Continuing Fridays 5 with another author we lost too soon.
1.) When did you first consider yourself a writer?
A.) I think I’ve always considered myself a writer – or at least since I could write a legible sentence. Have always written stuff, even poetry, and have earned a living from my words at times. But I didn’t consider myself an author until I had a short story accepted into a magazine and actually got paid for it.
2.) What is the hardest part of writing?
A.) Putting butt in chair and just doing it. Next to that, is the absolute necessary rewriting/revision process.
3.) How did you feel upon publication of your first completed project?
A.) You could have heard me whooping and hollering all the way to the next town, I think. I still have that first dollar made taped to my desktop.
4.) In addition to writing, what else are you passionate about?
A.) Movie making. Can’t call it film making because no film is involved. But I love the creativeness that you can achieve looking through the lens of a camera and then putting the scenes and segments together to tell a story.
5.) If you could ask any author, living or dead, one question, what would it be?
A.) I would love to converse with John Steinbeck. And if I could only ask him one question it would be, Can I borrow the characters from Grapes of Wrath to interact briefly with my characters in the story I’m working on now?
Kat Yares has been writing fiction her entire adult life. She is an author, screenwriter and indie movie maker. Her short fiction has appeared in numerous print publications and online. She passed due to heart failure in 2015.
Her fiction is primarily in the horror/thriller genres. Unlike many, she writes horror not to gross out or startle her readers, but to make them think. Most of her stories are mind games and deal with mans (or woman’s) inhumanity to man (or woman). She is currently working on a two book series – set 2000 years apart. Part fantasy, part thriller – the two stories that comprise The Descendants are reminiscent of both Marian Zimmer Bradley’s Mists of Avalon series and Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code.
If you’re a writer working in the horror, sci-fi, or fantasy genres and would like to participate. Answer the questions above and send them to rschiver@gmail.com along with a brief bio and an author photo 200px by 200px in size Thanks.
I’m bringing back my weekly writing challenge. Every week I will add an additional 500+ words to a short story in progress. My plan is to write 26 stories, one for every letter of the alphabet. During my last foray into this I managed to write stories for letters A thru F.
I previously wrote 500 words for the short story for the letter G – God’s Chosen. Last night after my trip to Baltimore, I added another 618 words to the story in progress. Below is the story from its beginning to its latest point. This is raw work with minimal editing.
God’s Chosen
“Why is it so hard for us to forgive?” Reverend Wilkes asked from the pulpit as he scanned the parishioners gathered to hear his sermon. Many were fanning themselves with the days program, the heat inside stifling even with the windows open. Last night’s storm brought with it an intense heat wave that promised to be the worst they’d known in some time. The reverend also noted that Sally Umstead was shifting in her seat and he zeroed in on her. It was terrible what she and her sister were doing to the Plimpton girl. She’d never hurt anyone but to hear them tell it she was evil incarnate.
“Because the evil one is a good salesman.” Reverend Wilkes shouted, slamming his fist on the pulpit to get their attention. He was satisfied to see many of the younger ones stop their squirming and were sitting up straighter in their seats. They knew it was about to get interesting.
“He hates forgiveness because he knows that if he can persuade us not to forgive even one person, our own forgiveness from God will be cut off.” He stopped, letting his gaze linger across the parishioners who were all now paying close attention. For a moment it seemed the heat had been forgotten.
“The devil whispers very persuasive lies to us,” he said quietly, forcing the congregation to lean forward to catch his words.
“Did he lie to you?” He shouted, pointing at Sally.
“Did he lie to you?” He asked, shifting his attention to the widow Barnes. He knew she was responsible for the problems the Plimpton girl was experiencing.
Glancing to the back of the church he spotted the ushers gathered around one of the windows. Bobby Franklin pointed at something outside and turned to look in Reverend Wilkes direction. The terror on his face was clearly transmitted across the room and a ripple of voices followed his gaze.
“What is it Bobby?” The reverend asked, wanting to get this issue out of the way so he could continue his sermon.
“It’s the widow Franklin, sir.”
That wasn’t possible, he’d personally overseen the widow’s grave side services less than a week ago. The scattering of voices became focused on Bobby’s words as several of the parishioners closest to the window left their seats to see for themselves. Several ‘Oh my gods’ were punctuated by a woman’s scream. Reverend Wilkes pushed his way to the window.
The widow Franklin staggered down the center of main street dragging what looked like the lining of her coffin behind her on one foot. The clothes she’d been buried in were a muddy mess
Turning from the window Wilkes pushed back through the crowd and crossed to the doors for the church.
“Where are you going?” Someone shouted behind him. He stopped and turned to face the crowd.
“I don’t know what happened but I’m going to find out.”
“Don’t, please, what if she hurts you?”
“What if she wasn’t dead when we laid her to rest.” Reverend Wilkes said, “certainly, she’s terrified by now and needs someone to help her understand what is going on.”
On the street the heat hit him with a physical force that slowed his steps. The widow Franklin approached, staggering down the center of main street. It was early yet, and though not all of the inhabitants of Whisper Cove attended services regularly, the streets were empty.
Where does she think she’s going, he wondered as he stepped off the curb and moved to intercept her. With every step closer his resolve began to wane. It wasn’t his job to maintain order on the streets. His was to protect the souls of his congregation. When he was a few feet away he stopped and pulled his kerchief from his breast pocket to place it over his nose. The smell coming from the old woman was overwhelmingly bad.
“Mrs. Franklin, are you all right?” It was a stupid question to ask. Obviously she was not all right. For one thing she stunk, for another her eyes had taken on an unnatural cast, and as if to add insult to injury her lips had been sewn shut. She was far from all right.
She turned in his direction, her feet becoming tangled in the coffin lining, and she fell headlong to the pavement. Reverend Wilkes tried to catch her, but was too slow, and she hit the ground with a wet squishing sound that strayed dangerously close to unnatural. It was enough to give him pause, and he stepped back as she thrashed about on the ground, grunting and groaning in a primitive manner that further distanced her from the prim and proper matron she’d been when she lived.
But she was alive. Wasn’t she? He wondered as he remained rooted in place, afraid to get any closer.
The sound of an approaching vehicle drew his attention, and he looked up as Deputy Frank arrived in his cruiser.
“What’s wrong reverend?” Deputy Frank asked as he stepped out of his patrol car.
“It’s Mrs. Franklin, we buried her last week, but it appears she wasn’t dead. How she got out I have no idea, but she needs help.”
“Well, what are you going to do?” the deputy asked.
“Me? What about you? Help the woman.”
Deputy Frank stepped closer, and though he stood a good six four, his expression collapsed into that of a frightened young boy confronting his first nightmare. “I don’t even know what to do.”
“Let’s help her up,” Reverend Wilkes said as he stepped forward and stooped down to grab one of the woman’s arms.
She nearly yanked him off his feet as she thrashed about, and the spongy way her arm felt under his hand left a sickening sensation in the pit of his stomach. It felt like he was trying to grab something stuffed with wet noodles.
Deputy Frank managed to find his balls long enough to step forward and lend the reverend a hand, but he quickly backed away when she lunged at his hand with her face.
“She tried to bite me,” he said, his voice rising in an unmanly manner.
“Nonsense, her lips are sewn shut.”
“How do you even know that?” Deputy Frank’s expression had dissolved completely into that of a frightened schoolboy.
“I called an ambulance,” Derrick, one of the ushers, said as he came up behind Father Wilkes who continued to struggle with the old woman. “Let me help you,” he said as he tried to slip the old lady’s loose arm over his shoulders. She lunged at his face, pulling at the stitches holding her mouth closed as she tried to bite him.
To be continued!
I’m Looking For My Tribe.
Did you enjoy the story above? If so you might be the reader I’m looking for. I’m even giving away a full novel to find out for sure. A novel available nowhere else, written specifically with my idea reader in mind. Is that you? Let’s find out. Sign up for my mailing list today and receive my novel ZOMETHING DEAD THIS WAY COMES.
If you don’t like what I do, unsubscribe and keep the book. It’s my way of saying thanks for trying my work. You’ve got nothing to lose.
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
I wrote All Roads Lead to Terror, the first book in my post-apocalyptic series, This Lawless Land, way back in 2013. The story focused on four teenage boys exploring a world that had moved on. At the time it was only going to be a one off, then I’d move on to other projects.
In All Roads Lead to Terror, one of the characters grabbed a bundle of hundred-dollar bills from a bank. Which on the surface made no sense. I mean in the world I’d built, who would want to be weighed down by such a useless object? But the character wanted it, so who am I to stand in the way? Right.
One book became two, then grew into three. In 2018 I wrote book four of my supposed stand alone. I’m not as fast as many other writers out there, I usually only get about an hour a day to do what I love. But through all four books my character insisted on carrying that damn bundle of money no matter what. He’d been through a great deal by this time. He’d grown up a good bit, but a small voice in his head kept telling him to keep the money. Yet I still did not understand why he was being so particular.
Book four burned me out on their story so I moved on to other things for a bit. But I never strayed far from the characters. My thoughts usually returning to them as I wondered what they were up to. During my break I wrote Not of Us, Cursed, and the third installment of a trilogy I started in 2012, I know another project I need to clear up.
I returned to the story last year and recently completed the first draft of book five. Whereupon I turned my attention to book six, which I felt would be the last chapter in their story. But at this stage, twenty thousand words into the first draft, I believe there will be a seventh and final book in the series. One I hoped to dive into once I have finished the first draft of book six. Of course there will be the rewrites and editing and all that before my creation can finally see the light of a new day.
In 2013 I never imagined that ten years later I would be writing book six. What’s more amazing, is that in book six I finally figured out why this young boy insisted on carrying all that useless money around with him. If you want to know as well, you’ll have to wait until I get the series done. Sorry.
Update: I’ve found a new editor and will be sending him Zomething Dead This Way Comes, when his schedule clears up at the end of October. I’m also shopping for a good cover for it. If all goes well it will be available by the end of this year. Stay tuned for more updates as they become available. Things are finally starting to jell on the writing front, and I’ll be posting more often as more news becomes available.
Richard Schiver 