A new sci-fi trilogy, edited by yours truly, has hit the shelves – at least the first installment has. It’s a military sci-fi epic that’s chock full of action and adventure in a future that’s eerily similar to our own, only with Gauss guns, mechas, starships, and TCI-Armored super soldiers.

This isn’t my usual cuppa, but it was a hoot to be involved in the making of, and I’d encourage anyone who likes the genre to give it a try. It’s gotten high praise from a who’s who of bestselling authors, and reader reviews are universally positive.

Here’s the cover for book one, The Tetra War. Click on it to go to the Amazon page.




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That’s right. Santa slid his fat butt down the chimney, and managed to land the latest in the JET saga on Amazon! Apple, B&N, Kobo…they’ll go live on January 9. But Amazon has the goodies now! JET – Renegade, is on the shelves!

This is a good one, if I say so myself.

Obviously, I’m biased. But that said, fans of JET will find all the elements they love in this installment.

If I say anything more, it’ll spoil the story, so I’ll just leave it with order that bad boy and enjoy. You won’t be disappointed.


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The second novel in my Leah Mason suspense thriller series, A Girl Betrayed, is now live, and available on Amazon. It’s different than many of my other works, in the sense that they are action thrillers with an emphasis on cliffhanger chapter endings, car chases, shoot outs, and all the rest of the action-related tropes readers of the genre know and love. A Girl Betrayed, like its predecessor, A Girl Apart, is more cerebral, in the style of classic whodunnits where the joy is in the figuring out of the crime.

It’s a fun break from action and adventure, and I think it turned out well. Readers will be the judge, of course.

I’m now hard at work on the next JET, which will release Christmas day. JET – Renegade takes place in Africa, and pits our heroine against a diabolical group of baddies in a land where there are no rules.

For now, though, give A Girl Betrayed a look. It’s in the vein of Michael Connelly and Jeffrey Deaver, and has more twists than a silly straw.

Here’s the cover.


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December will mark six and a half years of being an author – of writing for my supper instead of dancing for it.

Along the way, there have been astounding years like 2013 and 2014, and decent ones like those thereafter, as the market has changed, and as Amazon has modified their algos to favor some titles over others. Especially telling has been the invisibility of free titles for about a year now – if you do a search, for example, for JET, you will find all the paid books listed, including the audiobook of the first title, but not the free book – you have to select the audiobook to then see it in six point script listed as free.

I’m not annoyed or surprised – I predicted that once Amazon had its way with the big 5, once indies had served their purpose as a stick with which to threaten trad pubs, it would go back to business as usual, where the lion’s share of sales went to trad pubs and Amazon imprints (a variation of trad pub), and indies had to generate far more content and work far harder for a much smaller slice of the pie.

Which is where we are today.

Oddly, I’ve never been more excited to be writing. I have several new series ideas I intend to launch next year, and am looking forward to another Ramsey’s and JET, as well as the conclusion of The Day After Never’s final arc.

This, after having penned about sixty novels since starting my career, and sold somewhere approaching three million books by now.

Anytime you can do what you love and get paid for it, you’re a lucky man.

I’ve never been luckier, even if it’s harder to make the same buck.

Nothing remains static in life, and especially not in the entertainment biz. You’re only as good as your last sale, and there’s no guarantee you ever have another one. Such is the nature of the beast. I find it keeps me on my toes, and pushes me to improve my craft and storytelling. Some find it depressing. Shrug. I’ve done a lot of things in my life, and this, while one of the hardest to succeed at, is by far the most rewarding at a self-actualization level, which offsets the peaks and valleys of income all artists must be prepared to endure.

My advice from six years ago for budding authors remains the same as it does today: write well, write a lot, and always keep your eye on the next one, not the last. Up your game every time you sit down to put pen to paper, and don’t waste your time with mediocre stories – write compelling accounts of interesting characters faced with impossible obstacles they somehow manage to overcome.

Because life’s too short for mediocrity, and there are no guarantees how many stories you are able to tell before your number’s up.

Most of all, recognize that the odds are against you, and don’t be delusional or resentful about it. Making a living from being an author is a long odds game. It is what it is. But the chances of doing so on a sustained basis have never been better, and my sense is that if you are delivering work that is exceptional for your genre, that readers can’t get from other authors, you will prosper, or at least will never starve.

In the end, that’s not a terrible deal.


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A friend suggested I post this entry from my FB page, written to attempt to answer the question of why I write. Everyone’s reasons are different, but this is as good as any I’ve come up with:

The gift, or perhaps compulsion, for writing, comes from a willingness to dig for harsh truths and record every element of them, and then regurgitate them in a way that may be uncomfortable, but is interesting, or even horrifying, whether in fiction, or non.

As an example, I sat in a gelato store yesterday evening, and an elderly gentleman with a bald pate but long angel’s wings of silver-white hair on either side of his head slowly walked to the counter as I ate my treat, and paid for a single scoop of gelato in a cone. I noted that his blue blazer, while old, was an obviously expensive cut from a bygone era, the lapels hand stitched, and his gray wool slacks well cared for. His leather shoes were at one time pricey, but were splitting at the seams, the heels worn down and toes scuffed, betraying the ravages of time. I watched as he shambled from the cashier to the counter, placed his order in an inaudible murmur, and then sat a few tables from me, obviously struggling to manage the spoon and the gelato, but also all dressed up to do so.

My heart broke. Being a writer, I conjured up instant possibilities – is he an eccentric millionaire and this his guilty pleasure? Was that his last dollar and he is returning to his home he’s lived in for seventy years, his last joy a bite of gelato before he ends it all? Or does he live in a doorway, and this is his bid for humanity, if only slight. Is he a widower, and is this his window into the world of the living, for which formal attire is preferred? Or perhaps he’s one of the last living Nazi monsters, comfortably ensconced in Argentina, his cataract glazed eyes replaying his atrocities with every blink?

He dropped the cone with a plop on the floor about halfway through his one scoop, and looked around in embarrassment before scraping it up and tossing it into the garbage. Nobody else saw but me, out of the corner of my eye. He rose, brushed off his threadbare slacks, and left without a word. He didn’t glance at the cashier to perhaps buy another one. He recognized the finality of gravity’s work, and left as quietly as he had come.

I seriously considered going after him and buying him another cone, but didn’t. Why? There was a pride, a frail, birdlike poise to the way he squared his ancient shoulders, even in defeat, and left without attracting attention, as though he was making the best of what he had to work with. Who was I to intrude on his life, his drama, his experience, playing some sort of fat, privileged demi-god of gelato, thinking my overture would change anything other than to impose my existence into his life, and possibly remind him of his own failings, his own inability to buy as many gelatos as he wished, for those with whom he felt empathy? Or to make him uncomfortable because he perhaps could buy the whole town gelato, but carefully compartmentalized his ritual to only one scoop, one time, and the chips fall where they may. Worse, what if that was the last few dimes he had collected, and he’d saved them sedulously, only to watch their worth splat in a gelatinous glob on the floor? And I would then cheapen that by making it all as though it had never happened, with a “ha ha ha, think nothing of it, here are a few coins, mere trinkets hardly worth consideration?” I both desperately wanted to make his immediate reality better, to show him, hey, see, I got your gelato back, but feared the ramifications of even that smallest of kindnesses, for which I am the poorer for my inaction.

The problem with connectedness is you feel the joy, as well as the pain, and mostly the aimless futility, because it all seems so hollow and pointless much of the time, and it usually is, except for the doing, and even that is questionable. So your instinct is to want to soften that discomfort for others, and yet in doing so, you’re also reducing the authenticity of their experience, and injecting your perspective into their struggle, sometimes for good, sometimes with poor results. An easy way to frame it is trying to soften the blows for your kids, and yet robbing them of the pain that is life’s way of teaching them lessons they must learn to survive and prosper.

But what I do know is that my humanity, that kernel of sentience that’s resisted the caustic ravages of the world to this point, resonates with others at the oddest of times, be they dogs, cats, humans, bugs; and wishes that all of them could have just a brief sojourn from the norm, in a good way. Then back to spiders eating flies, and puppies being collected and gassed or tortured by street kids, and stoned punks roaming streets looking for easier duty than working. For my one divine moment, we would all be sitting with full cones of gelato, savoring that beat in time – puppies in our well groomed laps, their fur stroked by healing hands – with one collective, appreciative, sigh.


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It’s summer, so that must mean there’s a new JET hitting the shelves!

I’m happy to announce that JET – Rogue State, is now available wherever fine ebooks are sold.

This episode was a blast to write, and I tried to include some fun topical stuff along with all the usual explosions and chases. Hopefully it will surprise and delight you, or at least keep you from returning it for a refund and swearing to never buy another one. Either is good, although I’d obviously prefer the former.

I don’t want to give away the plot, so I’ll keep this announcement short. If you liked the last eleven installments, and the two prequels, you’ll be glad you picked this one up. If not, it’s pretty unlikely you’ll buy it, so I won’t worry about what you think – you are dead to me.

Below is the cover, and a purchase link to Amazon. Enjoy, but please don’t stay up all night reading, lose your job, and wind up living under a freeway overpass huffing paint with vagrants and sleeping with newspaper stuffed beneath your soiled clothing for warmth.


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It’s May, so it must be time for another novel!

This time, it is book six in The Day After Never series, titled, Perdition. In it, the story arc set into motion in book five, Insurrection, is concluded, with all the usual action and adventure you’d expect.

I’m now hard at work on the next JET – Rogue State, which is progressing nicely, if slowly. I’ve been involved in a number of projects that have eaten into my schedule, so that one will likely release in July, with the next novel, probably one in the A Girl Apart or Ramsey’s series, in Sept or Oct.

If you haven’t checked out The Day After Never series, you should – some are calling it my best work to date. Here’s the cover and a link to Amazon, where it will remain exclusive for 90 days before going wide.



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What can be said about the fifth installment in The Day After Never series – Insurrection, without giving too much away? Well, most importantly, it begins a two book arc that involves the delivery of the vaccine to the Pacific Northwest – a seemingly simple task for the likes of Lucas that quickly turns deadly in unexpected ways.

Not that crossing half the country in a post-apocalyptic hell isn’t deadly, but Lucas and company are experienced enough to dodge most of the usual dangers: bandits, raiders, scavengers, bushwhackers of all shapes and sizes, landslides, predatory animals, etc.

Let’s just say that there was no way they could have prepared for what comes next. When things go from bad to worse, in the dystopian badlands, they tend to do so in a big way, entropy being the only dependable factor in the chaotic aftermath of the society’s collapse.

I think the book is one of my better efforts to date, but I always think that once done with one. Hopefully you’ll find it entertaining, and a worthy installment in the series. The next, book 6, appropriately titled “Perdition,” will release in May, so you don’t have long to learn how everything resolves – I considered waiting until June to release it, just to torture everyone, but decided that wasn’t particularly nice behavior, and so May it is.

Here’s the buy link at Amazon, where it is exclusive for the next 90 days. And of course, the cover.


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Thought I’d give a little history on my expatriation from the U.S. fifteen years ago. Instead of dwelling on the political reasons for my departure, although the rising totalitarian state that was formalized with the Patriot Act played a big part, as did going to war based on lies in Iraq, I will stick to the less controversial details.

I would suggest you listen to this tune while considering my tale: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ha1GT2tW9dc

I sold my company at the tender age of 40, and was looking around for greener climes. My short list was Melbourne, Australia, and Cabo San Lucas – both of which I was more than familiar with due to numerous trips. I settled on Cabo in sort of a provisional fashion: I would try it for six months and see how I liked it. I’d spent tons of long weekends there, and my longest stint had been 10 days, which didn’t seem at all too long at the time, so I packed up my car and pointed it south (I was living in So Cal) with little forethought and a sense of adventure.

People ask me what it’s like to move to a foreign country like Mexico. Well, it’s different, and not so different. Baja, especially, holds its challenges, and 15 years ago it was a dusty little cantina town built on a fishing port where Americans came to misbehave – in other words, the modern equivalent of the Wild West. There were almost no rules, and the change in the sense of freedom was immediately apparent in a good way. The biggest thing to get used to was consumer goods – Costco had just opened, there was no Walmart, and availability of products you could pick up in the U.S. was spotty, at best. As an example, if you saw a case of diet 7 Up, you bought it – it would be gone by the next day, and then it could be months before 20 more appeared on the shelves. Thankfully, or sadly, depending on your perspective, that’s all changed, and with three big box stores and six supermarket chains now here, as well as Office Depot and Office Max, the consumer goods paucity is a thing of the past.

The language wasn’t so much of an issue as one might imagine, mainly because most in the tourist areas of Baja speak some, or fluent, English. They have to – their main business being catering to Americans and Canadians. Took me many years to get relatively decent with the lingo, and it’s still arguable exactly how proficient I actually am.

Starting a business here was orders of magnitude easier than in the U.S. After a couple of years of boredom, I started my custom home design and construction firm, and had it open in a day. Got a bank account, filled out some paperwork establishing the corp, hired an accountant, and that was it. In the U.S., especially California, that would have taken a bunch of attorneys a significant amount of time. The lesson was that in Mexico, it’s actually pretty easy to be an entrepreneur. No guarantee you’ll make any money at it, but starting an enterprise was ridiculously straightforward.

Getting permanent residency was also a snap. There’s a guy who, for a few hundred dollars, handles all the paperwork, and my total involvement was getting photos taken and spending a few hours at Immigration so I could sign things.

A question that often comes up is, “Do you miss the old country?” Not really. I see all the Gringos I can stomach whenever I go out, and most of the rich from my neck of the woods in the states keep their big boats here, jetting down on their Gulfstreams for long weekends, so I get as much of the red faced American alpha male as I can tolerate.

On the plus side, the restaurants off the beaten path are fantastic, and costs for pretty much everything except power and gas run about 30% less than the U.S. On mainland, it’s more like 40-45% less in the really good areas, way cheaper in the not so great, but why go there?

I pay an effective 5% on my Mexican earnings (legally), and I can live a six figure American lifestyle on about a third of that and still have money left over at the end of the day. Same cars (due to the currency, cars are 30% cheaper), bigger house (a third to half the price), ocean view, friendly neighbors, and year-round sun. And don’t forget the cold beer, friendly natives, and of course, tequila.

Health care is ridiculously cheap – $30 for an ER visit, $100 for broken bones including the cast and X-ray. Buddy cut his leg open surfing, cost $125 to stitch it up, including a shot of antibiotic and the ER doctor’s time. He did the same in California a year later, the bill came to $4500. Same fix, but they code it as a surgery because of the stitches. Madness in a place with the most expensive health care in the world. Property tax on a million dollar home might run $500. A full time maid to cook, clean, and walk dogs runs $350 per month. A gardener, $50-$100. You can quickly see how the savings add up.

Crime is a serious problem if you’re selling drugs in the barrio, and the murder rate in Baja has gone from maybe 5 per year for the area when I moved here (about 250K people), to hundreds due to a territory war being waged for the retail distribution rights. Those being killed are the street level dealers who make a few hundred bucks a week – a dealer in his twenties is selling in disputed areas, and his rival pops a cap in his ass. Exactly the same as in East L.A. or Compton or Santa Ana, only it’s more intense due to the money involved – throw a 1000% margin product at an area where the average person makes $400 a month, and you’ll find lots of idiots willing to kill for the trafficking rights. The good news is those being killed are those that needed killing. The bad news is it makes the stats look terrible, and it slows tourism – which I don’t care about other than celebrating that it’s easier to find a parking spot. But I keep an eye on the associated crime that accompanies the trade: an increase in robberies and muggings and theft. So far, no problems, but it’s a shame that it has changed so radically. Then again, it will eventually settle out, and calm down. These things tend to move in cycles.

I’ve been spending more time on mainland lately, and am considering splitting my time between here and there, mainly to spend my summer months in cooler temperatures than Baja. We shall see how that plays out. With air fares around $75 RT from Cabo to mainland Mexico, it’s not a deal killer.

It’s not paradise. I mean, it kind of is, with beaches and endless summer and an idyllic lifestyle. But you have to avoid dangerous areas, and resist the temptation to drive drunk – which is the single biggest killer of Gringos in Baja, incidentally, and I’m not making that up.

Inevitably, I’m asked by Americans, “Why are so many Mexicans trying to get into the U.S. if it’s so awesome there?” The answer is twofold: first, since 2008, the number leaving the U.S. and returning to Mexico has been larger than the number trying to sneak in, so the question is based on almost a decade old assumption. And second, because the bottom 10-20% who have no choice but to be the $350 per month maid or gardener would prefer to make ten times that in the U.S. What Americans see are the poorest of the poor seeking a better life, not the vast majority of those living in Mexico. Oh, and many who are trying to sneak in aren’t Mexican – they’re Guatemalan and El Salvadorian and Honduran trying to flee the nightmares the U.S. government has turned those countries into so American companies can continue to milk cheap labor there, since the 1950’s.

The big question I get asked by the curious and the doubtful, is, 15 years later, would I do it again? Absolutely. I’ve now spent over a quarter of my life outside the U.S., and don’t miss it much. On mainland, they have all the Chili’s and Cheesecake Factories and PF Chang’s you can want, as well as all the first world amenities (first class hospitals, shopping to rival Rodeo Drive, etc.), so when I want that, it’s not far away. I don’t feel like I’ve missed much living outside the country, and in many ways I’m far more relaxed due to the slower cultural pace here. Net net, it’s been hugely positive, and my only regret is not doing it sooner.

That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. Now go buy my crap so I can continue working my fingers to nubs in the Mexican sun. My new one, A Girl Apart, ain’t bad, and it’s been garnering good reviews, so you could do worse than to try it. Just saying.



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2 Mar 2017, by

A Girl Apart

Well, it’s March 2, which means I’ve just released my new novel, A Girl Apart.

This is somewhat of a departure for me, combining a conspiracy that spans decades with a mystery that’s sustained until the final pages. It features a new protagonist who will be getting her own series: Leah Mason, an investigative reporter who’s down on her luck after losing her dream job at the most prestigious newspaper in NY. Her career in shambles and her romantic life a zero, she stumbles across a conspiracy that will require all her skills to disentangle – along with a tall, dark stranger who takes her breath away.

This is the first novel featuring Leah, and I have high hopes for the concept – it’s got more twists than a silly straw and a pace that moves like a runaway train.

Here’s the blurb and cover. A Girl Apart is available on Amazon as an exclusive for 90 days.

Leah Mason is a twenty-something investigative journalist who’s hit the wall in her career and her romantic life. Forced to return to El Paso and an existence she’d hoped to leave behind forever, Leah is marking time at her old employer when she’s drawn into a conspiracy that spans decades. On the trail of the truth about the disappearance of countless young women across the border in Ciudad Juarez she runs afoul of a brutal adversary who will stop at nothing to keep the secrets of the past buried, and must use every bit of her resourcefulness if she is to survive to tell the story.
Grab this new full-length novel and see why Russell Blake is one of the top picks in mystery and action/adventure, and has earned thousands of five star reviews across over fifty books!

Old asphalt road on the background of Dramatic sunset


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