I wanted to give a shout out to a writer I have a great deal of respect for, Dan Franklin. I’ve read his previous works, These Things Linger, Down Into The Sea, and Eater of Gods. He’s a writer who is an instant buy when I see a new release from him. His latest is Steel Machines. It’s on pre order until August 19, 2025, and the kindle edition is only $0.99. Check out the details below.
Prague, 1945
Eight year old Otto Braum is the sole survivor of the massacre that claimed his parents and left him sustaining himself as best he can in the ruined attic hideout above his childhood home.
But Otto is not alone.
His father had a secret—a creation, unfinished, that he left behind. A secret that is pitiless in nature, relentless in design. A secret with the heart of a steel machine.
From the Amazon best selling author of Down Into the Sea and These Things Linger comes a horrifying reimagining of the story of the golem. Part I Am Legend and part Caging Skies, STEEL MACHINES is an unrelentingly tense tale of haunting, of vengeance… and of survival at any cost.
“Both Intimate and epic, brutal but beautiful, unapologetic yet restrained… STEEL MACHINES is a perfect novel.”
– Nick Roberts, bestselling author of The Exorcist’s House, Mean Spirited, and the upcoming Lyla, in the Flesh
“A heartbreaking tale of survival amidst tragedy and horror, this is a beautifully written dark fantasy that will remain with you long after you’ve read the last word. Highly recommended!” – Tim Waggoner, internationally acclaimed author of The World Turns Red
“This is the best kind of horror.” – Leigh Kenny, best selling author of Cursed, and Hush, My Darling
“If this was made into a movie, it would be an international blockbuster.”
– MJ Mars, best selling author of The Suffering and The Fovea Experiments
On June 24, at approximately 3pm EST, my unconscious body was wheeled into the operating room to have my right knee replaced. That I am here now writing this would indicate I survived my ordeal. In fact, the entire process was nowhere near as frightening as my overactive imagination thought it would be. Thankfully while I was out not a single thought strayed into nightmare territory. Which was one of the things I was really concerned about considering my imagination. Instead, I dreamed I was with the crew of the Black Pearl as we terrorized the British in the Caribbean.
When they woke me up nearly two hours later the first order of business was getting a cup of coffee. Hadn’t had anything to eat or drink since ten thirty the night before. While I’m gulping down my coffee the nurses kept insisting that I wiggle my toes. They had given me a spinal block before surgery, and I was basically dead from the waist down. It took some time, but as the feeling slowly returned to my legs I was able to wiggle my toes. They then insisted I get up and stand, and while the anesthesia had not worn off completely I was helped to my feet where I stood for about thirty seconds, amazed at the absence of pain coming from my right knee. A pain I had been dealing with for several years and had become so bad in April I was forced to take a personal leave of absence.
From that point on it became a matter of crossing a few more hurdles before I was released and made it back home a little after eight that evening. A little groggy and battered, but no worse for wear. The first week of recovery moved slowly but as I healed and found myself able to move more freely I settled into a routine focused on getting better. It has now been a little more than two weeks, and while the incision is not pretty, it looks a lot better than it did. I’m no longer using crutches to get around the house and will likely continue to use my cane until I’m released to go back to my little part time job.
About the only thing to suffer during this time was my writing. Being focused on my recovery interrupted my daily routine. I failed to keep up with the daily sentence for Bitter Hollow, and anything else related to my dream. But I’m back now, and ready to hop into the saddle to continue my pursuit of the perfect story. And to continue to share my work with anyone interested. Thanks for tagging along on my little adventure.
In 1978, at nineteen years of age I was serving with the United States Army as an armor crewman. In 1977 the motion picture, A Bridge Too Far, was released and featured a star-studded cast. I along with a couple of my friends watched it at the base theater in Fort Hood, Texas. The following year our unit was slated to take our six month turn at the tip of the spear at the U.S Army’s heavy metal playground in Grafenwoehr, West Germany. Located 21 miles from the Czech Republic border, a member nation of the Warsaw Pact. 21 miles from a border of concrete and barbed wire constructed to keep their citizens from escaping the harsh life of a communist regime. Our only goal, our sole purpose was to halt any soviet advance that might push across the border. As such each of our tanks carried a full load (67 rounds) of what we referred to as service ammunition. It was a mix heavy on armor piercing and HEAT (High Explosive Anti Tank) rounds, designed to slice through enemy armor.
In Graf, we lived in Quonset huts that featured a large open bay filled with beds and footlockers. It was where we stayed when we weren’t working on our tanks in the motor pool, or out on maneuvers with other units preparing for a day all of us feared. Many a night I would lie in bed worried if I had what it would take to face our adversary. Thankfully that day never came. We also had most weekends off allowing us a chance to blow off some steam.
Germany is a small country, a little larger than the state of Oregon, and aside from the autobahn, the railroads are a prime means of transportation. You can go practically anywhere on the European continent with a train ride. Which is how a small group of us ended up in the Netherlands, following a route carved into history, and featured in a recent movie we had all watched. What I’m referring to is the primary route followed by the ground forces in Operation Market Garden, one of the most disastrous allied operations during the war.
In short the operation’s purpose was to open a path into the interior of Germany to outflank the Siegfried Line. The operation used elements from the British First Airborne Division, the Polish 1st Parachute Brigade the 82nd and 101st U.S Airborne Divisions. Their task was to secure and hold the bridges until 30th Corp could relieve them. This would have opened a direct route into the heartland of Germany if it succeeded. Possibly shortening the war. But it didn’t work out that way.
It’s been forty-seven years since I walked that route, and while much of what I remember from that day has faded into the mists of time, the emotions are still very strong. I recently watched A Bridge Too Far, again, as I recover from knee surgery and those emotions are as powerful today as they were then.
At the time of our little walk, thirty-four years after it happened, I don’t believe we really understood how deep that river ran through us. I can recall feeling a sense of walking upon hallowed ground, what one might feel at Arlington. Our usual jack assery settled as we were filled with a sense of walking among the honored dead who gave their all for what they believed in. Yet when your nineteen and with your friends it’s nearly impossible to fully explore your emotions of the moment. As such the respect of silence was all we could offer.
Every year, on the anniversary of the operation, a memorial walk is held, and I’d give anything to follow once again in the footsteps of those who went before, while I still have time. Only this time not as a young man struggling to figure out life. But as an older, wiser man who understands the full measure of devotion needed to throw oneself against such odds.
They were called the greatest generation, and their numbers dwindle everyday. It falls to us then to carry their stories forward for a new generation to maybe learn from.
Follow the link below for some amazing then and now photos from Arnhem.
I grew up during the space race of the sixties. While the war in Vietnam raged my eyes turned to what waited for us beyond the earth’s atmosphere. I was a big fan of Star Trek, catching every new episode when it aired. I followed the moon landing like a religious zealot updating their progress daily as the they traveled to our closest neighbor. My father understood my obsession and on the night the video feed was broadcast live of Neil Armstrong stepping onto the surface of the moon, my father woke me up so we could watch it together.
My goal in life was to work for NASA, to be involved in some way with the space program. I had the smarts, but for me school was boring. I had been offered a four-year scholarship to the University of Maryland, that I turned down. I wanted to see the world so I joined the military with the intention of learning how to work on missiles, a skill set I believed would put me on a path to NASA.
Unfortunately, between the moon walk and my graduation from high school, my father became quite ill. He had type 1 diabetes. He always tried taking better care of himself but as was the case with this disease, no matter how hard you tried, it eventually got you. I had spoken to the recruiter about working on missiles, and was scheduled to report to basic in Fort Bliss, Texas for my training. With my dad not working because of his health I chose to go into combat arms, armor to be exact, for the enlistment bonus that would help save our home. Sadly, my dad passed eight months after I joined, and we lost our home a year later.
While serving I had plenty of time to read, my tastes running to the more macabre as I devoured works by authors like Lovecraft, Richard Matheson, Graham Masterton, William Peter Blatty, to name a few.
Would I do it differently if I had the chance. I doubt it. I enjoyed my time in the military, the friends I made, the places I saw, the brotherhood I became a part of. It became a big part of who I grew up to become. Who I am now. I know there are many different paths I could have taken to follow my dream, but a new dream emerged for me, one I played around with when I was in high school, and that is to write about the things I love.
I still dream of going into space. I’ve watched all the movies, good, bad, indifferent. Alien, Start Wars, War of the Worlds, Interstellar, The Right Stuff, Armageddon. You name it, I’ve probably watched it. I also play a game called No Man’s Sky on my xbox. It gives me a chance to pretend, if only for a little while, that I’m exploring space. Here’s a little clip from gameplay.
I’ve had many false starts with my writing, but now, at 66, I’m fully committed to finishing what I started to do. You may have noticed I’m now sharing a new sentence every day from my WIP I’ve titled Bitter Hollow. I do hope you’ll follow along. Here’s the link.
Thanks for stopping by and listening to me rambling. I hope I haven’t bored you too much. Drop a comment below if your so inclined, I’d love to hear from you. I’d also appreciate a like, or a follow on social media.
Once again I’ve failed at keeping everyone up to date on my progress. In my effort to provide the best story I can for my readers I’ve taken the time to make sure everything is as right as I can possibly make it. What follows are the updates for each of my projects.
Zomething Dead This Way Comes is back from the editor and I’m going through the manuscript addressing the issues noted. I’m shooting to have everything in place in February. I’ve also received four possible covers from my designer and I’m considering which one to go with. I’ll have more info soon on that.
Over the past two years I have put down nearly 200,000 words as I’ve completed the first draft for Assimilation, book three of my Shadows of the Past trilogy. The trilogy is currently in rewrites then it will be off to my editor. I’m shooting for a late spring release for this.
I’ve also completed the first draft of Faces of Our Fathers, book five of This Lawless Land, and have about another 30,000 words to go in Lair of the Broken Queen, which may, or may not be the final book in the series. I’ve been considering a seventh book I will title To Tame This Lawless Land, but I want to see how Lair of the Broken Queen shakes out first. I’m shooting for near the end of the year to have books five and six released. We’ll see then about book seven.
I’ve also begun work on The Bad Place (not the final title, just a placeholder,) and I’m closing in on 30,000 words for that. I’ve been thinking along the lines of Nightwalker in some form or another as the title for this. This will likely be a 2026 title, released in mid winter/early spring.
I’ve really been buckling down on my daily word counts. Shooting for an average of at least 1000 words a day. Some days I’ve hit more when the story really grips me, but I no longer allow myself to settle for only 500 words a day.
I’m hopeful that by late summer I can bring back my weekly writing challenge with a minimum of 500 words every Wednesday until the story is done, then moving on to the next story.
There’s a good bit going on behind the scenes right now. We lost our boy Max last year, we had a good fourteen years with him and that really hurt. A couple of knuckleheads moved in with us late in 2023. Mylo and Garfield are brothers from the same litter, and they get into everything. But we love them.
Brothers Mylo & Garfield
Garfield with big brother Max
Until next time. Here’s the opening I’m considering for The Bad Place. What do you think? I know it needs a little tweaking.
They lied to us, our parents, when they said there was nothing to be afraid of in the dark. They had outgrown their fear, replacing it with the reasoning of an adult who excused the cause for every bump and creak throughout the night. Attributing those errant sounds to the house settling or a rodent seeking shelter for the coming winter. It was in the dark where our greatest fears live. Hiding the monster under the bed, the creature in the closet, or the ghost at the window.
When you’re eleven you don’t worry about making the house payment, or if Mr. Whetstone, your boss, is going to lay you off. You don’t worry about whether your wife still loves you, or if she’s banging the bag boy at the local Sav-A-Lot behind your back.
When you’re eleven your fear lives much closer to your heart, in your nightmares, and the shadows crowding the corners of a darkened bedroom where the weak light of the nightlight dare not go. When you’re eleven the world is filled with equal measures of wonder and terror.
Doug’s greatest fear at eleven was the walking dude. A character from one of the books his older brother once read, a being of unimaginable evil that came to their sleepy little town one night after a heavy storm. Doug had witnessed the walking dude’s arrival. The measured, steady, clip clop of his footsteps on the street in front of the house pulled him from a deep sleep. Slipping out of bed he shook his brother to wake him and crossed to the window so he could see who was walking down the street. Outside, the world was cloaked in darkness, low clouds obscuring the face of the moon that might have offered a degree of solace to a child coming face to face with his greatest fear.
Richard Schiver 