Secrets from Georgie's Past?

Well, not exactly. But guest blogger Carolyn Nicita has provided us with an incredible wealth of tips and tricks for keeping our data secure - exactly what Georgie used to do.

Carolyn Nicita writes fiction, screenplays, and occasionally does articles on data security for authors. Her passwords are longer than most men's. She says they hold up longer, too, and I'm just going to take her word for that!

In honor of Georgiana Neverall and Samurai Security, may I present top-secret intel on data security.

It may be useful.

Some of you might be authors yourselves, and you just got the news that in this market you have to have something called a Web Presence.

Or, you might be one of these people:

Lately one of my friends has gotten hacked, another has gotten credit card numbers stolen, and a third had her house broken into and her writing computer stolen. This along with all of her jewelry, but since she's an author, of course the computer was most important.

Seeing my friends' discomfiture, I called a member of my family who works as a data security expert for a government contractor--a satellite company. I asked her for advice.

She gave me toys.

These toys are Spy Decoder Rings on crack. They are tools to ensure government-level security.

I'm not even going into the elementary things you should already know, like "don't open email attachments" and "make sure they've set up the firewall on your router".

Instead, I'm going to introduce you to four of these toys.

TrueCrypt

How would you like to be able to put your files into a secret, invisible place on your hard drive or thumb drive? How would you like it so secret and invisible that professionals can't detect the hidden data, yet easy enough to access that it doesn't impede your work?

Most importantly, when someone steals your computer or you lose your thumb drive, nobody gets your data.

With TrueCrypt, you create a special file called a partition, and use it like a file folder. You can use the files in this folder all you want, add, change, right on the fly, and as soon as you close the folder your files are instantly protected.


So now, download this free program. Make a TrueCrypt container and, for practice, copy in all the files you're supposed to be backing up. You do back up, don't you?

Stegdetect

If you tell the owner of a blog "Never let guests post random pictures onto your site" he'll probably answer "It's just a picture. What's the big deal?"

But...

If you inspect some of those innocent pictures using Stegdetect, the answer will become shockingly obvious.

Download this free set of programs and use xsteg to inspect some of the web pages and pictures you've randomly downloaded.

The program will tell you that some of these innocent-looking pictures include something called jphide.

This threat doesn't even include the fakepicture.php.jpg type files, programs masquerading as pictures. This is about actual jpeg files where people have put code inside them. They can put the graphic up on your website as their forum picture or an illustration, or a picture that you "just got off the Web somewhere" and used without permission of the owner (but you'd never do that, would you?).

I found this bit of code in a jpeg file from a respectable web site -- here's a snippet --

<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?>

<!DOCTYPE plist PUBLIC "-//Apple Computer//DTD PLIST 1.0//EN" "http://www.apple.com/DTDs/PropertyList-1.0.dtd">

<plist version="1.0">

<dict>

I have no idea what they're trying to do with it. It's probably all very innocent. However, finding this did prove to me that you can indeed put code into a jpeg.

How do they execute that code? Sometimes a senile browser will do it for them. Sometimes you turn off javascript and then the code which asks "Hey this file isn't really a picture, is it?" doesn't execute.

Or they use outside code of their own.

How?

Read stegbreak.pdf, also enclosed in the stegdetect download.

It tells how to hack somebody's web site using those innocent-looking jpeg files -- by using the code in stegbreak to launch what's called a brute-force dictionary attack against your site or account.

A hacker successfully used this dictionary attack on one of my author friend's web sites.

If my friend ever finds said hacker, I will lend my friend the 1024-page 1990 edition of the Webster's New Dictionary and Thesaurus, which sits on my desk.

He could use it to launch a brute-force dictionary counterattack.

But I digress.

To help prevent dictionary attacks, at least of the digital variety, you can make long, gobbledygook passwords that the brute-force dictionary attack can't break. And you don't even have to memorize them.

You use....

KeePass

Despite its name, this program actually works to help you make and keep secure passwords.

It's like a briefcase for passwords. You use one password to open the briefcase program, open your browser, then quickly copy and paste the long, incomprehensible, randomly-generated password from the briefcase into the site. It will even let you generate passwords with non-alphanumeric characters. And KeePass makes it easy for you to change your password frequently, another safety tip you've heard often.

Your main password never goes online. It can be a password you type in, or the fact that you're using the program on your own computer.

I'm recommending this program although I know somebody's going to blame me when they get it set up and then forget their main password. Use some common sense. Back up the KeePass file. It's a bit inconvenient, but a lot less so than having to write to all three credit reporting agencies, finding the federal agencies necessary to report identity theft crime, and waking up at night wondering what they're going to be doing with your personal information in the future.

Or waking up some morning and finding that your blog has been magically turned into a Neo-Nazi Jihaad billboard.

Fedora on a Stick
One of my friends decided to do some online banking from a public hotel computer. Silly him. Of course, someone had put a keylogger on this oh-so-public computer and of course, every keystroke my friend entered got sent to the criminal.

Don't do that.

But what if, for some reason, you're on the Kona coast in the middle of executing a wedding and you have to do some last-minute online transactions with the photographer?

-Or-

What if you want to try to get files off a computer whose operating system has just crashed, without incurring a $150 tech support bill?

-Or-

What if you don't want to write any data to a strange computer? You've learned that even if you delete the data, it can still be read off the hard drive.

-Or-

What if you just want to use your own little computer to take notes on a project...and amaze your friends...mooch off their hardware....

True, you may not find the need for this very often, but dang it's a fun toy, so I'm including it.

I call it "Make Your Own Parasite." The techies call it Fedora on a Stick.

Use Fedora Live USB Creator to install a small operating system, complete with word processing, web browsing, and persistent file storage, onto a thumb drive.

Then plug your new baby parasite into a host computer.

Now you can surf the web, write some manuscript pages, and save the results. Afterward, pull your computer-on-a-stick out and take it home with you. Their disease-infested PC can't access the thumb drive because their operating system isn't running the hardware. And you've written nothing to their computer.

Oh, and by the way, this type of thing is why antivirus programs will ask you to unplug thumb drives before turning off your computer.

Lastly--


To figure out how to use these toys, read their instructions. It really isn't hard, and most important, it will train you in data security.

None of these toys will fry your PC. Much. They are real spy toys, though.


This blog will self-destruct...

Celebrity!

The glamorous life of an author...

I ran into Sheldon Mcarthur, the local indie bookseller who is hosting my signing on Saturday, at the grocery store this morning. He told me the books had arrived and he was getting the display set up and arranging stuff for the signing. Then I picked up a copy of the local paper (News Guard, Lincoln City, Oregon) and checked out the profile piece on me, along with the very nice review of SINK TRAP that's quoted above.

But the really glamorous part? I was wearing a baggy T-shirt and blue jeans, and drooling because I had just left the dentist's office.

I tell you, the glory never ends!!

The Road to the Bookstore - Arrival!!

According to the publisher, today is the official release day for SINK TRAP. I will be reading and signing at North by Northwest Books & Antiques here in Lincoln City on Saturday, October 10, at noon. If you can’t make the signing but you’d like to get an autographed book, contact Sheldon McArthur at North by Northwest (mcarthurca@earthlink.net), or call the store (541) 994-6809.

The release of a book is a milestone – the culmination of that whole Road to the Bookstore that I’ve been talking about. It means that the manuscript you sweated bullets over, the careful cover design, the hard work of artists, designers, typesetters, editors, and copyeditors has finally produced the beautiful volume that’s on the shelf with your name on the cover. It’s a cause for celebration, and an opportunity to stand in the aisle and admire your finished product – and maybe squeal just a little.

But in a larger sense the release itself is anti-climactic for a working writer. The book that appears on the shelf today is a book I wrote last year. I did the revision many months ago. I’ve already seen the cover art, and the finished cover. I checked the copyedits and the galley pages, and distributed advance copies. I’ve even seen a few reviews – the source of the quotes at the top of this page.

For me, the book is history. I’ve moved on to the next book, or beyond. In the case of the Lady Plumber books, I have already written the second and third books in the series. At the moment I am working on the copyedited manuscript for the second book, and squealing with glee over the preliminary cover design. But as far as SINK TRAP is concerned, most of my work is done.

I’ll still promote the book, and I’m immensely proud of what I’ve done. I’m pleased with the story, and happy that the early reviews are favorable. It’s what I call the Sally Fields moment – “You like me! You really, really like me!” – and it’s a wonderful feeling. But writing is my job, and just like everyone else, my job doesn’t end just because one project is complete.

So I’ll be at the bookstore at the end of this particular road on Saturday, and I’ll enjoy the feeling of accomplishment that comes with the completion of the project. I’ve earned that moment.

But come the next day it will be time to go back to work, and start another journey on the Road to the Bookstore.

Who knows where the next one will end?

Reminder: Signing this weekend!

Chris will be signing and reading from "Sink Trap" this Saturday, Noon, at North by Northwest books in Lincoln City, Oregon. The address is 6334 S Hwy 101. Phone is 541-994-3087. If you can't make the signing, the store will be glad to take your orders for signed books.

The store is located on the far south end of Lincoln City in the Streetcar Village antique center. Find a map HERE. (Yes, it may seem like you've left town before you get there, but don't worry, unless you pass the Salashan Resort, you haven't driven too far.)

A Problem in the Pipes - "Sink Trap," Chapter 1 (continued)

The first part of Chapter 1 was posted last week, here. (Go ahead, go read that post, we'll wait.)

Here's the rest of the chapter. I hope you'll enjoy it enough to want to pre-order the whole book, which you can do HERE. And, yes, there will be a Kindle version for you early adopters. Just follow the "other editions" link from the page that link takes you to on Amazon.

Chapter 1 (continued)

The inspection of the Tepper warehouse hadn’t gone well. So far, we’d discovered one restroom with some serious leaks, and a stopped-up utility sink.

Fortunately for me, clogged pipes are easier to diagnose than leaks, so Barry took the bathroom and I got the sink.

But on this job, nothing turned out to be simple. I’d struggled with a plumber’s snake for twenty minutes before I gave up, grabbed my tools, and crawled under the sink where my mother had found me.

Plumbers, in my limited experience, spent an inordinate amount of time under sinks. Or under houses. I’d take the sink any day.

From my cramped quarters back under the sink, I heard familiar footsteps echo through the empty warehouse. Over my shoulder I saw the worn steel-toe boots of my boss, Barry Hickey.

Lately, I identified everyone by their shoes.

“Hand me that work light, would you, Bear? I can hardly see what I’m doing under here.” The nickname fit his stocky frame and brown hair, though I didn’t use it often. It seemed a little too familiar.

But sometimes Barry felt more like the older brother I never had than my boss. And it didn’t hurt our budding friendship that I made the office computers do tricks he didn’t think possible.

Barry thrust the small round light under the counter, into my outstretched palm. “Getting late,” he said. “I’m done with that bathroom for now. We could knock off for the night, come back in the morning when you can see what you’re doing.”

I wiggled further under the sink and grabbed the wrench handle with my leather-gloved hands. I tightened the jaws around the connecting ring of the drain pipe, digging into seventy year’s accumulation of unidentifiable corrosion.

“I can see,” I protested. “Besides, another five minutes, I swear, and I’ll be done under here.” I grunted as I pushed against the wrench, my reward a scant inch of movement.

“And we can’t come back tomorrow,” I continued, as I braced myself for another push. “We have to do the walk-through on the Tepper house.”

The two properties were both owned by Martha Tepper, a retired librarian who’d left town a couple weeks back. I’d heard she was tired of Oregon winters and wanted someplace with sunshine.

I think she went to Arizona, though I wasn’t sure. I hadn’t seen much of her since I left for college, but I remembered her from summer vacations when I camped out in the mystery section of the library.

Now my mother and Gregory were working with Rick and Rachel Gladstone, Martha’s attorneys, on a deal for both properties.

“You promised Sandra it’d be done, and she wants to get back to the Gladstones before the end of the week.”

The wrench moved again. The pipes in the warehouse were old, but I had the right tools and a whole lot of stubborn.

“Sandra?” A disapproving tone crept into my boss’s voice. “Georgiana, she’s your mother.”

It bugged Barry when I called my mom by her first name, but it was one way I kept my personal and private lives separate. And as long as Hickey & Hickey worked for Whitlock Estates Realty, I needed that separation.

I’d already messed that up once today, talking to Sandra herself. I wasn’t going to do it again.

“She is. When I’m at her house for Sunday dinner or we’re visiting her sister in Sweet Home. Not when she’s paying for a job, Barry. Then she’s Sandra. Or would you rather I called her Mrs. Neverall?”

Barry’s feet moved away, out of my line of sight. He paced across the dirty concrete floor of the warehouse.

Barry wasn’t good at waiting.

I herked on the wrench one more time and the connector ring broke free. A couple good turns and I was able to put the wrench down and turn the coupling by hand.

The stubborn joint came free, releasing the end of the outlet pipe. A gush of stagnant water ran into the waiting plastic bucket. Judging by the stench, that water had been sitting in the pipe for a long time.

I dropped the rusty coupling in the bucket and wormed my way back out from under the sink.

“You know, Barry, you didn’t put ‘contortionist’ on the job description.” I reached back in for the work light and played the illumination over the end of the pipe to be sure the flow of stinky water stopped before I moved the bucket.

Barry chuckled. “You’re the girl who wanted to be a plumber,” he said.

“Woman, Barry. Woman. Your daughter is a girl. Maybe. But I am not a ‘girl.’ Haven’t been for years.” I reached under the sink to retrieve the bucket.

“Megan’s twelve. Of course she’s a girl.”

I glanced up, shaking my head. “Not so much anymore, Barry. She might tolerate you calling her that right now, but not for much longer.”

Through the high windows of the warehouse, the sky was nearly dark. I let go of the bucket and pulled back the cuff of my leather glove to glance at the scratched plastic bezel of my dime-store watch. I had learned the hard way never to wear a good watch when messing with pipes.

Nearly seven. How did it get so late? I was late for dinner with Wade.

I bit back a curse. Barry tolerated a lot from me, but one of his rules was no cursing in front of customers, which had morphed into no cursing on the job. Never mind that there wasn’t anyone in the building but the two of us, or that he was probably the only construction-trade guy in the country who didn’t swear a blue streak. It was still a rule.

The bucket stuck and I put my head back under the sink to see what the problem was, shining the light on the exposed pipe ends.

Something bright caught my eye. Given the condition of those pipes, there shouldn’t be anything bright under that sink.

Dirty, yes. Rusty, yes. Smelly, definitely.

But not bright and shiny.

I poked one gloved finger into the pipe, but the thick leather didn’t fit in the tight opening. I pulled the glove off, reached for the pipe, then reconsidered.

I had no idea what I was reaching for.

I grabbed a close-fitting latex glove from my pocket, stretched it over my hand, and reached back under the sink.

It was a lump of metal and stone, large enough to block most of the pipe. It should have been too large to have fallen down the drain, except the drain guard had rusted through, probably years ago.

The piece was lodged crosswise, and I pried it loose with my finger. It popped out of the pipe and landed in the bucket with a plop.

Curious, I fished it out.

It was a brooch. A very distinctive brooch, and one I thought I recognized. Martha Tepper, the retired librarian who was supposed to be in Arizona, had worn it every day, the same way a happily-married woman always wears her wedding band. If it was the brooch I remembered, she never went anywhere without it. So why was the librarian’s favorite accessory sitting in a glop of plumbing goo in my hand?

After being lodged in the drain pipe of an empty warehouse in Pine Ridge, Oregon?

And what was I going to do about it?

(To be continued...)



Order "Sink Trap" now:

Meet Georgiana Neverall!! (Read the opening to "Sink Trap!")

A Dirty Business

Always keep a Tyvek jumpsuit and a dust
mask on hand. Both can be purchased at
most hardware and home supply stores. You’ll
be glad to have them when you have to crawl
underneath the house, or through the attic.
When dirt and worse are flying everywhere, it’s
handy to have a tough outer layer to repel it.
—A Plumber’s Tip from Georgiana Neverall

1

“Georgiana? Georgiana Neverall , is that you under there?”

My mother, Sandra Neverall, the doyenne of Whitlock Estates Realty and one of the more demanding customers of Hickey & Hickey Plumbing, stood in the doorway. Her stylish stiletto heels, the only part of her visible from my position under the utility sink, looked impossibly out of place on the dirty concrete of the warehouse floor.

My mother could turn a simple hello into a referendum
on my entire life. “Yes, Mother. Who else would it be but
your only daughter?”

I regretted it the instant the words left my mouth. She
knew how to push my buttons, and I knew she knew, but it
didn’t stop me from rising to her bait.

“We-l-l-l-l . . .” She dragged the word out, and I could
picture her arching one perfectly penciled eyebrow. “I’m
really not sure. My daughter spent a fortune on a degree
from Cal Tech. I’d hardly expect to find her in ragged
coveralls under the utility sink of a filthy warehouse, now
would I?”

I bit back the impulse to answer in kind. We’d read that
script too many times already. I’d recently discovered I
liked wearing coveralls and crawling under sinks, and she
thought I should wear aprons and serve meatloaf to an
adoring husband. Or at least make some use of that pricy
college degree.

“And yet, you have.” I abandoned the stubborn pipe
joint and wiggled out from under the sink, standing up to
face my mother, work boots to stilettos. “So, what was so
important that you dragged yourself all the way out here
to find me?”

She widened her eyes in an attempt at innocence. She
held the expression for a few seconds, but then realized I
wasn’t buying her act and gave it up.

I love my mother, and I truly believed she loves me.
But that didn’t mean we dropped in on each other, or
palled around together.

Or understood each other.

To tell the truth, I was surprised she even knew where
to find me.

“I went by that charity house first. I assumed you were
there.” She refused to call the project by its proper name,
Portland Homes for Help.

“I finished there before I came to work.” For a moment
I remembered the rich odor of fresh-cut pine and the scent
of new carpet. The house was nearly done, smelling like
hope and the promise of help for one deserving family.

“It’s charity, Georgiana,” she said, as though reading
my thoughts. She says that’s a mom talent that never goes
away. She’d been really good at it when I was a teenager,
but you’d think it would lose its potency when I passed
thirty.

Apparently not.

But it explained how she found me. The Homes for
Help crew ratted me out.

I nodded, bit my tongue, and waited for her to go on.

“I’m on my way out to the Clackamas Commons Development,”
she finally continued. “Gregory and I.” She
always referred to her boss as Gregory, not Mr. Whitlock,
and I wondered for a moment about the apparent level of
familiarity before I focused back on her words. “—so
we’re going to take over sales for all three hundred units.”

“Great, Mom. Really. If anyone can sell those places,
it’s you. I can picture the commissions stacking up.” I
grinned at her, to let her know I really was pleased. “But
you didn’t need to come all the way out here to tell me
that. You could have called.”

“It was on my way,” she lied, waving a freshly manicured
hand in dismissal.

Plum Crazy. The color registered without thought. I
hadn’t had a manicure in over two years—not since I left
the high-wire act of corporate competition—but it used to
be my favorite color. And it described perfectly the way
my mother made me feel.

I turned away and crouched back under the edge of the
sink. “That’s great news, Mom. Thanks for telling me. But
I need to get back to this job.”

I really didn’t expect it to work, and it didn’t. But it did
make her get to the point. Finally.

Her tone became all-business, as though someone had
thrown a switch. I found her ability to change so abruptly
a tad creepy. Then again, it was a useful talent.

“I just talked to Barry,” she said.

So she’d come to see my boss, Barry the Plumber, not
me. “He promised me the two of you would get this inspection
done by tomorrow.” She glanced around the warehouse,
her nose wrinkled in distaste. “And he said he’d
start on the house as soon as you finish here.”

She paused and I hoped we were finished, but she had
one more zinger before she left. “I asked for you on this
one, Georgiana, because I know you need the work. I just
hope you don’t waste too much time on that charity house
when you have a paying job waiting.”

She walked away, her heels clicking loudly in the
empty space, and I wiggled back under the sink. Charity, I
reflected, was not one of Sandra Neverall’s strong suits.

Be fair, I reminded myself, as I went back to work on
the corroded pipes. Charity was what forced her to go to
work after my dad died. The beloved Dr. Neverall of Pine
Ridge, Oregon, had treated his patients for free, and left
his widow with a stack of unpaid bills, and a load of resentment.

I promised myself I’d cut her some slack.

Or at least I’d try.

(Click to continue...)



Order "Sink Trap" now:

We Have A Winner Times Two - and A Bonus Giveaway!

I want to offer my congratulations to the winner of the Advance Readers Copy of SINK TRAP

(Drum roll, please!!!)

Louisa of Portola, California!!!

This is the part where I thank you all for playing, and offer some consolation. Whatever. But since I really appreciate the support from all of you, well

(Would another drum roll be too much?)

We're giving away another book!

Same as before, except I'll keep all the current names (except you, Louisa. Sorry!) in the drawing and add any new ones. You've got about a week to be sure your name is on the list, but I want to be sure I get the book to you before it hits the stores, so you can get a head start on the rest of the world.

And while I'm giving stuff away, there's one more thing to give away tonight. At the suggestion of my dear husband, I've made some knitted Kozy Kovers for the Kindle e-reader. Over at http://www.yorkwriters.com/2009/08/free-kozy-kover-for-your-kindle.html I collected names to give away a Kozy, and the winner of the first Kozy is:

(Hey, drummer, you should know the drill by now.)


Robin Page!!!

Now, before you all go away and plot how to make me draw your name next week, I am going to offer a consolation prize. On Thursday - really, it's on my calendar for Thursday - I'm going to post the first chapter of SINK TRAP right here on the blog! (And there might even be a few more pages between now and the release date...)

Once again, thank you all for stopping by, for your kind words and your support. This Road to the Bookstore is always made better by the company of friends and fans!

Congratulations to our winners, and WATCH THIS SPACE.

Chris/Christy - Georgie - Daisy - Buddha - and all the residents of Pine Ridge

The Road to the Bookstore, Part 2 - Cover Copy

One of the things that happens early on is cover copy. That's the blurb on the back of the book that is meant to intrigue and entice a shopper into picking up the book and carrying it to the checkout counter. It's like a movie trailer. Good cover copy will give the reader a taste of what's in store, without giving away all the "good stuff."

The cover copy is part of the overall cover design, which includes the artwork, typeface, colors, etc. For someone as artistically tone-deaf as I am, it's amazing to see what someone can do with these elements. According to the rights page of SINK TRAP, the cover design was done by someone named Rita Frangie, and I owe her a big shout-out for a great cover! I find myself strangely amused by the little Prime Crime logo handprint in the corner of the cover. Don't ask me why, it jus tickles me. I know the logo is on the cover of other Prime Crime books, but the color and placement on SINK TRAP feels like it's part of the artwork somehow, rather than an add-on logo.

I don't know who actually wrote the cover copy, but here it is, a taste of SINK TRAP.

An amateur sleuth with a great set of pipes…

When Georgiana Neverall’s fast-paced, corporate lifestyle goes down the drain, she moves back home to Pine Ridge, Oregon, and makes an unconventional choice—to apprentice herself to Barry the Plumber. Her uptight, super-successful realtor mother, Sandra, is plumb disgusted. She never dreamed she’d see a Neverall in coveralls toiling under someone’s sink.

Georgiana loves her new occupation, but is a bit surprised when she finds the favorite brooch of Martha Tepper, the town’s former librarian, clogging a sink. Martha supposedly retired to Arizona, but everyone who knew her says she never would have left without that brooch. Georgiana has a sinking feeling that Martha may have been retired permanently—and suddenly it’s up to a plumber’s apprentice to flush out a killer.

That's today's installment of the Road to the Bookstore. Stop back soon for more on the progress of SINK TRAP, LEAD PIPE CINCH, and CRAWL SPACE.

The Road to the Bookstore, Part 1 - Cover Art

One of the joys of getting a book published is watching each of the zillion steps along the way. There are so many milestones, and each one is a reminder that in the near future (for flexible values of "near") a book with your name - or your pseudonym - will appear of the shelves of a bookstore near you.

{Note: Because we live in a very small town that same flexible definition of "near" applies.}

Cover art is one of the first steps. Because the artist needs time to produce the artwork, which musts then go through the approval process at the publishing house, there is a long lead time on cover art. You'll notice that I had was able to post the cover in April, even though the book won't be out until October.

A couple weeks ago I got the name of the cover artist. And recently, on a whim, I looked him up online. Wow!! I mean, I love my cover, but his other work is incredible. If you don't know Brandon Dorman, take a look here:
http://www.brandondorman.com/

Is this guy great, or what?

So now you can all join me in geeking out over the fantastic artist who painted the cover for my book. Go admire his work, tell him how fabulous he is, and maybe buy one of his books. They're beautiful!

And keep your fingers crossed for me that I get the same artist on book #2, LEAD PIPE CINCH.

"Sink Trap" cover

Helper Steve here: While Chris is putting the final touches on book three, here's the cover for book one, "Sink Trap." Doesn't it look great? Click on the image to see it even bigger.

Sink Trap is scheduled for release in early October. You can pre-order by clicking on the smaller image in the sidebar.

The author herself will be along to comment presently.