I AM PLEASED TO WELCOME AUTHOR
Clive Fleury
AUTHOR BIO:
I am an award-winning writer of books and screenplays, and a TV and film director and producer. My latest book is Kill Code: A Dystopian Science Fiction Novel. It is the first of a trilogy. I have also worked for major broadcasters and studios on a wide variety of successful projects in the US, UK, Australia, Europe, and the Middle East. I live in Miami with my wife, my teenage daughter, and a cat called Louis.
BANTER – STUFF ABOUT YOU
Q: Are you a morning person, or a midnight candle burner?
A: Morning is my best time, and the earlier the better. I hate lazing in bed and always want to get up—though even as I write this I can feel some of you putting fingers down your throats and asking: “What is wrong with this man?”
Q: What sound or noise do you, love? What about hate?
A: I love the sound of birds chirping in the morning, and I hate the noise of the dentist’s drill.
Q: Did you like school when you were a child?
A: I was agnostic about school. Some days I loved going, others were just hell. I particularly disliked adults who would insist that going to school would be the best years of my life. Oh yeah? Liars!
Q: List these in order of preference, French food, Chinese food, Italian food, Indian food, Home cooking, backyard BBQ.
A: French, Italian, Indian, and Chinese, Home cooking and then backyard BBQ. Food I cook myself is always the worst food. It’s burnt, tasteless and dry.
Q: Coffee or Tea?
A: I’m British so I should say tea, and when I was a teenager, I definitely preferred tea to coffee. But this was when coffee in England tasted like dishwater. From the moment I supped my first cappuccino in Italy, I was hooked for life. Bye-bye tea.
Q: How do you feel about exercise?
A: Exercise is a necessary evil. I find gyms boring, running tedious, and I am useless at team sports. A few years ago I took up yoga because I knew that spending hours at a computer was destroying my body. Through yoga, I have discovered so many things I can’t do—virtually everything! But I know I have to keep going.
Q: Pets? Do you have any?
A: I’m a cat person. I’ve always felt they are so much cooler than dogs and smarter too. I’ve just read research that says dogs don’t understand most verbal commands and are just winging it when you shout out commands and they respond. Cats can’t be bothered to pretend. It’s this honesty I like about them.
BOOKS – ABOUT THE CRAFT
Q: What do you think is the hardest part of writing a book?
A: Thinking of the idea and writing the first draft. This for me is a real slog. Once I’ve got something down on paper, however crude, I can enjoy the process.
Q: Would you ever consider a joint project?
A: Yes. In fact, I’ve written one young adult’s book, Art Pengriffin and the Curse of the Four, with another writer. The big plus was that I had someone to share the hard work with and keep me company on the journey. On the other hand, I missed the freedom of exploring an idea on my own. But I would consider another joint project.
Q: Do you write longhand first, or does it go straight into the computer?
A: I used to jot down ideas in longhand into a notepad, and would even sketch out a breakdown of the book’s structure. However, my writing is so bad that there were whole sections I couldn’t read afterwards. So, now it’s straight to my trusty laptop.
Q: When crafting the story do you go from beginning to end, or do you jump around writing the scenes that are pushing themselves forward in your brain?
A: I’ve spent a fair amount of time writing screenplays. Here the structure is all important, so I’ve got into the habit of outlining the story first. However, after I’ve got about three-quarters of the way through the outline for a book, I get bored and have to start writing. So I never know the end of the novel. I let the characters decide.
BOOKS - NOW LETS PROMOTE – STRUT YOUR STUFF
Q: What are you working on now? Would you like to share anything about it?
A: I’m working on the second novel in the “Code” series. I’m superstitious and believe that talking about a book before its published is bad karma so unfortunately there’s nothing I can share about it—except that if you like Kill Code you will definitely like this next novel.
Q: How can we find you? Do you have a web page, Facebook page or any buy links?
A. Yes I do.
Here are some buying links:
Amazon:
https://amzn.to/2Vo6xpR
Goodreads:
https://bit.ly/2U0P59k
Barnes and Noble:
https://bit.ly/2Uv8gfU
Book Depository:
https://bit.ly/2WOB00C
Ibookpile:
https://bit.ly/2UfA1cZ
Books a million:
https://bit.ly/2G220E5
And to find me:
Website:
https://www.clivefleurywriter.com
Instagram:
https://www.instagram.com/clivefleuryhere/
Twitter:
https://twitter.com/clivefleury
Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/clive.fleury.5
Linkedin:
https://www.linkedin.com/in/clive-fleury/
Email: clivefleurywriter@gmail.com
BLURB:
Kill Code: A Dystopian Science Fiction Novel
WHEN THE OCEANS RISE...THE TRUTH DROWNS
The year 2031. Our future. Their present. A world decimated by climate catastrophe, where the sun's heat is deadly and the oceans rise higher every day. A world ruled by the rich, powerful, and corrupt. A world where a good man can't survive for long.
Hogan Duran was a good man once: a good cop, forced to resign in disgrace when he couldn't save his partner from a bullet. Now Hogan lives on the fraying edges of society, serving cruel masters and scavenging trash dumps just to survive.
But after four years of living in poverty, Hogan finally gets the chance to get back on his feet. He's invited to join the National Security Council, the powerful paramilitary organization responsible for protecting the rich and powerful from the more unsavory elements of society. All he needs to do is pass their deadly entrance exam, and he'll be rewarded with wealth and opportunity beyond his wildest dreams.
But this ex-cop's path to redemption won't be easy. The NSC is hiding something, and as Hogan descends deeper and deeper into their world, he uncovers the terrible truth of how the powerful in this new society keep their power...and just how far they'll go to protect their secrets.
In a world gone wrong, can one good man actually make a difference? Or will he die trying?
EXCERPT:
Two lone towers rose either side of the domed fort. One had a base of shining steel that was around one hundred and fifty feet high and topped by a round glass structure. The other tower, on the opposite side and some distance from the fortress, was smaller and completely windowless. To the right of the fortress stood a smaller concrete building that I later found out was the canteen.
Ruby and I peered out at the brigade of uniformed NSC officers, their weapons out, who had moved to surround our vehicle.
“Impressive, huh?” I said.
“You could say that,” Ruby said, her eyes wide.
The transporter driver, a stocky man with a cropped military haircut, stood up. He waved his hands to quiet the chatter that had risen as our vehicle pulled into the compound.
“Everyone off. Single file,” he ordered.
Standing and grasping our overnight bags, Ruby and I joined the line filing out of the vehicle. As we left, two NSC officers carrying tablets checked our ID and names against the listings they had.
“Duran, Hogan, you are now Candidate number four-five-four-five-nine. Don’t forget it,” the officer said after matching up my name.
From the vehicle, the driver also watched each and every one of us with eagle-eyes. Glancing back, I saw he had stopped Jake and taken his gun off him.
A tall, movie-star handsome officer waited in the center of the square and introduced himself as Commander Beecham. He urged the new arrivals to move quickly. Anyone who was deemed to be too slow got a jolt from electric prods carried by the NSC officers. Ruby and I were directed into one of the ten rows. Jake walked into the line behind us.
Commander Beecham shouted, “Attention!” He stepped back to allow a hovering glider ball to fly past. This circular steel orb was the size of a basketball. It had a tinted screen on its front and out of this stared the lined face of a man who looked incredibly old, and was maybe in his mid-fifties, with a jarhead, buzz cut and wearing the NSC Superior officer Uniform, of blue, white, and red. Five stars were visible on the man’s epaulets: a general.
Technology had obviously moved on a pace over the past few years. I had never seen a glider ball in my life. It was an impressive piece of kit.
The glider ball hovered through the rows of new arrivals as, from it, the man spoke: “Welcome, candidates. My name is General Stoker. You have just arrived at National Security Council Base Camp Seventeen, or as most come co know it…
Hell on Earth.”
The glider ball halted directly in front of me. General Stoker eyeballed me for a few moments before moving away.
“You have all agreed to be tested on every conceivable level of mental, emotional, and physical hardship,” General Stoker said. “Our job here is to make you wish you’d never been born. We will subject you to every form of cruelty, depravity, and humiliation you can imagine. You will be scarred, starved, and forced to wonder why God played the cruel trick of ever putting you on this miserable earth. You will ask yourself a simple question… ‘Is
anything worth this?’ My answer is just as simple. YES. IT. IS.”
The glider ball hovered by me again as I waited for the general to say more.
“If you have what it takes to be a member of the NSC, rest assured you will be one of the top wage-earners in the country. You and your families will live in the finest houses built just for NSC members. You will eat the tastiest foods, enjoy the greatest entertainment, and live better than you could ever have thought imaginable. In short,” he said, “you will live like gods.”
I saw a heavily tattooed hulk of a man in a tee and jeans lean across to his neighbor. “Does being a god come with full medical?” he stage-whispered.
The glider ball moved rapidly along the line to eye the whisperer. “What was that?” General Stoker asked.
The tattooed man hesitated. “Nothing, sir,” he said.
General Stoker softened. “Just a bit of levity, then?” he asked the new arrival.
“Yes, sir.”
A list of names scrolled up the ball’s screen. One name was bolded. “You’re Phillips? Marcus Phillips?” the general asked.
The tattooed man nodded and clicked his heels together. “Yes, sir.”
The glider ball spun away at speed to stop in front of Commander Beecham. “Beecham, Candidate Phillips is dismissed.”
Back in line, Phillips started to tear up as Beecham nodded to two NSC officers. They walked to Phillips, pulled him out of line, and frog-marched him back to the transporter.
General Stoker’s voice boomed out from the glider ball again. “I know you are all thinking that I’m being harsh, but believe me, I am doing him a favor. That quick wit of his assures me he’s not the one we are looking for.”
There was a low murmur from our ranks. Had the general really said ‘the one?’ Was he implying that only
one of us would be chosen?
“Yes, you heard right,” General Stoker continued, seemingly reading our minds. “Just one. You’re all the best. But we want to narrow it down to the best of the best. The one that can rise to the top… Now, take a look at the person next to you.”
I locked eyes with Ruby. Behind us, Jake turned to stare at a thin-faced African American man.
“That person is not your friend, nor is he or she your teammate. That person wants to take this opportunity away from you. That person is standing between you and your place amongst us and should be treated accordingly. That person is an obstacle to be overcome, like so many others that you will encounter here,” General Stoker said.
“And to that one candidate destined to rise above the rest, I look forward to welcoming you into the NSC.”
© Clive Fleury 2018
