Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Truth is Relative - Author Interview





Lady Reader's Blog Tours presents another exciting week long tour! Just in time to read in front of the fire with a cup of cocoa or your favorite hot beverage, J. J. Lyon's fun private investigator mystery, with a twist, TRUTH is REALTIVE; the first in the A Truth Inducer Mystery series is here. A giveaway, great posts, reviews and best of all? Fun!



TRUTH IS RELATIVE 
By
: J.J. Lyon 
Pages: 275 
Publisher: Gem Cache Publishing 
Genre: Who Dunit-Mystery PI - (Fiction/Mystery)


Anthony Blackwell’s “gift” compels people to confess their deepest secrets.

It corrupts his relationships, derails his career and drives him toward eviction—until he becomes Anthony Bishop, private investigator.

His first case drops him into a deadly family drama that will save him financially, if it doesn't kill him first.
Who can resist a great first line: "The Monday before Thanksgiving, my car disappeared... 

From the readers:

"I love the premise of this book, it's like PI Morrow meets Liar Liar."

“This book reminded me of the stone movies Tom Selleck was in. It has the rough feeling of the west but is written smoothly so that it's hard to stop reading. I'm hoping there is/will be more.” Stefanie Andersen - Logan, UT 

“A very interesting and innovative plot.” Billie H - Lamesa, TX



From the author:

The world didn't have enough mysteries with a sense of humor, so I wrote one. 

From other authors:

"What a fun, great read! I loved the characters and the concept was one I'd never heard of. Reading was an absolute pleasure."
--Rebecca Belliston, author of Sadie and Augustina 

"Even though Anthony’s "gift" makes him an effective detective, it is almost impossible for him to establish meaningful relationships. Anthony finds himself in situations fraught with danger, but tinged with humor. His charm and good looks draw people to him, but they quickly regret revealing their darkest secrets. I found myself laughing out loud and reading to find out what happens next. It’s easy to get caught up in the fresh and intriguing story. Lyon has so much imagination and skillful writing, I look forward to reading whatever she comes up with next."  


--Carole Warburton, author of A Question of Trust and Poaching Daisies 


Amazon | Goodreads 



Chapter One – Truth is Relativeby J. J. Lyon

The Monday before Thanksgiving, my car disappeared. Or it might have been late Sunday night. The day was half over before I even looked outside. Instead I focused on an ugly painting until I realized I was hungry. I was out of bread and low on groceries in general. I cleaned my brushes, grabbed my keys, opened the front door, and stared at gray asphalt where my Mazda used to be. A few dead cottonwood leaves swirled there before the wind swept them off.

I didn’t bother calling the police. My car hadn’t been stolen, it had been repossessed. 

My cell phone buzzed. It was my brother, Bart. “Hey,” I said.
“Hey, Bro. How’s life in the Big City?” Bart wasn’t being ironic. Compared to our hometown of Jersey, Cheyenne was enormous.
“It’s good!” I stepped back into Sam’s Café and tried to think of something else to say. Something that would back up my lie.
“Great. When are you coming for Thanksgiving?” Bart asked.

My brain scrambled, too busy to pay attention. I didn’t need a car. The abandoned café was a great studio, with north-facing windows and indirect natural light. My work happened right at home.

My work was also stacked against the walls, waiting for a gallery to accept it. The art that was already in a gallery had hung there for months. I needed a day job. A car would help.
“Tony? Hello?”
“Huh?”
“What about Thanksgiving?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Whaddaya mean? I thought you were your own boss.”
“Yeah, but I’m pretty …” I glanced out at the empty parking place. “It’s hard to get away right now.”
Bart was quiet, and when he spoke again he sounded unusually hesitant. “So how are you really?”
“Fine. I’m doing great.”
“Yeah, okay. You know what you need? A night out.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do. I can tell you’re depressed.”
“I’m not depressed.”
“C’mon, Tony. Think of everything we could learn about the beautiful women of Cheyenne.” Bart could afford to be fascinated by my new ability. He didn’t have to live with it.
“I’ve got to go get some groceries,” I said.
“Fine.” Bart sounded annoyed, but he didn’t argue. “Fine, I’ll talk to you later.”

I turned away from the café window and walked to my bedroom, which was actually a converted storage area in the back of the café. A walk-in cooler had once taken up most of the space, but it had been ripped out and sold the last time the place went out of business. There was room for a twin bed and a battered dresser from Goodwill Industries. I pulled my wallet from the top drawer and retrieved my old bike from the back of the building.

It was a cold ride to the store. Cheyenne’s legendary wind pushed against my side and cut across my hands. I’d forgotten my gloves. I zipped my jacket all the way up, stuffed my hands in my pockets, and kept pedaling, glad I had at least one useful talent. God gave me excellent balance.

My mind whirled as fast as my bike wheels, tallying my other useful abilities. I was decent at hanging Sheetrock, and I could tape and texture as long as the customer didn’t mind it a little antique and heavy. As for roofs, I’d done it all—patch, replace, steel, asphalt. If I had a truck I could rent myself out as a handyman. I could work in blissful isolation most of the time.
A gust of wind broadsided me. I went down in slow motion, shifted my weight, scuffed on the pavement with my feet. In the end my shoulder hit the road before I could pull my hands out of my pockets. The car behind me screeched to a stop and a woman got out. “Are you all right?” she asked.

“Fine,” I said. The front bike wheel spun uselessly. My arm hurt. I scrambled out from under the bike, trying to place the woman’s voice.
“Anthony?”
Recognition registered in my gut as much as my ears. I knew that voice. The last time I had heard it, its tone had been much angrier. “Hi, Heather,” I said.
“What are you doing out here in the cold on a bike? I heard you drove a hot Mazda.”
“Not today,” I said.
“I heard you got fired, too. Twice.”
Technically I only got fired once. The other time I quit before the ax fell.

Heather wasn’t in my fan club, but she wasn’t being rude, either. She was just under my influence. After thirty seconds in close proximity, people began confessing to me. I didn’t know why this began happening. For the first year or so, I didn’t realize it was happening at all. But as soon as my “gift” began manifesting itself, my life started rolling down a rocky slope.

“I almost drove by when you fell.” She brushed dirt from my sleeve. “I knew it was you and I don’t want to talk to you, but it looked bad.”
“It’s all right.” I stepped away from her brushing hand.
She didn’t leave. “Can I give you a ride? Please say no. I don’t want to be in a car alone with you, pretending I don’t remember how you—”
“No thanks.” I gripped the handlebars and pressed my weight on them a little. 
She nodded. “You wouldn’t accept help from me anyway. Bart, maybe, but not me.”
“I don’t need it. I’ll see you later, okay?”
“Okay.”

I rode the rest of the way to Safeway with my hands on the handlebars. My fingers numbed in the wind. The pain in my arm faded to a dull ache, and I shook off the encounter with my ex. In the store parking lot, the lights shone in the murky daylight. It was early afternoon, but the thick clouds fooled the light sensors into thinking it was dusk. I went inside the store and found some sandwich meat on sale and a package of rubbery cheese slices. I picked up some day-old wheat bread and waited in line behind a thin, fortyish man with a few days’ beard. He wore dirty jeans and a sweatshirt stained with what looked like motor oil. After thirty seconds, he turned to me.

“My wife left me this morning,” he said.
I nodded. If I didn’t acknowledge him, he would only repeat himself. Louder.
“She put her ring in my hand and said, ‘I’ve got to go to work.’ I said, ‘Can we talk about this?’ and she said, ‘It’s too late.’”
I nodded again.
“How can it be too late? Twelve years, and she can’t even talk about it? Isn’t twelve years worth a little discussion before you throw your husband in the garbage?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“I know I didn’t pay attention before. I mean, when she was going around all mopey and resentful. I just figured she’d work it out. And sometimes she tried to tell me something and I’d change the subject, ’cause I could only hear that her life sucked so many times—”
“They’re ready to ring you up,” I said, nodding to the sales clerk.

The man stepped forward. I stepped back. So far, ten feet looked like the magic distance. More than that, and most people were out of the range of my gift. Less than that and I was in the confessor’s bubble.

“Are you in line?” a young mother asked behind me.
“Yeah. I’m just, uh …” I glanced at the man, who was now deep into an emotional conversation with the salesclerk. Apparently I wasn’t far enough away yet. I took another step back. “That guy needs a little space.”

The mother peered at him. “Is he crying?”
“I think so.”
She shrugged. “It figures. I get it all day from these two.” She nodded to her cart. A baby in the front clung to the push bar and gummed it with a slobbery mouth. A curly-haired toddler sat in the main basket, his fist buried in a box of cereal. “Maybe they never get over it. ‘I need this,’ ‘I want that.’”
I nodded.

“And then their dad comes home and he needs dinner and he wants sex. Everybody’s gotta have something.”
I took a step forward.
“Can’t anybody see that I’m tired? Look at me. I haven’t had a shower in three days, and I’m supposed to be a sex goddess?”
I glanced at her. She was frumpy. “Looks like it’s my turn.” I stepped up to the counter the crying man had just left.
She followed me, closing the space I had opened between us. “I mean, I’m doing good to be conscious at the end of the day.”
“Maybe you should tell this to your mom.” I hoped to deflect her. I didn’t want to hear any more—not today.

“She’s in Alabama,” the young mother said. “Everybody I know has a mom who acts like a built-in babysitter, but I’m stuck here alone in the cold.”
“Ten fifty-four,” the salesclerk said in front of me. I dug my wallet out of my jacket pocket and handed some bills to her.
“You have the most amazing blue eyes.” The clerk leaned forward. This might have been interesting, if she were not sixtyish, wrinkled, and stinking of cigarettes.
I held out my hand. “Can I have my change?” 





 J.J. Lyon is a wife, mom, public relations professional and recovering journalist.

Her passion for prose and love of the American West are so intertwined; she doesn’t think she can separate them. When J.J. runs out of words, she reaches for her camera, takes off on a back road and returns home with a bucketful of inspiration.

She lives in a mountain valley with her husband, three children, some cats, two goats, a bird and a basset hound. 

Author Interview:

What inspired you to start writing, and when?
I can’t remember a time I didn’t want to write. My sister Valerie was probably my inspiration for that—she read to me and we made up stories together.

What is your preferred genre?
My Truth Inducer books are mysteries, but they blend in a touch of the paranormal and a tiny bit of romance. My reading pattern mixes genres, too.

Tell us your latest news?
I’m working hard on the next installment.



Can you tell us a little bit about your latest work?
Anthony Blackwell has an unusual effect on people: When they are in his presence, they spontaneously confess to him. It pretty much ruins his life until he becomes a detective—which isn’t to say detective work is easy for him, either. His first case puts him in the middle of two controlling, conflicted, powerful families. It could save him financially, if it doesn’t kill him first.

How long did it take you to complete?
About a year.

Are any of your characters based on real-life friends or acquaintances?
No, the people are fictional. But I once had a friend whose fiancé ended up marrying her cousin. The circumstances of her story were different from those in Truth is Relative, but it did make me wonder how the cousin-drama would play out in a family that would sacrifice an individual member to stay “united.”

I was also a small-town reporter, and several times the person I interviewed would open up and tell me some fascinating things—only to call me the next day full of regrets for saying too much. Then they asked me to strike the best parts of the interview. Those experiences played heavily into Anthony’s “gift.” I wondered what it would be like if everyone confessed to me all the time, and there was no way to turn it off.

Tell us about your cover. Did you design it yourself?
Nope. I had a graphic artist put it together. Her name is Caitlin Willey, and she’ll be famous someday.

Where did you get the inspiration for your cover?
The St. John’s Inn was an important setting in the story, so I sent Caitlin some photos that looked like I envisioned the lodge. She looked up some other photos, and we went back and forth on the design until she had a painting that looked a lot like the picture in my head—only better.

Do you plot or write by the seat of your pants?
I start with an outline, but I’m not married to it. By the time I’m done I’ll probably have deviated from it a lot.

Do you write under a pen name?
Yes.

Do you have any advice for other writers starting out?
I sure do. Quality matters. Ethics matter. Sadly our industry is getting a black eye due to bad writing, plagiarism and aggressive marketing tactics. Stay true to your art and your story. They deserve your best!

Ok, now some fun questions….

Coffee or Tea?
Dr. Pepper with vanilla on ice. But I’m cutting back.

White Chocolate, Dark Chocolate or Milk Chocolate?
Lindt Excellence 70 Percent Cocoa.

What is your favourite colour?
Turquoise blue.

Winter or Summer?
Summer if I’m outdoors. Winter if I want to get any writing done.

If you could have one superpower what would it be?
Teleportation.

If you could be somebody else for a day who would you choose and why?
Nobody. I’ll stick with the devil I know.

What are three things you never leave home without (apart from keys, money and phone)?
A well-stocked Kindle library, a sense of humour and clean underwear.

Are you a technology buff (i.e., have every electronic gadget known to man)?
No, but I really like my iPad. It’s changed the way I write.

What is a movie or TV show that you watched just recently and enjoyed?

Maleficent surprised me. I went because my daughter wanted to go, but it was great fun. I plan to catch it again at the dollar theatre.


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September 29th – October 3rd

September 29th ~ Cabin Goddess ~ Comfort Foods & Reads (Top Ten)
September 29th ~ Jess resides here ~ Advice for Aspiring Writers (Guest Post)
September 29th ~ Laura's Online Interests ~ Promo & Excerpt
September 30th ~ Pinky's Favorite Reads ~ Promo & an Interview
September 30th ~ The Road to Nowhere ~ Promo & Excerpt
October 1stRebecca Belliston ~ Review & Interview
October 1st ~ Bookish ~ Review
October 1st ~ Journeys & Life by Oregonmike ~ Top Ten
October 1st ~ Mohadoha ~ Writer’s Wednesday
October 2nd ~ A Book and a Cup of Coffee ~ Review
October 2nd ~ Library Girl Reads ~ Promo & Excerpt
October 3rd ~ Room With Books ~ Promo & Excerpt
October 3rd ~ Njkinny's World of Books & Stuff ~ Review
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