Meet Carlyle Clark
He is a married man with two cats and a dog. He is also a martial arts enthusiast and a CrossFit endurer who enjoys fishing, sports, movies, TV series with continuing storylines, and of course, reading. Most inconsequentially, he holds the unrecognized distinction of being one of the few people in the world who have been paid to watch concrete dry in the dark. Tragically, that is a true statement.
His latest book is the mystery thriller, The Black Song Inside.
Visit his website at http://carlyleclark.wordpress.com.
Connect and Socialize with Carlyle!
Synopsis from Goodreads:
Atticus Wynn and Rosemary Sanchez, newly engaged private investigators, have seen the dark and violent side of life, but nothing has prepared them for an explosive murder investigation that threatens to tear their relationship apart. They struggle to solve a case that as a best result could leave them in prison or dead.
Atticus's manipulative ex-girlfriend bursts back into their lives wielding a secret about Rosemary's family. She exploits the fact to force the couple into investigating the execution-style slaying of her lover. The case thrusts Atticus and Rosemary headlong into the world of human trafficking and drug smuggling, while rendering them pawns in Tijuana Cartel captain Armando Villanueva's bloody bid to take over the Cartel.
The Black Song Inside is a vivid crime thriller rife with murder and madness, melded with gallows humor and the heroism of two flawed and compelling protagonists. If they can save themselves, they may learn the nature of redemption and the ability to forgive.
Coming to Amazon 10 September 2013 and Barnes and Noble 28 September 2013!
I would like to welcome Carlyle Clark, author of The Black Song Inside to Emeraldfire's Bookmark. Mr. Spencer was kind enough to allow one of his characters - Rosemary Sanchez - to write a guest post for me and here it is below in 'her' own words:
'Rosemary's Lament'
by Carlyle Clark
Johnny’s eyes were always angry, but they were sad and sweet too. Now they gleam like a hungry wolf’s. Once I protected him, but he’s closed ranks and I’m outside. I remember when he put his arms around me and buried his grimy, tear-stained his face in my neck. Those arms are now thick with muscles that writhe beneath tattooed sleeves. The hands I used to hold have grown callused by endless pull-ups, cleans, and dead lifts.
Once he gripped a stuffed blue bunny, a memento from the time before he was orphaned. He kept on clutching the tattered thing when he was swept to America by my well-meaning parents. They adopted him, but they never made feel he belonged. I was the one with potential. I drew their praise. He drew their disappointment. Now those hands that once held a bunny can become in a moment brutal fists; they wield knives, guns.
Johnny used to collect baseball cards and model cars. He’d show me when I made time for him, rarely, nowhere near often enough. Now he collects only joyless things - promotions offered from higher ups, all of them murdering, no-conscience thugs, stacks of bills, and a seemingly limitless supply of needles and dope. Johnny’s teeth are as white and sharp as a predator’s, but I remember but I remember when he lost one and was too proud to tell Mama and Papa. I slipped a quarter under his pillow and spied on him when he woke to find it. I giggled behind my hand. He lit the room with a gap-toothed grin.
What do I feel when I look at him now?
Helpless.
How can I love him so much when he hates my man to the point of murder?
By remembering.
How can I save him?
I can’t.
Helpless.
How can I love him so much when he hates my man to the point of murder?
By remembering.
How can I save him?
I can’t.
May you read well and often
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