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BISHOP BEAR

Enabling Emerging Storytellers

A NEW KIND OF PUBLISHING

Undiscovered. If that’s how YOU feel, you’ve arrived. And we’re here to help. 
 
We’re like a Pixar for books. An incubator for storytelling startups. Unearthing budding authors with raw talent to help them create their breakthroughs. 
 
And although we’re just seeding our first acts, more than 30 years of combined content experience for brands like Nike, Under Armour, eBay, and Overstock are reaping tasteful narratives. 
 
We’re learning as we grow. Together. And a portion of the proceeds will go to charities of each author’s choice that correspond to their characters so the world is enriched as readers turn the page. 
 
Welcome to Bishop Bear! Enabling Emerging Storytellers.

Our First Author's books

Brandon Jozef

heroin-highway-stacked-books

Brandon Jozef has been an award-winning writer, editor, and producer for some of your favorite brands and a variety of the world’s best creative agencies for more than 15 years. He lives in Western Pennsylvania with his wife and children, a relentless source of both two- and four-legged inspiration. Heroin Highway is his debut novel and the start of the Braxton Barrett series.

Julieta Elizabeta

Julieta Elizabeta is creating a series of children’s books based on what has worked with her own daughters at story time. The first part of a series of sing-while-you-learn books in production, Marzena’s Milk and Cookies will launch in late 2022.

Aivree Noelle

Aivree Noelle, an 11-year-old prodigy, is writing her first novel, Mrs. Schnozzberry. A whimsical tale about a school teacher trying to keep the world safe with her magical nose, this inspiring title will launch mid 2023.

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Read a snippet of Heroin Highway

     Pop-pop.

     This time, Braxton hooked Rachel’s arm. They froze. Crouched low.

     He spun her close.

     Go. Get help. I got this, he said. Pure, instant calm. 

     Rachel blinked once. Hard. Flashed wide eyes. Nodded even faster as Braxton shoved her down the hall away from the gunshots. He turned and broke into a three-quarter’s sprint, as quiet and light as speed would allow. Slid his gun out on the fly. Hit the wall on the left side of the T in a deep crouch. Pressed himself inward on the wall and leaned a quick peek around the corner. Glimpsed the man lording over a fallen officer, gun drawn, facing him at an acute angle.

     Instinct took complete control as Braxton stepped out and aimed center mass.

     Pop-pop.

     The man dropped to his knees as steel lightning ripped through his chest. He looked up at Braxton. Recognized the relaxed wrath in the detective’s eyes.

     Termínalo, the man snarled.

     Nah… Braxton said. You’re already dead. The real price of what you got up to tonight is pain

     Braxton snapped his sight an inch up and an inch right of the dark, oozing circle on the man’s chest that grew larger by the heartbeat.

     Pop-pop.

     The man’s body flailed as bullets broke the bones in his left shoulder. He gurgled his own blood but refused to scream. Braxton popped his eyebrows and paused for effect. Slid his sight left.

     Termí…nalo

     Alright then.

     Pop-pop.

     This double impact, and the shattered right clavicle to match, sent the man to the floor—writhing and choking on his defiance as he drowned from the inside out.

     Braxton hustled over to check on the cop. Knelt down, pressed at the neck, and got no pulse. Cold, dead eyes filled him with regret.

     Braxton whipped out his burner and flipped open the message to Tomas Trevino.


EAST EMERGENCY EXIT. BACK STAIRWELL.

     COMIN OUT HOT.

     He rose and stepped into Aimee’s room. Lights set low, in case she woke. Machines beeped. Helped her hydrate and breathe. Briefed her broken body to go under the surgeon’s knife.

     Discúlpeme, señor, a heavy accent surprised Braxton from behind. Another tormentor, another Mexican man.

     Cold steel pressed into the base of his skull.

     Clicked.

     Braxton raised his arms. Knew he had to do the dance. 

     A delicate hand removed Braxton of his weapon. He braced for impact.

     The man you just killed is not the man who shot your lovely wife tonight, the accent said. Perfect English.

     How’n the hell would you know that?

     Because I am.

     Braxton felt his blood boil—a full-body burn, from his fingers to his feet.

     Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now.

     Oh, Señor Barrett. There’s no need for such hostility! And then there is the matter of my finger on the trigger of the gun in the back of your neck. So you see, it behooves you to listen to me.

     Not really givin’ me much to work with, buddy…

     You Americans, always with no patience. But you are a man of reason, yes? Okay! I tell you a short story: the man you just killed, first, he tried to kill me. This changes things. You and me, now we are on the same team!

     I’m listenin’…

     The cold and the pressure on his neck vanished.

     Braxton felt the man with the accent take a step back. Then two. Forced his body loose, all pins and needles, not coiled but ready to strike.

     Turned to stare down fate.

     The man pushed up the dimmer on the room lights.

     A chill shot through Braxton’s spine. 

     As I live and breathe…

     Cairo Martínez mock curtsied. Looked Braxton square in the eye.

     For now, there is no time. You will forgive a man for trying to do his job tonight, and a man will blow your mind. This is better than blowing your brains out, Cairo said. Raised an eyebrow and tilted his head.

     The math of the moment made sense. Had to. Braxton knew he should be dead; knew he had a surprise waiting outside.

     Braxton nodded. Simple, flat, and plain.

     Guess it’s still a good day to make bad decisions, he said.

     Yes! I’m a bad man, this is true. But there are many you know far worse than me. Come, and I will tell you everything.

     Cairo gestured with both guns toward the stairwell, and Braxton took the lead…