Monday, March 5, 2018

Hacking It by Kimberly Dean @kdean_writer




HACKING IT by Kimberly Dean, Romantic Suspense, 200 pp., $8.99 (Paperback) $3.99 (Kindle edition)


Title: HACKING IT
Author: Kimberly Dean
Publisher: Independent
Pages: 200
Genre: Romantic Suspense


Independent software developer Kylie Grant is on top of her game in the world of IT. She has loyal clients, a good reputation, and a prestigious membership in technology giant Afire Industries’ small business accelerator. Things are going well until she stumbles across an innocuous issue with the lighting in the building where she rents space. When she digs into the problem, she discovers something unexpected—a hack.

The incursion doesn’t affect her, but Kylie leaves enough clues to fix the problem. That earns her a visit from Luke McAllister, Afire’s chief security officer. Luke is handsome and rugged and everything that Kylie likes in a man, but she soon finds that he is blaming her for the security breach. Before long, the two are on a collision course, but also secretly looking at more than each other’s digital footprints.

When a fluke accident sends Kylie to the emergency room, Luke fears that the beautiful developer is in danger beyond the online world. Little does he know that she is also hiding a secret that threatens to jeopardize their now sizzling relationship.

Can Kylie fix Afire’s problems without falling victim to the hacker? And can Luke learn to trust her and keep her safe before their enemy strikes again?

Order Your Copy!

https://www.amazon.com/Mistress-Suffragette-Diana-Forbes-ebook/dp/B06XG3G2TF



Prologue

It was too danged bright in here again. Kylie Grant pushed back from her desk and glared at the overhead fluorescent lights. It was a subtle change, but, like most developers, she preferred her working space darker. She spent her days staring at a computer screen writing code. The last thing she wanted was more artificial light waves hitting her eyeballs. Grumbling, she grabbed her laptop and headed for the seating area by the fireplace.
This was the third time this week that she’d noticed the change. She tended to stay later than most people at Start ’er Up, and the sun had already set over Puget Sound. That was when the glare became most noticeable. Still, she was surprised that nobody else seemed to be bothered by it.
She stopped at the grab ’n go area for some trail mix and a cappuccino. She liked the coworking space where she and a group of small business owners gathered every day to pursue their entrepreneurial dreams. She didn’t want to have to go back to Starbucks, where she had to listen to college kids moaning about their love lives or hipsters strategizing about how to get ahead in the corporate workplace. She’d been there and done that—and gotten precisely nowhere.
She shuddered a bit as she sank onto the sofa. The idea of returning to the cubicle environment or, worse, the open-office land of chaos? No way. If she had to deal with a little glare, she could do it. She used the remote to turn on the gas fireplace and relaxed against the cushions.
Still, she squinted.
She blew out a breath of frustration.
Josie stuck her head around the corner. “I’m heading out.”
“Okay. Have a good night,” Kylie said. She was the last one here, as usual. She was a night owl who didn’t do mornings, but she wasn’t concerned. The building where Start ’er Up was housed was fitted with all the bells and whistles of a “smart” building. The doors operated on a badging system, cameras monitored all entries, and even the shades on the windows operated on a set timetable. Right now, they were down tight. Still, they were in the heart of downtown Seattle. The women here looked out for one another.
“I’ll be here for a little while longer,” she said. She had a website template due for a client tomorrow. It wouldn’t take her long to finish it up, but there were a few other things she wanted to putter around with.
“Hey,” she said after a moment’s thought. “Does the lighting in here seem off to you?”
Josie paused. “Not that I’ve noticed. What’s wrong with it?”
“Too bright.” But maybe not as bright as Kylie thought. She’d seen devs scatter like rats when a light switch was thrown, while the business types just looked at them strangely.
“Let’s check it out.” Josie pulled her laptop out of her bag and took a seat on the puffy chair at the end of the coffee table. She tucked her legs up underneath her as she opened the software for the building system controls.
Josie was the office manager, people connector, and general idea machine of Start ’er Up. She ran the place, but was actually an employee of Afire Industries, the tech giant next door that supported the small-business accelerator. Kylie had never met someone whose brain functioned on all cylinders in so many different areas. Her own mainly functioned in the land of Java and Python.
“It looks like everything is set correctly,” Josie said as she paged through the lighting controls.
Kylie glanced over her shoulder at the screen and scrunched her nose at the page design. The 2000s were calling; they wanted their styling back. “Can you send me that link?”
Josie lifted an eyebrow. “Do you need me to make you an administrator?”
Kylie shrugged. She’d see.
The corners of her friend’s lips quirked upward. She went ahead and added Kylie anyway. “Don’t stay too late.”
“I won’t,” Kylie murmured. She was already mulling over how a bug might be the source of her discomfort.
There was nothing a developer despised more than a bug.
She didn’t even hear Josie leave as she began exploring the software. Building control systems were all the rage these days. They saved money on energy, increased safety, and provided a ton of data on building usage. When she left here tonight, the swipe of her badge would let the building know to turn down the heat and shut the lights off entirely. Maybe a setting Josie hadn’t noticed had gotten bumped or a sensor that monitored ambient light was going bad.
Kylie felt her curiosity start to bubble. The final touches on that website were going to have to wait.
She fell into the zone. Being added as an administrator saved her some time. She quickly checked out the most obvious possible causes, but soon, she was poking here and prodding there. She downed her cappuccino and munched on her trail mix. She was well into her second helping when some cross-site scripting opened a door and begged her to enter.
“Well, hello there.”
She sat up straighter when she realized what she’d uncovered. This was no bug. The building control system for Start ’er Up had been hacked.
She worried her teeth against her lower lip as she assessed how bad it was. The infiltration was clever. Whomever had hacked the system had gotten in by way of the Internet of Things—all those computer-chip controlled devices that were hooked together to make operating the building easy. Anything with an IP address could be hacked. That meant the routers, the printers, the smart phones, and potentially even the coffee maker were susceptible to cyberattacks. She’d secured her own devices the moment she’d bought them, but Start ’er Up had obviously been vulnerable.
And they’d been breached. By somebody pretty good, she had to admit. They’d tried to cover their tracks, but she could still see the path they’d taken. From what she could tell, they’d only made one mistake. Her lights.
“They’re mine now,” she said as she fixed the glitch in the lighting system.
She secured the network in a matter of minutes. There was only one problem.
The hacker was already in. By now, they’d made other entryways.
She crossed her legs at the ankles atop the coffee table and stared into the flames jumping in the fireplace before her. What to do… What to do…
The hack had been on Start ’er Up, but who’d want to hack a group of small potatoes like them? All the small companies here had potential—well, some of them—but most were still struggling to get off the ground. The hack could have been made by a green hat (a hacker just cutting his teeth), but those types usually started with the Wi-Fi systems of the neighbors next door.
No, there was a much more obvious reason why Start ’er Up had been chosen: Afire.
The innovative giant owned this space. The building, the computer network, and even the sofa on which she was seated were its property. Afire supported the entrepreneurial ecosystem by providing a coworking space for fresh thinkers, but by doing so, it had left itself vulnerable.
What to do… What to do…
Kylie rubbed her hands over her face. This wasn’t her problem. She was just a renter here. It wasn’t her fault that Afire’s security team had 1) left a back door open and 2) hadn’t noticed the breach. She didn’t even like Afire.
Well, it wasn’t so much Afire Industries, per se. It was that whole hotshot male-dominated tech industry. She’d given too many headache-filled hours to a company just like that and been discounted, overlooked, and basically taken for granted. It was why she’d set off on her own. She was her own boss now, primarily making websites and databases. And doing other odd jobs… It paid the bills. She liked setting her own hours and working with her own clients, and her aching head felt so much better.
The ceiling in the tech industry wasn’t made of glass; it was made of titanium.
Her sensitive eyes had led her to find the hack, and she’d fixed the lighting problem. She wanted nothing to do with any more of this.
But Josie…
Kylie groaned and dropped her head back against the sofa. She didn’t want her friend to get in trouble for this, and, darn it, she was still a recovering good girl. As much as she wanted to just walk away, she couldn’t. The temptation to follow the hack was too strong. How deep did it go? How much havoc had it caused?
“This isn’t your fight,” she warned herself. Afire could protect itself or pay the price. Still, her curiosity had been roused.
“Drat it all.” Deciding that sleep wasn’t going to happen tonight, she returned to the grab ’n go area for another cappuccino before diving back in.
Her fingers flew across the keyboard, and, soon, it wasn’t caffeine that had her mental juices flowing. She found the knothole where the hacker had moved from Start ’er Up into Afire’s systems. Time flew as she followed them behind the firewall into areas where she wasn’t supposed to be. Keeping an eye out for security flags or trapdoors, she followed the hacker, learning more and more about Afire and the hacker himself as she went. More than once, she had to remind herself that this was a scouting mission only.
It was well after midnight when she finally backed her way out. She closed the lid on her laptop and stretched to pop the kink in her back.
“Ahh,” she said with a sigh.
The infiltration was like a cobweb branching out across Afire’s massive network. She’d been tempted to dig even deeper, but in the end, she’d decided to just leave breadcrumbs pointing out the breach to the people who were supposed to be watching for those kinds of things. Maybe that would light a fire underneath them.
She chuckled to herself. “Good one.”
And she’d been good for as long as she could stand. She turned off the fireplace and gathered up her things. Her work was done. Afire’s so-called security “experts” would have to take it from here.




When taking the Myers-Briggs personality test in high school, Kimberly Dean was rated as an INFJ (Introverted-Intuitive-Feeling-Judging). This result sent her into a panic, because there were no career paths recommended for the personality type. Fortunately, it turned out to be well suited to a writing career. Since receiving that dismal outlook, Kimberly has become an award-winning author of romance and erotica. When not writing, she enjoys movies, sports, traveling, music, and sunshine.

WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:

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Requiem for a Rescue Dog Queen by M.K. Scott @morgankwyatt


REQUIEM FOR A RESCUE DOG QUEEN by M.K. Scott, Cozy Mystery, 240 pp., $2.99 (Kindle edition) $9.99 (paperback)


Title: REQUIEM FOR A RESCUE DOG QUEEN
Author: M.K. Scott
Publisher: Sleeping Dragon Press
Pages: 240
Genre: Cozy Mystery
Pre-school teacher turned private eye Nala Bonne, and her opinionated dog, Max, have a nose for evil doings in Circle City. They’ve recently gone to the dogs, make that rescue dogs. Not everyone in Indianapolis has a soft spot for a homeless pup. Someone has it out for the dogs and the people who love them. A midnight call jolts Nala and Max into action as they rush to the aid of a local rescue dog queen, but it may already be too late.
Order Your Copy!

https://www.amazon.com/Mistress-Suffragette-Diana-Forbes-ebook/dp/B06XG3G2TF



Forget about it and enjoy the moment. Her hair streamed behind her as the boat picked up speed. Even though it had been a hot Indian Summer day, going this fast on the water chilled her. The windbreaker she brought just in case would solve the issue but would cover up the flirty top she’d donned for the date. Should she be comfortable or becoming?

A loud noise interrupted before she could decide. The lake remained empty and calm, except for the wake behind the boat. Using her flat hand as a sun shield for her eyes, she peered toward the shore to figure out who might be playing the same trio of notes repeatedly. No one on the shoreline, which only deepened the mystery. It sounded so familiar. In an aha moment, she realized it was her phone. Unfortunately, the realization forced her to open her eyes in her dark bedroom.

The red numerals on her clock indicated it was one-thirty in the morning. It was too late or too early for anyone to call. The sound stopped when she realized the tune had been the one she assigned to Karly, her best friend. Karly would only call her this late if it was an emergency. A cold canine nose touched her hand as she reached for her phone on the nightstand.

“Go back to sleep, Max. It doesn’t involve you.”
Even though it was dark and Max was a black German shepherd mix, she would have sworn the dog cocked his head and gave her an oh, really look. The damp nose disappeared with the sound of dog nails on the wood floor as Max settled on the floor. She could hear him mutter under his breath, “We’ll see.”

Yeah, dealing with a talking dog could be problematic at times. Her fingers found the phone which now had a glowing dot on the dashboard for notifications. Before she could call back, the phone rang again, vibrating in her hand. Karly again.

“Why in the world would you be calling me in the middle of the night?”

Her friend’s breathless voice gasped out. “We need your help!”


           



M.K. Scott is the husband and wife writing team behind The Painted Lady Inn Mysteries and The Talking Dog Detective Agency. Morgan K Wyatt is the general wordsmith, while her husband, Scott, is the grammar hammer and physics specialist. He uses his engineering skills to explain how fast a body falls when pushed over a cliff and various other felonious activities. The Internet and experts in the field provide forensic information, while the recipes and B and B details require a more hands-on approach. Morgan’s daughter, who manages a hotel, provides guest horror stories to fuel the plot lines. The couple’s dog, Chance, is the inspiration behind Jasper, Donna’s dog. Overall, both are a fun series to create and read.

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Ivy Vines: Visions by Judy Serrano @authorjserrano




IVY VINES: VISIONS by Judy Serrano, Paranormal Romance, 267 pp., $4.99 (Kindle edition)


Title: IVY VINES, VISIONS
Author: Judy Serrano
Publisher: Independent
Pages: 267
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Moving to Sedona was the only way Ivy could think of to start over. She would meet her high school sweetheart and work on making things right between them. Her psychic abilities were gradually becoming a curse and she needed a new start. Little does she know that when she applies for a waitressing job at a local, upscale French bistro, she will come in contact with the dark and mysterious Eli Dubois. What she doesn’t realize is she has just walked into the middle of the Vortex Murders, which involve a great deal of paranormal activity. Elijah’s army of seers are being murdered, one by one, which seems to be magnifying Ivy’s special abilities.

Eli’s best friend, Jake, arrives on the scene and reveals the secret that changes everything. With nowhere to turn, Ivy leans on the two men who offer her solace. And who is the old woman in the shroud? Is she a vision, a dream, or is she real? Only time will tell.

Order Your Copy!

https://www.amazon.com/Mistress-Suffragette-Diana-Forbes-ebook/dp/B06XG3G2TF



My heart was beating almost out of my chest as I drove to the restaurant to see Simone. I checked my rear view mirror often; just to be sure I wasn’t followed. I parked the car and ran as fast as my legs would carry me to the front door. I felt like I was burdened with cement weights around my ankles as I forced my body to keep moving forward. Trying to catch my breath was futile when Eduardo met me at the entrance. I was in no mood for his pretentious smile and flippant tone, but still he would not let me pass.
“I need to see Simone,” I told him, barely able to form the words due to the lack of air in my lungs.
“Will that be one for lunch or two?” he asked me. I almost punched him.
“Two,” I answered, regaining my composure. “Simone is off in a few minutes. She’ll have lunch with me, I’m sure.”
“Very well then,” he answered. He slowly took out two menus and sat me at a table by the window.
“Thank you,” I managed. “Please tell Simone I’m here.” He made an unfavorable face at me and walked away. I looked out the window and began to recapture a normal breathing pattern. I noticed an old woman walking by the creek. She had her head covered by a black scarf and she was wearing what looked like a black cloak over her body. It was warm out, being early September, and that’s why her clothing caught my attention. She took off the scarf and looked at me. When our eyes touched, I could feel my blood pressure rise. My face got warm. Long grey curls cascaded down, past her shoulders and her expression got very grave. Her nose looked like a misshapen staircase and she had a mole on the left side of her face along her jaw line. She pointed her finger at me, slowly straightening it out as far as it could go and I felt a surge of fear strike through my body. I stood up quickly, pushing my chair back with the backs of my knees and felt a hand on my shoulder. I let out a shriek, that was certainly noticeable and when I turned, it was Simone’s hand on my shoulder.
“Ivy, what is it?” she asked. “The last time I heard you scream like that…” I dismissed her, mid-sentence, knowing exactly what she was going to say. Since that day. The day we don’t dare talk about or even remember if we can help it. I turned my attention back to the creek but the old woman was gone.
I could feel her.
“It’s nothing I told her. Are you done with your shift yet?”
“Yes, I’m done,” she answered. “Eduardo is making me change my clothes first. So, sit tight and I’ll be right back.”
I sat back down and looked out the window again. A breeze blew open one of the side windows unexpectedly and I almost fell out of my chair. I could hear a faint humming. It was all too familiar. There was still no old woman, but I knew she was there.
She was watching me somehow.
Simone finally came back and sat beside me. “What’s going on, Ivy? I haven’t seen you this unraveled in a very long time. It’s a little disconcerting to say the least.”
“He’s after me,” I told her. “He knows I’m here.”
“Who knows you’re here? Ivy, you’re not making any sense.”
“Lucifer,” I whispered, leaning into her so that no one else would hear me. “He thinks I know.”
“He thinks you know what?” she asked, looking at me as though I had gone mad.
“When Jesus is coming. He thinks I know.”
“Do you?” she asked. “Do you know?”
A hiss filled the air in the room as the wind picked up and gushed through the open window. I drew a breath but I dared not answer.
She was listening.


Judy Serrano

Judy Serrano holds a Master of Arts in English from Texas A&M University-, Commerce. She is the owner of Make Cents Editing Service, and was an adjunct professor at a local college. Currently she teaches high school English and is a freelance writer for certain on-line publications. Judy also writes romantic suspense and paranormal romance novels. She is the author of The Easter’s Lilly Series, The Linked Series, and Ivy Vines, Visions.

Although originally form New York, Judy resides in Texas with her husband, four boys, two dogs and now five cats. She sings and plays guitar when she has time and enjoys singing with her very musical family in church when she is able.

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A Collection of Twisted Tales by Kraig Dafoe

A COLLECTION OF TWISTED TALES by Kraig Dafoe, Thriller Short Story Collection, 114 pp., $2.99 (Kindle edition) $8.99 (paperback)


Title: A COLLECTION OF TWISTED TALES
Author: Kraig Dafoe
Publisher: Createspace
Pages:114
Genre:Thriller Short Story Collection

Most of these stories have one thing in common, death. Although death is the common thread, there is nothing common in the way that it comes about.
This collection is chock full of interesting characters scattered among various settings that inspire the imagination, such as a Lavish English mansion or the dark interior of a rundown home.
This book is inspired by and written in the style of, Edgar Allan Poe.

Praise:

A Collection of Twisted Tales is an ambitious project that testifies to the author’s appreciation of Edgar Allan Poe’s fiction in particular. In this collection, Kraig Dafoe offers a creative homage with many original ideas and unexpected twists.”
Professor Vanessa Steinroetter, PHD

Order Your Copy!

https://www.amazon.com/Mistress-Suffragette-Diana-Forbes-ebook/dp/B06XG3G2TF

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/kraig+dafoe?_requestid=580207

 






The Unheeded Omen:
“when an arrant mind wanders,
and breaks open the protective shell,
rising up, a wicked demon saunters,
from the darkened depths of hell.”
--Louis Banks--
The general populace has long considered ravens to be associated with bad omens, though never putting much stock in such trivial absurdity, I delightedly accepted the opportunity to move my family into a lavish home located on Raven road.
In the early morn, in the spring of the year 18--, bracing yet dreary, leaves insignificantly rustled as a gelid breeze swept along, washing away droplets of early precipitation. Clouds hanging oppressively low, still darkened, loomed overhead, threatening another ghastly shower to descend upon us while we rode protected from the elements, while the wheels of the carriage jostled us about as they trundled over cobblestone. The voyage was relatively short, reaching just beyond the edge of town, which I had and would continue, to call home for many a year.
The caw of ravens echoed overhead as we veered down the road of our new dwelling, with seemingly thousands of the blackened beasts residing in its progression of Oaks.
My darling Penelope and our two young progenies, plus one in the womb, sat delighted as the driver directed the carriage down the lane to the two-story brick mansion as it seemed to us, having lived a life of little resource. This was the beginning to a new epoch, this auspicious occasion afforded by a promotion I procured; we received the home joyfully with the compliments of my company, as part of my bonus.
As the carriage rolled into view of the domicile, the children curiously gazed through the panes of glass, pressing their noses to achieve a better glimpse, their fidgety disposition putting smiles on our faces. Penelope and I showed approval for their enthusiasm.
The usually neatly manicured grounds were awash with the residue from the storm of the previous eve. Well-groomed hedges of significant splendor and foliage lined the drive, their once proud branches drooped towards the ground, some almost bear of leaves, and as the carriage circled in front of the home, ivy, overspreading the exterior, glistened in the dim light of day.
A valet, another benefit of my new station and being a servant of the house for numerous years, met the carriage as we stopped.
As we departed, the valet bowed deeply and gestured toward the portico, commenting that he had allocated our possessions to their proper place and now, the vast luxury of the domicile awaited us.
We embraced the cold air and made haste for the door, the children enthusiastically, first through its threshold. I followed my beloved, nodding attentively to the valet and, approaching the door, I noticed my new neighbor, an elderly man, pitifully disheveled, standing on the porch of his own discriminately decrepit home across the adjoining field.
The grass of the field, more resembling brome, between us was unkempt and thus made it impossible to tell where the abandoned yard ended and the neighbor’s began. The neighboring house was decayed from years of neglect, paint long ago wearing thin, cracked and peeling, and shutters hung precariously from their mounts. A broken fence of rotted wood surrounded the property, half its horizontal slats lying at angles to the ground and hidden by overgrown sedge. The windows seemed blackened by death, empty eye sockets peering at our new home and the roof seemed to house more ravens then did the trees, as any of its worn shingles were barely visible. Overgrown and under trimmed vegetation scattered the lot, yet the view of the house itself, unfortunately for me, was unobstructed. Upon looking at the melancholy house, a sense of indispensable gloom washed over me.
My new neighbor seemed to be as unkempt as was his yard and I noticed, with ease, the elderly man’s demeanor appeared to be one of utter indifference. I waved to him in what I considered to be a polite gesture and, perplexingly, he just turned and entered his house without response, which I thought a bit odd as I entered my new home.
I absorbed the splendor of my new abode, which was of stark contrast to my neighbors, while trying to shake the awkward encounter from my mind. Artful paintings hung from the brightly colored walls while decorative rugs dotted the cherry hardwood floors. The furnishings bore elaborate carvings, with soft velvety cushions, while brass and silver trinkets topped the stands and mantles. Fires burned in the ornate fireplaces casting a warm glow about the rooms, filling them with a cozy air, and simultaneously casting eerily dancing shadows about. Spacious was the home, with formal living and dining rooms, a parlor, four bedrooms upstairs and indoor plumbing, a fairly new innovation. We quickly settled in and, with assistance from the valet, we fell into a routine, living a somewhat leisurely life compared to the drudgery of life before my promotion.


           





Kraig Dafoe was born in Potsdam, New York and grew up in Canton. He played high school football and joined the Army Reserves at the age of seventeen.

Kraig has earned his BA in English writing and graduated cum laude from Washburn University in 2017.

Kraig has published two novels and published poetry. He is currently working on another writing project.

His current novel is A Collection of Twisted Tales.

You can visit his website at http://www.kraigdafoe.com.








 


Monday, February 19, 2018

PUYB Virtual Book Club Chats with Ashley Warren & Book Giveaway!

We are thrilled to be hosting Ashley Warren's Survivors' Dawn Blog Tour this month! Sign up to win a free copy by filling out form below. Good luck!


Title: SURVIVORS’ DAWN
Author: Ashley Warren
Publisher: Chaparral Press LLC
Pages: 316
Genre: Contemporary Fiction / Women’s Fiction / New Adult Fiction

BOOK BLURB: 

A heroic story of three college women’s fight for justice
At first glance, Brooke Flanagan, Lauren Le, and Nikki Towers have little in common: a churchgoing virgin, a party girl, and a resident advisor. But they all have their own dreams, dreams that can be shattered in a single night.

When freshman Brooke Flanagan first arrives at the university, she’s excited to escape her sheltered life in a Southern town. Lauren Le, a scholarship student, likes to have a good time, but she never disappoints her hardworking, single mom. Nikki Towers always goes her own way. Confident, poised, and wealthy, Nikki’s biggest problem is what to do with her future.

Into these girls’ lives walks Colin Jordan. Colin is the son of a private equity titan, captain of his club basketball team, and a brilliant pre-law student. He is also a sexual predator.

Survivors’ Dawn relates a journey of heroes: the strength, courage, and determination of the victims as they fight to survive; the obstacles they face in their pursuit of justice; and finally, with its conclusion, hope for a future where students can pursue their dreams without fear of being attacked.

A contemporary novel, Survivor’s Dawn wrestles with issues of privilege, sexual assault, and the responsibility of academic institutions to protect their students.

ORDER YOUR COPY:

Amazon


Book Excerpt:

LAUREN LE BEFORE:
At eleven thirty Lauren Le stood with her new friends at the Homestead, a lively bar in the Triangle. Everyone talked at once, shouting to be heard above the music. The Homestead had space for a couple hundred people, with a large square bar in the middle, dozens of stand-up tables, and two dance floors. The constant beat and the bass notes coursed through Lauren’s veins.
She took a slug of the vodka soda.
Pace yourself, Lauren.
It had taken her a month to get comfortable on campus. She had grown up in Irving, Texas, outside of Dallas, and had never traveled this far to the east before starting school here. Some of her high school friends had gone to college, but none as far away as Lauren. They fell short when it came to grades and test scores and ambition.
Lauren was the result of a short-lived and reckless affair between a Vietnamese immigrant, Kim Le, who worked in a nail salon, and a tall Texan who lit out for the oil rigs as soon as Kim missed her first period. Kim had never heard from him again, and she seldom mentioned him to Lauren. As Lauren grew older she became curious and would sometimes ask about her father.
“I was stupid,” Kim had said. “I tried for a big dream with a big white man. But he was no good.”
When Lauren pressed for more information, Kim would grow adamant.
“You forget about him. You need to study.”
If Kim wasn’t working at the salon, a short distance from their apartment, she was doing piecework for a local tailor. Kim never paid Lauren an allowance, but she let her work a part-time job so long as she kept her grades near perfect.
With a tired mother and an absent father, Lauren was forced to learn how to have a good time on her own, and at that she had excelled. As a senior with a full figure, a fun nature—her hobbies were cosplay, online gaming, and organizing flash mobs—and a curious mind about partying and sex, Lauren had always attracted guys.
She had drunk one cocktail at the Italian restaurant and started with a shot of tequila at the Homestead. When they had first arrived, the girls danced as a group for nearly an hour, not allowing the dearth of boys to deter them from getting the party started.
Lauren took a break, her head buzzing slightly from the alcohol and the dancing. Cool air from the duct above her whisked away the perspiration.
God, college is fun.
The bar began to fill, and boys drifted by their group in ones and twos. A sophomore from New Jersey bought her another drink. He was her height, with red hair, and talked fast in a northern accent. He was almost cute, except for a big pimple and his lack of coordination. They tried dancing but couldn’t make it work. Afterward, he told her his dream of becoming a veterinarian. Snore.
Lauren spied one of the resident advisors from Roxbury Hall, Nikki Towers, watching her from the other side of the bar. The girls had approached Nikki when they first entered the Homestead, nervous because they had used fake IDs to get past the bouncer. They needn’t have worried. Nikki’s nickname was Cool RA. She had a reputation for doing her own thing in her own way and never traveling in a crowd. Cool RA had wished them a good time but advised them not to get wasted. (“I’m your RA, not your babysitter.”) Nevertheless, when Lauren caught Nikki’s eye, she could tell Cool RA was not impressed with the New Jersey kid.
“So…,” he said, “do you want to come over to the frat house and listen to music? I’ve got some killer weed.”
“Oh…well…like…”
His eyes were glazed and his shoulders swayed, like a five-year-old on a bicycle. Lauren wasn’t a fan of just-met sex. If he had been gorgeous, like Liam Hemsworth, then maybe. Wait, maybe? Not maybe. Definitely! But she would not have sex with New Jersey, at least not tonight. “You know, I’m gonna hang with my friends a while longer. Thanks, though.”
“Not a problem. Catch you later.”
He leaned toward her as if expecting something. She hesitated, unsure, and then offered to shake hands. He only got about ten steps before he stopped to chat up another girl.
“What did he want?” said Caitlyn, her roommate. Caitlyn’s face turned sour as Lauren told her of the invite to smoke pot. “Eewww! That guy?”
They laughed. Lauren was light as a feather. She could party all night.
LAUREN LE AFTER:
At two thirty in the morning an Uber dropped Lauren outside Roxbury Hall. Lighting a cigarette, she gazed up at the three-story brick building and remembered move-in day, how excited she’d been; her mother and aunt and uncle had come to help. What had she wanted then? Freedom? Relief from her mother’s watchful eyes? Yes, that was part of it, but she’d hoped for a lot more.
Lauren had smoked pot with her latest score, a hipster from California, and now her head felt heavy and thick. After the joint he had wanted to have sex again. She had no urge for an encore but couldn’t think of a polite way to turn him down. What did that make in total? Three? Four? Five counting the blackout sex with Colin Jordan. Five boys (men?) in four weeks. What the hell? So weird. The hookups were like gorging on pizza, but the gnawing emptiness she’d felt after Colin hadn’t abated at all.
What did she have on the calendar for the next day? A couple lectures: Psychology and English Lit. She might make it to class, or she might not. They were easy courses anyway. Crushing the butt beneath her heel, she tossed it in a trashcan and walked through the door.
Inside Lauren’s dorm room, Caitlyn sat at her desk reading a textbook with her earbuds in.
“Hey,” said Lauren. “What are you doing up so late?”
Caitlyn turned in her chair. “Studying for the psych test.” She sniffed the air.
What? Caitlyn never studied this late. Lauren walked to Caitlyn’s side and saw, sure enough, that the fat psych book was open a third of the way through.
“What for? The test is next week.”
“It’s tomorrow.”
“No, it’s next week.”
“It’s tomorrow. I texted you to study together, but you never answered. Where’ve you been?”
Lauren ignored Caitlyn and walked to her desk to check her laptop. The test had to be next week; she’d skipped a few classes and hadn’t read the book. “What?”
“I asked where you’ve been.”
“The Homestead. I went for a drink.”
Fuck! Caitlyn was right. The test was that morning—less than seven hours away. Lauren shook her head. The buzz from the pot had turned into a headache. How did she mess this up? Caitlyn was saying something else.
“What?”
“You smell like cigarettes and pot. Where did you smoke pot?”
“Uh…I stopped at this guy’s place to party.”
“On a Tuesday? Shit, Lauren. What the fuck?”
“Hey, you’re not my mom. Chill the fuck out.”
After a shower and some caffeine, Lauren reviewed her notes and opened the textbook. Caitlyn had gone to sleep, and Lauren’s desk lamp made shadows on the floor. The quiet of the room calmed her, and for the first twenty minutes she made progress, covered the better part of a chapter, but then her eyelids grew heavy, and the words blurred on the page. A short nap would clear her head and allow her to absorb the material with her usual speed. She set a twenty-minute timer on her phone, lay down, and closed her eyes. The psychology concepts quickly drifted away.
* * *
Lauren sat in the classroom, breathing fast; her eyes flitted back and forth over the questions. Half of the class had already finished and left. She flipped back several pages. Damn. There had to be another question she could answer, but she couldn’t find it, and after another minute the professor called time.
She had woken at eight thirty to Caitlyn roughly shaking her shoulder.
“Wake up! It’s time to go. I woke you twice already.”
With no time to even brush her teeth, Lauren had pulled on boots and a clean top and walked with Caitlyn to class. She had never felt so unprepared.
And now she’d failed the test. Fucking flat-ass failed it.
Outside in the bright sunlight, Caitlyn stopped to face her. Her eyes peered into Lauren’s, her ever-present smile nowhere to be seen.
“How’d you do?” said Caitlyn.
“Awful. I really fucked up.”
“I’m sorry. You know…I tried to text you.”
Lauren’s legs were numb. Adrenaline had fired her up during the exam, but now all the energy had burned off.
Caitlyn headed off to another class, and Lauren trudged to the student union. She’d spent the last of her cash on cigarettes. Once inside, she made it to the ATM and took out ten dollars.
She stared at the red and white logo on the touchscreen.
Bank of America.
Her mother’s apartment was two blocks from a branch. Kim would deposit cash tips at the drive-thru while Lauren sat in the passenger seat. Some days at the salon were hard. The owner would berate the workers for not learning English. But the drive-thru had always lifted Kim’s spirits. On the way out she’d pause to look at the B of A sign and say the same thing every time: “Your future is in this bank.”
Lauren took two steps and her knees softened. She turned her back against the wall and sank until her butt touched the floor.
Don’t cry. Don’t.
But her throat tightened and warm tears forced their way through closed eyelids. She sat with elbows on knees, her hands over her face. Silent sobs shook her shoulders. Students walked past in the hallway, busy, with classes to attend, futures to build. Two girls giggled, happy, oblivious.
Fuck. What was happening? She was freefalling into black air.
Someone said something. A man’s running shoes appeared through spread fingers.
“Are you all right?” he said.
Lauren pressed her palms against her eyes to rub away the tears. She wouldn’t compound her failure by making people pity her, too. Pushing off the tiled floor she stood, pulled her backpack over her shoulder, and faced him.
“You looked kind of sad,” he said.
Who was this guy? What was his game? Not bad looking, with strong shoulders and a relaxed vibe, faded jeans and a simple black T-shirt.
“Do you want to fuck me?” she said.
“What?” His mouth opened. “No!” He stepped back and thrust his hands in front as if to ward her off. “What’s the matter with you?”
Several students stopped, sensing an incident of interest.
Lauren marched away from the onlookers. She ran upstairs to the second floor and exited onto the grounds on top of the hill. She kept walking, past the admissions building and the Old Chapel and onto Philosopher’s Row. She took one of the paths into the side gardens and dropped on a bench.
She rocked slowly, hugging her arms. God, how pathetic was that? What would she do next? She wanted to skip class and walk to the Homestead for an early afternoon cocktail.
As if clinging to the edge of a dark abyss, Lauren tried to hold on, her stomach roiling, her arms shaking. She had propositioned the boy, because she had wanted to fuck him. She wanted to fuck a guy…any guy…every guy.
But why? She’d never done that before. Never on the first night…that was her rule, one she’d broken how many times now? Five.
She grasped the edge of the stone bench, squeezing, ignoring the grating surface against her fingers. A bird sang from a nearby tree. The bird flew from one tree to the next, a flash of red, a cardinal. It settled for a few moments on the branch of a maple tree, whose leaves had begun to turn, sang, and flew off.
The cardinal reminded her of Todd, the gay guy she’d met three weeks earlier, with his bright plumage and sweet song. What had Todd told her as they waited for the Uber driver? Something about the dean of student affairs. Maybe she should check it out.


 Interview

Before you started writing your book, what kind of research did you do to prepare yourself?
 
On a sunny day in early 2010, I sat in my parked car, late for an appointment, stunned by an NPR story about sexual predators. I had no idea such criminals roamed freely on university campuses.
 
Since then, I’ve paid close attention to the issue. It never goes away, and by all accounts the crime is pervasive at every college. As I heard story after story, I began to wonder if I could write a novel about victims whose lives were brought together by a common assailant.
 
Before I could write a credible story, I had much to learn. Readers demand plausibility and accurate details, and this was all fresh territory for me.
 
One of the first topics I explored was the rape kit exam, a four-hour procedure described by victims as a nightmare. Next, I read of the aftereffects of medication offered to victims to reduce the risk of STDs and unwanted pregnancies. To flesh out the story, I explored many minor subjects: the range of good LSAT scores, chastity pledges, low alcohol cocktails, and the charges filed against Roman Polanski in 1977. To fill out the backstory for one character, I researched the patterns of Vietnamese immigration in the 1980s and 1990s. To describe one harrowing scene, I learned about the physical attributes of scalding burns.
 
My hours of exploration turned into days, and then the days stretched into weeks. Researching this novel was often heartbreaking, at times infuriating, and occasionally inspiring. And by the time I began to write the first draft, I had an enormous cache of facts, data, and true stories. Although my first duty to the reader was to write an engaging novel, I forced myself to stay within the confines of what really happens on college campuses.
 
Did you pursue publishers or did you opt to self-pub?
 
Initially, I pursued the traditional route to getting published by sending query letters to thirty literary agents. Half responded with form rejection emails, and the rest never answered my query. I don’t know if any of them read the manuscript excerpt. Apparently, the agents didn’t believe they could sell the book to a publisher. But by then, the story had taken ahold of me, and I pressed forward with self-publication.
 
If self-published, did you hire someone to format the ebook version for you or did you do it yourself?  Can you tell us what that was like?
 
This is a no-brainer for me. A good ebook formatter can be hired for less than a hundred dollars. It would take me days and days to sort out how to format an ebook, and I would still make mistakes.
 
If self-published, how did you determine the price?
 
Pricing is tough. If you price your book too low, readers may undervalue your work. If you price it too high, the casual reader will never buy it. When in doubt, go with the lower price. You don’t want price to be the reason readers pass over your book.
 
How did you choose your cover?
 
First, find a cover designer whose work fits your voice and genre. Give them a short synopsis of your story, a paragraph, no more, because they don’t need it. They will likely ask for your ideas. Don’t give too many. Don’t try to recreate a scene. The purpose of the cover is to attract the kind of reader that will enjoy your book. Paint the emotional journey in words and let the designer work her magic.
 
Did you write your book, then revise or revise as you went?
 
At the beginning, I crank out the words as fast as I can type. Then I go back and do a quick polish so I can read the manuscript without cringing. I call that my first draft.
 
When revising, I will do five or six passes. In the second draft, I focus on getting the plot and characters to hang together well. In the third draft, I concentrate on deep editing designed to improve the quality of the read substantially. In subsequent passes, I use various polishing techniques. I have about thirty polish tricks that I’ve run across over the years. Any time I discover a new trick, I add it to the list for future books.
 
Don’t rely on your editor to polish your book. Any improvement you make now will result in a better final manuscript.
 
 
What’s your opinion on giving your book away to sell other copies of your book?
 
I’ll give ebooks away all day long. When your book is first published, more than anything you need readers. So give away ebooks by the dozens, hundreds even. Giving away print copies cost money and time, so I’m more selective about that. Giving print copies to reviewers makes good sense, but when it comes to your friends, give them a pdf or a mobi file. They can read it just fine on their tablet or computer.
 
What are three of the most important things you believe an author should do before their book is released?
 
First, think hard about your story idea before you write it. Is it unique enough to generate word-of-mouth traffic? If yes, proceed. If no, carefully review why you are writing the story. If you still want to write it, go ahead, but you may not sell many books. It’s terribly competitive out there.
 
Second, hire a good editor and a good proofreader. You need both of those to produce a book you will be proud to read a year after its release. Don’t scrimp on editing. You may write the substance of a great story, but if the writing is poor, discerning readers will never finish it.
 
Third, hire a good cover designer. Covers, titles, and marketing copy sell the books of first time authors.
 
What are three of the most important things you believe an author should do after their book is released?
 
First, learn from reviews. I hate to get bad reviews, but I must admit that almost all of them contain a nugget of truth. Try to read them analytically and figure out how you can incorporate the lesson into your next book.
 
Second, use small money to try various promotional techniques: free Kindle days, ads on Facebook, ads on Amazon, etc. Never spend big money until you have run a marketing test first. When something does work, keep mining that vein.
 
Third, leverage your time. Write down five different ways you can promote your book. Estimate the time it will take for each initiative and also how many books you might sell. You will tend to underestimate the time required and overestimate the resulting sales. I did. If something doesn’t work, stop doing it, and try something else.
 
What kind of pre-promotion did you do before the book came out?
 
I think a Facebook page is the easiest way to get people to notice your novel. FB ads are not that expensive and can reach thousands of people. Post great photos with clever taglines and spend twenty bucks promoting. Before you know it, you’ll have hundreds of followers.
 
Do you have a long-term plan with your book?
 
Write a screenplay and sell it to Reese Witherspoon’s production company. She would make an awesome Karen Flanagan, a key character in Survivors’ Dawn.
 
What would you like to say to your readers and fans about your book?
 
College students have been sexually assaulted for as long as colleges have existed. Brooke Flanagan, Lauren Le, and Nikki Towers are fictitious characters, but their stories are real. Victims face similar fates every day. As you read Survivors’ Dawn, you will experience fear, despair, anger, disgust, purpose, redemption, and finally, hope. You might even decide to get involved. A good start would be to take the It’s On Us pledge and make a donation.
 
Thank you for giving me your time. Readers make the world a better place!
 
 About the Author

The unending accounts of sexual assault on college campuses compelled me to write Survivors’ Dawn.

My goal in writing the novel was NOT to focus on the act itself, but instead, to write of the victim’s journey, to tell a story about the strength, courage, and determination of survivors, to describe the difficulties they face in their pursuit of justice, and finally, to offer hope for a future where students can pursue their dreams without fear of being attacked.

As Lady Gaga’s “Til It Happens to You” implies, non-victims can never truly know how it feels to be assaulted, but we can try to empathize, and we can try to help. Awareness is key to reducing the incidence of sexual assault on campus. Please do your part by taking the It's On Us pledge and contributing to organizations that are fighting on the front lines.

Thank you to readers who give me encouragement. It means so much to me. Word of mouth is an incredible thing, so thank you also for telling your friends about Survivors' Dawn. 

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