Category: works in progress

  • Weekly Update 05/27/2022

    As a writer of dark fiction my thoughts tend to stray into some pretty strange territory from time to time. My wife is always complaining that sometimes I’m not really there, as my mind has wandered off following an errant thread in search of an answer, or the germ of a story idea. Most of these thoughts take on the form of a what if question. Of the notions I’ve followed with that question the most intriguing one to me is: What if the universe we live in is contained within one molecule in a drop of water. Surrounded by 1.5 sextillion molecules, each containing its own universe. A vast multiverse within a single drop of water.

    There have been multiple books written about the multiverse, of those I’ve read the best one in my opinion was Dark Matter by Blake Crouch.

    Naturally we have to take this thought one step further. Where is this drop of water? In my mind it resides in a cosmic garden, a drop of dew clinging to a blade of grass, surrounded by hundreds of billions of other drops of water, each filled with multiple universes. This patch of grass lies at the base of a tree whose shadow protects the droplets of water from the sun. But the sun is moving, following its course. In a short period of cosmic time, for us that would be hundreds of trillions of years, that light will fall upon our little drop, and we will evaporate. Pretty gloomy end huh?

    Writers typically begin their careers as readers. I’m no exception, and the musing above can find its genesis in Stephen King’s The Gunslinger, book one of his Dark Tower series. Instead of a dew drop on a blade of grass, the multi-verse is contained within the molecules of the grass itself lending it a more substantive future, that is until a cosmic gardener comes along to cut the grass.

    Everyone who writes knows there is really nothing new under the sun. It’s all been done before it’s been said. The only unique thing we bring is our own view of the world and our own voice.

    Work continues on This Way to Heaven.  

    Word count update.

    Beginning total : 64,575

    Written this week: 4,668  It was actually more but I tend to edit while I write.

    New total: 69,243

    Work continues on this as well as the two shorts I’ve been focusing on.

    Here’s a little taste of Nobody’s

    Excerpt

    Another dark alley opened before me, and I hurried through the gloom, ignoring the things in my peripheral vision. I believe they were human, as least I hoped they were. At the far end of the alley a car pulled up and Velma slipped into the passenger’s seat. She looked back at me, her mouth forming an oh of surprise, then she was gone as the car sped away.

    The alley spilled out onto forty second street where life continued at its hectic pace. I was trapped between my desire to learn what happened to Velma, and a moment of time that was slowly drifting from the consciousness of those all around me.

    Sure, they remembered where they were the moment it happened, but that moment had taken a back seat to life’s nature to move on, a feat I seemed unable to perform. When I returned home that day I realized the events I’d witnessed had changed me. I no longer felt the same desires as before. In their place a hollowness had opened. It was like I was no longer a part of the living organism that was society as a whole. I was an outsider, destined to spend my life looking in at what would have been my life if I could only bring myself to accept what happened and move on.

    How many others were out there like me? Survivors for whom a simple stroke of fate saved their lives when everyone else they knew perished. Office workers who woke up with a head cold, a hangover, or simply a desire to play hooky that day. A janitor who missed his mid-town connection only to arrive as the cries of a city under attack overwhelmed the usual bustle of everyday life. We were survivors in a sense. If I had not been dwelling on the events of the day before I might have gotten a good night’s sleep and arrived in time to take my place on the stage in destiny’s ongoing play. If the janitor left a couple of minute earlier instead of grabbing that extra slice to toast, or a last kiss from his wife, they might have shown up when they were supposed to and died as destiny demanded.

    End Excerpt

    That’s all I have for this week. If you like what you’ve read and want updates when I post I’d appreciate it if you hit the like and follow button for this post and my blog. I’ll soon be giving a free short story away every month for everyone who signs up for my newsletter. I’ll share more details when they’re available.

    What book or short story have you recently read that really stuck with you? Let me know in the comments.

    Thanks for stopping by.

    Have you read All Roads Lead to Terror?

    Click on the cover image to order.

    In a chaotic, post-apocalyptic world, an endless night is closing in, and only the strong will survive. In the midst of the turmoil, fourteen-year-old Meat, and his three closest friends, embark on a mission to rescue kidnapped children from the compound enslaving them.

    Battling their way through treacherous terrain and immeasurable odds, the boys must learn to lean on each other if they hope to survive. Little do they know fate has far greater plans for them. For they represent the trinity, a symbol older than time itself, that keeps the darkness at bay.

    They are three, bound by a fourth, destined to save mankind.

    With time running out, and the cloak of eternal night descending, can the boys find a way to turn the tables on evil?

    Or will they be the next to join the growing legion of the dead?

    Grab your copy of All Roads Led to Terror today!

    Amazon

  • Weekly Update 05/20/2022

    Welcome to my weekly update, if all goes well I’ll be posting every week with updates on my current works in progress along with comments about the books I’m reading and any movies I may have watched in the past.

    Current Project

    The biggest project I’m currently working on carries the title This Way to Heaven which will likely change once the book is finished. It was a story I started working on for Kindle Vella at the end of last year. I pulled it from the platform after Amazon wrongly accused me of having multiple accounts and closed my account. I managed to get my account reopened but the fact they could so easily close it without cause made me reconsider remaining exclusive with them.

    The story is tied to my series This Lawless Land that I will take up again this year. I started book 5 at the beginning of the pandemic, and as the story unfolded I came to understand where the series was headed. I realized I needed to take a step back to explore this new route in detail, which I have been doing. Stay tuned for more details.

    In This Way to Heaven, eleven-year-old Jimmy and his three friends bear witness to the dawn of the zombie apocalypse. The story follows the survivors who live in the Willowbrook apartments in Richmond, Virginia. Willowbrook is a stately old place constructed by the rich for the rich before the start of the civil war. Rebuilt afterwards it became a playground for those with means who had some rather unsavory appetites. There are many dark secrets hidden in the bowels of the building. Now in a state of disrepair and undergoing a conversion to offices, the few remaining tenants will struggle to survive in the dawn of this new age as the ghosts of the past emerge.

    The apartment building was featured in the first book of my post-apocalyptic series, All Roads Lead to Terror. Meat, the main character from all roads, and his friends are captured by a feral cult of children who inhabit the building and worship an ancient creature that lives in the basement.

    Word count update  

    Beginning: 61,238  

    Completed this week: 3,337

    New total: 64,575

    Sneak Peek:

    Tommy lay on the floor, whimpering as blood seeped from around the hand he’d clamped over his shoulder. Ronnie was on his knees beside him trying to see how bad the damage was, but every time he tried to move Tommy’s hand, the boy cried out in agony.

    “How is he? Randy said, standing above Ronnie the pipe still in his hands.

    “How do you think he is. One of them bastards bit him. If you had stayed where you were it wouldn’t have happened. But no, you gotta be Mr. smart ass.”

    “Are you done?” Randy said, unmoved by Ronnie’s rage.

    “You asshole, you don’t give a shit about anyone but yourself.” Ronnie was pushing himself up to his feet when Randy brought around the iron pipe and struck him across the back of his neck. Ronnie dropped with a grunt, sprawling across his brother. He struggled to pull his hand under him, to push himself up when Randy brought the pipe down and shattered his skull.

    “Whadidja do that for?” Tommy said, watching him with the glassy eyes of someone going into shock. Faint black lines were spreading up the flesh of his neck, growing from his injured shoulder.

    “Because I’m gonna have to kill you Tommy, you’re gonna become one of them, and I didn’t want your brother trying to stop me from what I’ve got to do.”

    “You son of a bitch,” Tommy said as he tried to push himself up.

    “I’m sorry,” Randy said before he jammed the end of the pipe into Tommy’s left eye, driving it down through the boy’s brain, killing him instantly.

    End Excerpt

    Short Stories

    I love reading short stories but have always found it difficult to write them, yet I persist.

    One of the best I’ve read recently is Christopher Golden’s God Bag. It appears in the anthology Beyond the Veil edited by Mark Morris, go look it up, it’s chock full of some good shorts.

    Comments from early readers of my 8500-word short story, Nobody’s, is promising. A first-person account that follows a character who was late to work and witnessed the fall of the twin towers. He then starts running into people from his office who should have perished that day.

    Moving forward with Laundromat People after some very illuminating comments from early readers. When he was six William uncovered a secret in the local laundromat. As an adult he will come face to face with that secret again and will never be the same after.

    Current reads:

    Beulah by Christi Nogle

    Do not Weep For Me by Tony Tremblay

    Recently completed.

    Come With Me by Ronald Malfi 5 stars. I’m a big fan of his work.

    Summer of Night by Dan Simmons 5 stars.

    Movies:

    Haven’t watched a movie in some time, not since I saw The Quiet Place for an assignment, but I am looking forward to the next season of Love Death & Robots on Netflix, which should drop today if I didn’t mess up the scheduling of this post.

    That’s all I have for this week. If you like what you’ve read and want updates when I post I’d appreciate it if you hit the like and follow button for this post and my blog. I’ll soon be giving a free short story away every month for everyone who signs up for my newsletter. I’ll share more details when they’re available.

    What book or short story have you recently read that really stuck with you? Let me know in the comments.

    Thanks for stopping by.

  • Work in Progress

    Here’s another little taste of my current work in progress, Bitter Hollow. I’ shooting for fall of this year with this one. Sheriff Burris stops by the hospital to check on my main character. Would love to hear your thoughts in the comments.

    “One more thing,” I said.

    “Sure,” he said with a strained smile and I began to suspect I was pushing my luck. But he settled into his seat with no further comment.

    “Harold said something got into them, and about a place called Bitter Hollow, what is it?”

    The Sheriff, whose gaze had been wandering, suddenly zeroed back in on me, pinning me to my pillow with a stare that tried to mask an uneasiness fluttering around the edges of his hardened features.

    “What did he say, exactly?” the sheriff said as he leaned forward.

    “He said it got into him, it was in all of them, and something about warning him to stay away from Bitter Hollow.”

    “It’s nothing to worry about, really.” Sheriff Burris patted my good shoulder with a reassuring touch. “It’s just an old wives’ tales, and folk lore. The older folk around these parts come from a time and place where such things were believed to be real.”

    “So, what is it?”

    “Nothing, really, you focus on getting better.” The sheriff pushed himself up from his seat.

    “You know, I spent six years walking a beat in Baltimore, another six carrying a gold shield, three of those on major cases. I know when someone’s lying to me, and you’re lying, what gives about Bitter Hollow?”

    Taking a deep breath, the sheriff settled back into his seat, “there’s not much to tell, really, back when my father was a young boy a traveling preacher held a tent revival in Bitter Hollow, said the name fit as everyone he met seemed bitter and distant. Of course, in them days if you weren’t family or known by such, no one really trusted you. He felt he could do some good for the people of the area, bring god into their lives and give them some hope.”

    “The night of the revival someone knocked over an oil lamp and the old canvas of the tent, dry as tinder, went up like a match. Only about twenty people, the preacher among them, managed to escape. There were some in the area who believed an evil spirit was responsible for what happened and avoided the place from then on. Some even went as far as to accuse the preacher of being a demon in disguise.”

    “What happened to the preacher?”

    “Word was he got lynched by an angry mob who had relatives that perished in the flames. Many of the older folks in the area believe to this day the hollow is haunted by the ghosts of all who died there. Hunters who stray into the hollow talk about seeing strange lights and hearing voices where there should be none.”

    “A few years later someone built a church on the site of the revival fire, but it never really took off and quickly fell into disrepair. I’m not sure if it’s still standing, haven’t had much call to go that way. The last of the families that lived in the hollow left while I was in high school. The only people who go that way now is the occasional tourist that gets lost. The county doesn’t even plow the road anymore. A waste of taxpayer money as the road dead ends in the hollow.”

    Sheriff Burris glanced at his watch and pushed himself to his feet, “I need to get going, I’ve got a meeting with the county budget office to go over next quarters budget.”

    “Sounds like fun, thanks for stopping by, I really appreciate it.”

    “Of course, and don’t worry about what the paper says, the state police will issue their findings that I know will clear you of any wrongdoing. People will soon forget what happened, they always do, especially when a new scandal draws their attention. You get some rest, and I’ll see you a couple of weeks from today.”

    Goodreads Giveaway

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    100 copies up for grabs.

  • Work in Progress.

    This week I want to share a little taste of what I’ve been working on. An excerpt from my current work in progress, Bitter Hollow. I hope you enjoy, and would love to know what you think, feel free to share your thoughts in the comments below.

    BITTER HOLLOW

    “Is everything okay, Harold?” I stepped onto the deck, unsnapping the strap that kept my pistol secure.

    “I tried to warn him,” Harold said, turning his head to look at me with a distant stare. It was the same thousand-yard stare I saw every morning gazing back at me from the mirror while I shaved.

    “Who did you try to warn, Harold?”

    In the yard Harold’s German shepherd barked again, a high-pitched whiny sound I knew so well. The dog sat at the top of the yard, keeping its distance while favoring its left paw.

    “It doesn’t matter.” Harold turned his attention back to the German shepherd. “It’s gotten into all of them, and there’s only one cure for what they’ve got.”

    “What have they got Harold?”

    “I told him to stay away from that place.”

    “What place Harold?” I had to keep him talking, as long as he was talking everything would be okay.

    “Bitter Hollow, you’re not from these parts,” Harold said, “you wouldn’t understand, you’re from down around the city, I’ve heard about you, and why you came here.”

    “Why did I come here?” I’d eased my way onto the deck and was carefully moving towards Harold when he spun his head around and stared at me. I’d seen such fear before, in Afghanistan when the shit hit the fan, and everything went sideways. It burned in Harold’s eyes, flowing across his lined face like the touch of a shadow barely seen. It was then I spotted the revolver in his right hand hanging at his side.

    “Doesn’t matter,” Harold said, bringing up the revolver. I took a step back, pulling my own weapon. But Harold didn’t turn his pistol in my direction. Instead, he aimed at the German shepherd.

    “We can’t let it get out,” Harold said as he drew a bead on the dog.

    “Put your weapon down.” I took a two-handed stance and settled the forward sight on Harold’s chest.

    “Fuck you,” Harold said before squeezing off a shot. The German shepherd darted to the right as a spurt of dirt was thrown up to his left. The sharp crack of the shot rolled away into the distance.

    “I said put your weapon down.”

    “Or what?” Harold said as he abruptly swung the muzzle in my direction. Instincts, fine turned by the brutality of the war, took over. I squeezed off one shot as Harold fired. The sound of our dual reports echoed through the forest like thunder. My bullet hit Harold high in the chest, above his heart, and a surprised expression replaced the terror lurking on his brow.

    My left shoulder was driven back. It felt like I’d been hit by a sledgehammer, and my entire arm went numb. My calm, rational half, took a step back while the more primitive side took over as adrenaline flooded my system. I knew the feeling, had experienced it several times on the battlefield. It was a survival mechanism, a throwback to our distant past when reasoning with one’s enemy was not an option. When the only thing you could do was fight to survive. I knew I’d been hit, my left arm was useless, hanging dead at my side. Thankfully, I was right-handed.

    Harold stood his ground for a moment, weaving back and forth on his feet. The color draining from his face as understanding dawned in his eyes. He was about to die, and he knew it. He staggered towards me, the pistol still clutched in one hand, the muzzle weaving back and forth as his own blood mingled with the other blood on his clothes.

    He squeezed the trigger, the sharp report echoed through the shadows as the wicked sound of the bullet slamming into the post behind me came to my ringing ears. I flashed back to another time and place when I’d been confronted by an enemy that refused to die. There was no time to dwell on these memories and I pushed them away as I steadied my weapon, and the old man took another step towards me.

    A shadow washed across Harold’s face, contorting his features. The dog barking in the back yard came to me as if from a million miles away. The old man smiled and opened his mouth to speak, darkness escaping the prison behind his teeth as I fired again, aiming higher this time. Harold’s head whipped back, a bloody wound forming a third eye in the center of his forehead. Something old and terrifying crawled through my belly when Harold lowered his head to look at me with those flat, dead, eyes. A wicked smile bisecting the bottom half of his face.

    What do you think?

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