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Human narrated audio is either very expense or requires about 4 hours per finished hour of work to create. A typical novel requires 28-40 hours to narrate (a full work week if we could it all at once) that AI can produce in minutes. We prefer the former and will continue to do those on occasion, but we feel that the AI audio quality has finally crossed the threshold into an enjoyable listen and want to make the audio of our books more readily available. Check out the sample below to see if you agree.

WHAT THE READER GETS:
>Your choice of formats: Kindle, Epub, Print, or Audio.
>Great deals, boxsets, and occasional exclusives.

WHAT THE WRITER GETS:
>25-70% more money.

DELIVERY:
>eBooks: delivered within minutes (seconds) by BookFunnel. May be read in BF app or loaded to the app of your choice.
>Audiobooks: delivered by Bookfunnel. May be listened to in their excellent app (our favorite).
>Print books: will deliver in 1-2 weeks from our printer.

Carla Anderson rolled up to the looming storm-fence gate on her brother’s midnight-blue Kawasaki Ninja 1000 motorcycle. The pounding of the engine against her sore butt emphasized every mile from Fort Carson in Pueblo, Colorado—home of the 4th Infantry and hopefully never again the home of Sergeant Carla Anderson. The bike was all she had left of Clay, other than a folded flag, and she was here to honor that.
If this was the correct here.
A small guard post stood by the gate into a broad, dusty compound. It looked deserted and she didn’t see a camera.
This was Fort Bragg, North Carolina. She knew that much. Two hundred and fifty square miles of military installation, not counting the addition of the neighboring Pope Army Airfield. With a population of a quarter million, it was the most populous base.
She’d gotten her Airborne parachute training here and had never learned what was hidden here. Bragg was exactly the sort of place where a tiny, elite unit of the US military could disappear—in plain sight.
Bragg was the glorious home of the 82nd Airborne. This hidden remote compound lurked in the corner like month-old laundry and had been a bitch to find. What she could see through the battered fence definitely ranked worst on base.
The setup was totally whacked.
Standing outside the fence at the empty guard post she could see a large, squat building across the compound. The gray concrete structure was incongruously cheerful with bright pink roses along the front walkway—the only landscaping visible anywhere. More recent buildings—in better condition only because they were newer—ranged off to the right. She could breach the old fence in numerous places in the hundred-meter span she could see, before it disappeared into a clump of scrub drooping in the June heat.
Wholly indefensible.
There was no way that this could be the headquarters of the top combat unit in the military.
Unless this actually was their home, in which case the indefensible fence—inde-fence-ible?—was a complete sham designed to fool a sucker. She’d stick with the main gate.
She peeled off her helmet and scrubbed at her long brown hair to get air back into her scalp. Guys always went gaga over her hair, which was a useful distraction at times. She always wore it as long as her successive commanders allowed. Pushing the limits was one of her personal life policies.
She couldn’t help herself. When there was a limit, Carla always had to see exactly how far it could be nudged. Surprisingly far was usually the answer. Her hair had been at earlobe length in Basic. By the time she joined her first forward combat team, it brushed her jaw. Now it was down on her shoulders. It was actually something of a pain in the ass at this length—another couple inches before it could reliably ponytail—but she did like having the longest hair in the entire unit.
Carla called out a loud “Hello!” at the empty compound shimmering in the heat haze.
No response.
Using her boot in case the tall chain-link fence was electrified, she gave it a hard shake, making it rattle loudly in the dead air. Not a peep of birdsong in the oppressive midday heat.
A rangy man in his late forties or early fifties, his hair half gone to gray, wandered around from behind a small shack as if he happened to be there by chance. He was dressed like any off-duty soldier: worn khaki pants, a black t-shirt, and scuffed Army boots. He slouched to a stop and tipped his head to study her from behind his Ray-Bans. He needed a haircut and a shave. This was not a soldier out to make a good first impression.
“Don’t y’all get hot in that gear?” He nodded to indicate her riding leathers without raking his eyes down her frame, which was both unusual and appreciated.
“Only on warm days,” she answered him. It was June in North Carolina. The temperature had crossed ninety hours ago and the air was humid enough to swim in, but complaining never got a girl anywhere.
“What do you need?”
So much for the pleasantries. “Looking for Delta.”
“Never heard of it,” the man replied with a negligent shrug. But something about how he did it told her she was in the right place.

Initial Publication: 1 Dec 2015
Print pages: 380
Audio length (h:mm): 9:40
Narrator: AI Audio at Spoken.press