Sunday, September 25, 2016

But Wait, There's More!

I wanna make you an offer; one I hope you can't refuse: I'd like to give you a FREE copy of my collected short stories -

Skins Game, and Other Short Fiction.

Click Here to Download

You gotta ask yourself, "Why would I do this?"

Well, I'll tell you: Because you get an e-book of my award-winning (some of them) short stories absolutely free, no obligation. This collection has never been published, nor will it be. It's offered exclusively to my club of loyal readers.

"Okay, fine," you might counter. "Then why would you do this"?

A couple of reasons:  
1 - It's what marketing hotshots call a 'loss leader.' I give you this book, hoping you'll like what you read and want to read more of my stuff, namely, my novels...which you will buy cheap on Amazon. OR, if you do Kindle Unlimited, get them free, too.

2 - You'll join my Readers Group wherein you'll get periodic updates on things like new releases, more freebies or discounted books, blog posts, and my alleged whereabouts. 
DO NOT WORRY. I will never spam you, sell your email address, or have Russians hack your server. Besides you can unsubscribe at any time, but hopefully you'll want to remain in the gang. I'm working on some signs and tags for that, but a lot of the good ones are already taken.

Here're excerpts from a couple of the stories
for those of you still hesitating:

Skins Game
At the green Cletis was away. He crouched behind his ball and held up his putter like a plumbob, closing one eye to check the line.
“You boys know why I won all them skins on the front nine?” he asked.
No one answered.
“I took them holes, and your generous monetary donations I might add, because I have inner strength.”
Bluehorse snorted. “Crap, Cletis, you ain't got no inner strength. What you got is piss ant luck.”
“You sure got that right, Blue,” Whitey snarled. “Hell, Cletis, in all the years we’ve been playin together you never been good enough to win on skill. You mostly win because of your constant jawjackin, which would drive a magpie to distraction.”
“Well, Blue's right about the luck,” Cletis rose and walked to his ball. Leaned over it.
“Yeah, luck knows me. It's always been that way.” He eyed the hole, swung a practice putt. Straightened and looked again at the hole.
“But my luck works for me in two important ways.” He leaned over the ball again, padded his feet in place, up and down. He shook his left gloved hand and re-gripped the putter.
“It gives me confidence.” He drew back and gently stroked the ball, his putter giving off a soft ping when it hit.
“And it really pisses off those I compete with, which, of course, works to my advantage.”
The golf ball slid up one swale and broke right, skimmed along the base of another and broke left. When it got to the hole it orbited the rim two and a half times and fell in.
Cletis Worley raised his putter and rested it on his shoulder. “Like I said, inner strength.”

The 5th Regimental Combat Band

The sergeant major, a highly decorated veteran of the two prior wars, didn't have a lot of love for officers. His rank specifically, and his demeanor in particular, served to give him the right of way, and the benefit of any doubt by all those in uniform up to the rank of brigadier general. In his opinion, he'd forgotten more about running and fighting a war than most of these snot-nosed college boys would ever learn. He'd quit addressing anyone at or below the rank of major by "sir" in 1953.
“Major Wedenhoffer,” he addressed the pudgy and myopic engineer battalion's XO with indifference. “The Old Man wants this hospital company crap squared away.” He caught the Major in mid-munch of his second sugar-coated cinnamon roll one of the cooks had brought to HQ earlier. Wedenhoffer had made the trip to Brigade for two reasons: to deliver Colonel Lembacher's Morning Report, and to eat several cinnamon rolls.
“Get on the horn to Four Corps and see what you can do,” the sergeant major ordered. “In the mean time, billet these band people with your battalion in the hospital company's hootches. That's them out front. Take 'em with you when you leave.” He slapped the papers into the major's soft chest, and left out the back door.
       “But...who? What hospital company? Did you say band?!” the befuddled former CPA shouted after the sergeant major sending cinnamon roll tracers with his words.

I do appreciate ya - Phil

Of course, you don't have to read Skins Game before taking a look my novels. Here's the Amazon links for them. 

Red Lands Outlaw, the Ballad of Henry Starr

Game, an American Novel

Treasure Kills, Legends of Tsalagee Book 1

West of the Dead Line, the Complete Series

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