PRE-PUBLICITY FOR "THE CAPTIVE CONDITION: A NOVEL"

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From River City Reading:

 "Ten Books I Can't Wait to Read in 2015"

READ ARTICLE HERE

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"THE CAPTIVE CONDITION: A NOVEL" LAUNCHES AT COMIC-CON INTERNATIONAL

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THE CAPTIVE CONDITION launches at the 2015 San Diego Comic-Con International on July 9! Kevin P. Keating  has received starred reviews for  THE CAPTIVE CONDITION   (Pantheon Books,  7/7/2015 ) , including this from  Library Journal:   “A weird and wonderfully rendered universe . . . . A highly literary look at the faces of evil in almost all of its guises . . . . Oh, and many characters here are constantly high on psychedelic carrot juice.”  Emulating a modern day Edgar Allan Poe, coupled with the creepy brilliance of HBO’s True Detective, THE CAPTIVE CONDITION is at once chilling, deliciously dark, and quirkily hilarious. As a boilermaker turned author, Kevin has a fascinating and unique take on thriller writing. Kevin appears on the  Horror/Thriller panel  on  Thursday, July 9 at 4 pm  ( Room 25ABC ). READ MORE HERE
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From the Summer 2020 edition of  Potato Soup: Samantha Serpentini is an insufferable little warthog. Associate editor of the school’s monthly newsletter, vice president of the Youth Leadership Council, quintessential overachiever, class snitch, she sits, arms crossed, high in the bleachers and slowly shakes her head so everyone knows just how displeased she is to be here. From beneath the bangs of her severe black bob, she glares at her teachers and in her most truculent voice tells them that the phony jousts at Camelot’s Court are “a sickening display of savagery.” Her carefully articulated outrage surprises no one. Fond of using modish words, Samantha seems to believe existence itself is a kind of affront to moral decency.  READ THE STORY HERE
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The Quivering Pen : From Culver City in the northeast to Venice Beach in the southwest, the immense concrete slab of Venice Boulevard runs diagonally through some of the least scenic terrain in all of Los Angeles, passing under Interstate 405 and bisecting the Mar Vista neighborhood until it reaches, after seven interminable treeless miles, the freakiest beach in North America where middle-aged men wearing floral pattern Speedos do drug-induced dances on the boardwalk with their 1980s boomboxes pressed to their ears and where thickly muscled acrobats hopping around on pogo sticks mesmerize large crowds of weekend sun-worshipers.   As I boarded the number 33 bus near Culver City I asked the driver, “How long does it take to get to the beach from here?”  The driver was strangely evasive.   “Uh…maybe…oh…twenty minutes or so,” he said, and I knew he was lying.  “Really?  But it’s only seven miles away.”  Standing behind me, swaying back and fort...
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