My newest novel, “The Shaman”, is due out 30 Sept ’23 – Care to review it?

  • First, my newest novel, The Shaman, will be published 30 Sept 2023. You can get a taste of The Shaman on my blog.
  • Second, you can pre-order The Shaman on Amazon (I’d be thrilled if you did. So would all the words in the book. And the characters. The story itself, even!)
  • Third, from 30 Sept to 15 Nov The Shaman will be on promo (99¢ Kindle, $17.99 Print). Be sure to get a copy for yourself, several copies to give as gifts for the approaching holidays, and tell everyone you know it’s available and it’s a great read!
  • Last, would you like a free The Shaman PDF or ePub ARC in exchange for a review on Amazon, Goodreads, and/or BookBub? You would? Then respond to this email letting me know you’d like either a PDF or ePub ARC and when the review will go up (The Shaman is ~450 print pages). I’ll email the ARC ASAP within a day or two of receiving your response.

The rest of this email contains The Shaman early reader comments (which are front matter in the book. Your comments could join them if you get them to me before 26 Sept 2023) and blurbs.

Early Reader Comments
The Shaman is Campbell’s The Hero’s Journey writ large in the modern world.”

“The story is a primer for spirit work, thank you.”

“Although, as usual in a Carrabis story, some parts of this novel are uncomfortable, I enjoyed it very much. Gio needed to experience those things to learn and grow.”

“It’s uplifting to read about a character having experiences similar to some of mine. I don’t have his power or training, but the sensitivity and awareness are familiar. This will be another healing book and perhaps a training manual for empaths and light workers.”

“Gio Fortuna, a boy spurned by his parents for being “slow,” is raised by his grandfather in the ways of the Practice, a rich esoteric discipline drawing upon mystic traditions passed down over thousands of years from a multitude of cultures. Written in five parts chronicling Gio’s life, The Shaman sees Fortuna embark on a journey from initiate to adept, young boy to old man, as he navigates a network of teachers, each with their own unique lessons and challenges. Steeped in wisdom applicable to all, The Shaman is an inspiring story that proposes a unique path to self-discovery and growth unlike anything written before.”

The Shaman is a metaphysical memoir, the diary of Gio Fortuna (‘John Chance’ in English), who embarks on a decades long search to discover his own purpose and meaning in life, to answer “Why am I here?”
Gio, misdiagnosed as mentally deficient while a babe still in diapers, is about to be institutionalized by his parents. His grandparents, known and respected around the world as Guardians and Keepers of The Practice, a collection of mystical traditions developed, secreted away, and now known only to a few, rescue him and, not believing what the doctors have said, begin training him in their ways.
The novel follows Gio on a quest much like the hero in Campbell’s The Hero’s Journey, and is his first person account of recognizing there’s more to the world than modern society recognizes, his discoveries while on that quest, and his return to the modern world to use what’s he’s learned wisely.”

The Alibi (A John Chance Mystery) – Chapter 19

YO! Brand new!


The Alibi – Chapter 19

Dev Surely rode the T home from work, took a quick shower, put on summer weight clothes more befitting a hot Boston June than an overly air-conditioned megastore, poured herself an ice tea, and sat on her porch overlooking Dorchester Bay.

It had not taken long for this to become her end-of-day routine. For student housing, this was quite a find. Frankly, she believed this whole building was a safe house and every apartment was monitored, videod, and otherwise privacy invaded.

You didn’t find places like this in Southie any more.

She wondered if DDOS Connelly secretly watched her shower.

Rumor was she wasn’t his type. Wrong plumbing. Not that it mattered. He’d always been playfully respectful since their first meeting back in McLouth, Kansas.

She hadn’t been back home in years now. Couldn’t contact her folks for fear of compromising them with all her undercover work.

Wouldn’t Mom and Dad be proud, though? Your baby girl who ran the risk of getting kicked out of school weekly is one of this country’s top counter-terrorist agents? So much so even MI6 and Mossad asked for her by name.

Connelly kept them apprised, he said.

Good old Connelly.

She sipped her ice tea, her feet up on the porch railing and looked out over Boston Harbor north from Southie, which wasn’t really south but tell that to native Bostonians and most would knock your eye out.

The glass sweated and some of the cool XXX ran down her fingers. She took the glass in her other hand, snapped the wet one to dry it off, and transferred her ice tea back before taking another swallow.

She didn’t mind being hit on on her way to work and back, but for Christ’s sake take a wash when you get off shift before you hit somebody up for a date; stale body odor does not a good first impression make.

She made one friend in her few weeks here. Irene Casey. Black Irish and, as far as Dev could tell, a good cop.

They met in a bar when Dev looked to create some local cover. Sat side-by-side by chance and found drunks assumed they were together hence left them alone. Except one idiot who decided women were Les because they never had the right cock. He tried to knock Dev off her stool. Dev didn’t want to draw attention but it didin’t matter. Before she responded Casey lifted the guy off the floor, flattened him on her stool, sat on him, and continued slowly sipping her beer.
Jensen came forward. Slightly bent at the waist, she supported herself by placing her hands on the control panel’s edge while she scanned Boyd’s screens. “Sounds like they’re having a conversation, doesn’t it?”

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The Alibi (A John Chance Mystery) – Chapter 16

Yes, this is brand new. I skipped Chapter 15 because it’s pretty much what was The Alibi (A John Chance Mystery) – Chapter 12 (New).


The Alibi – Chapter 15

Master Chief Sonar Technician Boyd sat at the Henderson James‘ sonar station. Her right hand held a headphone snug against her ear, her left hand adjusted analog verniers on her board.

Chief of the Boat Jensen stood behind her on her right and leaned slightly forward to watch and, she hoped, get an idea of what Boyd did. “I thought all that stuff was digital now.”

Boyd kept her eyes on meters and gauges. Her fingers turned the vernier so minutely her movements wouldn’t have disturbed spider silk.

“Seaman Oyster’s been released from sickbay.”

Boyd continued her focus.

“Captain Hudon’s got a Neil Robinson with heavy duty restraints and a comm pipe where nobody will find you all picked out in case you cause trouble again.”

“It helps if you don’t talk right now. And don’t make fun of people’s names.”

Jensen folded her harms over her chest and leaned back against the station’s doorjamb. “You gave him that name.”

“I’m a bad person.”

Boyd’s eyes moved from one diagnostics screen to the next. Recumbrance? Check. Integration? Check. ABFAC Cones? Check. Towed Array? Check? Transform Analysis? Check. AI Separation? Check.

Boyd shook her head. One hand kept her headphones tight to her right ear, her other hand continued their ministrations over dials and switches.

Run another series check?


She turned to a second set of screens along a wall projecting from the sonar displays.

Jensen looked as well. “Anything on the ES-10?”

“Nothing. Unless somebody’s got something way beyond what we have, this is pure biologic.” Boyd ran diagnostics. “Or the most sophisticated ‘droppers DARPA can come up with suck.”

“What biologic out of Boston has a signature like that?”

Boyd turned back to her sonar panel. Two screens showed Sherlock’s progress analyzing the signals, one coming out of Boston harbor, the other out beyond the continental shelf.

It kept coming up blank and asking for help.

Boyd leaned back. Her eyes continued their dance over her screens. She flipped a switch and the signals came over her station speakers. “Ever hear of Tim Storms? He’s a singer and voice actor with the lowest voice on record. He can sing too low for humans to hear but elephants and whales hear him fine.”

“You think he’s singing in a shower somewhere in the Back Bay?”


Jensen came forward. Slightly bent at the waist, she supported herself by placing her hands on the control panel’s edge while she scanned Boyd’s screens. “Sounds like they’re having a conversation, doesn’t it?”

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The Alibi (A John Chance Mystery) – Chapter 14

Pretty sure this is brand new.


The Alibi – Chapter 14

Sean, always careful when he dove, prepped as before at the USS Boston memorial.

Nothing and no one.

He put on gear not usually carried on a free dive: a small tank with a thirty minute air supply, a headlamp and a backup snapped to his belt, night vision goggles, an Argonaut knife strapped to his calf, and a multi purpose camera on a chest harness.

One last equipment and harness check and he slid into the water.

At the cave mouth he checked his watch and rechecked his gear and harness.

All good.

Okay, Sean. Let’s go exploring.

He surfaced so slowly and clean it seemed the ocean hesitated letting him go, as if fearful of losing one of its own. No wake, no ripple, less sound than that caused by the tunnel’s natural pulsing with the waves and tides.

He waited, only the crown of his head down to his eyes above the waterline and at the edge where the tunnel opened to the cave floor. He rotated slowly to go unnoticed by anything living be in the cave.

Nothing save the bioluminescence of the algae lining the walls. Did this cave fill at high tide? Water seeks its own level, but to fill the air in the cave must escape.

He focused and rotated again, this time seeking areas where algae didn’t cling to the walls.

Ah! There and there. And two more over there.

His hands shifted from maintaining depth to slightly lifting until his ears surfaced.

Again, nothing. Only the sound natural to a underground, underwater cave.

The water rippled softly.

He put his hands on the edge of the floor.


The passive sonar thing from before?

No, not the same.

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The Alibi (A John Chance Mystery) – Chapter 13 (New. Newish? (and so it goes))

As I wrote in The Alibi (A John Chance Mystery) – Chapter 12 (New), rewrites are in progress.

The month of July saw chapter juggling to avoid timeline conflicts, lots of editing, plus several new chapters in what I’ve already shared and, of course, stuff you’ve never seen.

God, I hope it’s worth it.

The Alibi – Chapter 13

Irene Casey smiled back at Professor Red “Gentleman John” Willmette as she took her seat in Forensics 517, an advanced lab with the prestigious title Forensics Materials, Standards, and Guidelines.

517 was the only course Willmette taught because he created the department some fifty plus years ago, had academic, government, industry, and law enforcement connections covering the globe, and was the Erdös of the Forensics community. Investigators evaluated each other by their Willmette number: Did you co-author a paper with Willmette? You were a Willmette-One. Did you co-author a paper with someone who was a Willmette-One? You were a Willmette-Two. Go to any conference and the floor was saturated with Willmette-Tens, -Elevens, and -Twelves, and you couldn’t get a teaching position in the field unless you were a Willmette-Six or better.

A recognized authority in several forensic disciplines, he created Semiotic Forensics, what some people called Environmental Forensics, and he always laughed when he heard the term. “Yes, we investigate the environmental system, but derive meaning from recognizing every element in a given environment is a sign, consciously or non-consciously chosen by the individual – from the petty crook to the white-collar likes of Madoff – to enhance their experience of the event under investigation.” Known as “Gentlemen John,” he lived the hobo life for six months to learn the language of their signs in order to solve a cold case.

Which he did.

And brought down an organization that made The French Connection look like a toddler’s soccer game.

Despite several attempts on his life.

Nobody did that kind of thing anymore.

But now?

Now he was everyone’s favorite uncle who knew all the funny stories about the family and neighborhood, and if you took 517 be prepared to laugh hard and work harder.

Lab benches ringed the room, the center taken up with the standard classroom desk layout, and he had people sit alphabetically, but by first name, not last, so Irene sat dead center of the fifteen students joining her.

Willmette, who had to dip his head when going through most doorways, reached down and rapped his knuckles on the desk. “Let’s get started. We’re going to have a guest with us today, and this guest,” he checked his watch, “in addition to a resume too long to recount in detail, is a member of CSAFE, a Senior Policy Advisor to the National Commission on Forensic Science, and a Senior Fellow at OSAC.” He checked his watch a second time and glanced at the door. “Yes, any minute now…”

One of Casey’s classmates nudged her. She wrote in the top margin of her notebook “CSAFE NIST Center of Excellence in Forensic Science. OSAC Organization of Scientific Area Committees for Forensic Science.”

Willmette loosened his bow tie. “Why don’t we all continue with our lab work until our guest arrives. Ladies and gentleman, to your benches.”

Casey and the rest moved to their research stations. She kept some of the communion wafer she picked up that night she let Captain Romantic off the hook and analyzed it the best she could. She took a different tact than outlined in the manuals – look for compositional analogs. What were the communion wafers like?

Footsteps hurried down the hall. Willmette stood by the door and spread his arms like P.T. Barnum introducing Gargantua, the world’s largest gorilla.


A petite woman, just over half Willmette’s height, mid-fifties woman with close cropped, strikingly blonde hair and a deep Mediterranean complexion stopped in the door way. She supported herself with one hand on the doorjam, looked up at Willmette and smiled. “How late am I, sir?”

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