Blog Archives
Magic and Writing
Zero Knowledge is a complex tale involving murder, encrypted clues, financial betrayal, and a race to uncover a hidden truth about Bitcoin’s mysterious origins. What was the inspiration for the setup of your story?
The idea for Zero Knowledge for me began while spending time in Zug, Switzerland—where the story is set—within a vibrant crypto environment. The combination of this idyllic location and cutting-edge developments in blockchain technology proved to be a powerful source of inspiration. In this setting, all the research I needed for the story was readily accessible.
Your book has some very interesting characters that have their character flaws, but are still likable. How do you go about creating characters for your story?
The characters in Zero Knowledge evolved as I wrote the story. Duan was shaped in part by some of my own personality traits, which help explain his flaws. For Mina, I “borrowed” several of my wife Marina’s strong characteristics—though unlike Mina, my wife is in perfect health.
I enjoyed how the relationship between Lisa-Lotte and her father, Bernt, deepen over time. Based on feedback from beta readers, I added a backstory to explain Lisa-Lotte’s decision to join the police force.
I’m particularly pleased that reviewers praised the characters; developing them was a major focus for me throughout the writing process.
I felt that there were a lot of great twists and turns throughout the novel. Did you plan this before writing the novel, or did the twists develop organically while writing?
I began the writing process by outlining the story and crafting detailed character descriptions to bring them to life for myself. The method of Luc’s murder was the starting point, although at that early stage, I hadn’t yet defined the motive. In addition to writing, I have a passion for magic, and I incorporated techniques of misdirection—commonly used in magic—to lead the reader astray and heighten the suspense.
Magic and writing share many similarities. In magic, you often begin with the effect you want to create, then develop a method and presentation to entertain and continually surprise your audience. This process comes naturally to me and proved tremendously helpful while writing Zero Knowledge.
Will there be a follow-up novel to this story? If so, what aspects of the story will the next book cover?
I feel that both Duan and Lisa-Lotte still have plenty of mileage left in them. I already have an initial idea for a unique opening to a potential next book. That said, the way everything came together in Zero Knowledge—leaving no loose ends—will be hard to top.
Author Links: GoodReads | X | Facebook | Instagram | Website
Arnaud Pascolo’s latest international crime thriller is more than an intense whodunit or police procedural – it’s a gripping mystery that begins with a shock and never lets you come up for air! You have to do more than put together the pieces and find the villain – you have to figure out the crime!
Crypto company BionTic is facing financial difficulties, but a strange text message gives Luc Stark hope for a brighter future. The meeting invitation results in his being handed an envelope labeled “Clue One,” which he is instructed to open after leaving. Moments later, the man answers a phone call, and Luc suddenly collapses and dies. When police detectives begin looking into the strange death, they learn that is only the beginning of the mystery.
Stolen Histories
Stolen Histories is a fierce and immersive fantasy novel that follows the exploits of Amari, a magical seer and outlaw, and her best friend Taliya, a world-class thief and wardbreaker. Together, they live in a gritty, magical city named Castor, a place alive with haunted craters, floating trains, and social inequality. The story kicks off with the duo sabotaging corrupt institutions and snowballs into a high-stakes heist involving dragons, haunted landscapes, and the looming power of the imperialist Apolon Empire. At its heart, the novel blends thrilling action with deep emotional undercurrents and a strong thread of rebellion against colonial power structures.
I loved the writing. Michaels has a gift for character voice and atmosphere. The world-building is rich without being bogged down by info-dumps. The city of Castor felt lived-in and layered, like something out of Blade Runner with a magical twist. The dialogue was snappy and genuine. And the pacing—God, the pacing! It rolls like a freight train. One minute I’m chuckling at Amari’s sarcasm, and the next I’m holding my breath as she charges a dragon with nothing but grit and a well-timed incendiary. It’s chaotic in the best way. The narrative structure switches perspectives smoothly, adding depth without confusion. There’s always the sense that these characters lived whole lives before page one, and I respect that.
That said, the book isn’t just action for the sake of it. What hit me hardest was the emotional texture—Amari’s quiet grief, Taliya’s loyalty wrapped in bravado, the way their world erases voices like theirs, and how they steal those voices back with every job. The politics aren’t subtle, and that’s the point. Colonization, cultural theft, surveillance, and resistance—Michaels doesn’t pull punches. And yet, the story never loses its warmth. The queer joy, the found family, the relentless resilience—it all feels like a fist raised high. If I had a critique, it’d be that the lore occasionally verges on dense, especially the magical classification systems. But the energy of the story carries you through.
This book is fire. If you’re into heists, sharp-tongued women with secrets, or rebellion served with banter and blood magic, you need to read this. Stolen Histories is perfect for fans of Leigh Bardugo, N.K. Jemisin, or anyone who ever rooted for the morally gray underdog. It’s fun, it’s furious, and it’s got heart for days.
Pages: 590 | ASIN : B0F3NQGSCH
Seen
Shauna Adams’ Seen is a wild, gritty plunge into a dark romance that’s anything but gentle. Set against a backdrop of Belfast’s criminal underworld, the story pivots around Aodhán, a morally grey antihero, and Nora, a woman whose accidental encounters with him ignite a dangerous obsession. Told through dual perspectives, the book peels back layers of trauma, lust, revenge, and vulnerability as their lives entwine. It’s a bold mix of intense attraction and criminal intrigue, stitched together with raw, explicit prose and themes that are not for the faint-hearted.
The writing is sharp and unapologetically in-your-face, and it works. Adams doesn’t mince words. Her dialogue has bite, the pacing sprints, and the steam is downright volcanic. Aodhán’s voice drips with menace and charm, while Nora feels real, grounded, and complicated. Still, parts of the book made me uncomfortable. Aodhán’s obsessive, stalker-like behavior is painted with romantic undertones that had me questioning whether I was supposed to swoon or scream. The emotional push-pull is gripping.
And yet, I couldn’t put it down. The plot twists hit like punches, and the chemistry between the leads was electric in a way that felt almost reckless. Adams pulls no punches on violence or sex, so you need a thick skin (and a strong stomach). The story has that addictive “just one more chapter” pull, even when you’re shaking your head at the sheer audacity of what’s happening. There’s a certain poetic tragedy in how flawed and raw everything is—it’s messy and unapologetically human.
In the end, Seen is not for everyone. But if you’re someone who loves dark romance, doesn’t shy away from taboo topics, and craves stories that don’t play it safe, this is your book. It’s intense, provocative, and a little unhinged—in the best way. Personally, I walked away a bit stunned, a bit disturbed, and a whole lot impressed. Adams knows what she’s doing, and she’s not afraid to break the rules to do it.
Pages: 253 | ASIN : B0DWFXCF54
The N.M.E.
Ryan A. Kovacs’s The N.M.E. is a visceral novel-in-verse that plunges readers into a brutal world of prison life, vengeance, and twisted masculinity. Told from the perspective of a hardened inmate with one burning goal—to kill his father—the story explores complex relationships, both inside the prison walls and within the protagonist’s past. Anchored by the monstrous yet magnetic figure of Bruno, the tale veers between poetic introspection and graphically violent episodes, weaving a narrative of trauma, power, and survival. Arlene, the prison shrink, becomes a wildcard in the game, part chess piece, part therapist, and maybe even a pawn in a larger scheme.
Reading this book felt like taking a punch to the gut—again and again—and somehow, I kept turning the page for more. Kovacs writes with a brutal rhythm that mirrors the pulse of prison life. His voice is crude, stylized, and strangely hypnotic. It’s not just the slang or the broken cadence; it’s the honesty that leaks through the grime. The violence is graphic and almost cartoonish at times, but it works—it underlines the absurdity and tragedy of the characters’ lives. I found myself both repulsed and amused, often in the same breath. The absurd muscle-flexing of Bruno, the biting insults, and the chess metaphors hit surprisingly deep.
Yet, what hit me hardest wasn’t the blood and bravado—it was the aching undercurrent of grief and loss. Beneath the rough language and showy violence is a real cry for help, a search for identity buried under rage. The narrator’s desire to kill his father isn’t just about revenge; it’s about reclaiming something stolen, maybe his childhood, maybe his self-worth. Arlene adds an intriguing psychological layer, but I kept wondering—who’s really being played? There’s a sadness in that too. For all the plot’s chaos, it’s the quiet moments—the drip of self-hatred, the memory of a mother in the kitchen—that I still think about.
If you’re squeamish about graphic violence, profanity, or psychological dysfunction, The N.M.E. will be a tough ride. But for those who appreciate gritty storytelling with a poetic edge, it’s a memorable experience. I’d recommend it to fans of Chuck Palahniuk, prison noir, and anyone who enjoys stories where the ugliest truths are delivered with dark, jagged beauty.
Pages: 352 | ASIN: B09PF9969X
The Kindred Chronicles: Gathering Storm
D.A. Chan’s The Kindred Chronicles: Gathering Storm is a sweeping epic of war, identity, power, and the complex webs of loyalty and love. Set in a rich and layered world teeming with fantastical cultures and mythic structures, this third installment dives into the aftermath of a major conflict and sets the stage for a larger confrontation with a corporate villainy that blends magic with modern industry. We follow Chris, a reluctant hero burdened with both trauma and responsibility, alongside a cast of warriors, mystics, and rulers, each with tangled motivations and deep emotional wounds. As the characters navigate political alliances and personal betrayals, the book pushes forward with high-stakes missions and wrenching personal decisions, all laced with lyrical prose and carefully built lore.
Reading this felt like slipping into a world I didn’t want to leave. The writing is confident and lush, but never overbearing. There’s something poetic about the way Chan strings his sentences together, even when he’s describing something as brutal as a blade through bone. The worldbuilding is top-notch. You can smell the marble in the war rooms, feel the dust of battlefields, and get lost in the shifting allegiances of ancient houses. The dialogue, particularly the kindred tongue, gave the book an almost sacred cadence. And those moments of silence between characters? They said just as much—sometimes more—than the battles. Sometimes the pace slows in philosophical musings or dense political mechanics. But even then, I didn’t mind lingering. I liked the thinking space it gave me.
Emotionally, this book hit me harder than I expected. Chris is haunted in a way that’s painfully familiar—trauma doesn’t just disappear, and Chan gets that. Watching him fight while shouldering his ghosts is equal parts heartbreaking and inspiring. Elline and Empyrean’s relationship, especially, brought a kind of intimate storm to the plot. Their love was more than just romance, it was a war of wills and ideals. I didn’t always like Empyrean, but I understood him. The jealousy, the pride, the grief, it all made him maddeningly relatable. And Grace is the wild card, the heartbeat of something new and unpredictable. I found myself caring about her more than I expected.
If you love your fantasy high-stakes and high-emotion, Gathering Storm is your kind of book. It’s perfect for readers who want more than just sword fights and magic—they want characters who bleed, who doubt, who love fiercely and fail spectacularly. It’s not a light read, but it’s a worthy one. I’d hand this book to fans of The Stormlight Archive or The Broken Earth series in a heartbeat.
Pages: 454 | ASIN: B0FB8J837R
Where the Grass Don’t Grow and Vultures Sing
Where the Grass Don’t Grow and Vultures Sing is a gritty and unsettling collection of twelve speculative fiction stories that mix horror, science fiction, and dark fantasy into a cocktail that’s as jarring as it is addictive. Rosick sets the tone with raw, twisted narratives full of morally ambiguous characters and grotesque, often bleak, realities. Each story paints a picture of a world that’s almost like ours, but far more violent, broken, and bizarre. Whether it’s alien overlords feasting on human suffering, ghostly reckonings in small-town America, or dystopian futures ruled by invasive surveillance and social decay, Rosick pulls no punches. His introduction frames the collection as the culmination of decades of writing and rejection, driven by a persistent, almost obsessive need to tell the truth in the form of fiction.
Reading these stories felt like being dragged through a dream that’s halfway between terrifying and tragic. Rosick’s prose is coarse and visceral. In “For the Entertainment of the Gods,” for example, I felt a mix of horror and awe, watching the protagonist endure a psychic deathmatch for the amusement of alien gods. It wasn’t just the violence that disturbed me; it was the idea of what people would trade for survival. “Death Calls on Mr. Smith” is a slow, aching story about aging and the crushing weight of grief that never heals. Rosick’s ability to flip between brutal and tender in just a few pages surprised me.
Some stories felt a bit too on the nose or a little rushed toward their endings, like “The Covenant of the ARC,” which was strong in setup but heavy in its dystopian commentary. There were moments where I wanted a deeper dive or just a bit more finesse in the delivery. Still, the strength of Rosick’s voice and the conviction behind each story made up for the occasional rough patch. What I appreciated most was the honesty. These aren’t sanitized, neatly packaged tales. They’re messy, human, and more than a little feral. They reminded me of the kind of stories that live in the back of your mind, buried under the daily routine, waiting to crawl out when you least expect them.
If you’ve got a soft spot for dark speculative fiction that punches hard and lingers longer, this collection is worth your time. Fans of writers like Philip K. Dick, Clive Barker, or Joe Lansdale will feel right at home in Rosick’s unsettling worlds. Where the Grass Don’t Grow and Vultures Sing reads like a haunted mixtape of pulp nightmares.
Pages: 289 : ASIN : B0F1Z4GPG5
The Sycamore Centennial Parade (Part I)
In The Sycamore Centennial Parade, Charles McGrail spins a nostalgic, often hilarious yarn about a trio of quirky small-town characters—Babylon “Milkman” Hurley, his brother-in-law Clark “Poodle” Canderankle, and the indomitable Jericho—who bumble their way into promoting their town’s centennial celebration. Set in 1978, Sycamore, the story draws from everyday absurdity to craft a heartwarming comedy of errors, rich with banter, unlikely schemes, and quiet reflections on identity, family, and small-town life. As Jericho rallies her lovable but unreliable crew to canvas local businesses for parade support, what unfolds is less a professional campaign and more a slow-moving circus, complete with tie mishaps, dietary debates, and diner drama.
I loved the writing style. It’s alive with personality. McGrail’s voice crackles with humor, clever turns of phrase, and old-school charm. The dialogue sings—snappy, smart, and so natural you forget you’re reading. His characters? They’re ridiculous in the best way. Lovable screw-ups with big hearts and bigger mouths. And while the plot hums at a leisurely pace, I never found myself bored. Every scene feels like a short sitcom episode—tight, colorful, and just a little chaotic. The author doesn’t chase big drama. He trusts in the small stuff: banter, nostalgia, clashing egos, and the slow burn of friendships tested and reaffirmed. It’s low-stakes storytelling with high emotional payoff.
The story is long, and sometimes the jokes stretch a beat too far or the scenes linger past their welcome. But oddly, I didn’t mind much. The indulgence feels earned. McGrail clearly adores his characters—especially Milk and Poodle—and that affection is infectious. Beneath all the antics is a surprisingly tender meditation on second chances and reinvention. These aren’t just goofballs; they’re men pushed out of their old lives and forced to find new ways to matter. Jericho, too, shines as the competent, quietly frustrated linchpin who holds it all together. If you’ve ever juggled family and ambition, you’ll see yourself in her.
The Sycamore Centennial Parade is a warm and entertaining love letter to community, misfits, and starting over. It’s a small-town tale with a big, goofy heart. I’d recommend it to fans of Richard Russo or Fannie Flagg, or anyone who loves a character-driven story with quick wit and genuine soul.
Pages: 245 | ASIN : B0F2822P8C
The Wandering Adventures at Hobart Mill
The Wandering Adventures at Hobart Mill is a charming and heartfelt tale that follows young Malachi Halladay as he is uprooted from New York and placed into the care of his eccentric and endlessly adventurous great-grandmother, Granny Annie, in the wilds of Tasmania. After the tragic loss of his parents, Malachi embarks on a journey of healing, discovery, and wonder. The narrative weaves his real-world grief with magical and mysterious elements, from a mischievous Tasmanian devil named Fern to a curious and long-forgotten estate called Hobart Mill. With a cast of quirky characters and an ever-growing sense of curiosity, Malachi’s story is part adventure, part emotional awakening.
What really stood out to me was the sincerity in Kinard’s writing. He doesn’t shy away from portraying the rawness of grief through Malachi’s eyes, but he balances it beautifully with warmth and humor. Granny Annie is a scene-stealer—skydiving, rock-climbing, storytelling—she’s a whirlwind of vitality and love. And then there’s Fern, a Tasmanian devil who becomes a literal and emotional companion to Malachi. Their bond feels real, honest, and surprisingly moving. The narrative’s pace is gentle but never dull, and Kinard’s prose, though simple, is surprisingly powerful in the way it captures feelings and places. The dialogue can sometimes be a little too polished for kids, but it never loses its heart.
The book leans into nostalgia and sentimentality. Some scenes play out with an almost movie-like sheen—idealized, even dreamlike. The secrets of Hobart Mill are tantalizing, but they’re teased more than they’re revealed. Still, that sense of wonder—of something just around the corner—is part of what makes the story so engaging. Kinard’s use of real-world geography mixed with fantasy elements gives the whole book an almost timeless feel, like a modern-day Narnia with a dash of Roald Dahl’s mischief.
All in all, I’d recommend this book to middle-grade readers and families looking for something cozy yet adventurous. It’s a gentle read that touches on deep themes without becoming heavy. Readers who’ve lost someone might find solace in Malachi’s journey, and kids who love exploration will adore the quirky mysteries that unfold.
Pages: 240 | ASIN: B0CWFMK31D
LITERARY TITAN 