Quick moving suspense book. I couldn’t put them down.I have always loved a good zombie story and this ones didn’t disappointed me.
1. Dead Meat Day 1
In this first installment we fallowing Thomas, Jennie and Dan. It was a normal day, they were out delivering paper. But They didn’t know their last delivery would really be their last. Now they must fight to stay alive.
My Thoughts
This book had me at the edge of the seat. I need it to know if they would survive. Everything started in that house, a voodoo ritual gone wrong. They are the first group to know. They must survive and save the world.
I have loved every book I have read from Nick Clausen and this book didn’t disappointed me. It was packed with action, I finished it right away, couldn’t put out.
5 out of 5 bookstacks
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2. Dead Meat Day 2
This is the second installment of Nick Clausen’s Dead Meat Series. In this one we fallow Selena, Jonas and Dan in their fight against the zombies, trying to save the world. But things get from bad to worst. Can they save the world? Or would they die trying?
My Thoughts
This installment was just as good but I had some things that bother me. First lest start with the characters, I thought Selena was a bit annoying. She treated Dan like he was a pest and since I stablish a likeness for Dan in the first book I hated this. I know she had good intentions but come on! lol. Second as you know one of my pet peeves is a name being repeated in almost every sentence. The author repeated the names with last name constantly and that was bothering me a bit. But besides those the story was excellent. action packed as well, im getting so deep into it and need to know more. Cant wait to read the third installment. đ
4 out of 5 bookstacks
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3. Dead Meat Day 3
My Thoughts
This series has me completely hooked. I’m honestly enjoying it and I’m also in need of the next book. Almost everyone is dead now and becoming zombies. Only a few survive but for how long? Nick Clausen has done it again. In this book we pretty much fallow Dan, Millie and William around while they try to survive this crazy world as well as keeping them self out of harms way. I NEED MORE DAY MEAT BOOKS!
5 out of 5 bookstacks đđ đđ đ
About the Author
Born 1988 in North Jutland, where I still live with my wife, who also happened to be my earliest childhood girlfriend. From 2017 I have lived as a full-time writer. Up until then, I had different jobs beside the writing. I have been studying as a carpenter for three years, and have also read two years of psychology at Aalborg University. It turned out that the writing had a much more powerful pull on me.
I decided early on that I would be an author when I grew up. In fact, the decision came to me already when I read my first book, Snevampyren by Dennis JĂŒrgensen. My first “real” stories I wrote at 14-15 years of age. They were rejected by the publisher, but still got praise. There were some years when I was busy with being a teenager and trying to get an education before I suddenly remembered that I should be an author.
That day I made a promise to write 1,000 words a day until I got a book published. I sat down and started writing. I continued to write every single day for a year and a half. I sent the finished manuscripts to different publishers, and the rejections piled up. Twelve of them by the end. But each time I could feel it was a little bit better. The criticism became more positive. The thirteenth story was called Tidevandet, and it was adopted by the publisher and came out a year later.
I have always enjoyed writing, although in the beginning I put a lot of pressure on myself. My approach to the process has become much more free over the years. For example, I no longer plan my stories. That way, I feel that I’m experiencing the story while writing it and the characters feel like real people. I do not know where the ideas come from, but I’ve never had trouble finding them.
A native New Englander, Tom Turner dropped out of college and ran a Vermont bar…into the ground. After limping back to college to get his diploma, Tom became an advertising copywriter, first in Boston then New York. After ten years of post-Mad Men life, he made a radical change and got a job in commercial real estate. Not long after that he ended up in Palm Beach, buying, renovating and selling houses along with collecting raw material for his novels. On the side, he wrote Palm Beach Nasty, its sequel, Palm Beach Poison, and a screenplay called Blood Red Sea. While at a wedding a few years later, he fell for the charm of Charleston, South Carolina, and moved there. Recently, wandering Tom moved again. This time, just down the road to Skidaway Island, outside of Savannah, where he’s writing a novel about passion and murder among his neighbors.
Vermelle LeGare had one of the oldest, most prominent surnames in Charleston. Fact is, the nicest street in Charleston was LeGare Streetâpronounced Le-gree, as in Simon. Close seconds being Tradd and Church Streets.
Vermelle, though, was black and poor, a fifth-generation cleaning lady. Her husband, Willie, had just dropped her off at the corner of Broad and Churchâa ten-minute walk to the house on Stollâs Alley where Vermelle was working that day. Willieâd dropped her there because he had a big roofing job that day and didnât want to be late. Vermelle didnât point out to Willie that his being on time would make her late for Mr. David.
Mr. David was David Wayne Marion, a rich, handsome fifty- year-old man. Vermelle knew just how rich he was because his net worth had been published in an article in the Post & Courier when he took an ill-fated run at becoming governor. Seventy-five million, mostly in real estate, she recalled.
After he lost in his bid to become governor, Mr. David veered off in a whole different direction andâof all crazy thingsâended up becoming the star of a TV reality show. He had money, looks, and success, so fame was all that was left. But Vermelle had seen the show and… well, she intended to keep her opinion to herself.
She walked down Church Street and marveled once again at the beautiful houses on the street shaded by live oak trees with their wide, majestic canopies. Her favorite was a four-story brick Georgian with a dark mahogany door and antique glass fanlight above it. The house had graceful pediments above the windows and a perfectly proportioned wall to its right. On the second floor was a classic piazza where she imagined the husband and wife sipped their sloe-gin fizzes as soon as the clock struck five. Maybe earlier.
On the next block, she passed the garage door of an elegant Federalist-style house and chuckled to herself at the angry red letters stenciled onto its garage: Do not block driveway. Violators will be persecuted to the full extent of the law.
Did that mean hanged, she wondered, or merely tarred-and- feathered? And wasnât it… prosecuted? White people didnât make mistakes like that… did they?
Her favorite wall in Charleston was on the next block. Its surface was dirty concrete with patches of green lichen making it look a thousand years old. The highlight of the wall was the most intricately detailed wrought iron gate she had ever seen. She wondered if it had been crafted by Philip Simmons, a blacksmith by trade and a black man by birth whose work, she had heard, had ended up in the Smithsonian Museum.
Then she passed the decrepit house with a severe lean to one side, that always caught her attention. It was a stately colonial with imposing columns but was run-down and neglected. Like the owner couldnât afford to keep it up. She had heard Mr. David on the phone once making fun of a woman who was, âhouse-rich and check book poorâ and wondered if this was her place. Mr. David went on about how the woman was from an old Charleston family but had been spotted using food stamps on the down low at the local Harris Teeter food market.
Vermelle turned left on Stolls Alley and walked over the bumpy, broken-brick pavement. The roads were in far better shape up on Nunan Streetâin the heart of the âhoodâwhere she lived in her two-bedroom freedmanâs cottage. She had observed how the well-to-do south of Broad Street folks leaned toward the old, worn, distressed look. She had heard the word âquaintâ used a lot but just couldnât see it.
At number 5 Stollâs Alley, she rang the bell and waited.
David Marionâs Greek Revival featured grey stucco over brickâ the brick peeking through in several places. Vermelle had heard how at one point in history brick had lost favor with the rich folk so they had simply stuccoed over it. As she fumbled for her key, she looked over at the bulky two-inch-thick shutters with cut-outs of palmetto trees and the flickering gas lanterns that David Marion kept on at all time.
After a minute or so, she knocked and waited. Nothing. She knocked again.
Nothing.
Out of options, she tried the doorknob. To her surprise, it opened.That was odd. She pushed it open and stuck her head in.âMr. David, itâs me, Vermelle.â
She walked into the hallway, the rare herring-bone heart-of-pine floor at her feet. âMr. David,â she said again a little louder, âitâs Vermelle.â
She walked into the living room recently decorated by Madeline Littleworth Mortimer herself. âMr. David?â
She figured he must have hurried off to shoot a scene for his dopey TV show and had forgotten to lock the house. It had happened before. She went down the hallway to his bedroom to get the sheets, towels, and his dirty clothes; the first thing she always did. The bedroom door was open, and she went in.
And there, sprawled atop the 1000-count Egyptian sheets of his king-size bed, lay David Wayne Marion buck naked and with a bullet hole in his forehead .
First, Vermelle screamed, scaring the hell out of Mr. Davidâs Labrador retriever, napping at the side of the bed. Then she called the cops.
Finally, she fled the house and headed straight to the AME Church up on Calhoun. All she could do now was pray for the soul of poor Mr. David.Â
Excerpt 2
Janzek and Rhett had gone back to the police station on Lockwood after interviewing the rest of Marionâs neighbors. Janzek wanted to take a look at Marionâs reality show for himself.
It was three in the afternoon and he and Rhett had just binged on four episodes of Charleston Buzz. Janzek flicked off the clicker, shook his head, and said four was all he could take. Even though he had pretty much hit the wall after the pilot.
âI think Iâd rather watch that Jersey smut mouth than those airheads,â Janzek said.
âSnooki, you mean,â Rhett said. âLove that girl.â
âJesus, Delvin, is there anything beneath you? Anything you wonât watch?â
âYeah, Duck Dynasty,â Rhett said, shaking his head. âBunch of gay bashinâ, red neck, ZZ Top cracker boys.â
Janzek held up his hands. âIâll take your word for it.â
Rhett shook his head and smirked. âOkay, Mr. Masterpiece Theater.â
As far as Charleston Buzz went, it seemed like the lives of the recurrent characters in the reality show consisted almost exclusively of sex, drinking and selfies, with most of them having no discernible means of support. Not that Janzek had anything against sex, drinking, or selfies, but give it a rest once in a while.
âI donât get how that one, Naomi, can live in that big house on Beaufain when sheâs a goddamn dog-walker,â Janzek said.
âYeah, I wondered about that, too. I got a theory that the show subsidizes âem. I mean, none of âem, with the exception of Samantha, and Greg the banker, really do anything. And it wouldnât surprise me if Gregâs a teller.â
Janzek nodded and tapped his desk a few times. âSo as far as 12 Marion goes,â he said, âyouâve seen all twelve episodes, what exactlyâs the skinny on the guy?â
âWell, actually, heâs one they donât need to subsidize. Best way to sum him up is, heâs rich as shit and has a thing for girls half his age. No, make that a third his age. Supposedly made a ton of money in real estate before the crash. Built a bunch of office buildings, then retired.â
âRetired to a life of hittinâ on every chick in Charleston between the ages of training-bra and twenty-five,â Janzek said.
âExactly.â
Janzek flashed back to something Jessie Lawson had said. âHis wife told me he was going to go down to New Orleans this weekend but cancelled at the last minute. Whatâs your take on that?â
Rhett shook his head and smirked. âSame as yours. Guy met a chick who gave him reason to believe he might get lucky.â
Janzek nodded and leaned back in his chair. âSo first he got lucky, then he got really… unlucky.âÂ
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A single moment rewrites the path of Lora’s life. One winter night, Lora and Harper’s lives collide unexpectedly and a friendship is born. With their own difficult pasts, they plan to keep it that way: just friends. Until it becomes a little more and Harper decides that Lora deserves better. Five years later, they meet again, and over a cup of coffee, flames are relit.
A story of love, friendship, mental illness, and self-development, Lora and Harper go to show that people are more than their dark pasts and more than their darkest monsters. Life and all its turns are more than all of us.
Ryan Jones is a writer and editor residing in Southwestern Ontario. She loves a good book, a good cup of tea, and snuggles from her cats. She strives to find the silver lining of every situation in life and hopes to inspire and comfort people through her writing.
