I would have liked.

“Are you okay,” he asked, concerned.

So much for being the strong one. Ian gazed at me between periodic glances back at the street ahead of us; his green eyes pierced through my helmet as though he was trying to see inside my soul for the answer. “No,” I finally answered him truthfully. “There’s nothing okay about me right now.”

“We’ll find him, Celaine.  We’ll find Chase and the rest of them, and we’ll get them out safely.  It’s not them he wants…”

“Exactly, Ian. It’s me he wants. I’m the reason for this.  If they die tonight, it’s because of their association with me.” I paused, the tears welling in my eyes, momentarily blinding me.  “If you die tonight…”  Suddenly, my body was forced to a halt as though I’d been strapped to a tether that had run out of slack. Looking down at my arm, I saw Ian’s hand and the firm grip his fingers had around my wrist.

“Listen to me.” He pulled my mask up, forcing us to stand face to face, green eyes to brown eyes. “I’m not even going to pretend to know what’s going to happen tonight, or what the final outcome will be. Whether we survive this nightmare, or whether we don’t, I just want you to know that there’s no place I’d rather be than fighting alongside you right now, no matter what the consequences. Leaving Norfolk with you was the best decision I ever made, and nothing, nothing, will make me regret the chain of events that brought me to this place at this very moment.”

            I felt a tear escape from the corner of my eye, and Ian’s gloved hand swiftly wiping it away before it had a chance to fall down my cheek. “Ian, I…”

            “I know you don’t feel the same way about me…”

            “Ian, stop. I…”

            “Let me finish my thought,” he interrupted me again, gently touching his fingers to my lips. “Please, Celaine, just let me just get it out. Then after I do, you can tell me how wrong I am.” The tiniest hint of a smile crept across his face, the rest of which was betraying the coolness he was trying so hard to project.  I nodded without taking my eyes away from his, and the new creases that had developed in the corners of them over the past few weeks. Worry.  We’d both experienced enough of it to last us a lifetime. “I know you don’t love me the same way you loved him, or, perhaps, the way you still love him now,” he began again.  “And although that’s frustrating as hell, I also know that I can make you happy again, and I think you know that, too.  You’re just too afraid to admit it to yourself.” He caressed my cheek, pausing to let me absorb everything he had just said, not expecting a response in return.  “All I ask is that you promise me one thing.”

            “Anything,” I answered him automatically, knowing that I meant my response wholeheartedly, even though I hadn’t fully processed the weight of his words.

            “Promise me that if we both make it out of this alive, you’ll give me a chance to make you whole again."

            The tears fell down my face unhindered in their descent. “I promise.”

            Ian leaned in closer to me, pressing his lips to my forehead.  “Thank you,” he whispered.

            We stood there together in an embrace that no amount of force could separate – an island in the sea of chaos that crashed around us – before finally allowing reality to set in again.  Together, we resumed our journey into the unknown, to whatever fate had in store for us.

            I could hear the beat of the drums. Their echo haunted me with every step I took, with every beat of my own heart.  They beat for Ian, whose love I didn’t deserve; they beat for Chase, whose life was now in our hands. 

Vendetta Nation-Now Available

The second book in the Enigma Black Trilogy - Vendetta Nation - is now available on Amazon here

                                                          And it has received its first five star review already:

I've been waiting on pins and needles for the this book after finishing the first, and it was definitely worth the wait! The storyline is just as compelling, and the characters so well-written, you can't help but love or hate them. Celaine and Ian's fight against the Man in Black continues but not-so-new foes take a big step forward in the plot of this story, which I can only imagine will lead to an epic clash in book 3. Relationships are changing at the same time, and I find myself unable to pick a side because I love all the characters involved, so I can't wait to find out how it all ends!

Here is the synopsis:

What if you gave up everything you knew and loved for a lie?

Nearly one year ago, Celaine Stevens made the choice to leave her life behind to join The Epicenter, an organization charged with bringing down The Man in Black - a terrorist and the one responsible for the murder of her entire family. Battling conflicting emotions and the pain her decision caused, Celaine tells herself that her sacrifices will all have been worth it when The Man in Black is finally apprehended.

But, instead of hunting the elusive entity, Celaine and her partner Ian Grant find themselves preparing for a war looming on the horizon. Angered by President Brook’s ever-tightening restrictions, a rebellion has formed, leading the charge against the President and anyone who stands in their way. Caught in the middle, Celaine and Ian are forced to choose sides, having to decide whether to align themselves with the rebellion, whose motives they question, or obey the orders given to them by an organization they are steadily growing to distrust.

A war is sparked by deceit, new alliances are formed, an unexpected love begins to blossom, and true identities are revealed in Vendetta Nation, the second installment of the Enigma Black trilogy.

 

Thank you all for your continued support!

Getting Past a Negative Review Without Becoming a Raging Alcoholic

 

I wish I could be like Shaw who once read a bad review of one of his plays, called the critic and said: 'I have your review in front of me and soon it will be behind me. -Barbra Streisand

 
From my close observation of writers...they fall into two groups: 1) those who bleed copiously and visibly at any bad review, and 2) those who bleed copiously and secretly at any bad review.  -- Isaac Asimov

When I was in elementary school, I remember sitting in on a presentation about bullying and kindness. Although I can’t remember most of what was drilled into my young, impressionable mind that day -- or much of anything now that I’ve reached the third decade of my life, for that matter -- one thing did stick with me. In that presentation, an insult was labeled as a cold prickly, while a compliment was called a warm fuzzy (stick with me, I promise I have a point here). In short, it was reiterated repeatedly that when you present a person with one cold prickly (an insult) it takes approximately twenty or so warm fuzzies (compliments) to undo the damage your one cold prickly caused. Ever since learning this little tidbit, I’ve carried it with me, later finding it to have been the most important lesson I learned in the third grade. Years later, as a writer and recipient of not-always-so-wonderful reviews, that one lesson holds all the more meaning. For despite all the positive comments and reviews I’ve received, I find myself focusing on only the negative, allowing those words to define my work.

As writers, we have to separate our feelings from our work product. I know it’s easier said than done, but if we are to thrive in our chosen profession (or hobby), then we can’t allow our egos to become bruised or somehow believe that a negative review is at all related to who we are as people. In short, we must put on our big girl or boy pants and carry on.

And because negative reviews happen to literally EVERY writer at some point, I’ve assembled a list of ways that we can keep said pants on to cope when a less than awesome one comes in.


Never, Ever, Under Any Circumstance, Comment On It

It’s only natural to want retaliate when hurt feelings are involved. However, we writers must refrain from defending our honor and accept the fact that customers pay for our work and are entitled to voice their opinions on it, whether favorable or not. For someone to argue with or belittle a reviewer after they’ve taken the time to read and review their work is both unprofessional and guaranteed to land the offending author’s reputation in the toilet. Not to mention, it does nothing to help the cause of other indie authors, who only have their body of work and online reputation to build their readership.


Congratulate Yourself, You’re Officially An Author

No traditionally published or popular indie novel has all four and five star reviews. Every single one of them have one and two star reviews to go along with all the glowing ones. Don’t believe me? Do a search on Amazon and see for yourself. Because I can pretty much guarantee you that any novel with over 100 reviews has at least one or two less than stellar ones amid its heaps of praise. So wear your one and two stars proudly, authors. After all, you’re in good company.

You Can’t Make Everyone Happy

There has yet to be that one novel that everyone universally loves; one that’s so perfect that no one can criticize it. We can only do so much as writers. No matter how polished our writing may be, no matter how flawless the story, no matter how much editing we do, there will always be someone unaffected by our work. Everyone has different tastes, and two people can read the same thing and draw entirely different conclusions on it. Such is life. Suck it up and drive on.

Look For The Hidden Gem

Believe it or not, there is such a thing as a good negative review. What’s so good about them, you ask? Well, for starters, for every one ‘this book sucks’ review, there are usually two or three negative ones of substantive value. If you can swallow your pride long enough to read them, of course. The truth is, no one’s perfect, and we all make mistakes. But it’s only those who learn from their mistakes, those who take the constructive criticisms in those reviews and use them to their advantage, who are able to improve upon their writing, and eventually turn their critics into fans. Take the time to take in every less than glowing comment about your book’s sentence structure, usage of adjectives, character development, plot, and dialogue, store them in a mental filing cabinet, and pull them back out when you’re writing your next book. I guarantee you won’t make the same mistakes again.

Quit Stalking Your Reviews

I have to say that this is one of the hardest pieces of advice for anyone, myself included, to take. In fact, I regularly stalk myself on Amazon and Goodreads to see whether I have a new review. If I see that I do, my pulse automatically quickens and I get a little sick to my stomach at the possibility of the review being a negative one. Thankfully, most of the time they have been pretty positive, but there have been a few times where I found myself reading something that completely ruined my day. In the beginning, they really bothered me, mostly because they affirmed all my insecurities about myself and my abilities as a writer. But then I realized that the only reason why they bothered me so much was because I’d become a victim of those insecurities, and that if I didn’t allow them to bother me, I could move on and get over myself. So, I got over it, knowing that although I’m nowhere near perfect, my insecurities are just that: MY insecurities. The reality is that I love writing. It provides me with release, and no amount of negativity, warranted or otherwise, is going to stop me from doing something that I love.

Use It As Incentive To Make Your Writing Better

If you’re stubborn and hardheaded like I am, when someone tells you something negative, you make it a point to do whatever you can to prove them wrong. This is especially true when applied to reviews. Whether helpful or not, use the review to improve upon your writing. Take the criticisms with you into your next book and think back on them. Were they warranted? Do you actually use too many adjectives? Is your dialogue really flat? If it was before, I’d be willing to bet that it won’t be anymore. Make it your goal to improve upon your writing with every book you write. Eventually, you’ll prove to your detractors that they were wrong about you.

Have a Good Cry, Laugh, Eat a Pint of Triple Chocolate Brownie Fudge Ice Cream (not necessarily in that order)

I’m a big fan of feeling sorry for myself for a few minutes, letting it get out of my system, and then moving on again. In my younger years, this would have required a glass -- oh, who am I kidding, a bottle -- of wine, or anything covered in chocolate. Today, I’m just a tad more health conscious and just stick with sulking around the house for a little bit before I force myself to pick up what I was doing before the offending review appeared, acting like it never happened at all.

Never Give Up

This is probably the most generic advice out there, but I’m going to include it here anyway. I know that I’ve personally read a few comments that have really stung; comments that have made me question why I write at all. Although it’s easy and only natural to want to shut yourself down and say that you’re done, you can’t let the opinion of a couple of people wipe away those of the rest of your reviewers (or that one cold prickly overshadow your mountain of warm fuzzies).


Writers, how do you get over a negative review? Do they bother you or do you allow them to just roll off your shoulders?

　

　

　

Pros and Cons of Outlining

Most writers fall into two categories: those who outline before writing and those who just write. In my case, I tend to utilize both methods. I like knowing ahead of time where I’m going and how I’m going to get there. However, I also enjoy the freedom of taking a detour if the original road contains too many speed bumps. No matter what method you personally prefer, there are pros and cons that every writer experiences during the writing process.

Let’s examine the pros and cons of outlining first.

1. It’s too restrictive. There are those who stick to the game plan and avoid the unbeaten path altogether. If that makes you feel comfortable, then by all means stick with it, but there’s a certain sense of being shackled to an original thought that could potentially stall the formation of a better idea.

2. There are no surprises. Surprises in writing are always fun for the reader, but when they happen to the writer, they aren’t necessarily good things. An outline eliminates any unwanted surprises such as a hole in your plot, the introduction of any unnecessary characters, or a storyline that’s choppy and doesn’t flow the way it should.

3. They keep you on task. Just like a ‘To Do’ list, an outline tells you where you need to go and what you need to do. It allows you to plan out what you’re writing that day and helps make your storyline flow more seamlessly.

4. Outlines ensure flow and help make for a more structurally sound plot. An outline is structure. When you know exactly what events are going to transpire and when they’re going to transpire it makes for a better constructed plot and less of a chance of cracks in your overall foundation.

Although more spontaneous, writing by the seat of your pants isn’t for everyone, but for those who do it, the following positive and negative aspects may be encountered:

1. Your creativity is allowed to shine through. Like a kid in a candy store, the possibilities are both endless and exciting when you write unrestricted and let your mind take you to places and people it wouldn’t have had you stuck with the original plan.

2. More writing is accomplished in less time. I know when I write by the seat of my pants, I feel freer and the words just come to me more naturally than when I try to restrict them to the content of an outline. Sometimes that’s a good thing, sometimes it’s more of a detriment, but I usually find that my word count for the day is higher and, for the most part, the content is solid when I write outline-free.

　
3 There’s more room for error. When you write without rules to go by, you’re more apt to break them. An outline lays out scene by scene instructions, ensuring a more fluid, relatively smoother writing experience without the standard errors that come without proper planning.

4. It can end up bogging you down. Even though you may write more when you let your mind take over, you may find that you end up doing a heck of a lot more editing. More words equal more filler and less meat to your story, subsequently leading to the trimming away of more fat.. You may find that this causes you to take more time with editing than you first anticipated, making this method of writing less productive in the long run.

At the end of the day, there really is no wrong way to write and no one manner of writing is better than the other. Different things work for different people. What matters is that it works for you and that you’re actually writing something as opposed to just staring at a blank sheet of paper.

5 Reasons to Write Dystopian Novels

I consider myself an eclectic writer in that the genres for the stories I’ve written tend to vary, from romance, science-fiction, dystopian, political thriller, paranormal, adult, young adult, and chick-it. In fact, my first novel, Enigma Black, is four of those aforementioned genres all rolled into one. But, if you were to hold me down, kicking and screaming, after careful thought, I would tell you that the increasingly-popular dystopian genre is by far my favorite type of novel to write. Why? I’m glad you asked because I just so happen to have five reasons why I prefer to write dystopian novels:

1.  Better world building. A dystopian setting offers a literal world of possibilities. Whether your literary world is governed by anarchy, oppression, a disease that forces its  inhabitants to live in seclusion, forced pairings, or generalized fear, the dystopian genre allows you more of a creative liberty (in my opinion) to multiply the darkest fears buried in the deepest recesses of your mind and bring them to life on paper.

2.  More kick-butt female protagonists. From Katniss in The Hunger Games to Tris in Divergent, dystopian novels are rife with strong female main characters who make wonderful role models for young women, and have more honorable traits for others to emulate, such fearlessness and strength (as opposed to selfishness and a dependence upon others to save the day).

3.  Because rainbows and sunshine get old. I, for one, don’t want to read a novel where everything is hunky-dory all of the time nor do I always want there to be a happy, sugar-coated ending. I want there to be tension; I want to feel a sense of impending doom amidst a world I can’t seem to figure out. And you get all of that in the dystopian genre, making it one of the more exciting genres to both read and write.

4.  You can stack other genres on top of it. There is so much more you can work into a dystopian novel. You can have an epic romance, an alien invasion, a political thriller, or even a horror story (think zombies), all set within a dystopian environment. Really, the world’s your oyster when it comes to the dystopian genre, allowing you to be a tad more creative with less restrictions than some of the other genres impose.

5.   Heroes rise from oppression. One of the things I love most about the dystopian genre is the ultimate banding together of those who oppose it. Alliances are made, heroes are born, and a darn good story usually ensues as a result.

 I recently took part in a blog tour with RABT Readers. The following are just some of the reviews that Enigma Black garnered during that tour:

 

http://readingaddictionvbtreviews.blogspot.com/2013/05/review-wrap-up-enigma-black-by-sara.html

http://mustreadfaster.blogspot.com/2013/05/blog-tour-and-guest-post-enigma-black.html

http://faerietalebooks.org/2013/05/02/enigma-black-by-sara-furlong-burr-enigma-black-1/

Excerpt From Enigma Black

The automatic door was now more manual than automatic. I banged on it with my fists, attempting to do the job the explosion had been unable to accomplish. When that failed, I braced a leg on one side of the frame and, with my aching arms, attempted to pry the door open like a human crow-bar. No luck. After a couple more minutes of kicking, smacking and invariably flipping the door off, I realized that what I was doing was not going to work. Undeterred, I scanned the rubble for an idea. A piece of scaffolding stuck out like a sore thumb within the concrete. Lunging towards it, I prayed it would be suitable to pry the door open. Just as I bent down to grab it, I felt one hand on my shoulder and another one around my waist, attempting to pull me back.

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” A man whirled me around to face him. His eyes were wild, his hair gray from soot. He appeared to be a security guard or an officer of some sort. It was too hard to tell based on what was left of his tattered uniform. “There’s nothing left. Do you hear me? The ramp is gone. You’re going to get yourself killed trying to go out there.”

Even though I heard the words he spoke, they made absolutely no sense to me. What did he mean when he said the ramp was gone? It had been there just twenty minutes ago. Deciding that the good officer must be crazy, I broke away from him and proceeded onward in my quest to pry the door open, grabbing the piece of scaffolding from its concrete tomb.

“No!” he screamed at me again, lunging to restrain me.

I’d had enough. As much as I didn’t want to do it, I felt like I had no other option but to disable the officer, as reasoning with him was clearly not going to work. Raising my arm, I forcibly swung it back, striking him in the chest. The force of my elbow to his rib cage caused him to release his grip on me enough to where I was able to break away. Once free, I whirled around, swiftly kicking him in the legs as hard as I could in the hope that it would incapacitate him long enough for me to pry the door open.

Fetching the metallic bar from the rubble, I jammed it between the seal and the frame of the doorway, pushing it with all my strength. At first, it put up an admirable fight, but after several solid jabs it finally conceded defeat, slowly squeaking open. Smoke — thicker and black in color — poured into the store from the outside, sending me into another coughing fit. Holding my breath, I gave the bar a few more solid pushes until enough room opened up for me to squeeze my entire body through the door. Through the clouds of smoke, I took off down the crumpled concrete. In the suffocating fog, snowflakes stabbed my face like tiny daggers, grinding salt in my wounds.

My eyes worked to focus in the direction I’d left my parents’ vehicle. I walked carefully down the pavement, looking for the familiar sight of the garage. I should have been there by now; this walk was taking entirely too long. The smoky haze slowly became less and less dense the further out I walked until a wayward gust of wind blew past me, punching a hole into the unknown. What it revealed was a scene I hadn’t expected.

Instead of the familiar ramp, I found myself standing on the edge of a ledge with the rest of the city spread out before me. Sirens surrounded me. I shielded my ears with my bloodied hands. A strange sound approaching from above drew my attention to the helicopter that was circling the mall. The hurricane-force wind it generated pushed my broken body in all directions. Did I take a wrong turn? Was I that disoriented?

No, I wasn’t. This was where I’d left my parents and Jacob. They had been right here waiting for me. A thought occurred to me then; a thought that rendered my delicate stomach as fragile as an egg shell. Taking in a deep breath, I staggered to the edge of the cliff, peering over the edge to see what I had feared and somehow already knew would be there.