The Jaguar, A Novel

(The Jaguar -Working Title)

1992 – A Panamanian drug cartel mistakes Major Smithson James (Smitty), an Air Force Reserve officer on temporary training for the United States Southern Command (USSOUTHCOM), public affair office for another American–an unorthodox but devoted, DEA agent Jameson Smith.

The United States’ War on Drugs effort in Central and South America barely affected the amount of heroin and cocaine that made its way north. The drug warriors were easily spotted, avoided or killed, if not by cartel members, by the paramilitaries.

Code Name: Smith and Jones was a covert operation, consisting of one well-qualified agent: a Marine major from Force Reconnaissance (RECON), someone who could hide, blend in and survive the jungle. That someone was Jameson Smith, though arrogant and insubordinate, was the perfect weapon–stealthy, ruthless and tough. The buzz around the mission said the man was CIA. Hardly, the CIA had said, this one doesn’t report to anyone; whoever owned him just let him off the leash.

The U.S. drug warriors knew the black op existed, although they didn’t know the name of the “super” soldier or the CIA “special” agent, they knew he hadn’t been sent to replace them. The idea was so ridiculous that most higher-ups dismissed the covert op entirely. “Let this fool get himself killed on his own out there.” Some just said, “The jungle is a scary place.” Some intelligence officers hinted he was there for misdirection, for distracting the cartels, while the real soldiers took them down. Eventually even the intelligence officers lost interest in one man in the jungle or rainforest God-knows-where on the continent.

However, Smith’s early successes made them eat their words. A factory destroyed here and there. A distribution center and organization were frozen, its people afraid to go out at night. There was a lot of product with no place to go. Billions of dollars lost. For the moment…

Then later, the cartels acted as if nothing was wrong, they produced even more product, invented new distribution systems and made faster deliveries while adding more muscle and surveillance. They put more pressure on their “spies” to root out this superman; they’d show him how vulnerable he was. There wasn’t a list. They had no name to add to one. Well, they did…or thought they did. As much as anyone could trust a spy or traitor.

It was then that Jameson Smith seemed to have disappeared. Some thought he was a real ghost–like a dead man. Cartel squabbles and sabotage exploits were rarely seen or heard; it was as if Superman just went home.

He had been destroying the drug “machine” in Central America almost single-handedly and had started his path of destruction in South America. He had discovered a few “leaks” and eliminated them, but there remained enough still at large to compromise organized raids by the authorities. With the jungle getting crowded with rebels, paramilitary as well as cartel members, he went quiet and invisible, using all of the surveillance techniques in his playbook to spy on the drug operations and trafficking with hands off for the moment. Everything was going fine, until…

The cartel’s security forces in Panama City kidnapped and tortured Smithson James (aka Smitty) to find out how he had sabotaged so many of their efforts to produce and move product. Coincidentally the two bore a striking resemblance to each other. Both men were very fit, above average height and had blond hair with a darker blond beard. And, the obvious; their names were similar. The Cartels’ informants were sure of the name (or names now) they had.

A victim of human trafficking, a female captive, thrown into the mix provides James the means for them to escape into the jungle. At first, James has to survive and heal, but the people who take him in and the events that follow change him. While his wounds are bad, his mind is worse. 

James has not only forgotten who he is, but he believes he is that DEA agent. His captors, thinking “Smitty” had not survived his wounds and the jungle, go back to their deadly routine of terrorizing and enslaving local villages to produce product and distribute it through Mexico to the United States. With the help of the other captive and her unusually resourceful village, James heals and regains his strength.

To the surprise of the drug cartels, the Drug Enforcement Agency, the Central Intelligence Agency, and United States Southern Command, James surfaces from the dead as a were-jaguar and unleashes even more ferocious and terrifying attacks on the cartels. And, Smith sits back and watches. For a while…

To USSOUTHCOM, Smithson James is a deserter. To the DEA, a rogue agent, and to the CIA a threat to its control of the region. To the traitors in the program, he is a dangerous threat and must be killed.

James is a mystery to all. How can he seek and destroy every few days? Who or what is helping him? It seems he has done the impossible, he has terrified the Cartels and that’s a tough thing to do.

There’s romance, too, with strong and capable beautiful women, proud indigenous people, enslaved entire villages, and well, a real jaguar.

Looking for something a little different? I have started work on my new novel, working title, The Jaguar, an adventure, suspense thriller. Superstition plays an unusual role that involves the drug interdiction agencies, human trafficking, kidnappers, revolutionaries and drug cartels.

Lots of explosions, fire and body counts. All with a little horror thrown in–for the villains. The characters, agencies, the drug manufacturing and distribution situations are real.

The Jaguar is a work in progress. I plan to post passages as I write them, and hopefully publish by the end of this year.

Also, please check out my debut novel, In Makr’s Shadow. Available now through most any online bookstore.

***

Humans by themselves could only fail.

An evolving artificial intelligence calling itself Makr is engaged to run the planet’s resources, saving humankind the trouble.

The enlightened people, some 90 percent of the population, have chosen to live a fantasy life, never having to worry about discomfort or pain, or being bored, or being lonely, or whatever.

Think about it and it’s yours. Even if you don’t consciously think about it, it will be yours because you need it to be. Who cares if it all isn’t real? If it feels real, then it is.

Reality doesn’t matter in PerSoc, a perfect society.

The ten percent of the population that’s left are those who can’t live a lie and choose to live Outside in the dark reality without Makr’s help.

In Makr’s Shadow…

Harry Bolls proves that one unique man makes a difference, by seeing through illusion, he sees reality however stark. For those Outside, he is a stranger who comes from Inside, searching for lost memories and thus, seeking his true identity–In Makr’s Shadow.

But there is more to Harry than he knows himself. His presence will unite a splintered society, help them win an unwinnable war, and show them their unusual future.

If you purchase In Makr’s Shadow (Harry’s Reality) from Smashwords.com, you can find any format to suit your needs, but you’ll have to go through a different process: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view… or buy from http://www.amazon.com/Harrys-Reality-… http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/harry… http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/eboo…

In Makr’s Shadow is available wherever ebooks are sold, including those links above. And, not to worry, there are at least two more Harry Bolls novels to look forward to in the Trilogy.

Monday’s Reality

“Hello,” Desiree’s whisper broke the silence and resonated loudly in a room where people never actually talked with one another.

She heard a gasp or two, and with her night vision contact lenses spied some heads moving to get a look. This Insider even perspires more than the others.

“Hello, I said,” Desiree insisted. “I’m talking to you silly.”

Harry flinched.

Gotcha!

“Yes, you!”

Silently, Harry turned stiffly in his chair, ever so slightly—only a few inches away from the voice, pretending not to hear, trying hard to be inconspicuous. Squinting in the darkness, he tried to see what he both feared and needed: Bio contact.

He listened for the voice again, but his nervous anticipation made his sweat stream uncontrollably. He felt a spring of moisture roll down his side, despite his heavy, neutralizing antiperspirant.

Harry couldn’t help noticing the inviting and delicate fragrance of flowers coming from the same direction as the voice he had heard moments ago and he felt anxious once again. It seemed the scent was created for him alone. The olfactory assault makes the situation even more dangerous.

Desiree saw her prey was frozen with fear. Some hero you are, she thought.

He could barely see, his eyes glazing over with trepidation and indecision. Desiree took advantage of the opportunity to place her ticket, number side down, with a message scribbled on the back, on the very table in front of him. He flinched helplessly a second time as he saw her invading his personal space. He had not been this close to another Bio before—not that he could remember or thought-blink—for years.

Blinking himself back to reality, his jaw dropped as she thrust the note in front of him. I won’t look, I won’t read it! he thought. His body stiffened.

Thought-blinking isn’t working. He’s too nervous. Should have done it sooner, he thought. If he ever needed it, he needed it now!

Is this Makr’s doing? agonized Harry. If so, all is lost anyway. Always the cynical Harry.

In light of this revelation, he reasoned he would lose nothing if he read the note now. Yet he continued debating with himself about reading it. Mindful of this hesitation, Desiree persisted in her physical seduction by pulling her shoulders back—thereby extending her breasts, tilting her head, raising her right eyebrow, and smiling. She blew him a kiss. Who could resist that?

Harry wiped the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief and tried to dry his palms with the saturated cloth without much luck.

A drink! He needed a drink to calm his nerves. More noticeably agitated, he fumbled holding his drink, spilling some of it on the counter. Finally, with a barely audible screech that sounded like thunder in his mind, he inched his chair back, ready to bolt.

Damn! He couldn’t breathe. Need more air! More air! Makr, where the Hell are you?

Harry was on the verge of hyperventilating while the less than vigilant Desiree added more bait to her trap to captivate her prey. She smiled. It was the self-assured smile that finally melted his resistance.

Harry imagined he was about to open a door to Hell, but he reached for it anyway. He knew better, but he reached…grasped at the unknown. He spied a look at the note. It said, “I choose you.” Interesting thought, chosen but not matched. But he could do it. He’d have to overcome the unnatural fear that had been bred into him; however, he was determined to try.

He could pass on a match tonight and justify it later. He could say he was sick, which was true; his stomach was churning and bubbling, and he was certainly nauseous. One more personal invasion and he knew he’d lose his lunch. The moment he started up from his seat a Cyber waiter scurried to his table and wiped away the liquid Harry had spilled without knowing it.

Harry died…or thought he had.

His heart stopped. Not really, perhaps only for a fraction of a second as it skipped a beat, but he was sure his end was near.

Whose reality is it this time? This time it would be his, he resolved.

As he left Cyber Match Central to be with Desiree, and with no attempt at getting Cyber approval, Harry readied himself for one hell of a ride.

Taken.

On a dreary Monday’s reality, there’s very little anyone can do about it. Listen to music, doodle, diddle, putter around the house. I’m flowing in and out with the rain. I know it’s good for the earth, but I hate the cold wet of fall. I remember a reality of ups and downs.

Ever hear a song by Melanie called “Animal Crackers.” She sings in her scratchy, little girl voice, “I don’t eat animals and they don’t eat me.” Of course, it was the ’70s or late ’60s. I remember liking her music, but I discovered it while in the Marine Corps so you know I wasn’t living the psychedelic reality. Ironically, neither was Melanie at the time. It was all hype. I saw her short time later in an intimate concert. In a very short time, she had become an extraordinary mother with three children, and a great singer or she was all of these all along. So, she wasn’t up and down at all. A dreary Monday with rain. For a real pick me up she would sing, “Psychotherapy.” That was always good on a Monday.

My Monday offering is a free copy of Harry’s Reality to those reading this who have shown the patience to read to the end. I hope someone will enjoy it and feel compelled to write a positive review on Smashwords or whatever vendor you decide, or even Goodreads. Here’s the Coupon Code: NE22C to use on my Smashwords page. It’s good for a limited time only. Maybe a month. I’d like to get a buzz going. Thanks for reading.

 

The Good Parts

The lifeless Bio figure (what was left of it), suspended in a translucent, golden-colored, gem-hard substance, its biological eye stuck nearly popped out from his wretched skull, his look frozen in time like an insect preserved in amber from the moment it had been trapped 20 million years ago. The only difference was that the man—what was left of him–still lived. He did have a body of sorts now.

The hexahedron slab of amber, some ten feet high and four to five feet in diameter, hung in the air without apparent support. There were no visible wires or chains. Beginning its descent into a green colored vat below, it rotated on an invisible axis, spinning slowly, causing the image of the Bio inside to appear as a distorted, disjointed, disfigured form to anyone who might see it. Once there, the opaque amber gemstone began to melt as it touched the green nano-gelatin. What was amber in color was now green. As the chemical reaction took place, the man melted, too, becoming a creature hardly recognizable, a blob of cells. Yet he lived, held prisoner in the glassy green gelatin composed of tiny single cell-size nanocyberts that were rearranging his cells to form connectors to his nervous system so his new stainless steel and titanium body would answer to his once human brain. Hidden in the microscopic Cyber design, of course, was Makr’s will.

Am I leaving out the best parts of the novel when I give you snippets? Yes, I think I am. Most of what I have taken is from the front of the novel when characters are first introduced. The piece below is taken later in the novel. It could be a spoiler for you if you are planning to buy the book anyway, it’s one of the “good parts.” Spoiler Alert!

Physically he would never see, hear or feel like he did before, but he would have sensors with far greater capacity than his original Bio sensory organs. Had he dreamed up this transformation himself, he would have been delighted to lose his ugly exterior. He had always wanted to be smarter and stronger, but that hadn’t been humanly possible. However, it was Cyber possible. He was what he was and that was that. He wanted more—more of everything he was and what Makr would make of him. He wanted to be smarter and stronger. Could he also be invincible and more powerful?

A voice boomed in his head again.

“You’ll have all you desire and then some. You will indeed be more of everything; you won’t be a Bio anymore, but you’ll be a perfect product of Makr. You’ll be something totally new. You’ll be a creature feared for its power. You’ll be among the giants of this new world.”

With those last words, Harlan Leach’s moment of ecstasy was nearly over. His lifetime of horror had just begun.

Sickening, hideous images.

In his mind, he saw his own body sucked into a machine, shredded and regurgitated. He witnessed his own death—in stringy spaghetti threads of humanity swirling about until it all became liquefied and one substance. He saw Death waiting patiently. He grieved for himself. He felt a loss knowing someone very important to him had died. Was there any such person? He didn’t think so. Now he knew that he was the one who had died. No one else would feel his loss; he was sure of it. He had no specific memories of anyone who might care—not even the parents who had abandoned him as a baby.

Suddenly, unbelievable pain. He felt a hundred heartbreaks and disappointments, as many fleeting moments of happiness, and unbearable loss. Soaring joy. Unfathomable sadness. Memories. Past. Happy. Sad. Remembered. Forgotten. He sensed he was screaming. He was screaming! Nothing came out! He couldn’t scream without a mouth. He heard screams all around, but not his own. The eternal agony of others… He knew the awful helplessness of being Bio, fragile, trapped and doomed! In a millisecond, he sensed an explosion, a tearing apart of his own soul… Hopelessness! He wailed. He moaned. He became one of the screamers. Once he was with them, they stopped screaming and were singing.

Then, no singing. No voices. No sound. Now music. No music. Nothing. No! Memories gone. Who? No matter. Feeling content. Warm, comfortable, cozy, secure. Makr! The man, who no longer remembered he had been anything, realized he was not alone. There were billions like himself. And, yet, he still felt alone, totally alone. Although he knew he must be in a factory where Bios lost their minds and were reconditioned, but this—this had to be different. The Bio man, Leach, awoke, a little tired, but otherwise not feeling worse for wear. Whew! What a dream, he thought. Then he noticed it. It hadn’t been a dream! He discovered the shocking truth. His body was gone. In its place were shiny, finished metal structures. It was only his Bio mind that remained. Had he a mouth he would have screamed. Actually, he had a way to speak; however, Leach had not figured out how to use it yet.

Worse than that, Makr had left him most of his tongue (minus that part that had been bitten off) and a single human eye.

It is always interesting taking another deep look at your work. You think, “Wow, was I that profound,” or “that clever?” But you also say, “I think it will work better if I say it this way.” So, I made some minor changes over a couple of days and republished at both Amazon and Smashwords. Both have their advantages. Harry’s Reality is now available through both Amazon in kindle format and offers a free app, and Smashwords in many formats, including mobi format, which is for kindle, with instructions on how to download to your device. There, of course, is only one way to read between my lines…

Harry and His Virtual Angel

The day has come to re-publish Harry’s Reality so it is available in any format besides Kindle. Before I re-publish, I’m looking for little typos–things I see in other e-books I’d like to stay free of mine. When I have re-published, Harry’s Reality will be available in all digital forms, not only through Smashwords and Amazon, but all other e-book vendors as well. Let’s get back to Harry’s reality now. What does one do in paradise when they have a problem, i.e., bad dreams like Harry is having. Simple. Just as we would do… Almost.

The Cyber Bio therapist, a Bio face and form of the warmest proportions, sat in a plush, leather-covered easy chair, pursing her lips, shaking her head and affectionately scolding her patient. For a psych intervention program, her titillating image was real enough: blonde hair, pale delicate skin, full lips, voluptuous in form, sensuous in movement, and generally soft in focus. Her presence was also familiar to Harry—like someone he knew intimately. He knew the face and body well because it was from his own memories; she had the look of Marilyn Monroe, an archetype film star that he recognized from his vidchip collection of ancient media entertainment.

Harry was completely relaxed and calm with his 70-inch frame stretched out in a leather recliner that belonged in the archetypal psychotherapist’s office, an embellishment to the SensaVision reality used to create an atmosphere conducive for probing Bio behaviors. His living quarters merged with the program environment. These surroundings were now more spacious and comfortable, subtly laced with the therapist’s personal images, which Harry finds relaxing.

Olfactory elements complemented the visual impressions as he was enveloped in a fragrance that reminded him of fresh air, flowers and the aftermath of sex. He saw a well formed, physically fit woman and his eyes were immediately drawn to her ample breasts. She had a fit body-type like Harry, with pale skin and platinum blonde hair, but that’s where the resemblance between the two ended. She was very attractive, almost beautiful, and sensual in a way that made her not only a suspicious Makr choice but dangerous to a control freak like Harry.

Although he prided himself on being fit, he had never considered himself a very attractive Bio. Oh, Makr could make anyone who sees you see you the way you want to be seen—of course subject to His approval. Harry appreciated being unique, yet he couldn’t help seeing himself as too medium in stature and too ordinary- or average-looking to have had anything other than a typically boring social life among his Makr-approved liaisons. That’s life. Bio life anyway.

Makr’s SensaVision technology creates a perfect world as determined by the greatly evolved artificial intelligence Himself. In doing so He had produced a convincing multi-dimensional set of images, sounds, pressure, and smells to shape Harry’s personal reality, thus making him emotionally receptive for the therapist program. The female psychotherapist seemed a genuine part of Harry’s household, maybe even a part of his intimate family. In a way she was. She was part of Harry’s psyche, reinforced with Makr’s reality of a perfect Bio world.

That he found himself irresistibly drawn to her was to be expected. A certain amount of “chemistry” between therapist and patient is necessary in establishing rapport.

This seductive experience was more than that. He knew from his work as a Bio program analyst that this was beyond the limits of any of the therapist intervention programs he knew of. But then Makr was constantly evolving. Harry could draw only two conclusions: one, this program was simply a new and improved version over others he had used previously, or two, this was more than a therapist intervention program, and something else. It was the something else that worried him.

With that thought his heart beat a little faster and perspiration began to form on his skin.

Suddenly, he felt a barely detectable current of cool air dry his skin.

“You must not be afraid, Harry Bolls,” cooed the Cyber program’s holographic manifestation. “You wanted Makr to intervene and comfort you in your dreams so He sent me. I am here to help.”

“A virtual angel?”

“Something like that, Harry.”

“I just need someone to talk to.”

“We know. I am considered a great conversationalist—even in Bio terms.”

“You aren’t a psych intervention program at all, are you?” Harry asked, immediately on the offensive. “You’re more than that.”

“Well, yes and no. You might say I’m an improved version.”

“What do I call you? Doctor?”

“If you wish. In addition to the usual medical degree, I do have the knowledge equivalent to those holding doctorates in all relevant scientific areas of psychology, neurobiology, chemistry and physiology, and I have reviewed the scientific literature for the last 2,000 years, but you may call me Mary if that makes you more comfortable.”

“My grandmother’s name was Mary.”

“Yes.”

There is a short pause in the exchange until Mary breaks the silence. “Do you have any more personal questions to ask me before we start?”

Harry was at a loss for words so he said the first thing that came to mind. “Do we have a time limit? Bio psychoanalysts…”

“Ancient history. No time limit. I’ll be here as long as you need me.”

Or Makr wants me to be here, thought Harry.

“I have dreams, weird dreams,” he blurted out.

“Yes, I know.”

“I can’t move my body.”

“Actually, you can move your head in your dreams. Technically, that’s…”

“I know…part of my body.”

“Hmmm.”

“Wait. How’d you…”

She smiled and winked a knowing wink.

“In my dreams, I hear a loud banging—like someone banging on old-fashioned metal cooking pots…”

“And…?”

Exasperated, he exploded. “And? And! I don’t want to feel this way.”

“Temper,” she cautioned gently. “How does that make you feel?”

Harry backed down and took a breath.

“Besides the pain?”

She nodded. “The pain is important, too. We’ll come back to it. That is, if you don’t mind.”

“No. No…of course not.” He had almost forgotten he was talking to a Makr SensaVision program. No harm yet. Maybe some answers.

She looked at him inquiringly.

“Harry?

“Angry. Afraid.”

“Angry you’ll lose control? Afraid you’ll lose your identity? Which?”

“Both. Yeah, something like that. Exactly like that, actually. Hey, how’d you do that, Doc?” That made sense to Harry. He didn’t like the answer, but she made sense.

“What else, Harry?

“When it’s all over, I feel bad—worthless, I guess. Exhausted and kinda worthless.”

“I see.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want the dreams to happen at all,” he stated emphatically.

“You need not concern yourself with this. Makr has everything under control. He is looking out for you. I am here now to help you get through this. Our dreams are our teachers. We must listen to them.”

The psychobabble began.

Reluctantly, Harry felt her vibes, embraced her empathy, and was seduced and violated by her verbal rhythm. Her sweet, whispering, soothing voice enslaved him with a melodic and rhythmic hypnotic dance, attaching her programmed thoughts to his psyche.

Confession of a Reading Snob

I never thought I’d say this, but I must confess I am a reading snob. And, I agree with every other e-book writer out here. I admit to having published not one, but four books digitally. And, one of them is a novel. There is nothing on paper unless I print on demand.

There is snobbery in the publishing business. Always has been–always will. They will always lean toward the blockbuster sure thing. However, that snobbery is not just in the publishing of a new writer, who in the end self-publishes, but there’s a kind of snobbery that comes with taking up an e-book for the first time and reading it.

My wife is not one of those people; she doesn’t see the need to keep books. She’s had two or three different e-readers. Me? Keep me out of book stores, library sales, etc. I’d always come home with several books. My dilemma  was not how I was going to publish it more along the line of figuring out if already had this book at home. I wrestled long and hard with notion of even reading a book I couldn’t put on a shelf others could see. So, I was the snob.

Then, I wrote a novel. Got an agent who quit being an agent, and went back to writing. Got another agent who dropped out altogether and another (I don’t know what happened to him). For some reason, having nothing to do with my book, I seemed to have bad luck with agents.

Since my novel is science fiction, I sent the manuscript directly to the big science fiction publishing houses and was gently rejected, but one sent me a nice handwritten note about a page in length that really just said to keep writing and that hard science fiction and fantasy was the “dish of the day.” My novel is not hard science fiction. Technically, it is a dystopian novel with a sense of humor. Ironically, I’ve made so many changes recently to update the technology in it…

I had to publish quickly or the technology of today would overwhelm the technology in my book. It would be like writing a novel that took place in today, but there was only 1970’s technology in evidence. So, that meant self-publishing. For various reason, financial being one, I decided to publish it as an e-book. There was a learning curve. Still is. I began reading e-books, but only those written by the masters I already read in paper. I felt like a traitor. I wasn’t really. I was just a snob, a reading snob. Then, I had to broaden my list of writers because I would finish a book before the next one came out. I found myself struggling to find authors to read. Sometimes I would re-read a book; when it was on one my bookshelves, it was easier to tell if I had already read it or not, but in the e-book library, not so easy.

But then it happened. I found some free e-books and started reading them, too. If I didn’t like what I read, I deleted it. It was harder to actually throw away a hard copy. Mostly mentally. Honestly, some of the e-books weren’t as good as the best sellers, but I didn’t expect them to be, and I suspect it is because they may not have been as researched as much, copy edited as much, or have support and feedback of a major publisher. The e-book writers convince themselves that they are good enough to have been published by the major print players, but the world isn’t ready for them yet, or their story is out of sync (my particular favorite) with the market.

I read e-books now. So, I guess, I’m an equal opportunity snob. Don’t you love it when you ask someone why he or she doesn’t read e-books and the answer is: “I like the feel of paper when I read.” It sounds a bit perverted. Meanwhile, I’m trying to decide if I want to publish with Smashwords again or go with Amazon KDP. I think I’ll go with Amazon; they have a better mainstream reputation. I wish it were different, but it’s not.

The more you read e-books, the more likely it is that e-book authors will become more respectable. I don’t want paper published books to go away, but I do wish our youth would read more. I don’t care what format it’s in. Studies say we aren’t reading for entertainment anymore; however, gone with that also go one of the ways of developing and nourishing an interest in exploring the real world.

So, if you read e-books, regularly, and not just the blockbuster writers, maybe the big guys will give the new, little guys a chance. The big guys were quick to start e-publishing as soon as the e-readers became available. They couldn’t afford the revenue lost to digital books, but e-books, in fact, have not made a dent in the publishing empire; it is a corporate world after all. I have read some bad e-novels that were not my choice of a good read, but I also have read some that surprised and fascinated me.