Author Archive: Sarah Hoyt

FROM CEDAR BEGLEY (CEDAR SANDERSON):  Wonderland: Follow the White Rabbit to Murder.

A white rabbit. A discarded gun. A detective who won’t stop digging.

When Detective Shelby Carroll follows a mysterious white rabbit to a suburban hit-and-run, she uncovers more than a simple crime. A mummified body in a red velvet room. Cryptic messages about a “Red Queen.” Neighborhood cameras watching every move. As cold cases collide with fresh murders, Shelby races through a twisted Wonderland of extortion, surveillance, and organized crime. Someone wants her silenced permanently. In this gripping police procedural, one detective must dethrone a ruthless crime boss before she becomes the next victim.

Perfect for fans of gritty female detectives, hard-boiled mysteries, and Alice in Wonderland thrillers.

SUFFERING FOR YOUR ART DOESN’T MEAN THAT:  Artists in Garrets.

FOR THE TIMES, THEY ARE ACHANGING:  The wake up call.

AS WITH ANNULLING MARRIAGES THE IDEA OF REVOKING CITIZENSHIP MAKES ME VERY UNEASY:  Your recent proclamation that “Somali Americans are here to stay” is a mendacious assertion, a fabrication woven from the threads of delusion and despair. It is a lie, plain and simple, and one that will not withstand the relentless march of truth and justice.

But as with annulling marriages, it all hinges on a vow taken, and whether or not people took it in good faith. We know Ilhan (“bro fo) Omar didn’t. Nor did many of her compatriots. And people who become citizens by fraud and never intend to assimilate didn’t do what they promised to. (Forsaking all other loyalties and allegiances.) No, I don’t actually care if our benighted government thinks we can have dual citizenship. That’s not in the oath. It’s like your husband approving of adultery. It’s still adultery. And if you intended to continue sleeping around, you didn’t swear the oath in good faith. Much less when like Ilhan you say your real citizenship is where you came from!

Link for those who lack x.

FROM ROSS HATHAWAY:  Rule 13.

In Ashburn, the city doesn’t sleep—it twitches.
It grinds men down, chews through their souls, and spits out what’s left with a crooked grin.
Once, Robert Tucker wore a badge polished bright with idealism. Fresh out of the academy, he thought he could make a difference in a city built on vice, velvet lies, and rain-slick corruption. But a decade under the neon hum and coal-smoke skies of Ashburn turned that badge into a paperweight and that hope into bourbon.
Now he’s a private eye working out of a one-room office with a bottle in his drawer, a secretary who files extortion notices under “routine,” and a conscience held together by the rules his dead partner left behind—Fallon’s Rules. Twelve of them. Not one guarantees survival.
The syndicate boss Vincent Crowe owns the city’s shadows, but when Crowe gets in over his head the rot only deepens. Tucker’s caught between crooked judges, dying reporters, and a government experiment that makes the fog itself lethal. Everyone’s selling something in Ashburn—even redemption.
In a city that eats its own, Tucker knows you don’t fight to win. You fight because you’re still breathing.
Rule 13 — a hardboiled descent through smoke, blood, and brass where justice is a rumor, truth burns like cheap whiskey, and the only clean thing left in Ashburn is the rain that never stops falling.