Joel Burcat writes thrillers. As a practicing environmental lawyer his focus is environmental legal thrillers that are both electrifying and accurate. His published shorter works range from thrillers about “the best beer I've ever had,” to a middle-aged lawyer running off to Italy thereby jeopardizing the lives and careers of his young associates, to midnight dumpers, to murderers for hire.

Burcat’s writings explore many facets of life, although he has a real fascination with the twists in life that are unexpected. Characters in his stories range from the person lying in bed next to you to psychopathic strip mine operators. He tries to squeeze out of the people who populate his stories the motivation underlying what they do. Their reasons for doing things are as important as their actions.

Burcat has completed five novels. Three of them are environmental legal legal thrillers, DRINK TO EVERY BEAST, AMID RAGE, and STRANGE FIRE. Watch for DRINK TO EVERY BEAST, published by Headline Books and available at bookstores, Amazon, and Kindle in April 2019. https://headlinebooks.com/ 


He’s also written a novel—LITTLE BROTHER—that is a speculative thriller about a local police department that goes to war with the FBI. His first novel—WHIZ KID—is a story set in Philadelphia in 1950 and is centered on the astonishing and unlikely season of the Philadelphia Phillies – the Whiz Kids.

Burcat grew up in Philadelphia. He has two grown daughters, and lives with his wife in Pennsylvania, the place which provides the setting for many of his stories.

About the writer.

Quote of the day:

"Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass." 

-Anton Checkov

Joel's Publisher is Headline Books, Inc.:https://headlinebooks.com/


From Amid Rage:

Trying not to react to Rinati's outburst, Sid Feldman's face had frozen into an awkward smile, his eyes twitching; Angela St. Germain's face was white and sweat trickled out of her armpits and down her plump arms, ruining her Channel silk blouse; and a reeking bubble of gas worked its way through Jimmy Podwall's colon, past yesterday's digested burrito, escaped through his anal sphincter, and seeped from between his cheeks and out of his Canali trousers, a deadly, silent neutron bomb of a fart that the lawyers struggled not to notice. Rinati glared at them with crazy eyes, then leaned over and scratched the ears of his smelly, three-legged mutt, Butch, who lifted his head and blissfully closed he eyes, allowing saliva to drip onto the hotel conference room carpet...

Joel Burcat