Haven’t posted in a while, I know, but I wanted to let you all know that now you can get started on Gisbo’s journey absolutely free over on Wattpad! Better get started now as the newest Renegade book will most likely be landing this summer! Thanks everyone for your constant love and support!
Cheers!
- J.C. Fiske
Filed under Uncategorized
It’s that time of year again fellow Renegades! Do you want a free copy of Renegade Rupture a week before anyone else? Well, continue reading . . .
All you have to do is leave a review for Renegade Rising at the link provided at the bottom
of this post, then, shoot me a message at JCFiske@Gmail.com listing your reviewer name, your e-mail address, and say, “Add me to the list.”
Once a release date is set, you will get an e-mail containing the Renegade Rupture .mobi file attachment for your Kindle a week before its official release, and be able to read Gisbo and friend’s latest adventure before anyone else!
P.S. – For those who left a review during the last promotion, simply leave a review for Renegade Reprisal telling others of your experience and you’ll apply for this one as well. Take care everyone! Release date and blurb coming soon!
- J.C. Fiske
http://www.amazon.com/Renegade-Rising-ebook/dp/B005FG1JRC/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1329319672&sr=8-2
Filed under Uncategorized
Just finished watching the debate. I believe it is important to know where your country is, and where it’s heading. I love my country, and love that I am able to write Gisbo’s fart jokes absolutely unfettered and unedited.
Coming from an independent, no matter what, I believe each side has good intentions and wants to help America. I get that, but I can’t get behind the idea of big government, and if you think about it, neither can you. Big business may be awful, and the medicare system may be in shambles, but big government isn’t the answer.
To quote Thomas Jefferson, “I predict future happiness for Americans, if they can prevent the government from wasting the labors of the people under the pretense of taking care of them.”
Filed under Uncategorized
Say what? Renegade Reprisal is now available for all Kindle devices? Yes, yes it is. Enjoy everyone and again, thank you all so much for your constant support. Gisbo and friends wouldn’t exist without each and every one of you! Also, a big shoutout to Lisa Rusczyk for being an amazing editor!
Filed under Uncategorized
I know you all have been waiting patiently so without further ado, here is a sneak preview for Renegade Reprisal , sequel to Renegade Rising, containing a full synopsis and a sample chapter. Release date to be announced in the coming weeks. Enjoy everyone and rejoice, Gisbo Falcon returns!
- J.C. Fiske
Synopsis:
Now officially a Renegara, Gisbo Falcon is back, but for how long? On the desert plains of Flaria, Gisbo continues his training under his Class Master, Falcon, while dodging Spike Slithers, getting reacquainted with a long lost family, and preparing for a tournament to face off against his greatest rival yet, Malik Strife. But that’s the easy part.
A fiendish cult known only as The Holy Chosen has recently risen out of the ruins of Cledwyn City, once home to Vadid the Valiant and the Flarian race. Now, a shadow of its former self, the new city seeks to open the sands of Flaria once again to the horrors of war.
A great battle is coming, but Gisbo hasn’t been himself lately. A dangerous, repressed memory in the form a door, bolted, and chained on all sides has been rattling within Gisbo’s mind, clawing day and night like a caged beast, a beast, if freed, could change our good-hearted hero forever.
Sample Chapter:
Prologue: The White Lion Lives
The wind howled across the white sands of the Flaria desert. To the west, the sun began to set, shining like a brilliant ruby set against a purple sky. Unfortunately, Captain Tuscan was in no mood to admire the captivating beauty. He silently cursed under his breath. If only he hadn’t gambled away his two nights off to Captain Rab for a case of beer. If only his pack mule’s heart hadn’t given out while walking along FelFast Canyon. He could be back in the tavern with his men enjoying a cold one.
If only.
“So, Cappy, where we headin’ tonight?” Private Mook asked, letting out a yawn and a stretch.
“Don’t call me Cappy,” Tuscan said.
“Sorry, ol’ Tuscinini! So where we headed?” Mook punched Tuscan playfully in the back. The Captain sighed.
“Fine, just call me Cappy,” Tuscan said.
“Nice! But hey, you didn’t answer me,” Mook replied. Tuscan let out another grievous sigh.
“Just the usual cave patrol,” Tuscan stated. Mook let out a groan.
“Awww, again? How many we checkin’ this time?” Mook grumbled.
“All that we can until the sun rises, General Scarrr’s orders. You got a problem with it? Then go talk to him about it,” Tuscan stated firmly. Mook gulped.
“Not a chance in hell. I miss General Cannon. He at least knew when to take a break,” Mook said.
“Aw, quit your belly achin’. I can’t wait to kill me some more Flarians,” Private Rye said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.
“If we even find any. It’s been weeks since we bagged that broad and her kid. I at least want a struggle this time, makes it more fun!” Private Stilo murmured.
“Still, I wonder why Karm’s so paranoid about ‘em. They aren’t that strong,” Private Rye stated.
“Do you not remember why we don’t have General Cannon out here anymore? Idiot.” Tuscan said, shaking his head.
“Oh yeah . . . hey, Cappy, you were there to see the, uh, the thing we don’t talk about go down, huh?” Rye asked. Tuscan put on a solemn face.
“Yup,” Captain Tuscan said.
“So . . . based on what you saw . . . would you say that that Flarian was one of those guys we, uh, also don’t talk about?” Rye asked. Tuscan’s face tightened, and he paused before he answered.
“A Renegade? Yeah, yeah I do,” Tuscan answered, a hint of spite in his voice. Rye’s eyes went wide as he and his companions placed shaking hands upon their weapon handles.
Captain Tuscan and his men walked along in silence as a crescent moon replaced the setting sun and a blanket of stars hovered above them, illuminating the white sands in an eerie glow. After a few more paces, the men reached their destination, the Darkstar Caverns. Hundreds upon hundreds of blackened caves stretched before them, popping from the white sand’s surface in perfect contrast to the starry sky above.
“I hate night patrol here, so creepy,” Mook stated as he nervously glanced left and right as they made their way to the first cave.
“Pussy,” Stilo muttered.
“Pansey ass,” Mook retorted.
“Hey, what do you call a Flarian who’s pissed off, drunk, and hasn’t showered or shaved?” Rye asked.
“Hahaha! I’ve heard this one,” Stilo said.
“Easy . . . a Flarian,” Rye answered nonchalantly, letting out a chuckle.
“I got one! Ok, a wagon jammed with ten Flarians is flying off a cliff. What’s wrong?” Stilo said with a smirk.
“Absolutely nothing!” Rye said, laughing.
“There could be more of ‘em . . .” Stilo said. Everyone laughed, including the Captain.
“Oh! I got one! What does a tree and a Flarian have in common?” Captain Tuscan asked. Everyone shrugged.
“They both fall down if you whack ‘em with an axe!” the Captain answered.
Everyone cackled over the joke as they neared the mouth of the cave. Tuscan was about to issue instructions to his men when a piercing groan suddenly echoed from the cave. The men all looked at each other.
“The hell was that?” Mook muttered to himself.
The sound of heavy boot falls could now be heard approaching in a slow stride, but not like any boots they ever heard before. They sounded entirely metallic. Out of reflex, the soldiers unsheathed their weapons and stared into the darkness, awaiting the coming threat. All was quiet until a loud belch careened off the cave walls. Suddenly, the figure of a man in his mid twenties came into view. His right arm was bound in a sling across his chest and a flask was clasped in his left hand.
Unfortunately, other than his metal clad boots and gloves, that was all the man was wearing.
“Oy! Eh there, gents! Quite a breezy night!” the nude man said as he brushed back his long, mangled, dark brown hair from his glittering brown eyes and took a long drag from his flask. When finished, he breathed out a heavy sigh of fulfillment.
“Breezy? You ain’t kiddin’,” Stilo said as he raised a hand to shield his eyes from the unpleasant sight before him. The rest of the soldiers followed in suit. The nude man looked down at himself and seemed equally surprised by his own lack of clothes.
“Why would ya look at dat! I knew I’d be forgettin sumtin. Why, I . . . oop, hold dat thought,” the nude man said as he dropped his flask in the sand and stumbled over to the cave wall, braced himself against it with his good arm, and began to urinate. The soldiers turned their heads in disgust as the nude man groaned with relief and let loose a long fart.
“You gotta be kiddin’ me . . .” the Captain sighed in disgust. Out of impatience, Tuscan turned round to see the nude man breath out one last exasperated sigh of relief, do a little jig, and turn to walk towards them, kernels of sand snapping under his metal clad boots.
“Oy! Sorry ‘bout dat! You know, nature calls an’ all, and she was, by gawd, screamin’! Oh, how rude o’ me! The name’s Camlin Ayver McCarley, but you can call me Phil!” Phil said as he outstretched a hand to the Captain. Tuscan eyed it with a hint of disgust and withdrew his own behind his back.
“Phil? Why do they call . . .” The Captain barely got the words out before he was interrupted.
“Well! It’s a hell of a lot easier than sayin’ Camlin Ayver McCarley, now isn’t tit? Aye! You’re a good man, I can tell. All of ya, actually, except for this gent right here. Hell, look at him! Between me en you, friend, I believe he’s not right in the thing three feet above his ass! Shush though, he might hear ya!” Phil exclaimed as he jammed a finger to his temple and pointed at Rye. “But no matter! Greetings to all of yeh!” Phil said as he bowed three times in the direction of no one in particular with a goofy grin. The men were at a loss for words, but at least thankful that Phil was now in close enough range to look him in the eyes rather than . . . other parts of him.
“Oy! Quiet bunch, eh? Well, don’t you worry! Ol’ Philly won’t let things get awkward! Swear on me Grandah’s life I do! I hate awkward silences! Hate it! Hate it! Now what can I do ya fer?” Phil asked as he scratched at his broken arm.
“The hell kind of accent is that? It’s not Flarian, it’s not, well, it’s not anything I’ve ever heard! It’s gibberish! You sure this guy’s a Flarian Cappy?” Mook asked. “Maybe he’s one of those weird hermits we heard about.”
“So . . . Phil . . . may I ask what you are doin’ out here?” Captain Tuscan finally managed to mutter. Phil just stared at him blankly with an empty gaze. A string of drool began to drip from the corner of his mouth.
“Phil? You with me?” Tuscan asked, snapping fingers in front of his face.
“Aye, of course I’m with ya!” Phil exclaimed, slapping Tuscan’s hand away from his face. “Goodness to gracious, man, get to the point! Land the skeeter if you know what I mean!” Phil said as he picked his flask out of the sand and took a short draft. It seemed that Rye had had enough of the spectacle.
“Shut up! Just shut up! I’m done screwin’ around with this fool! I know exactly what you are, you damned Flarian! Now answer the Captain before I spill your guts out right here for all to see,” Rye exclaimed, taking a step closer to Phil, sword extended. Phil looked at the sword, then at Rye, and smiled.
“Want to know how I broke me arm?” Phil asked, in a spooky tone.
“Shut up,” Rye said as he moved a little closer to Phil. The other soldiers moved in beside Rye.
“Well, I’ll tell ya anyhow. It’s because it wouldn’t do as it was told, so I had to punish ‘er. It was weak, so I had ta break ‘er. It should obey next time,” Phil said with a distant look in his eyes as he stroked his broken arm like a cat. Rye looked at Phil, disgusted.
“You’re sick . . . you apes need to be put down. All of ya!” Rye exclaimed. The Captain and his men began to take a step back from Phil, noticing what Rye should have noticed from the start . . . there was a reddish gleam to Phil’s boots and gloves.
“I’ve always wondered a bit about something; grant a lad an answer, would ya?” Phil asked, suddenly speaking clearly. Rye stopped his advance for a moment. Phil continued.
“Why is it you blokes always be comin’ round ‘ere to kill us?” Phil asked plainly. The Captain spoke up.
“Your Warlord demands it; we are bound by duty,” Tuscan said. Phil smiled broadly at that statement.
“Aye, my Warlord, yah say? Well, he may be your Warlord, but his orders are worth the same as piss in the sand to me. I serve the true one and the true one alone,” Phil said with a dreamy look in his eyes.
“Vadid has been dead for years. His son rules now, and you and your fellow Flarians will show him your allegiance!” the Captain said. Phil giggled a bit.
“Ah, that’s where ya couldn’t be more wrong, mate. The white lion lives, I’ve seen her, prowling the desert sands, and I, like a good soldier, will wait patiently till her master returns,” Phil said. Rye began to advance forward.
“Impossible, drunken disillusions, why I . . .” the Captain started until Rye cut him off.
“Oh, come now, don’t let this fool drag on. I don’t know about the rest of these guys, but I have a soft spot for cleaving you Flarians in two. Screw Karm, I do this work for me,” Rye said, smiling like a crocodile. Phil pursed his lips together. Suddenly, Phil’s eyes took on a look several kinds of crazy.
“I was hearin’ ya jokes earlier. I like jokes and I got a doosy. What’s round, empty, and soars through the air on a starry night?” Phil asked. Rye simply scoffed, but didn’t answer. Phil smiled, showing all his teeth.
“Why, it’s yer head, mate,” Phil said calmly.
In a flash of crimson, Phil’s metal boot rose like a viper and popped Rye’s head clean from his shoulders with a sickening crack. Even as the head flew into night sky, Rye’s body continued to stand erect for a few moments, before toppling over. A puddle of blood squirted from the private’s stump of a neck like a running faucet. Phil raised a hand to his brow to watch the head disappear into the distance.
“Oy! That just popped right off der, didn’t it? I was just playin’ with words was all! Truly I was! I didn’t actually tink it would ‘appen! I’ll never know if he liked me joke now,” Phil exclaimed, face covered with innocent surprise. “What about you fellers?”
Captain Tuscan, along with his remaining men, ignited their weapons and rushed at the Flarian. In odd, jerky movements, Phil laughed as he leaned back and twisted his body in stumbling motions, dodging all three weapons with a child-like grace. The soldiers cursed aloud in frustration, unable to hit the jerky Flarian as Phil reached downward and grabbed a fistful of sand. He rose, twirling his body, and let the sand swirl all about him.
Forced to shield their eyes from the sand’s mist, the soldiers halted for a moment, and a moment was all the Flarian required. Phil raised his fist to his face and ignited the ring upon his finger in a red surge. A quick hand maneuver later, a red ball of energy swirled within his open palm. Phil braced himself as he tossed the energy cluster into the air and punted it forward with his foot like a sports ball.
Captain Tuscan only had enough time to stare helplessly as the fiery cluster struck himself and Stilo directly. With screams of dismay, both men flew off their feet and their bodies turned to ash.
Mook, who managed to dive away upon impact, rose to a kneeling position, a little shaken up, but perfectly fine. That is, until he saw Phil standing over him.
“Come now an’ get yer ass up, ya pusso’. I need someone to tell your good buddy Karm what happened ‘ere. Tell ‘em to send me more! Well, Mookie, I’d love to stay an’ shoot the breeze with ya, but I ‘ave to go prepare for company! Me baby cousin’s comin’ to visit me soon! Much to be done! Now off ya go, mate! Come now, off ya go,” Phil said, shuffling along Mook playfully with his hands. Mook rose to his feet and sprinted away, keeping an eye on Phil over his shoulder as he ran. Phil turned in the opposite direction, stumbling and giggling as he walked deep into the desert.
To be continued in Renegade Reprisal, coming soon . . .
Filed under Uncategorized
Filed under Uncategorized
Well dear readers, with the release of the final Harry Potter on DVD and Blu-Ray last Friday, it is officially the end of an era but what an era it was! When you are done wiping your eyes, please, pass me your tissue so I can do the same and we can both continue this blog post in ode to Harry.
Upon seeing the final film of the Harry Potter Series, the biggest thing that I remember was not the movie itself but looking around and realizing that I was in a theater filled with children. I suppose that’s what happens when you see a matinee showing but let me tell you, being around them and watching the thrill on their faces, hearing the giggles and watching their jaws drop while watching Harry and his friends through their eyes made the whole thing a memorable experience that I will carry with me the rest of my life. As I walked out of that theater, I couldn’t help but be transported back to my own childhood.
Which got me thinking . . .
I myself write a young adult fantasy series called The Renegade Series. In the first book, Renegade Rising
When you read the adventures of Harry and his friends and if you have a soul, you will be helpless to surprises the warm tingles all across your body. Don’t be alarmed when it happens, you aren’t sick. All it is, is your inner child reawakening from a long slumber as you dive into a world of magic, mystery and danger, the very recipe for fun! Or, for some with horrible childhoods, seeing Harry grow up is a great release and escape from their own pains. It’s magical how it all comes together and by magical, I don’t mean witchcraft and wizardry, but the magic of embracing who you once were in your purest, unaltered self and the power that it can wield once harnessed.
For example, in Harry Potter, the most powerful wizard is an odd old man named Dumbledore who is compassionate, trusting and inspiring but is also the most offbeat guy around, even by wizard standards and yet, Voldemort, the dark lord himself, is in utter fear of such a man whose very password to his office is, “Sherbet Lemon”. Why you ask? Because Dumbledore represents and embraces everything Voldemort has tossed aside. As it’s said, we all fear what we don’t understand.
What makes Voldemort so frightening and Dumbledore so inspiring is the simple fact that we can see a piece of ourselves in both of them. It wasn’t just one big decision over night for the two of them to reach their destinies. Rather, they are made up of thousands of little decisions all along the way that either lit up their hearts or darkened it.
Now I know what you’re thinking. These are fictional characters! Aren’t we taking this a little bit seriously? To which I reply, no, and I might even argue that sometimes, maybe we don’t take such things seriously enough. Fiction in many ways is based on reality, just as some realities were once fiction. Think of all the greatest inventions over the years or great human accomplishments. At one time, they were an idea within someone’s mind, fiction, before they became reality.
Reality in itself will be limited, it always is, but fiction is only limited by the extent of your imagination and has a funny way of slowing down reality long enough to be able to reflect, learn and apply it to our daily lives.
So in closing, this is my message to all you people who have fought the battle or are still fighting to reclaim your true self. Keep your chins held high friends; we need you to come alive! As my favorite quote goes,
“Don’t ask yourself what the world needs. Instead, find out what makes you come alive, and go forth. For what this world truly needs is people who have come alive”. – Howard Thurman
Remember, you are far stronger than you realize and this world needs you now more than ever. Fight the inner battle, reclaim your inner child and give permission for others to do the same. Be proud! Alight this world of ours once more! And as for you, J.K. Rowling, thank you, from the whole of my heart for just being you. Your life story is far more magical and inspiring to me as a writer than anything in the printed word. Thank you and may more blessings and magic be showered upon you for the rest of your days!
Cheers!
- J.C. Fiske
Filed under Uncategorized
As I sit down to write this blog entry, I look around and take in my surroundings. I have a roof over my head, I am free to wear nothing but my Spongebob-Squarepants Boxers, Elvis is playing on my record player, and I am doing what I love more than anything else . . . writing. But this is only possible because of the men and women in our armed forces who, even now, fight for my protection and the freedom to sit on my ass and write fiction. This blog is dedicated to you, brave warriors. Your sacrifice isn’t, and will never be, lost on me.
In my novel, Renegade Rising, I write about an elite, secret group of blue-clad warriors known as The Renegades, who rise above political party ties and fight for mankind without a question asked. Sound familiar? It should. I write about fictional heroes when a real life hero could be sitting next to you in a coffee shop or working beside you. As I said before, if it wasn’t for them, this blog wouldn’t even be possible.
In other countries, freedom of expression is banned, and rights are non-existent. This is not the case with ours. Hell, we even have the freedom to petition against the heroes who brought us freedom in the first place, like the Westboro Baptist Church, a group that I would love to see dragged through a minefield naked. Too much? Maybe, but guess what, I have the freedom to write it.
Now, I want to tell you a personal story and show just how much a kind word or a simple thank you can move somebody.
A little while ago, I was in a Burger King, stuffing my fat ass with about four Rodeo Cheeseburgers (nothing new), when across from me, I noticed an elderly man wearing his WWII veteran hat with his infantry number upon it, sitting alone, and picking at an order of small fries. Now, when I go out in public, I am generally not a social butterfly. I usually keep to myself and talk only when spoken to, but, only God knows why, every once in a while, something comes over me and I find my body moving on its own accord.
Such behavior is usually linked to my temper and my impatience with douchebags. Much like the main character in my Renegade Rising story, Gisbo Falcon, I’ve found myself spearing kids into lockers because they looked at me funny, running head long into a firing squad of paintballers (45 welts across my body in under 15 seconds), and challenging an entire group of seven drunk frat boys to a fight by my lonesome. It’s a wonder I’m still alive.
But that was then, this is now, and one of those moments was about to happen to me again, although this time, my temper wasn’t at all involved. From where I sat, I could practically feel the poor man’s pain. Just a bad day couldn’t have summed it up. The guy was most certainly standing on the edge, ready to jump, but it seemed I was ready to jump first . . .
Before I knew it, I was out of my chair, walking over to this old man. Upon arriving, he looked up at me with a worried glance as I thrust out my hand and thanked him for fighting for my freedom.
My words sort of hung out there as he looked up at me with old Bambi eyes that suddenly welled up with tears. Even now, I can picture the man’s face perfectly in my mind. His jaw dropped, his jowls trembled a bit as he tried to speak, but couldn’t. There were only tears. He then grabbed my hand and shook it hard and did not let go as he tried to find words. As he held my hand and squeezed, I could feel his strength and calluses and, as a man should, he looked me straight in the eyes as he shook. After a long ten seconds, he finally, through sniffles, said,
“Nobody ever thanked me . . . us . . . for what we did. God . . . God bless you, son,” the man said as he let go of my hand, stood up, gave a deep sigh, and walked out with his head held high.
Now let me tell you something, no matter how bad you think you have it, you really don’t. Just living in the United States, the greatest country in all the world, puts you ahead of most everybody. Never, and I mean never, take it for granted, and never forget what makes our country great . . .
Thank you, Army, Thank you, Marines, Thank you, Navy, Thank you, Air Force, and Thank you, Coast Guard. You all inspire and mean the world to me, and as a thank you, 10% of all my Renegade Rising sales are donated to The Wounded Warrior Project, an organization that helps our injured veterans get their lives back.
God bless you all.
Filed under Uncategorized
JCFiske@Gmail.com
