The band "Indie"

My Beloved and I were out again with friends last night. We took in a local watering hole that featured a band. It was a rocking good time into the evening with food and fuel ... okay, read that 'alcohol'. As we listened to the band, a foursome of gentlemen about my age I began to realize the similarities between what they do as musicians and what I do as an Indie author.

It occurred to me as I listened to well-crafted 80's classic rock tunes that rolled through the night air that I was hearing men who had long practiced their craft. I began to watch their fingers as they strummed across the strings of a bass guitar, the sticks that flew atop the drum skins and a voice that reverberated along the walls and ceilings of a packed house. These men had obviously practiced their craft for many years. They had developed a strong local following.

So what is it that keeps them doing it? They aren't going on tour or fronting for a world-famous band. Yet, how much less talented are they? My answer? They're not. They simply have worked their way through life with a passion they devoted themselves to. This passion took a second seat to families and jobs that payed the bills. So what's the difference?

The difference is being in the right place at the right time. It's about being discovered. There are thousands of talented groups just like this all over the country. That's what it's like to be an 'Indie author'. We live our lives and go to jobs that pay the bills. We strive with a deep passion to continue the work that drives us in the evening hours; the page of the written word. Authors and musicians face the same struggles. We are singular yet we number in the hundreds of thousands. We are mostly undiscovered and we await our time in the sun, when the cover is lifted off our work and the light of our talent beams across the stars of the known universe.

Like those who seek out new musical talent, I challenge readers to seek out indie authors you've not read before. You'll likely be surprised at the 'hidden' talent that has been smoldering below the surface just waiting to be discovered.

And just so you know ... the Jack ... is the band we rolled with last night.

Ghost Fleet, the current WIP

   With the recent release of Star Eagle Six, book one of my sci-fi series Home World, work is underway on book two of the series, Ghost Fleet. We'll see how it goes with the writing but I am tentatively shooting for a launch in early summer. 

I hope you enjoy this brief excerpt from Ghost Fleet.


          The darkness was offset by the two glistening moons as they paraded across the night sky, their light casting a shimmering cloak over the starlight behind them. Below, the charcoal colored buildings of Fleet Main absorbed the reflected light from the rare, twin full moons. Fleet Main was planted on the outskirts of Galway, the most populated city of New Caledonia. With it’s placement negotiated in the formative years of the Home World alliance it had become the central core of the defense of the alliance.

Admiral Duley Connor was doing his best to clean up his desk before he retired for the night, and things weren’t going well. He was the command lead for three of the nine Home World fleets, and his were the most successful. They often had the lead for the heaviest Lorilon engagements and his Third Fleet was currently in the midst of the fight. He hadn’t received transmissions from Stuart Joseph in over three days. He leaned back and tossed his pen on the desk.

“Damn him.” Duley Connor had a distinguished career running breakneck up the ranks. He flew by officers who had more experience, more connections. On his way up he learned to work the system but along the way, he’d changed. He looked out the wall of dark windows into the night, his office overlooking the central pools of the ringed courtyard. He could see his reflection against the dark sky. He pushed his fingers through his thinning silver hair. Those heady days of running up the ladder were gone. Somewhere along the line with the glad-handing and deal making he became more of a politician in a uniform than a leader of men.

He pushed himself away from his desk letting his tired gaze fall on the orange moon of Mourne, her rocky reflection in sharp contrast to her pale sister Gullion’s soft light. Joseph was stalling. He was sure of it.

“What the hell was he waiting for?” Connor asked himself aloud. “Because he ignored my direct order." A sharp knock on his partially opened door grabbed his attention, pulling his thoughts back into the room.

“Sir?”

“What is it Mairead?” Duley turned his chair slightly, angling it toward his assistant. “I thought I told you to go home hours ago. It’s almost tomorrow.”

“I just needed to get some of my own work caught up too. Sir, a communique from Third Fleet, eyes only.”

“Really!”Duley’s eyes shot up in surprise. “Bout damn time!” He pushed himself away from his desk and stared at the huge com panel on the wall. The bottom of the glass screen was nearly pristine in its blackness except for the single red dot that pulsed twice in three second intervals. He was standing in front of the panel moments later. He placed his hand over the bio-sensor and the unit responded immediately.

“Connor, Duley. Authorization accepted.”

“Computer, open eyes only communication. Authentication alpha 3 zeta.”

“Acknowledged.”

Connor listened to the brief message in its entirety, his head down, his arms crossed. His longtime friend was hard to read even in person. A long distance communique made it even more difficult. As Joseph’s words fell away Duley reached out touching the now-black panel shutting it down. He turned and walked to the dark windows and looked up again to the celestial chariots racing across the night sky. Joseph was possibly the best fleet commander in the Alliance, his friend, but now, he had no choice.