For a dragon detective with a magic-slinging nun as a partner,saving the worlds gets routine. So,when the U.S. government hires Vern and Sister Grace to recover stolen secrets for creating a new Interdimensional Gap—secrets the U.S. would like to keep,thank you—Vern sees a chance to play Dragon-Oh-Seven.
No human spy,however,ever went up against a Norse goddess determined to rescue her husband. Sigyn will move heaven and earth to get Loki—and use the best and worst of our world against anyone who tries to stop her.
It’s super-spy spoofing at its best with exotic locations (Idaho–exotic? Well,Idaho’s exotic to them),maniacal middle-managers,secret agent men,teen rock stars in trouble,man-eating animatronics,evil overlords,and more!
Excerpt:
Charlie started to close the door behind us,his other hand gripping the handle of his dagger so tightly I could hear the leather wrap on the handle strain,as we listened to the footsteps coming our way,slow,bored. My predator’s instincts rose;then I had a great idea. I shook my head at Charlie and winked,and he shuffled out of my way,leaving the door ajar. I settled myself with my back to the door,just inside the shadows and let the script play itself out:
CLUELESS MINION enters Stage Left. He pauses,hearing a noise,but does not report it. Instead,he fondles the stars on his nametag and moves toward the empty hallway,his mind on adding another. (Probably saying,“I was proactive today!”)
CLUELESS pauses at door,hesitating. He stands and,back to the door,reaches for his walkie-talkie.
Suddenly,a well-muscled and gorgeously scaled tail whips out from the crack in the door and wraps itself around his neck. He only has time to grab ineffectively at the tail before he’s drawn into the darkness. The door shuts behind him.
Pan shot of the empty hallway.
FADE TO BLACK
I slammed my victim on the floor and pinned him with my forelegs,then I leaned my face in nice and slow,making sure he got a good look at my fangs before he saw my eyes. “Where’s the girl?”I growled low and menacingly.
“Wh-What g-g-girl?”
Charlie crouched down by Stutterboy and glanced at his nametag. “Look,Philip,we’re in a bit of a hurry. We know Rhoda Dakota’s being held captive somewhere nearby. Now you can be a good survivor and tell us where…or you can be dinner.”
“I-I don’t—”
“Phil A. Minion.”I mused and drooled a bit for effect. I live for these moments,I really do. I licked his cheek and asked Charlie,“Can I have fries with that?”
“Why not? This is Idaho.”
About the Author:
After being a straight-A student,Karina now cultivates Fs:Family,Faith,Fiction and Fun. From Nuns in Space to a down-and out Faerie dragon working off a geas by St. George,her work takes quirky twists that keep her amused–and have won the EPPIE award for best sci-fi and the Mensa Owl for best fiction. In addition to juggling the stories from at least three different universes,Karina has served as President of the Catholic Writers’Guild and teaches writing seminars on-line. With four kids,five pets and a very understanding husband who is an officer in the Air Force,she tends to sleep in her “spare”time.
Ross S. Simon was born Sam Ridings in La Crosse,WI,in 1979. He spent the bulk of his childhood in the town of Winona,Minnesota (and enduring the apparently horrid winters therein) until moving at age nine to Santa Cruz,California,where he still resides. He graduated from Soquel High School in 1997,and from Aptos,CA’s Cabrillo College in 2005,the latter with an Associated Arts degree in Basic Liberal Arts. His hobbies include pinball gaming,collecting pop memorabilia,and reading very entertaining novels of many genres,including horror. The Snow is Mr. Simon’s debut novel.
Blurb
It’s a bloody cold winter.
Throughout history,he has secretly visited this world again and again. The Prankster,the mischief-maker,of Norse mythology…Loki.
Now,one Donald Holly—an ordinary,lonely man living in northern Minnesota—comes to be possessed bodily by the Asgardian deity of evil,robbed of his will…and of his very humanity,as horrific death and bizarre destruction blossom from the Trickster’s power,in the town of Eau Froid in the dead of freezing winter. Even Federal experts cannot separate Holly from this parapsychological parasite which manifests in him,as Loki is just too powerful. Yet,Holly himself might just find the will to overcome the evil magic of the demon who would be a god,even if it means the destruction of all that he is.
Excerpt
“Let’s start…er,Mister Loki…with why you came to possess Donald Holly.” “‘Mister Loki,’” the deity echoed. “Quite cute. Seriously…that is Lord Loki to you. However,‘My Lord’ will simply suffice.” “All right,then,My Lord. So you wish to be addressed as is a king by his subjects.” “I am a king.” He seemed cocky indeed. “King of all Asgard. All Odin is doing is simply taking up space in my court.” “Asgard,you say. That would be the realm of the gods?” “Of the Aesir,whichever,” Loki elaborated. “That was the word in Nordic tongue for those who had so much of the kind of power and grace that men of Midgard—or this Earth—usually had,they were often classified as gods. Look it up!” “Later,My Lord. Right now,there are questions remaining to be answered. Also,though this is fascinating stuff,you still haven’t yet answered the question with which we started. Why Donald Holly,of all people?” “He seemed the modern epitome of the struggle of the white man. I’ll elaborate:I believe that the descendants of the original Norsemen—the Aryan,or Nordic race,or whites,call them whatever—exist only to be taken advantage of. I have been doing that for centuries and centuries…millennia,in fact. “You see,I wreak my chaos in that manner by first taking a place in the mind of a common white lowlife. I decided upon that for Midgard—or again,Earth—a long time ago. Sort of one-up the great ones of men—as I one-upped the Aesir—by quote-befriending-unquote one of the small ones. Give him a break. I first try that by contact with the flesh. Oftentimes mere touch doesn’t do it. So I use bloods’ contact,gay kisses,gay sex or rape,things such as that.” “Not unlike AIDS,then,is it,” Doctor Edgersen offered. “Quite similar. Only thing is:I believe Donald Holly owes me. They all have owed me,greatly. I did all that they,themselves,could never do.” “Really.” Edgersen stared hard at him. Secretly,he was hatching an idea to use. “Indeed. I work in what you might call quite mysterious ways. This Donald Holly seemed,I don’t know,special to me. He inspires me to alter my ways a little bit. Oh,granted,I still have my fun with all the mortal beings have created around me…not to mention with their flesh. I just think…I want to respect the soul of Dondi a tad more than I have those of the others I’ve taken over whenever I felt like it. He seems like a goodfriend. Just a little weak in spirit…nothing I can’t fix.” Doctor Edgersen kept staring at Loki. He was trying to digest what he’d just been told. This Loki was purporting quite a few things that labeled him,to the Doctor,as a truly dark and hateful force.
Interview
1. In three days,all power will go off,everywhere for a very long time. What will you include in your author survival kit?
1. My survival kit will include a small,yet powerful electrical generator,with about 20 gallons of can gasoline for fuel,as its most important item. Powered by the generator will be an American-made hibachi grill for food,and a laptop computer’s recharging,on which to write accounts of the ensuing mayhem of total power loss indefinitely. I will also have a .42 Winchester rifle for shooting food,plus 50 rounds of ammo. To slaughter and cook the animals (and perhaps the homicidally insane people) I shoot,I will have a Ginsu knife set,and about ten disposable surgical masks and sets of rubber gloves.
2. Where did the idea for the work you are promoting arise?
2. I was inspired to do The Snow by the style of mainstream horror authors such as Stephen King,to which I wanted to apply some kind of malevolent mythic monster;and I chose Loki from his mention in the comedy film The Mask.
3. What do you like to read?
3. I like to read most any paperback (sometimes hardcover) novel genres,including classics,epics,horror,and one guilty pleasure I have been indulging in for years now:macho series adventure novels (e.g. Mack Bolan,The Executioner).
4. Tell us about the most exciting place you have ever visited?
4. The most exciting place I’ve ever visited could be any of a number of places,but if you pardon the cornball patriotism,I’d say Mount Rushmore,South Dakota.
5. What is the most mundane,day to day,thing you can share about yourself?
5. My most mundane,daily habit is anything I do that identifies me as chronically lazy…which would most clearly be oversleeping and shunning regular exercise.
6. What scares you the most?
6. Sadly,my worst fear of all—on many levels—is people. Once you get to know me intimately,you’d be able to understand this.
7. Tell us anything but keep it G rated.
7. I sincerely hope this will be the launch of a great career in horror writing for me. “Boo.”
Thank you Ross for being my guest this week. A quick link to all of the Writerly Wednesday Guests is at http://writerlywednesday.com .
Warning. The content of this week’s Fiction Friday is disturbing.
They called me the Last House on the Left,after some movie that scared the bejeebers out of every kid in town. I was only the last house on the left if you were coming from the east going west,coming the other way another house would claim my status and I became the first house on the right.
I wonder if the people who gave me this name ever considered that every or almost every street in town boasted or could boast of having two,not one,two last houses on the left. Oh,well. Given that there are so many last houses on the left the odds were really tipped in our favor that some bad thing would be happening in one or many of us.
I am not sure what the movie was about.
Why don’t we have a movie called the house on the corner? Then what,there would be twice as many of us and we’d be counted twice being a corner house we could belong to two streets if you don’t consult with the mail carrier.
I really don’t mean to bore you with details and the math but I’ve been here a long time and I’ve thought about it for just as long.
The story I have to tell is creepy. Bad. It isn’t too late to leave the room. Come back next Friday and don’t witness the rest of this.
I really don’t remember when I came to be. Some houses know from the day of wiring,when the lights come on for the first time that they are houses. Me,I didn’t know. I wasn’t much aware of anything at all till the roots of the big tree out front heaved the sidewalk and invaded a huge pipe coming out of me.
My first stirrings were of a plumber’s snake heading out into my nether regions. What a disgusting way to become self aware. And it didn’t stop there. The whole plumbing crew had to come out and dig up a fair part of the yard.
I was just getting over it when they tramped and pounded the earth back down and resodded the yard. There was a family here and a very disturbed one.
There was a mom and a dad,just like every house on my block,even at the other end going the other way who claims my status. There were two boys. One tiny girl. Not all that unusual. But everyone living here was in a constant state of alert and recovery.
The oldest boy had a room of his own. The tiny girl was guarded and kept in the bedroom or under the watchful eye of the mom and dad.
The boy moved in with a history and the parents were trying to live it down,stuff it under a cushion. Hiding. They put the boy in school but he wasn’t doing so well. No other kids came visiting. But they didn’t visit the younger boy either.
Again,you should come back next week,you don’t have to hang around.
The boy smuggled in a frog one day. He latched his door and laid the frog out on his hardwood floor. He studied it. Then put it into a zip lock bag and squashed all of the air out of it. He waited. The frog struggled for far too long. My discomfort grew. He kept that suffocated frog for a long time. He slept with it for a few nights,touching himself and the frog. Then he retired the loathsome rotting creature to a bottom dresser drawer.
One day while the kid was at school his mother came in to put some clothes away and saw the vile thing. She shuddered. Stuffed the clothes in and fled the room.
She kept this to herself. What good would it do to tell someone. Everyone knew anyway. She hugged her baby girl tight. Dabbed at her eyes,drew a resigned breath and went on with her day.
If you are still here,you might as well stay.
It was that very night that the kid came home with a baby kitten. Grey striped and at the gawky stage where it seemed scrawny all ears and skinny furred pointy tail.
He didn’t ask about having the kitten. He said he got it outside the store,someone had a batch in a cardboard box. It was free.
The mom and dad looked away in horror.
The kid got his dinner like every other night his little brother like his mom and dad knew. He didn’t know what he knew but he knew.
The kid rummaged through one of the kitchen catch all drawers and left the kitchen with the kitten and some super glue. His mom stifled a scream. The dad got up,grabbed his jacket and said he was going out and asked if she needed anything.
The little brother clung to his mother. They all wanted to escape the horror that awaited. But where would they go?
Of course the kitten all full of spunk scratched at the boy. The boy took the tube of glue and began by gluing the kitten’s eye closed. On the second eye,the poor thing was fighting so hard the glue oozed out and attached the animal to the murderous kid’s fingers.
The kid had quite a fight on his hands,deservedly so. At the first yowling the mom gathered up the baby girl and the little boy. They ran out the front door and down the block the other way so that when they left I was actually the first house on the right.
By the time they got back,the boy had the lips sealed on the kitten and had clipped the fur away that kept his hand fast to the crazed creature.
The family regained some sanity and crept back into the house late that night. There were muffled noises from the boy’s room.
It was several weeks later when in a fit of distraction the mom left the baby girl in the highchair,just for a moment,a toilet in the upstairs bathroom was over flowing. She had just finished mopping up when she screamed and bounded down the steps into the kitchen where the child was bowed over the baby girl.
The mom grabbed a butcher’s knife and plunged it all the way into the kid’s back. The kid wasn’t all that big and the point came out through his chest. He looked down at it in an amused sort of way. He was further amused when the point withdrew.
He giggled or hic cupped,his mom couldn’t decide so she plunged the knife one more time,this time through his side up by his arm pit downward through what she hoped included his heart.
The kid fell to his side on the floor and whimpered. Then drew one last breath.
To the mom’s horror,the kid died grinning. Not grimacing as the first responder would have said,he was grinning.
The mom scooped up the baby girl,got the little brother and went into the living room where they watched cartoons until the dad came home.
There were never any first responders. The dad called to pull the kid out of school. They were okay with it,who wanted to deal with the kid anyway. It was so easy.
The dad took the kid’s shell away,I don’t know where. The family went on to live a regular life but I couldn’t stand any of them. It was just too messed up for me and all I wanted was to just stop being. I wish I have never become aware. I wish I had never been.
I’m here all the time,remembering every torturous detail,knowing how demented and messed up a single group of people can be. As a house,I may never be right. I am sure whatever movie the Last House on the Left is will never compare to the horror I see.
The Last House on the Left
Come back next Friday for a less Creepy Read.
All of the Fiction Friday posts can be accessed at http://fiction-friday.com
This Week I am departing from my usual format and I am having two guests.
Bio
Winner of the 2010 INDIE for best Fantasy (Magic,Mensa and Mayhem) and a Mensa Owl for best fiction (World Gathering),Karina Fabian’s writing takes quirky twists that keep her–and her fans–amused. Nuns working in space,a down-and-out Faerie dragon working off a geas from St. George, zombie exterminators—there’s always a surprise in Fabian’s worlds. Mrs. Fabian teaches writing and book marketing seminars online.
Meet Karina Fabian
Blurb
Live and Let Fly
#1 When a dragon and a nun play secret agent,all Hel breaks loose!
#2 An act of Magic. The Threat of Armagheddon. The universes have one chance for survival,and one dragon to do the job.
#3 The magic is Faerie. The technology,Mundane. When they meet,the survival of the world rests in one dragon’s…er…claws. See Vern as you’ve never seen him before!
When Charlie Wilmot,the Duke’s herald and Vern and Grace’s friend,gets mugged and his fiancé’s engagement ring stolen,they agree to find the culprit. But his courier pouch held more than just a ring–the secret device sewn into it could help others create their own Interdimensional Gap–or usher Armageddon into two universes. Drafted into an Interdimensional intelligence network,Vern,Grace and Charlie go undercover–Vern,as a human! It’s super-spy spoofing at its best as 007 meets Ragnarok!
Excerpt
Charlie started to close the door behind us,his other hand gripping the handle of his dagger so tightly I could hear the leather wrap on the handle strain,as we listened to the footsteps coming our way,slow,bored. My predator’s instincts rose;then I had a great idea. I shook my head at Charlie and winked,and he shuffled out of my way,leaving the door ajar. I settled myself with my back to the door,just inside the shadows and let the script play itself out:
CLUELESS MINION enters Stage Left. He pauses,hearing a noise,but does not report it. Instead,he fondles the stars on his nametag and moves toward the empty hallway,his mind on adding another. (Probably saying,“I was proactive today!”)
CLUELESS pauses at door,hesitating. He stands and,back to the door,reaches for his walkie-talkie.
Suddenly,a well-muscled and gorgeously scaled tail whips out from the crack in the door and wraps itself around his neck. He only has time to grab ineffectively at the tail before he’s drawn into the darkness. The door shuts behind him.
Pan shot of the empty hallway.
FADE TO BLACK
I slammed my victim on the floor and pinned him with my forelegs,then I leaned my face in nice and slow,making sure he got a good look at my fangs before he saw my eyes. “Where’s the girl?”I growled low and menacingly.
“Wh-What g-g-girl?”
Charlie crouched down by Stutterboy and glanced at his nametag. “Look,Philip,we’re in a bit of a hurry. We know Rhoda Dakota’s being held captive somewhere nearby. Now you can be a good survivor and tell us where…or you can be dinner.”
“I-I don’t—”
“Phil A. Minion.”I mused and drooled a bit for effect. I live for these moments,I really do. I licked his cheek and asked Charlie,“Can I have fries with that?”
“Why not? This is Idaho.”
After the interviews there will be trailer links and other interesting links. I don’t dare try to embed the trailer…or do I? Wait and see.
Sally asked me to write my own interview this time,and knowing her penchant for unusual questions,I pulled out a little tome called The Book of Questions by Gregory Stock. My husband and I actually used this when getting to know each other while dating. (We celebrate our 22nd anniversary in November.) I am picking five questions at random,adapting them to writing as need be:
1. If God appeared to you in a series of vivid and moving dreams and told you to leave everything behind,travel alone to the Red Sea and become a fisherman,what would you do?
Urk! Naturally,that would be the first question I come across. I think the first thing I’d do is doubt my sanity. If that proved intact,then—and as a devout Catholic,it pains me,but I want to be honest—I would probably resist. I still have children at home. Now,if they were grown,I’d be more likely to say “yes,” especially if my husband gets into the astronaut program and heads off to Mars.
I wonder if there’s internet available for fishermen on the Red Sea. Can you imagine the books I could write? Otherwise,I’ll be ordering a lot of paper.
2. How close and warm is your family? Do you feel your childhood was happier than most people’s?
Absolutely. I grew up in a stable home with parents who adored each other and loved us. I took it completely for granted,too,until I went to college and one night,everyone started talking about how happy they were to have escaped their parents’ homes. I loved life on my own,but I knew I was welcome back home and would gladly have run there if I needed anything;plus,my parents were just a phone call away. In fact,I called them that night and thanked them for being so wonderful.
That’s not to say my childhood was idyllic,mind you,but as far as immediate family,I won the gold ring. I think that influenced my writing,too. Even the stories where I get dark,there are strong families,if only in the background. I do think it’s still the norm,and I definitely believe it should be.
3. Does the fact that you’ve not done something before increase or decrease its appeal to you?
When it comes to writing,it increases the appeal. I love a good challenge. That’s how Vern (the main character in Live and Let Fly) came about. I had heard of a dragon anthology,and I’d not written about dragons before. Rob and I brainstormed for about half an hour trying to find something not yet done,but it wasn’t until we went down with the kids to watch Whose Line Is It,Anyway? that I realized I could write a noir-style dragon detective. Vern proved such fun,I sought new challenges (can I mix Irish legend and the Ten Plagues? “Amateurs” says “Yes,I can!”). I also had challenges given to me,like the invitation to write a serial story,which I’d never done before. That became the first DragonEye,PI novel,Magic,Mensa and Mayhem.
Last autumn,I decided I needed a new challenge,and Rob suggested writing a sci-fi based on The Old Man and the Sea. I finished it in February and it was such fun!
Some challenges,however,do not appeal,especially technical ones.
4. Do you feel you have much impact on the lives of people you come into contact with?
I never feel like I do,but then someone will say something about some favor I did for them or something I wrote that touched them (especially with my devotional,Why God Matters) and I’ll realize that I actually did. Still,that’s the hand of God playing,not anything to do with me in particular. I’m just grateful that it does happen now and again.
5. If you could wake up tomorrow having gained one unique ability or quality,what would it be?
To be able to write scenes just as I imagine them. Even if I then read them and think,“Ack! No! Burn it,burn it!” I would still want to do this. Sometimes,I think up the most amazing scenes,but when it comes time to write them,the words don’t do justice to my imagination.
So now you know a little about me. What about my main character,Vern?
Vern is a dragon from the Faerie world who was captured by St. George and pressed into God’s service. He’s done it all from Pope’s pet to Church champion against demigods and demons. Now,for reasons only God knows,he’s living in our world as a private detective. His partner,Sister Grace,is a mage in the Order of Our Lady of Miracles.
1. If God appeared to you in a series of vivid and moving dreams and told you to leave everything behind,travel alone to the Red Sea and become a fisherman,what would you do?
Are you kidding? Caraparavalenciana is right by the Red Sea. I’d be going home!
2. How close and warm is your family? Do you feel your childhood was happier than most people’s?
Dragons are androgynous,created at the beginning of time and immortal,so we don’t have families like most species think of them. My “family” is a drove of dragons. We would meet every couple centuries or so,hunt together,dance,fight (sometimes,they’re the same thing),and gripe about the humans. I didn’t have a childhood;or I’m still in it;or I’m merely choosing to have one. Depends on who you talk to and how much I’m enjoying my day.
3. Does the fact that you’ve not done something before increase or decrease its appeal to you?
Increase,definitely. Being immortal gives you a taste for novelty…and plenty of time to learn from mistakes.
4. Do you feel you have much impact on the lives of people you come into contact with?
I have saved both the Faerie and Mundane worlds so often,I’ve developed a pay scale for it. (Not that Grace always lets me extort that kind of money.) So,yeah. Big impact. Colossal impact. But I’m a dragon. Did you expect anything less?
5. If you could wake up tomorrow having gained one unique ability or quality,what would it be?
Chew gum. I tried it once,but I had to use six entire packs and then it stuck to my teeth. You can only imagine the time I had trying to get a dentist to clean them.
A few of you have asked what my most recent crochet project is called.
My current project is called Spanish Tiles and it is no walk in the park.
Spanish Tiles
This one is four colors and when colors are involved there is a lot of clean up to do with the little snippets of yarn. They all have to be weaved into the work and snipped. This is drudgery. See all the threads on the paper towel?
Tailings - AKA Drudgery
I imagine some crafter,somewhere could work them into a craft project.
The octagonal tiles are sewn together with smaller square tiles filling the gaps.
In the future,a triangular shaped tile will fill in the outer edges but I have not reached that part,yet.
The most difficult thing about this pattern is that I have to do maybe three rows then another row that dives back into the second row and joins another row to hold the petals down. The backside of this looks nothing like the front side.
I like to do these crochet things because working with a pattern and counting all the time does not free my mind to worry about things I cannot change.
Also,unless I put the item in show,there are very few people around who want to suggest edits and changes.
So,there you have it. This is the crochet project that has me doing week-end yarn runs.
I opened in 1980. I originally existed as a hideout for battered women. They showed up,some with bandages,many with small children,infants in arms. Cold,afraid,angry,trapped. These women more often than not,went back to these men. Many of the women who got away from their abusers simply traded up to a better employed batterer.
One woman expressed it in a way that made me understand.
She said,“My man loves me so much he is willing to show me his worst.”
I don’t know why I understand it,but I do. To have someone love you so deeply they’d strike you,burn you,lock you up. Well,you had to stick around when it was all over with. Loyalty counts. If he shows that much care,you can’t help but stay,to earn his trust. To thank him. To honor him.
“Being here,” the woman batted a fist at her tear streaked cheek,“it just shows how weak I am.” She clutched her smallest child on her hip and held tight to a little boy’s hand. “I am a failure.”
Everyone who would listen knew she’d go back to him.
Till Death do we Part. __ On a brighter note,I became a half way house for people coming out of long prison terms. These men were abused and abusers. I became a half-way house because too many of the women shared the location with their partners during reconciliations. A battered woman can’t find shelter in a place everyone knows about. If your woman ran off,she probably came here. __ Anyway,as a half way house,we have rules. No women,no parties,guests are discouraged. A fellow could lock his door but the manager on duty had to have a key and expectation of privacy was not to be expected.
Some men stayed for months,others reoffended right away and went back to the jail. Prison. I should have been a rehab for all the problems these men brought. They knew prison life but they were not equipped to have day to day relationships. Learning the rules was difficult. Living the rules was impossible.
Some of them didn’t want to learn the rules. __ One man in particular was trouble from the moment he came through the door. He shrugged past the manager,bumping his shoulder,turning him sideways with a glare. I knew,everyone knew,he wouldn’t last.
He was okay for the first few weeks. He went to the job coaching place,did his paperwork,even went out and actually asked for forms to apply for jobs.
There was no way anyone but the biggest fool was going to hire him on. He positively smelled of hostility.
Two weeks in,this guy was listed as a walk away. Because he was a violent offender his picture came up on local television screens and anyone who saw him was warned not to take any action. Not to make any moves to apprehend.
He was two states over when some badder person than he,layed him out on a bar room floor. His case was closed. His number was up. He’d met his match. __ Another fellow took his place. The guy seemed quiet,kept to himself,he was even meek. He was in for what they called kiddy porn,a crime that even criminals were offended by. It was kept under wraps what he was there for,why he had served time,but in here,people know. When there is a hush settled over a fellow’s past,we all know it had to do with kids.
He was mild mannered and kept to himself. The men here are allowed pens and note books. They can’t access the internet,especially the creepy ones. But they can write. They can receive mail but it goes through a manager’s hands first.
This fellow,though,didn’t send or receive mail. He wrote,he wrote during most of his waking hours. I remember him most because of the time he spent bent over his notebook. Sometimes sweat dripped off his nose,sometimes tears plopped on the paper spreading the ink in faded rings.
He wrote the most hateful and horrid stuff. Things he wanted to do. Things he did. Things he thought he did. Walls have eyes as well as ears. He had detailed plans of new things he wanted to try. Depraved things. Things you turn away from and spend the next few months wishing they hadn’t etched their horror onto your brain.
The meek,mild,child abuser got hold of some pills and died fitfully during his third month in his little room. Everyone knew.
The manager turned his hideous writing over to a parole officer who was likewise sickened by the first few pages. I imagine he burned the manuscript without reading any further. I hope he committed it to hell fire where the man who wrote them certainly suffers.
Ian Walkley wanted to write novels since his teenage days,but like many people pursued a career. He was a social researcher and worked in business development,until eventually starting his own market research agency in Brisbane,Australia. As well as writing many business reports,Ian contributed to a national e-magazine Marketing Update. He also co-authored and edited two publications on small business. He began writing No Remorse in late 2008,in his spare time,and it was published in January 2012 by Marq Books. Ian has won recognition for a screenplay. No Remorse is a well-researched,fast paced thriller. Ian enjoys applying his experience as a consumer researcher to the motivations underlying the behaviour of his characters and researching the technical detail of jobs,locations,weapons and other aspects of his writing. Ian continues to undertake marketing consulting,travel writing,and copywriting,which blends creative writing with his experience in marketing. He lives in Brisbane,Australia with his family. About No Remorse: His best friend’s daughter has been abducted in Mexico. This is no ordinary kidnap for ransom. But then,Lee McCloud is no ordinary man.
Having suffered the horror of witnessing his sister kidnapped when he was fourteen,the abduction of his goddaughter Sophia in Mexico is an opportunity for Delta Force operator McCloud to deliver some badly needed justice.
Things don’t go as planned,and McCloud finds himself forced out of the army and teamed with Tally,a computer hacker in a secret organization that raids the bank accounts of wealthy terrorists,and Scotty,a British SAS soldier.
The trail of Sophia’s kidnapper—known only as The Frenchman—leads from Martinique to Paris,where McCloud and Scotty find a lead,but not Sophia.
Their lead is Ziad,the security director of a celebrity billionaire Saudi exile,Sheik Khalid,who is suspected of supporting terrorism. Determined to save Sophia at all costs,McCloud soon finds himself on a collision course with Khalid,whose ambitions feature a key role for Sophia. She is to be a living donor of a liver for an ailing Al Qaeda leader with the same rare blood type.
As McCloud and Tally get closer to locating Sophia,they find themselves trapped in a larger conspiracy,hunted by assassins and betrayed by their own side. And conflicted by their feelings for each other.
But time is running out for Sophia and for the world. With their haunted pasts catching up,McCloud and Tally need to escape from being killed for Khalid’s pleasure,in time to stop a horrific plot hatched by someone who knows too much about them.
Success may mean death. Failure will have profound consequences for an already unstable world.
Interview
1. In three days,all power will go off,everywhere for a very long time. What will you include in your author survival kit?
1. My wife;my editor Jodie Renner;the ladies from the Cerebella Book Club (never know how useful a women’s book club can be);my bookshelf of books,including Donald Maass’Writing the Breakout Novel;lots of rollerball pens and A3 paper;endless packets of Tim Tams;and my mechanical orange juicer. And a genie in a bottle to give me everything else I wish for.
2. Where did the idea for the work you are promoting arise?
2. About 2007,I read an article about Iraqi terrorist groups kidnapping kids to raise money for the war against America. I started digging and came across other stories on orphans being kidnapped for their body organs. As the story evolved I found more information about foreigners being kidnapped in Mexico and never being found. I wove together these various elements to come up with the story of a Delta soldier trying to find two girls kidnapped in Mexico for their organs. I also found some fascinating material on links between terrorism and international banking,and some software that could penetrate databases and analyze incredible amounts of data to come up with relationships,which I included in the story.
3. What do you like to read?
3. I like to read action thrillers and suspense crime thrillers:Robert Ludlum,Harlan Coben,Nelson DeMille,David Baldacci,Vince Flynn,Robert Crais,Lee Child,Wilbur Smith. But I’ve broadened my genres since I’ve been writing,so I now read police procedurals,romance,chick lit,some fantasy and sci fi. Getting time to read is the problem.
4. Tell us about the most exciting place you have ever visited?
4. There’s been lots:A couple of years ago I was in Damascus,and was crossing the street when the Presidential motorcade came past. All of a sudden lots of burly guys in leather jackets came out of the crowd and pushed me and other people back from the roadway for several blocks. I had no idea what was happening. Then a motorcade of at least a dozen cars and motorcycles came past. One of the vehicles was an ambulance. I guess they were worried about assassination attempts. Can’t imagine why.
5. What is the most mundane,day to day,thing you can share about yourself?
5. I try to take our two dogs out once a day for a walk. It’s mundane,but I use the time to play audio tapes of Writers Festival presentations,and come up with new ideas. Sitting at a computer all day writing a book is not very exciting,except of course when you are getting into the story and then it is really exciting!
6. What scares you the most?
6. Being buried alive. I hate going underground. I’m going to be cremated when I die,just in case I wake up in the casket. I could never watch the movie Buried.
7. Tell us anything but keep it G rated.
7. I thought finishing the first book was a milestone. Now I realise you need to have written at least two books to be recognized as an author. You have to prove the first one wasn’t just a fluke.
Thank you Ian for letting me use you for Writerly Wednesday. And I came into the writing world with the Catch 22 that you had to be published to,well,become published. Does it ever end?
Drop by next week for and use the link http://writerlywednesday.com for the complete list of writerly wednesday guests.
I began as some scrap board nailed together with big nails. I was a flimsy platform. The smaller kids got a few bigger kids from the neighborhood to help wedge some two by fours against my underside and the tree. I wasn’t very secure but the kids were having a great time putting me together.
By summer time,the father had grown quite concerned about my integrity and safety. He came out with the boys,surveyed me from all kinds of extreme angles and measured me. The littlest kid got to write down the numbers and the bigger one was put to drawing on some construction paper.
The man and two boys sat at a table in the yard and looked at the drawing. The man explained that he had no idea about how to build the castle like image the older kid wanted. Instead,together they made a far simpler drawing.
The man explained that when they went into town they should go ahead and get all of the things they needed,more nails,sanding equipment,mider box,roofing and paint.
The smaller kid still clutched the measurements.
The group shored up my existing floor so they could play while other improvements were coming together.
Late that summer,I was the grandest and only tree house on the block. The bigger kids who helped out in my first days came back,on and off to help out with one of my parts.
When I was done,I was a sturdy and homely tree house. I was glad the grownups didn’t spoil my coolness by exclaiming I was more of a veranda than a tree house.
In an overdone effort to prevent my tumbling down like a deck of cards,dropping children as I went,the man put big sturdy pillar like supports under me and lodged them in cement.
In the event of a storm,the man warned,come inside,being in a tree during a storm was not a good idea.
They made my interior,complete with three walls and a roof,into a kids club house. I put up the no girls allowed until the boys were into middle school. They hung out less but still kept the dust stirred up.
One of the kids tried smoking inside me but he ended his grand experiment by puking over my edge.
The older boy tried to bring a girl up here. She was too sissified to attempt the climb. The kid told her as much and they both stomped away mad.
For a while,no one came out. They would rake leaves from around my supports but no one played up here.
One winter an opossum moved in and in the spring time she moved on with her babies clinging to her.
Raccoons came and went.
One day,the kids were nearly grown up. They came out and cleaned me inside and out and checked the wood that had gone soft here and there and walked away.
I don’t know if they were planning something or trying to find something. Maybe they just needed to go back in time for a bit.
A few weeks after my rather random cleaning a huge storm came up. It snowed and rained and snowed. Then ice came. The wind blew madly and I felt myself loosening like a baby tooth. Just a little rocking back and forward and a bit of pain as I pulled away from the tree.
It wasn’t me that was pulling away,I realized that later. It was the tree giving away to the storm. It rolled over in a sort of half turn and fell across the back fence,stalled a moment then as the fence collapsed the tree jolted to a stopping place.
I was still standing but like the tree before it fell,I had a little half twist. My legs,pillars,stood well in the cement shoes but the parts of me that depended on the tree were gasping and sagging and loosing integrity.
The storm passed and the man and his big boys came out to have a look.
The man warned them not to go under and stay away from it till he could figure out how it needed to fall.
When the guys had set through a mug of coffee just sort of gazing at the all around destruction from the storm,they gloved up and set off to survey me with the same plotting looks the man gave so long ago when he told the measurements to the little boy.
The little boy,now at least a teen ager stepped back as the two others knocked at my smaller supports. My floor gave way and dropped down like a hang mans floor against the cemented supports and looked like a wooden sheet hung out to dry.
They eventually got the floor away from the posts and then sawed the pillars down to a decent height. Still tall enough not to run a lawn mower blade into them,tall enough to not be a hazard.
They hauled most of me off with the left over trees. They tried to get all of my nails back.
The next day,the man and boys,big boys by now,came out with a long cord and a small wood burning pen. The boys etched their names in my posts along with my date of construction and destruction.
It has been a long time. The posts are well cured,they stand in silent testament to fun and family.
Kerri Williams is our Writerly Wednesday Author. Welcome Kerri.
There is a give-away this week so be sure you read all the way through. Thank-you Kerri.
Writerly Wednesdays: Kerri Williams
Kerri Williams and her Books!
Bio: Kerri is an Australian Author with a love for romance and suspense so it was no wonder this love spilled out onto the pages of her novels~TAKING BACK HIS WIDOW &her latest NUDGING CUPID published by Eternal Press. Kerri lives on the Mid North Coast of NSW (Australia) with the luxury of the lush country with its rolling green and golden hills and the coast with its sparkling sea and clean beaches at her doorstep. With such beauty readily available it made it easy to incorporated what Australia has to offer in her novels scenery.
She has been writing on and off since she was sixteen when she met the love of her life-her dear husband,and between having two beautiful daughters Kerri kept on writing with the dream of sharing her love for all things romance and suspense with other readers.
Kerri is also an active member of RWA- Romance Writers of Australian and hosts many world known Authors and up-coming writers within their blog,Blog Bites.
When Livinia Jacobs grudgingly ran from the love of her life with his child in her womb into the arms of another man,she never thought she’d see Dean Stone again.
Eleven years later,she finds herself widowed in a picturesque little coastal town of Queensland and her past has come back to haunt her.
Livinia was completely aware of her lack of control in Dean’s presence. Heck;that was half the attraction in the first place,but her secret kept her feet firmly on the ground and her heart guarded from the once youthful dream of a future with him.
Dean forgot the most important thing of all about Livinia,she was his addiction. Ten minutes with her and he was craving her touch again,wanting to hold her,to feel her soft naked skin against his,to kiss those supple,pink lips. Hell,he wanted her period.
But can he forgive her and prove to her he’s no longer the scared boy he once was,but now the man she needed him to be- a man she could trust with her heart- no matter the sacrifice.
Excerpt: She tried to say his name. The words were there- Dean Stone. Only her throat restricted the sound.
“I knew it was you,” he said.
She wasn’t sure,but she thought she heard a hint of triumph or possibly accusation in his tone.
“It’s been a long time,Livinia.”
“Dean.” It came out in a whisper and more like a question then a statement.
After all this time,why is he here?
There was something tugging at her mind,something important that she knew she should be more worried about than anything else. But her mind wouldn’t cooperate.
Before she could decipher what it was that was so important,Dean’s voice invaded the fog.
“Is that all you have to say to me?”
The dark challenging look in his eyes made her blood simmer within her veins. Even in the dim light of the stations security lights,she found herself glued to his vivid brown eyes.
Once upon a time,she would have bathed in their brilliant depths with love and passion,allured like a deer to head lights.
Interview 1. In three days,all power will go off,everywhere for a very long time. What will you include in your author survival kit?
Why is it I’m never prepared with a clever answer for this one,hmm. I would include a box of notebooks and a mass of pens. Really,I think that’s all you need;that and your imagination.
2. Where did the idea for the work you are promoting arise?
I had joined a writers challenge called 50k in 30days,it’s a time where you don’t have a lot of time to mull over details and you just write. So in order to do that,you write what you know instead of what you have to research and so I based this story in a small fishing town alike the one we used to live in called Tin Can Bay. It was amazing how easy it took off once I began.
3. What do you like to read?
I love anything with a happy ending but I adore a series where you’re utterly involved in the characters for longer period of time.
4. Tell us about the most exciting place you have ever visited?
I know this is going to sound a tad lame but I would say Sea World. Hubby,the kids and I stayed at Sea World Resort which backed onto the park and we could visit as many times as we liked. We paid for a close up encounter where first thing in the morning before the park opened we could feed and pat the sea lions,experience the shark tour which I declined the dive and feed option to the dismay of my husband. And then we got to the best one- the dolphins where we fed and got them to do some tricks and things. It was fantastic! We want to go back.
5. What is the most mundane,day to day,thing you can share about yourself?
Bah,that would be the washing up. I really,really,detest the washing up and yet to buy a dishwasher although I promise myself one every birthday,xmas,anniversary and even easter. Maybe this Christmas
6. What scares you the most?
Trivial:spider and snakes and of course there’s the sharks. Once,I was towing the kids on their boogie board through the water by pulling the leg rope when I saw a shadow following us to the side and freaked the hell out screaming shark while pulling the kids faster back towards the shore. It was moments later after I made such a fuss that I realised it was a shadow off casted from the boogie board.
I can hear you laughing from here but I tell you,it was so bleeping scary at the time.
7. Tell us anything but keep it G rated.
I’m a tv series Junky! Bones,Sons Of Anarchy,Supernatural,Veronica Mars,Battlestar Galactica- you get my point. I think this is why I have begun to write a series,it’s harder than I thought but I’m loving the intricacy of the plots and characters and their growth in the journey.
Thank you Sally for having me here today and I’m offering a pdf giveaway of my novel Taking Back His Widow to a lucky person who leaves a comment. Good luck! Kez
Thank you Kerri Williams for letting me display you like this,fears,tv series addictions and your Sea World experience.
Please,everyone,leave a comment. Pass this link along to everyone you know. Another way to access Writerly Wednesday is simply writerlywednesday.com.
Thanks to everyone for returning each week. Thanks to so many of you for accepting my offer to be a guest. Now,leave a comment and don’t touch anything sharp.
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