Monday, November 14, 2016

Bound to the Truth by Lisa Brunette

Bound to the Truth
By Lisa Brunette
 What if you could ‘slip’ into the dreams of a killer?

This family of PIs can. They use their psychic dream ability to solve crimes, and that isn’t easy.

Especially when your client thinks she knows who the killer is, but you don’t believe her.

Did Nina Howell really fall under the spell of a domineering, conservative talk show host--as her wife claims?

Praise for the series…

"A little Sue Grafton and a dose of Janet Evanovich… is just the right recipe for a promising new series.”
Rev. Eric O'del

"Already hooked, this reader intends further sojourns in Cat's dreamslipping world. Highly recommended." 
Frances Carden, Readers Lane

For readers who enjoy strong female leads, quirky, well-developed characters, and a dash of dating drama with their mystery. Fans of J.A. Jance, Mary Daheim, and Jayne Ann Krentz will love Cat and “Amazing” Grace!
Available at


A word from Lisa Brunette:

On Friday, Nov. 11, my third novel, Bound to the Truth, released worldwide on ebook, with the print book already live and an audiobook to follow next year. Here's an overview:
What if you could ‘slip’ into the dreams of a killer?
This family of PIs can. They use their psychic dream ability to solve crimes, and that isn’t easy.
Especially when your client thinks she knows who the killer is, but you don’t believe her.

Did Nina Howell really fall under the spell of a domineering, conservative talk show host--as her wife claims?
It's turned out to be a strange, distracting time for a book launch. My heart breaks for the deep division in our country. When I feel this powerless - or just plain hopeless - I try to focus on what I can do.
First and foremost is the writing itself. In my Dreamslippers Series, I've written female-centered narratives peopled with a diverse spectrum of characters. I've tackled homophobia and tried to explore organized religion with humanity and compassion. I shed light on corruption in the art world and illuminated a corner of darkness that is the illegal child pornography industry. And finally, I celebrated sexual liberation and told the stories of those harmed by sexual abuse and repression.
All while honoring the importance of plot and pacing, and I hope, without ever coming across as preachy. Everything I write is in service to the story.
Second, I've tied the books to non-profits doing great work. A percentage of sales proceeds for Cat in the Flock were to go to Jubilee Women's Center, which provides transitional housing and resources to homeless women. In actuality, my donation to Jubilee exceeded sales. I also donated books to the residents, and talking with them about their lives was a highlight of that book launch.
This week I gave copies of Bound to the Truth to a local dance studio hosting a Nia Jam to benefit Standing Rock. Nia, a dance designed to heal the body, figures prominently in the book. I've also provided copies of the whole Dreamslippers Series to be auctioned at a fundraiser for the Human Response Network, which provides advocates to victims of domestic violence and sexual assault.
These are small things, and I would like to do more. My hope is that a better return on investment for the Dreamslippers Series and other works I write enables me to do more in the future.
Lastly, I'm trying to understand the outrage, frustration, and pain on both sides. There is no excuse for violence against anyone, and such actions against others motivated by their real or perceived economic class, gender, sexual orientation, or ethnicity are unconscionable.
Of course not everyone who voted this week is guilty of violence or motivated by hatred, so I'm looking for hope in that.
I write to you from a blue state, but I live in a red county. The unemployment rate here is twice that of the country as a whole and more than twice that of the big cities flanking us in either direction, too far away for anyone to work and reasonably commute, the transportation system utterly broken. Here I am observing the dilapidated houses and the empty storefronts, hearing of the heartbreak of loved ones lost to meth. This is where economies were destroyed by successions of factory and mine closures, local businesses displaced by Wal-Marts, communities decimated by severe floods. I'm not making excuses, but this is part of my attempt to understand where we are as a people.
Today, I dance. This is to support Standing Rock at a vital local business owned by an enterprising woman who grew up in this area and works hard to make it better. Tomorrow, I have the pleasure of joining five other local authors for a book signing at another local business, independently owned book store Book 'n' Brush.

Please take care of yourselves and those you love.

About the Author

Lisa was born in Santa Rosa, California, but that was only home for a year. A so-called "military brat," she lived in nine different houses and attended nine different schools by the time she was 14. Through all of the moves, her one constant was books. She read everything, from the entire Nancy Drew and Trixie Belden mystery series to her mother's books by Daphne du Maurier and Taylor Caldwell. 

A widely published author, game writer, and journalist, Lisa has interviewed homeless women, the designer of the Batmobile, and a sex expert, to name just a few colorful characters. This experience, not to mention her own large, quirky family, led her to create some truly memorable characters in her Dreamslippers Series and other works, whether books or games.

Always a vivid dreamer, not to mention a wannabe psychic, Lisa feels perfectly at home slipping into suspects’ dreams, at least in her imagination. Her husband isn’t so sure she can’t pick up his dreams in real life, though.

With a hefty list of awards and publications to her name, Lisa now lives in a small town in Washington State, but who knows how long that will last…



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BOOK EXCERPT

Cat awoke early the next morning to the sound of someone banging pots and pans around in the kitchen.
She pulled on her robe and stumbled down the hallway to the Terra-Cotta Cocina, where she found her grandmother, who appeared to be baking cookies.
“What. Are. You. Doing?”
“Giving my daughter what she’s always wanted.”
Cat rubbed her eyes as she noticed that her grandmother was out of her usual stylish clothes and had dressed herself like, well, like a schoolmarm. Her hair was up in a tight bun, her blouse was buttoned up to her chin, with a ribbon tied at her neck, and her long skirt brushed the top of—Cat gasped when she saw them—orthopedic shoes.
“Oh, Granny Grace,” Cat said. “Is this really necessary?”
“Yes,” she said, sliding a tray of cookies onto the kitchen island to cool.
“And now, for the pancakes.”
The aroma of fresh-baked cookies made Cat’s mouth water and her stomach rumble. She reached to filch a cookie, and her grandmother smacked her with a wooden spoon. “You’ll spoil your breakfast!”
“But Gran—”
“You can wait. The pancakes will be done in no time.” She cracked a few eggs into a bowl and used the wooden spoon to stir the mixture, balancing herself on her walker as she cooked.
“Should you be doing so much so soon?”
Her grandmother shrugged. “I’m recovering faster than you all think. For example, that ridiculous bed in the Pink Parlor—I don’t need it!”
Mercy walked in. “What don’t you need, Mother?”
“Good morning, dear!” beamed Granny Grace.
Mercy walked over to the counter and picked up a cookie. She smelled it. And set it back down.
“So, what exactly are we doing here?” she asked, her hands on her hips.
Cat tried her best to appear invisible, but it didn’t work. Why couldn’t she have inherited a superpower like that? 
Granny Grace took her time flipping over the four pancakes in her skillet. “What we are doing here,” she said, licking batter off her finger, “is giving you the image of motherhood you always craved. Because I certainly never fit the bill.”
“Oh, Mother. Must you always be so dramatic?”
“Yes,” she said. “It’s time you had a chance to contrast what you had against what you think you should have had. So here I am. Your milk-and-cookies version.”
“What’s this?” asked a voice at the doorway. Cat turned to see her father. “Pot for dinner and cookies for breakfast—wow, you Seattleites really know how to live.”
“We’re having pancakes for breakfast,” Granny Grace corrected. “The cookies are for later.” She deftly shifted the flapjacks from the skillet to a plate, and soon the stack was pretty high. “Why don’t you all set the table?”
“Mother, you didn’t need to do this,” said Mercy. “I mean, what is this supposed to prove? You want me to say that I’m glad you had more fashion sense than the average mom? That I was better off learning the various uses of Tibetan prayer flags than I would have been making mud pies?”
“I was always in favor of mud pies,” her grandmother said.
“Are we really doing this right now?” whined Cat. “Because my stomach and those pancakes both suggest we table this discussion.”
“Well, in order to make mud pies, you’d need a backyard…” said Mercy, banging a plate down onto the table. 
“Okay, so I guess we’re doing this,” said Cat.
“It’s breakfast and a show,” said her father, who busied himself setting out silverware.
“…Not some walk-up tenement, or a gypsy caravan bus, or an ashram,” continued Mercy.
“There was plenty of mud to be had at that ashram,” said Granny Grace.
“Oh, sure, but there weren’t any other kids to play with. Because no one else was selfish enough to drag their children there!”
The kitchen became still after that comment. Cat was afraid to breathe. Next to her at the table, her father swallowed hard, and sighed.
Granny Grace set the enormous stack of pancakes down with a clatter. “I gave you a childhood of diversity, of unique experience. You were loved. You were taught more than most people learn in a lifetime. I’m just sorry you think of the whole thing as my colossal failure. But I refuse to buy into your story, Mercy. It isn’t mine. And it shouldn’t be yours, either. It’s not serving you in any way.”

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At that, she limped out of the room.

1 comment:

  1. Kathy, thanks for posting this piece to your blog!

    ReplyDelete