One Too Excerpt Tour

Blurb:

Telepathy creates as many problems as it solves, as most of the members of the secret organization x0 would admit. When new member Lola discovers another group of telepaths with a completely different approach, those problems multiply at the speed of thought.

Soon, Lola’s family and friends are in danger. Lucky for her, she’s not your average budding psychic. Each person with whom she is close has a special gift of their own. That’s good, because it’s going to take every power they possess to keep this other group from succeeding with their plan to eradicate x0.

Exclusive Excerpt:

She got out of bed, crept into the hallway, and peaked around the dining room curtains. The first thing she saw was smoke, but there was no smell of fire. She rubbed her eyes awake and looked more closely. Either there had just a been a freakish hail storm or there was a large amount dry ice laying across the front lawn. So it was mist she was seeing. Mist that was being intentionally created. Why?

She squinted into it. At least a dozen people were on the front lawn, dressed in grey cloaks, swaying, and occasionally crouching in fear. Some were moaning in pain as they moved and others were grunting in anger. As near as Lola could tell, there was no particular source of their troubles. Rather, it looked for all the world like an amateur acting workshop devoted to expressing negative emotions. Had this been staged just to wake her and Maurice and fill them with fear?

Alex came up behind her. As he looked out, a tall hooded man raised a dagger high above his own head and started to wail at the top of his lungs.

“What is this shit?” Alex muttered.

“Maybe we should call 911,” Teddie’s voice was behind them, and Alex winced at his ill-timed profanity.

“Sorry, kiddo. This is a little weird for me.”

 “It’s weird for everybody, dad,” Zane corrected his father as he came into the dining room. “And I wouldn’t call 911 unless you think they’re going to hurt us. This has got to be just what Ariel saw. Something to make our family look eccentric.”

“Make us look eccentric?  We’re not the ones dancing around on the lawn making strange noises,” Lola protested.

“How much do you want to bet that isn’t the way that the story is going to get covered?” Teddie said.

“Maybe if we all go back to sleep they’ll just get tired of this and go away,” Alex said.

“I agree. The last thing we want to do is call more attention it,” Zane said.

Lola looked back out through the window. “But if they get loud enough, a neighbor is going to call the police. Then what?”

Zane nudged in beside his mother and studied the scene. The man with the dagger was still waving it around in the air, and his sounds were becoming shrieks. Several of the others began to screech too, alternating like warring groups of katydids.

“I could go out there and spray them all with the garden hose,” Zane offered.

A lone, grey hooded figure emerged from the bushes to the side of the yard, carrying a tray that held a small, lifeless orange animal. The tray was slowly laid in front of the dagger-holding shreiker as the four family members tried to get a good look at it through the mist.

“Please tell me that’s a dead chicken,” Alex said.

“I wish. It looks a lot more like the Nelson’s cat.” Lola said. “Hopefully only drugged.”

The groans and screeches began to coalesce into chanting. It was a little free form, but the gist seemed to involve begging the Zeitmans to come outside and accept their sacrifice.

“They want us to stop the murder of this pet, by appearing outside with them,” Zane said. “They are trying to force us to engage in this nonsense.”

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Author Bio and Links:

Sherrie grew up in Western Kansas thinking that there was no place in the universe more fascinating than outer space. After her mother vetoed astronaut as a career ambition, she went on to study journalism and physics in hopes of becoming a science writer.

She published her first science fiction short story long ago, and then waited a lot of tables while she looked for inspiration for the next story. When it finally came,  it declared to her that it had to be whole book, nothing less. One night, while digesting this disturbing piece of news, she drank way too many shots of ouzo with her boyfriend. She woke up thirty-one years later demanding to know what was going on.

The boyfriend, who she had apparently long since married, asked her to calm down and  explained that in a fit of practicality she had gone back to school and gotten a degree in geophysics and had spent the last 28 years interpreting seismic data in the oil industry. The good news, according to Mr. Cronin, was that she had found it at least mildly entertaining and ridiculously well-paying  The bad news was that the two of them had still managed to spend almost all of the money.

Apparently she was now Mrs. Cronin, and the further good news was that they had produced three wonderful children whom they loved dearly, even though to be honest that is where a lot of the money had gone. Even better news was that Mr. Cronin  turned out to be a warm-hearted, encouraging sort who was happy to see her awake and ready to write. "It's about time," were his exact words.

Sherrie Cronin discovered that over the ensuing decades Sally Ride had already managed to become the first woman in space and apparently had done a fine job of it. No one, however, had written the book that had been in Sherrie's head for decades. The only problem was, the book informed her sternly that it had now grown into a six book collection. Sherrie decided that she better start writing it before it got any longer. She's been wide awake ever since, and writing away.

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