Release Day of Without Consent by Bev Irwin

Bev Irwin

What an exciting day! And a contest too!
Another release day. Today is the day my medical / police thriller, WITHOUT CONSENT, comes out. So thrilled, I’m doing the happy dance. Glad you could come and join me.

What type of dance would you do? Jive, polka, rumba, or would you be refined and do a graceful waltz?
I’m doing a rock and roll. This is the fifth book in just over a year to be published which leads me to the today’s topic.

What to do while you are waiting for the train to stop at your corner?
The first thing you need to do is decide where you are going?

Do you have a specific genre you love to write and read? Or are you like me and like to genre hop?
I guess it’s my ADD but I like to multitask and I also like to flit from one writing project to the next. Not the most effective way to get the job done but it does keep things interesting.

Usually, I have several projects in varying stages of completion. Right now, in the romance genre I have a contemporary, a medical, and a suspense manuscript nearing completion. Another medical thriller with the same characters in WITHOUT CONSENT is partially written. I have three young adult novels in progress, one of them a sequel to my paranormal young adult, GHOSTLY JUSTICE with Daria and ghost, Amanda.

Now to just get them finished. But I have been so busy with edits and promotion for the books that came out this year that my writing time has been limited. I’m not complaining. It has been an amazing time. I’m so glad I’m ADD and had so many projects to pitch once the train stopped and let me get on.

About the Book: In South-Western Ontario a crafty, vicious psychopath is at work excising the kidneys of the women he abducts. Doctor Claire Valincourt, recently jilted, finds his first victim and assists with the autopsy. But little does she know the killer has his sights on her, too.

Relationship-jaded Detective Gerry Rosko desperately searches for a serial killer who is on a quest of his own—the hunt for a perfect kidney for the terminally ill mother he tends. Will Rosko track him down before Claire becomes his next victim?

So how did my journey begin?
It started with a pitch session with Savvy Authors in the summer of 2011. I pitched my medical romance, WHEN HEARTS COLLIDE to Debby at Soulmate Publishing and that book came out in December of the same year. At the same session, I pitched two books to Lauri at Black Opal Books and she contracted me for both of them! The first, my paranormal YA, GHOSTLY JUSTICE, was released in April, the second, a suspense with romantic elements, MISSING CLAYTON, came out in July.

Then, in October, Black Opal Books published IN HIS FATHER’S FOOTSTEPS, a middle grade/ YA, adventure. This book is about a boy’s survival in Northern Ontario while he searches for his missing father.

And, now today, (I’m doing a drum roll) my medical / police thriller, WITHOUT CONSENT, is being released. Wow! What a ride it’s been.

Now to get back to writing and finishing all those other projects and pray that they also find homes.

But I’m digressing. The point I’m getting at is that while you are waiting for that first amazing contract, you need to be writing, revising, writing, revising... It’s always good when you get a contract to be able to say, “Well, if you like that one...I do have...”

And there you go, possibly not only published but multi-published.

You write, you write some more. Keep that pen moving. You take courses, learn your craft, join on-line groups, go to conferences, meet other authors, network.

Go to conferences in the genres you like to write in. There are a ton of them out there and at different prices and lengths. You can find some that are an afternoon, a day, or even a week. Remember they can be a tax right-off when you do get published.

For myself I really enjoy a good mystery or thriller so I tend to go to conferences like Bouchercon (for writers and readers), Sleuthfest, Book Passages.

Network at the conferences. You never know what will happen. For me one of the most thrilling thing was chatting with Lee Child and him offering to read my manuscript and giving me the book endorsement: “A fine medical thriller.” Now how cool is that?

I’ve met so many wonderful writers at these conferences. You don’t harass them, you chat about life and interests. Respect them and their privacy, but don’t be afraid to approach them and say how much you like their books or their characters.

Do all the prep work so that when the train stops you are ready to leap on board with your bags packed with a variety of the best you can write manuscripts.

And keep dancing. I know I hope to.

Enter the Giveaway Below for a chance to win an eBook of your choice of one of my novels. 

You can check out my other books and an excerpt of each one on my website:

BEV IRWIN WEBSITE
BLACK OPAL BOOKS
SOUL MATE PUBLISHING
BEV IRWIN AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE

Without Consent Links
AMAZON KINDLE

AMAZON (PAPERBACK)
SMASHWORDS

B&N (EBOOK)
ARe
BOB
KOBO and B&N print are not out yet.

About the Author: Award-winning author Bev Irwin lives in London, Ontario, with three assorted cats and a collie-cross, named Tiff. Her three children have flown the coup. As a registered nurse, she likes to add a touch of medical to her romance and mystery novels. She also writes YA, children's, and poetry. She prefers spending time in her garden, writing, and reading to being in the kitchen. For her romance novels, she writes under the pen name of Kendra James.

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Excerpt from the book:

CHAPTER 1 

The scalpel gripped securely between his fingers sent a delicious thrill up his arm. He laid the blade against her abdomen. The ease with which the razor-sharp edge sliced through the creamy white flesh triggered a response that was nearly orgasmic.

The woman’s inert body jerked violently with the first slice, her face twisting into a grotesque mask of pain. He pressed on the stainless steel instrument and slid it across the taunt skin. She twitched several times, settled, then became still. The drug was working.

He inspected her naked form–so beautiful, so perfect, so calm. He studied the soft swell of her breasts. He saw no movement, but the flicker of the feather he’d taped to her mouth told him she was still breathing. He glanced at the empty syringe.

Maybe next time I’ll use less.

He focused on her abdomen. Cherry bright blood oozed out of the incision. He picked a white cloth from the nearby table and wiped at the fluid. The fabric became saturated within seconds. He dropped the cloth. The smack of it hitting the cement floor ricocheted like a gunshot through the silent space.

Choosing a large towel, he draped it around the wound. Like long spider legs, blood scrambled along the towel tracing an intricate pattern on the white material. His hands trembled. Each beat of his accelerated heart rate hammered through his head.

He needed to hurry, he needed to finish before the blood stopped circulating, he needed to do this right. Sliding his hands into the incision, he felt a thrill as the heat from her body penetrated his gloves. How long would she stay warm once she’d taken her last breath?

A pool of blood filled the wound, obstructing his view. Damn. He needed to see. He pulled his hand out of the incision and used a dry corner of the towel to wipe away the fluid. The sight of so much blood sent a frigid wave sluicing down his vertebrae. He shuddered and reached for another towel. Within seconds it consumed the liquid gushing into the naked woman’s abdomen.

He pitched the saturated towel over the table, grinning as it thudded on the cement floor. Dark fluid splattered in irregular shapes. He glanced at the family-sized ice filled cooler sitting a foot away. Droplets of blood showered the outer plastic and formed unique ink splat patterns. What would a psychologist make of them? His harsh laugh echoed through the room.

The ice inside the cooler glittered like a mountain of diamonds–pure and unspoiled. Expensive, but worth it, the cooler would preserve his treasure for hours. He could use it for beer later. But he couldn’t think of that now. It was late, he needed to extract the organ and get it on ice before it spoiled. Then he could reward himself.

He swabbed the incision. So much blood. And the smell. He closed his eyes and inhaled letting the unique metallic odor fill him. His heart was racing so fast he could feel it pounding against his ribs. Suddenly lightheaded, he leaned into the table until the dizziness passed.

Hurry up. Get it out. Focus.

Willing his fingers to stop trembling, he forced himself to concentrate. He mopped at the pooling blood then inserted his gloved hand into the incision and probed her abdomen.

There it is. His fingers closed around the organ, so soft and slippery and warm. He lifted his hand. Resistance. Pausing, he let his fingers travel the edges of the kidney. Gentle. You don’t want to damage it. He palpated the thin cord of vessel restraining the organ and encircled it with his index finger.

Careful. Don’t be rough. You might bruise it. You know how important a good kidney is. You know what happens to the damaged ones. They can kill people, can’t they?

Sweat trickled into his eyes and clouded his vision. Using the back of his hand, he wiped away the beads of perspiration coating his forehead.

A stainless steel table sheathed in a thin green towel stood beside the bed. On it, aligned in a neat row, lay several shining silver instruments. With one hand cradling his prize, he reached over and selected a fine–toothed clamp. He slid it into the incision and guided it around the organ. Snapping the tiny teeth over the vessel, he occluded the flow of blood.

He left the clamp in place and reached for the scalpel. Lifting the kidney a fraction of an inch at a time, he paused only when he felt tension on the vessel. He scrutinized the razor-sharp scalpel blade–a finely honed weapon. He had to be careful. It wouldn’t do to slip and leave a trace of his own blood.

Inserting the scalpel into the gaping wound, he guided it beneath his hand. He felt the blade meet an impasse. With a swift slash he sliced through the tenuous strand. Blood spurted into the incision. Inhaling the scent, his heart skipped several beats and he became aware of the blood spurting through his own veins.

That was the artery, now for the vein.

He probed for the next vessel, clamping and cutting in a similar fashion. The cavity brimmed with blood and he couldn’t see. But now, it didn’t matter. He had what he wanted. He lifted his hand. He felt resistance. A thin tenuous cord stretched out of the wound. Another vein. Grasping the scalpel, he carved through the connective tissue and the organ came free. For several seconds he nestled the coveted organ as if holding a newborn robin in the palm of his hand. Its warmth seeped through his latex gloves. Below his hand, blood surged into the gaping wound.

He shot a glance at the woman’s face. Mary Jane, her driver’s license said. How plain. He’d call her Gabrielle. Yes, she was more beautiful than a Mary Jane. He smiled at the woman lying unconscious on the stainless steel table–her ashen cheeks exhausted of their normal rosy coloring, her lips and eyelids tinted a powder blue not derived by artificial means. Dark shadows ebbed into the fragile skin below her staring eyes. An irregular grunt of air erupted from between her lips. He had to hurry.

Should I take the time to stitch her up? Yes, finish the job properly.

Laying the organ on the bed of ice, he turned back to the woman. He ripped open a package of fine black sutures and deposited it on the sterile green towel. Attaching the suture to the needle driver, he threaded it through the mottled skin.

He worked quickly. Gabrielle wouldn’t care what her scar looked like.