Richard Schiver

Tag: horror fiction

  • 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 11/26/2025

    Weekly Writing Challenge 11/26/2025

    Sorry I’m a little late getting this out to you.

    With Jared trialing behind, Eric followed the beam of his flashlight into the depths of the mine. Around them the shadows felt alive with the memories of past miners who spent their days toiling beneath the ground, their emotions becoming permanently etched into the shattered stone around them. Hope, dreams, and the desire for a better life filled the emptiness pressing in on all sides.

    Errant thoughts filtered through Eric’s mind. Concern for a sick child. Worry over meeting unrealistic quotas. The fear over losing one’s job only because they couldn’t keep up. What would they do then? None of them had much socked away for emergencies, the company store made sure of that, offering an easy line of credit that could never be paid off. Not even the homes they lived in belonged to them, another aspect of living in a company town where the only thing that really belonged to each miner was the misery of eking out a living.

    There lived in these shadows the constant fear the roof might cave in, locking them away for eternity in the cold ground.

    “It’s getting warmer,” Jared said, struggling to keep up.

    “We’re getting deeper, the deeper we go the warmer it will get. I did some reading on these mines. Did you know the miners worked in company towns that made sure they could never escape their job?”

    “That sounds horrible,” Jared responded.

    “That’s the way things were back then. Families were indebted to the owners of the mine for everything. Every week their rent and whatever they purchased at the company store were deducted from their pay. They didn’t have much left over, but they still pooled what they had left to build a schoolhouse and pay a teacher hoping their children would grow up and escape the life they were leading.”

    “I’m glad it’s not like that anymore,” Jared said.

    Eric nodded in response as they reached the end of the passage where a slight ramp took them down to the next level. Reaching the bottom of the ramp Eric heard what sounded like picks working the mine somewhere in the emptiness ahead. The sound was accompanied by soft voices murmuring in the shadows and he imagined a crew of men working by candlelight in the shadows ahead.

    Once again that soft voice whispered in his ear. Beware of friends who tell half-truths. A chilled breath tickled his earlobe.

    Eric spun around on Jared who was several feet behind him, his hand closed in a fist.

    “Why do you keep fucking with me?” He shouted as he stalked towards Jared who cowered from his approach.

    Only a liar would be afraid, the thought whispered through his mind as he closed with Jared who held up his hands to protect himself. His defensive posture only enraged him more and he lashed out with a right cross that sent Jared falling to the floor.

    “I don’t know what you’re talking about?” Jared said as he tried to get back to his feet.

    Eric hit him again, hard, and Jared dropped back to the floor where he remained still.

    Jared stood over him, his hand opening and closing as the anger he’d felt slowly drained away. When reason reasserted itself, he realized what he had done and dropped to his knees next to Jared’s prone figure.

    “I’m sorry man, I don’t know what came over me,” he said as he ran his hand up and down Jared’s back, searching for signs of life. He had no idea how to take a person’s pulse and was filled with horrifying loneliness as he struggled to wake his friend up.

    To be continued!