Richard Schiver

Tag: books

  • First Lines Giveaway.

    First Lines Giveaway.

    Everything’s in place. The first draft has been written and edited. The plot has been laid out, poked, and prodded from every imaginable angle in my search for holes. Those I’ve found have been plugged. I’ve delved into the past of my main characters in my search for their motivation, the driving force that will move them forward in the face of impossible odds. I’ve explored their fears growing up, tying everything together to lead them to the final confrontation.

    There is but one thing lacking before I can begin the final rewrite. A simple little thing really. Comprised of anywhere from five to fifteen words. Something I’ve spent the past few weeks searching for.

    I can feel it, hiding right on the tip of my tongue, waiting for me to stumble upon it.

    The first sentence of the story.

    The first line acts as a crucial hook. Like the curtain of a play rising, offering a balance between invitation and resistance to draw readers in without feeling forced. Setting the tone, the character, and the world instantly. Though some great openings are deceptively simple, proving the line’s power is in its promise of the story to come, not just in its stand-alone brilliance.

    Let’s play a little game. What follows are the opening lines of the last five books I read. Everyone who answers correctly will have their name placed in a random drawing and two winners will receive an autographed paperback copy of my novel Cursed. This game will end one month from today, on January 15, 2026.

    5 First Lines

    1 David Arlen’s daughter woke up ten miles outside Fredericksburg.

    2 Blake let himself into the apartment like he did every day after school.

    3 Otto woke to the sound of boots on the floor of the foyer below and even before his eyes fully opened, he knew the nightmare had at last spilled over into reality.

    4 Dennis Lange’s wife found his text messages and told him to be gone by the end of the day.

    5 It was a small town by a small river and a small lake in a small northern part of a Midwest state.

    Good luck.

    What are some of your most recently read first lines?

  • Weekly Writing Challenge 12/10/2025

    Weekly Writing Challenge 12/10/2025

    We have reached the end of Hell Hole. This week I’ve only done 279 words. When I’m writing shorts I tend to let the body of the story simmer before I write the actual ending with the first rewrite. It gives me a chance to consider all the angles of the story and come up with a decent ending. What you’re seeing is only the first draft of the story with very minor editing.When I complete it the story will enter the rotation for my newsletter readers who will receive the fully edited tale. This month’s story is ‘Brothers.’ If you’d like to see it sign up below.

    Join the Adventure: Free Zombie Apocalypse book.

    Every month you will receive either a full short story available nowhere else, or a chapter from one of my works in progress, of with there are currently three. For signing up you will also receive a complete novel available nowhere else. Yours to keep even if you unsubscribe.

    Without further adieu I give you the final part of Hell Hole.

    Continued from last week!

    “Eric,” a familiar voice whispered, coming from behind the crystals on his right. He swiveled his head in that direction, spotting a shadowy shape marring the opaque purity of the crystal.  

    “Who are you? Eric shouted. He already knew the answer to that question but chose to ignore it. To acknowledge what he suspected would send his already teetering mind into territory better suited to the deepest part of lonely nights where dreams became nightmares.

    A soft tap fell on his shoulder and he spun around expecting to find the culprit, but the space behind him was empty. Another tap fell on his other shoulder and he turned in that direction with the same results.

    He had to get out of there while he still could, and he searched for the way out. The exit framed by two crystals forming an X above the way out, but nothing looked even remotely familiar. He had spun around so many times in response to what was happening he had become lost within the forest of crystals. He stumbled to the right, stopping when a shadowy shape appeared within the stand of crystals. He didn’t want to see what they looked like.

    He turned back the other way, stopping again when another shape appeared. They were all around him, closing in, yet still hidden behind the nearly opaque crystals.

    He sank to his knees, hands over his head. “I’m sorry,” he said.

    A firm hand fell upon his shoulder and he looked up into Jared’s face. Only it wasn’t Jared, and while this person looked similar, he was obviously much older.

    “I tried to warn you,” Jared said behind him and Eric.

    The end, for now.

  • Impostor Syndrome: A Writer’s Silent Struggle

    Impostor Syndrome: A Writer’s Silent Struggle

    Impostor syndrome is a silent companion for many authors, lurking in the background as they craft their stories, and submit their manuscripts. Despite evidence of talent and achievement, some writers struggle with persistent self-doubt, and the feeling they don’t deserve their success. They become afraid of being exposed as a fraud. The phenomenon isn’t limited to just newcomers. Many celebrated authors like Maya Angelou and John Steinbeck have confessed to feeling like impostors, convinced that their accomplishments were mere luck or deception.

    “Each time I think, ‘uh-oh, they’re going to find out now. I’ve run a game on everybody, and they’re going to find me out.’” Maya Angelou

    For writers, impostor syndrome exposes itself in many ways. Obsessive self-editing, scrapping drafts at the finish line, endless feedback loops. As well as a reluctance to refer to themselves as “writers”. The subjective nature of writing lies at the core of these feelings. Quality is hard to measure and validation is external, and beyond their control. Unpublished and self-published authors may feel especially vulnerable, lacking the traditional markers of success, while even those with publishing deals can struggle to accept their achievements.

    The emotional toll can be significant. Authors may minimize their accomplishments, attribute their success to luck, and compare themselves unfavorably to peers. Perfectionism and overworking become coping mechanisms, but they rarely silence the inner critic. Yet, the universality of impostor syndrome among writers offers hope. You are not alone.

    “I am not a writer. I’ve been fooling myself and other people.” John Steinbeck

    Overcoming impostor syndrome begins with acknowledging the problem. Naming the feeling and challenging the negative self-talk are crucial first steps. It has been suggested writers keep a “kindness file” of positive feedback. Connecting with supportive communities and focusing on their mission rather than external validation. Shifting attention from self-doubt to the impact of their words can help and authors reclaim their creative joy.

    Ultimately, impostor syndrome may never fully disappear, but acting despite it is what sets successful writers apart. By embracing vulnerability, celebrating small wins, and remembering why they write, authors can continue their journey knowing their voice matters, and their story deserves to be told.

  • Club Thrillrror

    Club Thrillrror

    Every year Alix Kampen compiles a collection of Thriller and Horror novels to be sold in book boxes that feature autographed copies of assorted novels along with various trinkets provided by the authors. This will be her seventh year and I will be participating with my novel Cursed.

    From Alix:

    The lights flicker… and the countdown begins.

    Can we sell out before the shadows take over?

    Inside each box lurks signed horrors, chilling thrillers, and surprises sharp enough to draw blood (figuratively… we think).

    Only the bold dare to unbox the unknown.

    Only the fearless help us reach our goal before midnight falls on December 31st.

    🎃 Ready to face the fear? Fill out the google order form before these offers disappear into the dark. (Can ship internationally from Canada

    Order form; https://tinyurl.com/CTOrder7

    Join Club Thrillrror on Facebook to stay abreast of future offerings. https://www.facebook.com/groups/310590021371195/

    They are also on Instagram: @clubthrillrror

    The images below contain the lists of available titles broken down by genre. Along with the prices for each box. Use the order form above to order yours today.

  • Weekly Writing Challenge 12/03/2025

    Weekly Writing Challenge 12/03/2025

    Eric rolled Jared over, his eyes were closed, his face slack, his chest perfectly still. He looked like he was merely sleeping, but Eric understood it was a sleep from which he would not awaken. Eric stood up and looked down the narrow mine. It was only another hundred feet or so to the opening of the crystal cave, he could carry Jared’s body that far and leave it for them.

    He only hoped it would be enough.

    Every sacrifice before Jared had been alive. He hoped they would not hold that against him. Squatting down he lifted Jared by his arms and slung his cooling body over his shoulder. Rising back to his feet he fixed his helmet upon his head and moved in the direction of the crystal cave.

    As he moved, he debated with himself. One part of him wanted to leave the body where it was and flee. But that wouldn’t do any good. If his offering was unacceptable, they would still find him. Maybe there was a chance they would understand, after all he’d always brought them what they wanted without argument. But what choice did he have?

    He found the crystal cave when he’d become lost in the mine as a young boy looking for adventure. How he managed to get down into the lower levels without a rope had remained a mystery to him. All he could recall of that time was squeezing himself through narrow passages as he ventured deeper and deeper into the earth.

    Reaching the horizontal shafts of the mine made his adventure a little easier, that is until the flashlight he brought burned out. He had never expected to get this deep, originally planning only to explore the easily accessible portions of the mine. But the lure of uncovering the secrets behind those narrow crevices had proven too much to ignore. Today, as a full grown teenager, he’d never be able to squeeze through those cracks and crevices.

    When his flashlight went out, he had nearly lost control of himself, the darkness around him so complete, he saw nothing. It was much darker than anything he’d ever experienced before. But as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he detected a faint light coming from somewhere ahead. With every step closer to the light, it grew brighter, and he found himself in that room of crystals.

    They were massive, hexagonal shapes, some nearly thirty feet long and at least four feet across. Crammed together into a room he would never be able to properly measure, and that was when he found them. The lost miners. This who had been sealed into the cave after its collapse. He didn’t see them at first, but as he explored the room of crystals, he became aware of shadowy shapes moving just out of sight, catching brief glimpses of figures that scurried about just beyond his peripheral vision.

    “Hello,” he shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth, that solitary word echoing into the distance as it repeated itself into the depths. It was then a chill slid down his back as a soft voice whispered in his ear.

    “We are here.”

    He spun around in a circle as those shadowy shapes no longer hid from his view, yet they remained behind the crystals, marring their milky depths with their shadowy shapes. As if the souls of the lost miners had taken up residence in the crystals themselves, offered a form of eternity few would understand.

    “What do you want?” He asked as the black shapes crowded around him.

    Their answer filled him with terror. They wanted the blood of the living, the warm spark of something whose heart still beat. They wanted their memories, their experiences, their knowledge of the past, and the dreams of their future.

    To be continued

    If you’d like to read the entire story up to this point follow this link.

    Hell Hole