1. What do you think you are really good at?
I am the world’s best procrastinator. If I give myself the slightest excuse, I can put off work indefinitely. That’s why I have to force myself into a regular schedule—if I wrote only when the mood strikes, I would die unpublished. I frequently remind myself of Harry Crews’ observation about writing only when there is time for it: ". . . there ain't no time; world don't want you to do that. World wants you to go to the zoo and eat cotton candy, preferably seven days a week."
2. What do you think you’re really bad at?
Why would I want to admit being lousy at something?
3. Have you ever had an imaginary friend?
I have always had an active, rich fantasy life, peopled with characters of every conceivable stripe. But I’ve never had any trouble distinguishing the imaginary from the real.
4. Do you have any phobias?
That’s an abnormal or irrational fear, right? Who is going to admit to being abnormal or irrational?
5. Ever broken any bones?
During my teen years I traveled with a carnival. In those prehistoric days they often had athletic shows where a boxer or wrestler—a villain, or heavy—challenged local men to get into the ring. As the baby-face, my job was to play the role of a local and accept the challenge. But sometimes we had a real challenger and I ended up as the inside man. Before I shifted to the safer environs of the U.S. military, I got several teeth knocked loose and wore casts over a broken wrist and a broken leg.
The Price of Sanctuary
by Gaylon Greer
Accustomed to a life of privilege, Shelby Cervosier new finds herself running for her life. Accused of killing an American Immigration agent, Shelby has undertaken a mission on behalf of a secretive American espionage agency in exchange for a promise of legal amnesty and political asylum in America. Now, however, the agent who coerced her into accepting the assignment wants her dead to cover up the bungled mission. Two hit men compete for the bounty that has been placed on her head.
Shelby and her younger sister flee into America’s heartland in search of a safe haven. They find only fear and danger, however, when they are captured by one of the assassins, Hank.
Prepared to do whatever it takes to keep her sister safe, Shelby cooperates with her capturer. Deciding that his feelings for them are more important than bounty money, Hank takes the sisters under his wing and secrets then away to his hideout: a farm in a remote corner of Colorado. They become a part of his extended family; they have finally found sanctuary.
Their safe new world is shattered when the second hit man, a relentless psychopath, captures Shelby’s little sister and uses her to lure Shelby and her lover into a middle-of-the-night showdown on an isolated Rocky Mountain battleground.
Shelby barely cleared the edge of the runway before twin engines on the sleek little jet wound up to an ear-achy screech and it began moving, leaving behind a smelly residue of burned fuel. Chuck's warning about the runway lights struck home; shadows below them made the ground a dark void. With every step, roots, ruts, and weeds threatened Shelby's balance. Something—palmetto fronds, she guessed—whipped her legs.
When distance rendered the lights less blinding, she picked up her pace. Cloying heat and humidity plastered her T-shirt and jeans to her skin as she jogged across the rugged turf with her blue canvas overnight bag slung over a shoulder.
Look for a Dodge van, Chuck had said. But what if it wasn't there? Maybe she could hibernate until daylight and flag some¬one down. One way or another, get to a car rental agency, drive to Homestead and sneak Carmen away.
As she approached the hangars, she slowed her pace. Wiping at sweat that stung her eyes and breathing hard from exertion, she looked for the woman who was supposed to meet her. With solid cloud cover blocking the moon, she almost bumped into the van be¬fore she recognized it.
Chuck had guessed wrong about the driver: she wasn't sleeping. She opened the passenger door. “Welcome to Florida.”
Shelby climbed in. “Brenda, right?”
“Not really.” The old Dodge Caravan's dome light revealed an overweight, middle-aged woman with freckled, sun-leathered skin and unruly blond hair. “Chuck said not to give you my real name, in case the feds nab you.” She cranked the engine and pulled away from the hangar. “You lean on back, catch some shut-eye. We'll be on the road at least an hour, and your butt's gotta be draggin'.”
Shelby reclined the seat and closed her eyes. She was too keyed up to sleep, but God, she was tired. Tired of running. Tired of hid¬ing. Tired of being scared.
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Working with traveling carnivals and itinerant farm labor gangs during his teen and early adult years took Gaylon Greer up, down, and across the United States and introduced him to a plethora of colorful individuals who serve as models for his fictional characters. A return to school in pursuit of a high school diploma while serving in the Air Force led to three university degrees, including a Ph.D. in economics, and a stint as a university professor. After publishing several books on real estate and personal financial planning, as well as lecturing on these subjects to nationwide audiences, he shifted his energy to writing fiction. Gaylon lives near Austin, Texas.
Gaylon’s Web Site: http://gaylongreer.com/
Amazon Author Page:
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