Just put the finishing touches on my story 'A Taste of Paradise'. It reached 16,767 words. I sent it in this morning to Midnight Showcase. I proof-read it a couple of times, and now I skipped over it again and already discovered two mistakes. I guess I'll correct those when the final edit comes. Now I should be able to relax for a while, but I can't. I have to get busy with editing 'Seeds of Chaos, Book 2, which is due to be published in April. Book One will be out in January. And I'm still not finished with the book I worked on before I started A Taste of Paradise. That book is 'Mark of the Cobra'. I'm afraid it will have to wait a little longer. It is almost done, but after that comes the editing and correcting of mistakes.
It will be a busy year 2007, but I'm looking forward to it.
Monday, December 18, 2006
Saturday, December 16, 2006
A Taste of Paradise
I'm almost finished with my story 'A Taste of Paradise', which I'm writing for the digest 'Men of Eros', due to be published in March 2007 by Midnight Showcase. It turns out it will be a little longer than anticipated. I'm up to 15,200 words now. That happens sometimes. At first it seems I don't know what to write, but once I start with the story it begins to almost write itself. It's weird. I had this one already laid out in my head, but it went its own way. The basic outline is still the same, but the story changed. I think it turned out better.
Here is an excerpt:
Parker followed her as she gingerly walked across the overgrown sidewalk, careful not step into the cracks with her high-heeled red shoes. The wooden steps creaked dangerously when they climbed them. While Ms. Hanover fiddled with the rusted lock, Parker studied the veranda, which ran along the front of the whole house. The boards looked rotten, also in need of repair, as did the railing.
The rusty hinges of the entrance door screamed in protest when Ms. Hanover pushed it open.
“Nothing a few drops of DW40 can’t fix,” she said and stepped across the threshold into the vestibule.
A tepid odor assaulted Parker’s nose and even Ms. Hanover held her breath.
“When was the last time a living being set foot into this place?” Parker asked.
Ms. Hanover shrugged. “Fifteen years?” She let out a little yelp and clawed at the spider web covering her face.
“Really?”
“Just kidding.” She spit something out of her mouth and laughed bravely. The couple I told you about lived here about ten years ago. After they left it stood empty. The River East Holding Company sends someone to check it over at least once every couple of months.” She shrieked when something ran across her foot.
“They must have missed it for the last few months, possibly years,” Parker commented dryly.
Ms. Hanover flicked a light-witch, but nothing happened. “I haven’t been inside the house ever since Mrs. Applebee died.” She smiled uncomfortably. “You’ll have to look past the dust and spider webs. Like I said, we can have this place cleaned up in no time at all.”
“I’m not worried about cleaning it up,” Parker said. “How long until the whole place collapses on top of me?”
“I don’t believe that will happen. These homes are well built. They used good lumber in those days.” Ms. Hanover peered into the next room, reluctant to enter it. “I think the kitchen is through this door. I was told it has new cabinets.”
“New? How new?”
“Mrs. Applebee had them installed just before she passed away. So I’m told.” She sighed. “Poor woman. Didn’t even have time to enjoy them. What a bummer.”
“In other words they’re at least sixteen years old. Who knows what has taken up residence in those drawers.” Parker shook his head. “I don’t know. I had something more modern in mind.”
Ms. Hanover gave a little laugh. With a sudden movement she slapped at something on her neck. “You won’t find it in this town. Unless you want to move into one of those condos down by the river.”
“No, thank you. No condo for me. I want to get away from people. I need some solitude for my work.”
“Your work? I never asked what you did for a living. What do you do, Darrin?”
“I’m a writer. I write horror stories.” He chuckled. “This house could be a great setting for one of my stories. Does it have any ghosts?”
Ms. Hanover threw him a quick glance. He couldn’t miss the slight tremor in her voice when she answered. “Would you like to have some ghosts in this house?”
“Not particularly, but as it happens, I don’t really believe in ghosts, even though I write about them.”
“Good, because rumors have it, there are strange things going on in this old house. At least there were until a few years ago. Haven’t heard anything lately.” She forced a little laugh. “Those are just rumors. Teenagers, you know. And Mrs. Dawson, your neighbor. But she’s old and a little crazy, anyway. Wouldn’t put much faith into her stories.”
Parker stepped over some debris on the floor. When he looked down he thought they were dried-up sausages. He didn’t want to think what else they could be. “I’ll have a look around in the kitchen.”
The cabinets did actually look quite descent. Dusty, but solid. He couldn’t see many details because of the dark curtains on the window. There was a door at the end of the kitchen. “I guess there is a basement?” he called over his shoulder.
“Yes, there is. I don’t know where the door is, though.”
“I believe I found it, but I won’t go down there. We should have brought a flashlight.”
“How about checking out the bedrooms upstairs?” Ms. Hanover called. Her voice sounded strained.
“Alright.” Parker left the kitchen and joined her in the foyer.
Every step creaked when they climbed the stairs, but they seemed solid enough.
“The wood is dry,” Ms. Hanover commented. “Once you live in the house and create some humidity, I’m sure the wood will come alive again.”
It’ll take more than humidity, Parker thought, but kept it to himself.
The bedrooms were actually quite large, with built-in closets. Many of these old homes had small bedrooms without closets.
I could use this one as my study, Peter thought as he inspected one of the smaller rooms. Walking to the window, he peered through the spider webs and dust. He saw large apple trees in the back yard, laden with fruit. Beyond them a number of tall, stately Elm trees.
A fence surrounded the small orchard. The boards looked gray and weathered, some of them broken, pushed in by someone from the other side. Most likely vandals.
Here is an excerpt:
Parker followed her as she gingerly walked across the overgrown sidewalk, careful not step into the cracks with her high-heeled red shoes. The wooden steps creaked dangerously when they climbed them. While Ms. Hanover fiddled with the rusted lock, Parker studied the veranda, which ran along the front of the whole house. The boards looked rotten, also in need of repair, as did the railing.
The rusty hinges of the entrance door screamed in protest when Ms. Hanover pushed it open.
“Nothing a few drops of DW40 can’t fix,” she said and stepped across the threshold into the vestibule.
A tepid odor assaulted Parker’s nose and even Ms. Hanover held her breath.
“When was the last time a living being set foot into this place?” Parker asked.
Ms. Hanover shrugged. “Fifteen years?” She let out a little yelp and clawed at the spider web covering her face.
“Really?”
“Just kidding.” She spit something out of her mouth and laughed bravely. The couple I told you about lived here about ten years ago. After they left it stood empty. The River East Holding Company sends someone to check it over at least once every couple of months.” She shrieked when something ran across her foot.
“They must have missed it for the last few months, possibly years,” Parker commented dryly.
Ms. Hanover flicked a light-witch, but nothing happened. “I haven’t been inside the house ever since Mrs. Applebee died.” She smiled uncomfortably. “You’ll have to look past the dust and spider webs. Like I said, we can have this place cleaned up in no time at all.”
“I’m not worried about cleaning it up,” Parker said. “How long until the whole place collapses on top of me?”
“I don’t believe that will happen. These homes are well built. They used good lumber in those days.” Ms. Hanover peered into the next room, reluctant to enter it. “I think the kitchen is through this door. I was told it has new cabinets.”
“New? How new?”
“Mrs. Applebee had them installed just before she passed away. So I’m told.” She sighed. “Poor woman. Didn’t even have time to enjoy them. What a bummer.”
“In other words they’re at least sixteen years old. Who knows what has taken up residence in those drawers.” Parker shook his head. “I don’t know. I had something more modern in mind.”
Ms. Hanover gave a little laugh. With a sudden movement she slapped at something on her neck. “You won’t find it in this town. Unless you want to move into one of those condos down by the river.”
“No, thank you. No condo for me. I want to get away from people. I need some solitude for my work.”
“Your work? I never asked what you did for a living. What do you do, Darrin?”
“I’m a writer. I write horror stories.” He chuckled. “This house could be a great setting for one of my stories. Does it have any ghosts?”
Ms. Hanover threw him a quick glance. He couldn’t miss the slight tremor in her voice when she answered. “Would you like to have some ghosts in this house?”
“Not particularly, but as it happens, I don’t really believe in ghosts, even though I write about them.”
“Good, because rumors have it, there are strange things going on in this old house. At least there were until a few years ago. Haven’t heard anything lately.” She forced a little laugh. “Those are just rumors. Teenagers, you know. And Mrs. Dawson, your neighbor. But she’s old and a little crazy, anyway. Wouldn’t put much faith into her stories.”
Parker stepped over some debris on the floor. When he looked down he thought they were dried-up sausages. He didn’t want to think what else they could be. “I’ll have a look around in the kitchen.”
The cabinets did actually look quite descent. Dusty, but solid. He couldn’t see many details because of the dark curtains on the window. There was a door at the end of the kitchen. “I guess there is a basement?” he called over his shoulder.
“Yes, there is. I don’t know where the door is, though.”
“I believe I found it, but I won’t go down there. We should have brought a flashlight.”
“How about checking out the bedrooms upstairs?” Ms. Hanover called. Her voice sounded strained.
“Alright.” Parker left the kitchen and joined her in the foyer.
Every step creaked when they climbed the stairs, but they seemed solid enough.
“The wood is dry,” Ms. Hanover commented. “Once you live in the house and create some humidity, I’m sure the wood will come alive again.”
It’ll take more than humidity, Parker thought, but kept it to himself.
The bedrooms were actually quite large, with built-in closets. Many of these old homes had small bedrooms without closets.
I could use this one as my study, Peter thought as he inspected one of the smaller rooms. Walking to the window, he peered through the spider webs and dust. He saw large apple trees in the back yard, laden with fruit. Beyond them a number of tall, stately Elm trees.
A fence surrounded the small orchard. The boards looked gray and weathered, some of them broken, pushed in by someone from the other side. Most likely vandals.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
Seeds of Chaos, Excerpt
Here is an excerpt from Book One of Seeds of Chaos
The village lay on the shore of a frozen lake. The strong wind blew the snow off the ice, and the rays of the setting sun painted the glinting ice red. I saw a pair of fishermen pulling small sleds behind them, on their way back to shore. Everything looked very peaceful.
Sharina and Kabrina had disappeared into one of the buildings. A sign above the door proclaimed it a tavern. Who would have guessed? The only tall building in this forsaken place, and the drunk falling out of the door should have been a dead giveaway.
There were two air-sleds parked in the small parking lot, they held no markings, but they gave me the shivers. These were no ordinary air-sleds.
I followed the girls into the tavern.
The place didn’t look crowded, no surprise, considering the size of the village. The surprise came with the man sitting at one of the tables. He didn’t wear a uniform. However, the man with him did. I recognized the uniform and the insignia on the man’s left sleeve. A high-ranking officer in the United Planet’s Space Navy.
I approached the table slowly.
“Hello, Thomas, good to see you again.”
“Admiral,” I said, but I didn’t salute.
He smiled. “We had a hard time tracking you down, son,” he said.
“Had I known you wanted my company, I would have left you a note, Father,” I said. No, I was not bitter.
He sighed. “I can’t blame you if you hate me.” He indicated the empty chair across from him. “Sit down.”
I shrugged and sat down.
“This is Colonel Voltaire,” Admiral Curtis said.
The Colonel gave me a courteous nod. “Pleased to meet you, Commodore Stone. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“I’m sure you have. You can drop the ‘Commodore’. I’m just plain ‘Thomas Stone’. I don’t believe they missed to mention that small detail when you were briefed about me.”
Colonel Voltaire smiled thinly. “I am aware of your situation, Commodore. I know that you have been discharged without honor from the Service. I also know that there are people out there who want you dead. You are the victim of a conspiracy, Commodore, but you know that already.”
He possessed hard eyes, this colonel, they showed no pity, but they were honest.
“You didn’t come here to tell me that you feel sorry for the way I was treated, Colonel. What do you want from me?” I glanced at Admiral Curtis, but his face remained passive.
The Colonel laughed. “Coming right to the matter, Commodore. I like that.”
“It’s been a long day and I am very tired.” I said. “I need a meal, a bath and a good night’s rest.”
“We have made arrangements for a room where you can sleep safely. You won’t have to fear for your life tonight, you’ll be well guarded.”
My turn to laugh. “Are you afraid I’m going to escape?” I asked. I had seen the two Colonial Marines at one table and the two Special Troopers at another.
“You are not a prisoner, Thomas.” Admiral Curtis said. “By the way, your mother sends her regards. She misses you.”
“I miss her too,” I said, speaking the truth, especially since we hadn’t seen much of each other for the last two years.
“You shouldn’t have left.” The Admiral said softly. I always thought of him as just The Admiral, even though he was my stepfather. We had been close, or so I thought. After I was court-martialed, he buried himself in his work, refused to see me when I attempted to contact him.
“I feared for my life,” I said. “They murdered everyone else. Why not me, why was I humiliated like that?”
He stared at me. I saw the pain in his eyes. “Because you are my son, that’s why. I am not very popular with certain people, but I am in a position of power; they cannot get rid of me that easily. You were the more convenient target.”
“That may be true, but there is more to it, isn’t there?”
He nodded. “You carry dangerous knowledge inside your head.”
The village lay on the shore of a frozen lake. The strong wind blew the snow off the ice, and the rays of the setting sun painted the glinting ice red. I saw a pair of fishermen pulling small sleds behind them, on their way back to shore. Everything looked very peaceful.
Sharina and Kabrina had disappeared into one of the buildings. A sign above the door proclaimed it a tavern. Who would have guessed? The only tall building in this forsaken place, and the drunk falling out of the door should have been a dead giveaway.
There were two air-sleds parked in the small parking lot, they held no markings, but they gave me the shivers. These were no ordinary air-sleds.
I followed the girls into the tavern.
The place didn’t look crowded, no surprise, considering the size of the village. The surprise came with the man sitting at one of the tables. He didn’t wear a uniform. However, the man with him did. I recognized the uniform and the insignia on the man’s left sleeve. A high-ranking officer in the United Planet’s Space Navy.
I approached the table slowly.
“Hello, Thomas, good to see you again.”
“Admiral,” I said, but I didn’t salute.
He smiled. “We had a hard time tracking you down, son,” he said.
“Had I known you wanted my company, I would have left you a note, Father,” I said. No, I was not bitter.
He sighed. “I can’t blame you if you hate me.” He indicated the empty chair across from him. “Sit down.”
I shrugged and sat down.
“This is Colonel Voltaire,” Admiral Curtis said.
The Colonel gave me a courteous nod. “Pleased to meet you, Commodore Stone. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“I’m sure you have. You can drop the ‘Commodore’. I’m just plain ‘Thomas Stone’. I don’t believe they missed to mention that small detail when you were briefed about me.”
Colonel Voltaire smiled thinly. “I am aware of your situation, Commodore. I know that you have been discharged without honor from the Service. I also know that there are people out there who want you dead. You are the victim of a conspiracy, Commodore, but you know that already.”
He possessed hard eyes, this colonel, they showed no pity, but they were honest.
“You didn’t come here to tell me that you feel sorry for the way I was treated, Colonel. What do you want from me?” I glanced at Admiral Curtis, but his face remained passive.
The Colonel laughed. “Coming right to the matter, Commodore. I like that.”
“It’s been a long day and I am very tired.” I said. “I need a meal, a bath and a good night’s rest.”
“We have made arrangements for a room where you can sleep safely. You won’t have to fear for your life tonight, you’ll be well guarded.”
My turn to laugh. “Are you afraid I’m going to escape?” I asked. I had seen the two Colonial Marines at one table and the two Special Troopers at another.
“You are not a prisoner, Thomas.” Admiral Curtis said. “By the way, your mother sends her regards. She misses you.”
“I miss her too,” I said, speaking the truth, especially since we hadn’t seen much of each other for the last two years.
“You shouldn’t have left.” The Admiral said softly. I always thought of him as just The Admiral, even though he was my stepfather. We had been close, or so I thought. After I was court-martialed, he buried himself in his work, refused to see me when I attempted to contact him.
“I feared for my life,” I said. “They murdered everyone else. Why not me, why was I humiliated like that?”
He stared at me. I saw the pain in his eyes. “Because you are my son, that’s why. I am not very popular with certain people, but I am in a position of power; they cannot get rid of me that easily. You were the more convenient target.”
“That may be true, but there is more to it, isn’t there?”
He nodded. “You carry dangerous knowledge inside your head.”
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
After Author Day
I successfully survived my Author Day. It went well. I gave away quite a few copies of my book ‘Daughter of the Dark’ to the winners of my contests. There were not as many visitors as I would have liked, but the ones who came took an interest in my writings.
I finally finished my short story (15K) ‘The Kiir’ for the digest ‘Launch the Raunch’ and sent it in and I have written about two thousand words for my next short story ‘A Taste of Paradise’.
Some writers plan their story from beginning to end before they start writing it. Scenes and characters are in place and the story just needs to be fleshed out. I found out, again, that it doesn’t really work for me. I had this story already in my head, all mapped out, but as I started to write it and the characters (so far only two main characters) and the setting came alive, it began to go its own way. It was supposed to be an adventure/love story. Not anymore. The mood is totally different and it looks like it is going to be a gothic-type story. I’m not sure yet. We’ll see where the characters want to go. Sounds crazy, doesn’t it, but that’s the way it works. That is what makes writing so interesting and exciting. Like reading a book, almost. I could never be a ‘formula writer’. I have to follow the flow, wherever it leads me.
Maybe I’ll take my other idea and write that story some other time. I just have to find a different beginning.
I noticed quite some activity on my blog this last week. 76 visitors. I hope everyone who visits me takes something away with them. Hello everyone and thanks for stopping by. Come again.
I finally finished my short story (15K) ‘The Kiir’ for the digest ‘Launch the Raunch’ and sent it in and I have written about two thousand words for my next short story ‘A Taste of Paradise’.
Some writers plan their story from beginning to end before they start writing it. Scenes and characters are in place and the story just needs to be fleshed out. I found out, again, that it doesn’t really work for me. I had this story already in my head, all mapped out, but as I started to write it and the characters (so far only two main characters) and the setting came alive, it began to go its own way. It was supposed to be an adventure/love story. Not anymore. The mood is totally different and it looks like it is going to be a gothic-type story. I’m not sure yet. We’ll see where the characters want to go. Sounds crazy, doesn’t it, but that’s the way it works. That is what makes writing so interesting and exciting. Like reading a book, almost. I could never be a ‘formula writer’. I have to follow the flow, wherever it leads me.
Maybe I’ll take my other idea and write that story some other time. I just have to find a different beginning.
I noticed quite some activity on my blog this last week. 76 visitors. I hope everyone who visits me takes something away with them. Hello everyone and thanks for stopping by. Come again.
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