Ocean's Debut Novel, The Sea Wraithe, a thrilling mysterious paranormal romance book Twilight fans will love has just emerged, and is now available everywhere! Visit Amazon Kindle and get yours today!
The Sea Wraithe, a surreal exploration of inner turmoil, the occult, love and passion, and final justice within a murder mystery suspense thriller, features a charismatic world class surfer, the first surfing celebrity, and his encounter with shamanistic power, his quest for wholeness through an entrancing beauty, and his inability to handle fame. A modern-day Heathcliff, Ocean's book has been called " A contemporary Wuthering Heights", and her writing compared to Stephen King's as well as to Emily Bronte's.
Excerpt from The Sea Wraithe by Ocean:
Excerpt from The Sea Wraithe, c. 2013, novel by Ocean, all rights reserved, available on Amazon Kindle at this link:
“...When the lights from the passing car shone, Wade remembered to be wary
of everyone, of every vehicle.
The last thing he wanted was to be pulled over with Mara in the car, and to have her be questioned.
What if she was from a private family?
Now, since he had told her about the situation and since she hadn’t reacted
much, he felt she must not be married, or living with a dude, which had been his greatest fear.
She must be free! He thought. Or she wouldn’t have come riding with me tonight! She wouldn’t even speak to me if she had any entanglements, after knowing that I’m being wanted by the police!
Another hurdle passed!
Wade did a U-turn in the middle of the highway and started up toward Santa Barbara, where he’d gone to school for awhile, and where he’d go to party and sometimes to surf.
He’d take the beach road the whole way.
After County Line, where the turns gets intense, he noticed that she seemed to
approve of the way Wade took them – at full speed and gaining – and he started
She smiled, her hair flying backward in huge, bilious dark clouds, and as the
strands would fly wildly around, some would lash out at him and stay tied to his face, so stubbly was his beard.
He hadn’t shaven for days.
He’d like to, at least, shave it into a goatee.
Then he thought for just a moment about how he’d disguise himself, if he
wanted to flee, with Mara, if she would, down into Mexico.
He toyed with the idea of dying his hair, for a moment, into the same shade of
lovely soft charcoal that Mara’s hair was, along with his beard, and adopting a
Then he laughed out loud to himself, and looking at Mara between turns, the
tires squealing, he saw that she was laughing too.
Had she caught the joke?
As the curves went on, he passed the huge rocks on the coast, and then more
hairpin turns above the sea coast, as they sped on, her hair flying, her face ignited here and there by stray street lights.
All of the other drivers were in bed by now, and they had the highway to
themselves, which was so often the case when Wade would take these suicidal
drives at night, often all the way up to San Francisco, through Big Sur, along the cracked and crumbling old roads, the rocks falling into the long, deep drop into the unseen Pacific, down the precipices.
Mara seemed equally suicidal, and this sealed it with Wade – she had to be his
He’d never believed in such things before, but now, with her, her eyes bright,
her mouth open in laughter, perfectly relaxed as Wade tore through the night on
that capricious highway, each turn more precarious than the first, he felt himself open up and let out raucous laughter, loud and hearty, loud enough to be heard above the squeals of the tires and the roar of the sea, beating the rocks below.
As he laughed, his stomach muscles tightened so much that it almost hurt, and
his uproarious laughs began to get convulsive and compulsive, like he almost
As he would take little peaks at Mara, when he could manage it as he drove like a madman toward hell, and as the eerie lights would twinkle on and off, he noticed
again how often she looked just the littlest bit blue, like that pale blue color, and once, while he drove crazily, he glanced at her and he could swear – with all those light changes, those on and offs, like a psychedelic strobe, that she had disappeared altogether once – and then instantly reappeared.
He was having mind blinks. His brain was so loaded that it was playing tricks on him.
Better cool it with the drugs, he thought.
At least until they got somewhere and even at least until the cops had interrogated him.
He just hoped they’d find Glenda, alive or dead, and leave him the fuck alone.
Leave them the fuck alone.
As her laughter – that high, ringing laughter of children, so fine and pure, like a
bell, kind of – pealed out past the open top of the car, and rang into his soul, he
thought again that her voice was indescribably attractive, like something he could barely resist, and he felt again like pulling over and just holding onto her.
And at times, during this rough ride Northward, he’d see that she, too, had gone into convulsive laughter, into some sort of zone where her laughter sounded really maniacal, and he’d see the whole set of her teeth in her open mouth, and her face squinched up the way it does when people laugh, and he’d almost be put off by it.
Oh, Man! Stay off the coke! He told himself.
You’re getting paranoid!
And then, just for one second, the thought of what that crazy old man had said - Rodney’s poor, old great grandpa, the Shaman, and then he thought of other Shamen he’d met in his travels around the world, and of other drugs, and ceremonies, and of how rich and strange and wild and beautiful the whole thing is – the world, it’s peoples, places, and how insane all those beliefs were, and he remembered the Huna guys, the elders with all that kava kava, and the ‘shrooms in Central America, and the Gypsies in Eastern Europe, and some deep, silent Buddhist Monks in the mountains of Central Asia, the full-on witch doctors and rituals in Central Africa, and the whirling Sufis in Turkey, on the stark Anatolian Plateau..
So many places, so much magic, so many drugs..
Slow yourself down...
He had been feeling like he was getting transmissions...like someone else’s
thoughts for awhile now...
He thought he must be coming apart.
He remembered so many experiences all at once that he was having what they
call an epiphany or an episode of ecstasy – not the drug – the experience.
Wade felt the electricity churning through him of a million years of human
experience, and the wild vibes of all the wild animals and the jungles and plains, mountains, and deserts, and the far oceans of exotic lore – the Indonesian Islands, the lands further South, the Malaysian coasts, the beauty and mystery of all the oceanic places and the fragrances, the hypnotic elements he’d traveled into and with, and all the experiences flooded into him like he was having an LSD trip like he was caught in a cosmic whirlwind, and when he’d look at Mara, he saw there a force of Nature more intense than anyting he’d ever witnessed before – mightier than the hurricaines he’d lived through, than the floods and fires of his life, of his childhood, of the traveling, the surfing, the rush of winning heats and being celebritized, of his screwing strange women in strange lands, and of all the partying he’d ever done, all rolled into one – he felt it all with the entire weight of all that intensity – good and bad things – shitty times and times of utmost bliss – all feeding through him at once, and all centered somehow on the personage of Mara, there, beside him.
She was the eye of the storm.
She as the place of ecstasy and the well of experience.
The focus. The pivotal point of existence.
She was the be all and the end all - for him.
held by my heart...helled
...in limbo...intense...without relief
I stay...another day
I count...the steps
in swirling spirals...
I fear...future tears
not wanting to be...
Who is talking through me? To me? In me?
He just didn’t know what was happening around him.
She was his center. His anchor, though. In the best way.
He felt that she was the one thing he needed and the one thing that he could
count on, could focus on.
Not that she stood for stability – far from – but that she embodied everything he’d always needed. Not comfort. Not security.
He’d always rankled at those things, anyway, always hated the cloying, confining things that most people hunger for...”
Prepare to Be Thrilled!
"I'd buy it for the poetry alone! Ocean's writing is as hypnotic as her music!" -
"Psychological thriller through hell in Malibu, Hollywood, Hawaii, and more. Some guys just can't take having everything!"
"Spell-binding tale of beauty and burn-out as a celebrity meets his own unconscious in several forms. Much more than just a thriller."
" A ghost story you'll really enjoy! You'll find yourself reading Ocean's The Sea Wraithe, all night long!"
"I love the characters, and the crime drama within the paranormal mystery will keep you guessing. Entrancing. Absorbing. Guys like it too."
"Twilight fans will LOVE it!"
On the heels of Ocean's spell-binding tale of murder, suspense, otherworldly passion and Shamaic justice in The Sea Wraithe, are three new novels!
One, a terrifying foray into serial killing, abuse and the pursuit of a truly insane felon by an unyieldingly dutiful office of the law and his loving soulmate through the wildest of territories!
Another recounts the return of a long-lost lover to an otherwise stable, married woman, accompanied by lots of terror,otherworldliness and secrets revealed!
The next, a bone-chilling murder mystery and entryway into the demented mind of a staunch Mid-Westerner who only wanted to do his best. Set in the bleakest Winter, this solitary man, a study in loneliness, is not really alone...
And the third, an Oprah shoo-in, is the story of a woman who seeks some answers and ends up finding herself on an island retreat.
See? Ocean's writing is not only about scary things!
An historical novel about a very famous woman is in the wings, along with another historical novel about a famous couple. Ocean's vivid personality studies combined with her mastery of descriptive settings lend her books an immediacy that enthralls her reading audience, just as her mesmerizing music does!