Cat Get Off My Keyboard

My 5 fears

2012-02-06T08:59:00.000-08:00

Well as promised, here is the add-on to my previous post where I wrote about the top 5 fears and anxieties of the greater population at large. Here are my top 5 and to be honest some are just anxieties, not actually terror.

For instance:

1- Clowns. I distrust clowns. Maybe it's because I can't tell what they are thinking behind all that make-up. Maybe because I wonder why they hang out with small kids and hide their true identities. From my perspective only superheros get a pass on the hidden identity thing. Clowns...they suck. A psychiatrist might think it was because I read Stephen King's novel, It. But I would probably chalk it up to having seen this f'ed up movie much too young.

2- Hospitals. They smell funny. Sort of like sepsis and rubbing alcohol. Oh, and expensive bills for opinions that I could have told myself. Stomach ache? Indigestion. Headache? No one knows...stress or eat better or ...you guessed it...indigestion. You heard your ankle snap? You can't see the podiatrist until your general physician verifies its broken and refers you. Sorry, by the way, you might have digestive issues.

3- Funeral homes. You would think it would be graveyards but it isn't. I hear about people who live in the funeral home. Family lives on one side, Dad does his work in the basement on dead bodies. F@ck that. Reminds me of Six Feet Under and My Girl. My Girl made me hate funeral homes even more and further associate them with tears...don't judge me.

4- Speaking of basements...I hate those too. I guess it is a combination of the dark and the unknown at its root. But I am not scared of the dark nor the unknown so much. But when you combine the two in a dank smelly basement of a 100 year old house I get a bit uncomfortable.

5- Last but not least- Being stuck in a nightmare. Another fear you can blame on bad television or that one time I thought I had sleep paralysis, but not waking from my sleep and being stuck in some continuing nightmare for all of eternity freaks me the f@ck out. Thank you Freddy Krueger. Thank you to all those people who said the best way to die is in your sleep. You have scar(r)ed me for life.

Top 5 Worst Fears

2012-01-18T13:35:00.000-08:00

People are scared of all sorts of things but only a select few have the notorious distinction of making the top 5 all time greatest or most common fears list. I'll post those five but then I will post my personal top 5 fears. It will be interesting, to me at least, to see where there is overlap.

1) Fear of Flying

Yikes. This picture can't be real...

2) Fear of Public Speaking

Imagining the audience in their undies is supposed to work....

...what if it just turns you on?

3) Fear of Heights

I imagine this goes hand in hand with the fear of flying. I am pretty sure

no one is afraid to fly...just the possibility of falling from such a height.

4) Fear of the Dark

I would never admit that...

5) Fear of Intimacy

I figured this would be more Freudian and on the subconscious

level versus an actual fear that could be listed...

The rest of the top ten are rounded out with (in order): Death, Failure, Rejection, Spiders and Commitment. Some of the top ten seem to be very similar to me such as Rejection is usually a type of Failure, or at least is associated in the minds of those that fear one or the other. Commitment and Intimacy go hand in hand if you ask me. I have only two or maybe two and a half fears that match up with the top ten. But later this week I will share my personal top 5 for your amusement.

I will give you a hint as to one of my fears, and it involves a red nose. It is not Rudolph nor is it an alcoholic, though both of those might throw me for a loop if I was caught off guard. Could you imagine running into a drunkard riding on the back of an actual flying reindeer in the middle of an alley at midnight?

No thanks.

For Nothing film adaptation Interview

2012-01-11T11:44:00.000-08:00

As you all know the novel For Nothing is being adapted into a screenplay by Sir Thomas Humphreys of Wales. The magazine Side B recently interviewed him about his writing style, current works, family life, etc. His interview contained large portions of dialogue about For Nothing including how we met, his thoughts on the book, the screenplay, etc.

Feel free to give it a read. It is insightful as far as Thomas' writing process, flattering as far as my work is concerned, and generally pretty entertaining.

The Interview with Side B

“What no wife of a writer can ever understand is that a writer is working when he’s staring out of the window.” - Thomas Humpherys

LH: Let’s talk about “For Nothing”: How did you get involved in writing the adaptation of Nicholas Denmon’s novel? Were you approached or did you seek it out? Had you read the book before writing it–I’m assuming you eventually read it to in fact adapt it.

TH: Where do I start with Nicholas Denmon? I was introduced to Nick about a year ago through a mutual friend; we connected on that wonderful writer’s tool, Twitter. He was an author, I was a screenwriter, so eventually his book came up in conversation, I was already working on a couple of scripts of my own at the time and in, I think, May of this year I flew out to Florida for just under a month to get away from the distractions of life here and concentrate on rewrites. I find my own company is a lot more bearable in 90 degree heat, sat next to the pool at the house there. [Click for entire interview]

5 things I wonder about 2012

2012-01-06T09:33:00.000-08:00

2011 is behind us and so far 2012 seems to be much of the same. Politicians are squabbling, books and movies are being created and read or watched. I still work for a living, no one handed me 20 million dollars to relax for the rest of time. My cat still walks on my keyboard....

So as we move further into 2012, here are 5 things I wonder about:

1) Are the Mayans right? Is this the last year of our existence? If so, than my diet is pointless....just saying Mr. New Years Resolution tab keeper, you f@cking prick.

2) Will a company called Skynet emerge and are we REALLY only 17 years away from the post-apocalyptic world portrayed in Terminator?

3) Where are the damned hover boards and flying cars we were promised in Back to the Future 2? They have 3...THREE...3 years to get us that shit before 2015. By the way...we seem to be pretty far off from the time machine too, which should have been made about 28 years ago. Though it is possible one exists and reality is constantly changing around me...

4) I wonder if 2012 will see the end of the Buffalo Bills playoff drought. It has been 12 years of futility and no other team playing has a current streak that long. Not even the Detroit Lions.

5) What ridiculous trend will inspire children everywhere, as well as some fragile adults? Over the years we have been graced with Pogs, GigaPets,and more recently Silly Bandz. Kids these days are not near as cool as those of us that remember Glo Worms and LiteBrite.

Have a great 2012!

Annual Holiday Party

2011-12-19T12:53:00.000-08:00

You really do have to love the holidays. I recently hosted my annual party and friends and family from all around came over and enjoyed the eggnog, hot chocolate, and fire pit. The air cooled down a bit even if this is Florida and even if I had to lower the thermostat to 66 degrees.

Alex Denmon knows how to rock an ugly Christmas sweater

Evening highlights include:

My friend Eddie falling asleep on the couch as the party raged on

Eddie's pot-roast was a huge hit!

My friend Ryan and his girlfriend were misidentified as Zach Braff and Jennifer Garner

I almost lit my sleeve on fire

My meatballs were a hit, thank you crock-pot goddess

Ruchelle Owens, winner of the riddle, showed up and seemed to have a great time

My cat figured out how to open doors

One of the guests, a female named Sara, decided to turn on Call of Duty at 3am.

The hostess with the most-est continues to impress

No one was maimed, died, or got arrested (tame party, sounds like weaksauce but it wasn't)

My niece danced to Sexy and I Know It and at the age of three looks like a potential diva. She made me watch eleven times as she danced and then also refused to dance until everyone washed their hands six times.

The police helmet from the 2007 hat party made its way back out via Alex Denmon's head

My Dad and Paula went on a beer run and showed up with three cases of beer to add to my two cases and three bottles of liquor

Also noteworthy and important:

Lindsey made her beans again

Josh did not drink a deadly tea, though he almost did

Craig and Stacey came in from Orlando- no party works without them

Tre and Min, always wonderful, let me act ridiculous and it was great to see them and add their Christmas present under my mini-tree.

Mike and Elena came to their first Holiday party in my house and really amped things up

My good friend Brent and his wife Kim showed up (it has been a while since I have seen them out and about)

Josh, Dave, and Alex helped create the world's best gamer / nerd photo of grown men spelling out COD with their hands.

Dana took the picture and then made fun of us in her pleasantly biting way that we all adore....

The party really set the tone for Christmas and hopefully next year those who didn't make it will be able to join us!

Black Friday and Giveaway Update!

2011-11-28T06:16:00.000-08:00

As of right now 333 people have signed up to win one of three signed copies of For Nothing. My apologies to my international friends. I will hold an international ebook giveaway soon. I hope that will make amends for this purely U.S. driven contest.

There are 2 days left to sign up for this giveaway. Goodreads is hosting the giveaway so please feel free to log in and sign up!

Sign up HERE

I hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving. I completed my third Thanksgiving celebration on Sunday so needless to say I am turkey-ed out. But there are plenty of things to be thankful for:

1) My wonderful family and friends

2) Being able to have three Thanksgiving meals

3) Pants with a forgiving waistline

4) Avoiding the classic "meat sweats"

5) Sweet libations in abundance

6) Avoiding all the speed traps between Miami and Tampa, and Tampa and New Port Richey

7) Sleeping through you crazy folks spending $52 Billion on Black Friday. Crazy sale hunting hounds!

8) Did I say sleeping through Black Friday? I read that one person was stabbed, another trampled, and an entire store hit with mace. You know you can buy a lot of this stuff online right?

9) Mom's homemade cookies

10) I can almost smell Christmas. And if I couldn't, the stores will make certain I FEEL Christmas. I saw my first Christmas displays this weekend...probably because I don't shop often and failed to notice them go up just after Halloween.

Give away time! For Nothing on Goodreads

2011-11-17T13:21:00.000-08:00

So it is time to do another signed book giveaway! This one is running through Goodreads in advance of the release of Buffalo Soldiers. As of this second over 30 people have signed up but don't worry! There are THREE copies being given away by yours truly.

I even promise to devalue it in advance with my sloppy signature. Wow this sounds more and more like a once in a lifetime opportunity!

Anyway, here it is: --->

Not here...the sidebar...to the right... ---->

Screenplay: For Nothing complete

2011-11-14T15:55:00.000-08:00

The first draft of For Nothing, as it pertains to the world of screenplays, is now complete thanks to my good friend Thomas Humphreys. Don't let his dabbling with alcohol and nonsensical Welshman ways fool you. This man is a seriously talented writer.

If you are uncertain what goes into adapting a novel into a screenplay, let me tell you it is not easy.

Consider:

- The novel is 280 pages, roughly. The screenplay needs to be under 120 pages. There is an axiom that a page of a screenplay is worth one minute of film time. To cut a novel by 60% and still convey the original story is a monumental task.

How monumental? At the moment it is about 180 pages. So where to cut the next 60 pages becomes problematic to say the least.

- You have an author who considers the novel his baby, and you must please him. I hope I wasn't tremendously picky through the process, but Thomas was very patient and kind enough to let me put my two cents in on a few moments through the process. If impossible sinners could be saints, he might be one.

- Don't mess up the story, readers will know and will call you out for it. All while cutting out 60% of the story...did I mention that?

THE PRICE

I may or not have made several promises.

Items said to have been mentioned include but are not limited to:

- A round of shots at a local American bar.

- To attempt to work in a small role for his actor brother, Mike Humphreys, if we ever get the chance.

- To write this blog.

All in all not a bad deal for a superb piece of work. Though I did have to mention that Americans really don't say bollocks. The term is beneath our civilized society.

Follow Tom on Twitter here: @Mr_Frodo_esq

Follow him on Facebook here: His Facebook Page

Follow his actor brother Mike here: His Facebook Page

How can you not like people who hangout and get dirty like this?

Cover of Buffalo Soldiers: An Upstate New York Mafia Tale book 2 in the series...

2011-11-07T15:42:00.000-08:00

Jesse Horst has once again blessed me with some fine work for the cover of my novel. The Buffalo Soldiers artwork is phenomenal. For more of Jesse's work go here: AWESOME ART

The novel is almost completed and December 1 looks like the release date.

Spread the word!

Dark Places; Halloween Special Part 2

2011-10-21T13:57:00.000-07:00

Lucy rolled over leaving her wet and mascara-streaked pillow case behind her turned head. She blinked until the moist lining around her eyes stuck heavily to her lashes and she glanced at the mug of tea that still held three-quarters of her drink. Her trembling hand reached out, but she knew she needn't touch it to know that the mug was cold, its contents colder still. She microwaved the drink half a dozen times already but her body didn't want to hold anything down and after the first incident she decided a dry mouth was better than a sore throat.

She looked past the tea and to the red lights of the digital clock on the nightstand. At a quarter past two in the morning, Darren had been missing for close to sixteen hours.The police almost left without even taking notice of the small trail of blood down the stairs. She had searched the basement for hours before and after the police left.

"Where did you see him last?" officer Thompson said after they arrived. He was armed with a notepad and pencil, his gun resting lazily on his hip.

"I saw him here. He went into the basement," she recalled between sobs. "He went down, about two minutes later I went to check and he wasn't there. The door was shut. He never came out."

"Mrs. Stansason, where did he go after he left the basement?" he sighed and looked down at his notepad as if it were a magic eight-ball with all the answers.

"What aren't you hearing? He never left, that's what I'm saying to you!" Lucy felt the heat rise into her face just recalling the nonchalance they tossed her way like left over scraps. "He went down, he never came back up."

"Tr to look at it from our point of view," the female cop said. Lucy couldn't remember her last name and she didn't really care. "He isn't down there, so he must have come out. The basement window is bolted and too high for him anyway. This door is the only way out and you said you watched it the whole time after he closed it." She looked at Lucy with darting, dark, eyes. "So, Mrs. Stansason, where did he go?"

The conversation circled the drain of futility like that for hours with a few condescending questions like, "Are you on medication?" and "have you been drinking?" thrown into the mix just for agonizing fun.

Lucy rolled over and looked at the ceiling, the wooden blades whirled in a hypnotic rhythm of vapid promises. Streaks of moonlight threw themselves across the foot of her bed. She imagined Darren on the streets alone or worse kidnapped with some sick predator. The fan continued its hum. She tucked her feet under her as she rolled to her side and brought her pillow into her arms where Darren had rested as a small child. Her feet bit at her, protesting from the miles she walked around the neighborhood asking questions. Some of those who answered their doors expressed their sympathy, some looked on her tear-streaked face and darting eyes with a mixture of worry and disinterest, and still others judged her motherhood with open contempt. She closed her eyes, shutting it all out until she could clearly picture Darren's bright smile and even brighter eyes.

The metal chain on the fan swayed back and forth, chiming every so often and allowing its voice to be added to the harmonizing blades gliding above the bed. Her eyelids drooped as anvils attached to them. The fan suddenly sounded like gentle waves lapping at the shore whispering her son's name.

Darren isn't asleep! He could be hurt!

Lucy snapped her eyes open. She expected to see the fan and the moonlight and the red clock and her tea-mug, but what she saw instead stopped her heart and sucked the air straight out of her lungs. She blinked her eyes and it was gone, or it drifted to the side, but each time she tried to focus, the translucent form had shifted and moved again. But she knew her son in any form and through any haze of sleep.

"Darren," she mumbled.

Yes mother?

"Are you safe? Tell me you're safe." She felt the sleep flying from her mind but her body felt drugged and slow to react. Her voiced sounded like a mouth stuffed with cotton.

Safe? Yes, I think so. I don't feel pain mother.

"What happened? Where are you?" Her heart rate accelerated and she felt it slamming against the top of her chest, but still she could not move.

I don't know. I think someone came for me. But...no I mustn't say, he'll get mad and then he'll hurt me!

"Who will hurt you baby? Tell me, tell me Darren!" She wiggled her fingers and felt her body jerk as if she had fallen. Her eyes fluttered and Darren faded and the moonlight returned.

No mom! I can't. Oh no! He's coming! He's coming!

Lucy sat up in the bed, breaking free of her paralysis. Her eyes snapped open but her son, or the dream of her son, was gone. She looked around the room allowing her heart a moment to slow down. She lay back on the bed. "It was all a dream," she said to the dark room around her.

No one answered. The silence beat against her ears like drums. Silent base echoed, followed gradually by a scuffling snare. Then a thud.

Lucy sat back up and looked out of her bedroom door to the long hallway that reach like a black tendril towards the kitchen. At first she didn't see anything, only heard the small scuffling. Then step by step, she saw him. His shadow seemed darker, cutting across the dark hallway in a twelve foot silhouette that snaked across the floor. Lucy stood up and took a tentative step towards him. He came closer and then she ran to him, arms outstretched.

She slid to him on her knees, the carpet immediately burning her flesh as she fell before him and lifted his little body into her arms. He smelled musty and his blue bed clothes were tattered. Tears poured in rivers of liquid salt down her cheeks. She squeezed him so hard she heard the air leave him and then she relaxed her grip and put him to the ground and back on his feet.

She could barely make out his features but she brushed the hair away from his face and away from a gash over his eye. "My baby, my baby, my baby!" His arms fell at his sides and she smoothed the wrinkles in his pajama sleeves and looked at him.

Before he said a word, she knew.

"I'm not your son Mrs. Stansason."

She knew he wasn't. She knew her son in any form.

And then she screamed.

Halloween Update and Script Update for For Nothing

2011-10-17T13:13:00.000-07:00

Hope you all had a great weekend. Mine was relatively relaxing and I was able to write a bit so that was nice. Weekends can sometimes get away from me because the family expects me to crawl out from under my rock every now and then to visit with them, but this was a kindly weekend and fortunately I was able to accomplish both my familial responsibilities as well as my professional goals.

I just have a few quick updates on this manic Monday...(pause for the 1980's flashback brought to you courtesy of the Bangles).

Update Uno:

The second installment of my Halloween Special Dark Places will post this week, most likely on Wednesday so keep an eye out. I love the feedback so far, and thus the story weaving continues!

Update B (yes I know it is not 2, have a sense of humor!):

The screenplay being written by Welsh Lord, Thomas Humphreys is making serious progress. In fact, he has decided to grace us with a snippet of the work in progress. So without further ado, please read on:

Catch up with writer Thomas Humphreys on Twitter @Mr_Frodo_Esq

Dark Places; Halloween Special Part One

2011-10-12T12:05:00.000-07:00

Darren ran through the kitchen chasing the bouncing rubber ball that ricocheted off of a counter top and then off the pantry door. His knobby legs were small but moved fast enough that he could easily beat the other children from around the block in footraces. He loved the feel of the wind moving through his hair when he was allowed out of the house. Some kids didn't enjoy running, but Darren loved to race anyone who was willing.

He always won.

"Darren! Cut that out!" His mom loved to tell him to stop doing things.

He slid across the tiled floor in his fresh white socks and reached out as the blue and red rubber ball changed direction and sped towards his face. He snapped his wrist around and caught it, chest heaving from the sprint. The red emblem on the ball matched the emblem on his blue cotton pajama shirt. His pants matched as well but he liked to tuck his pants into his socks so he looked like he wore white superhero boots.

His mother stooped down, still holding the pan she was cleaning, and grabbed the ball out of his hand. "You have so much energy! Can you please just relax until I'm done cleaning? Then we'll go to the park. I promise."

Darren let go of the ball and ran over to the counter where his orange juice waited just where he left it. The house smelt of fresh cooked bacon and his mouth tasted of it's remnants. He looked over at his mother, humming a tune he couldn't place. She really was the best cook in the world, he was sure of it. He swallowed the citrus down in between gulps of air. Superheros didn't get tired. He was going to have to train harder. The park was good for that. The swings, the jungle-gym, the tires, they all were great to practice on.

His mom finished drying the pan and walked across the kitchen to put it away. Darren knew he was in trouble the second it happened. She spun around just in time to catch the large toy truck on the ankle. Darren squinted as she exhaled in pain. He felt bad that she hurt herself, but he felt a bit more bad for himself. She was going to yell at him, he knew it.

She didn't disappoint. "Darren! Pick up your truck. How many times do I have to tell you?" She lifted her foot up and rolled the sock down. Darren could already see a red mark.

"Want me to get ice?" he asked.

"No. What I want is for you to take your truck downstairs and put it away."

Darren felt his heart rate speed up. He hated the basement. He hated its smell. He hated the wet feel of it. He hated how dark it was. He hesitated.

"Now! Darren." She gave him that look that promised a red bottom.

"I hate it down there," he whispered. He picked up the truck anyway.

"Everyone hates basements. Now go put your truck away." She gingerly placed her foot back on the tile and flexed her foot.

He carried the truck under his arm, it was heavy and nearly half the length of his body. It was the only truck he had that could actually carry all of his army men standing up. He stood in front of the heavy door that blocked the musky basement from the rest of the house. He pushed it open and swung his hand around to the left of the door, groping for the light switch. He pungent smell of wet stone wafted up to meet him. The bit of day light that hit the stone stairs showed the cracking foundation and webs where spiders had taken up residence. He flicked the switch, bathing the stairway in a soft yellow glow. The light gave just enough illumination to allow a peak down the stairs and into the suffocating darkness.

Darren took a deep breath and put a trembling foot on the second stair down.

Superheros are scared of nothing!

He took another step. His heart kicked back and forth inside his throat like his rubber bouncing ball. He willed himself forward and down, down into the deep blackness underneath the house. Halfway down the steps Darren felt a breeze brush across his face as it traveled up the stairs and behind him. His neck prickled with goosebumps and he felt cold. The basement always felt cold.

He looked back up the stairs, feeling small as the door loomed up above him. But then he remembered he had taken his eyes off of the looming dark now to his back. He snapped his head around and ran the last half dozen steps to the hanging light bulb a few paces into the dark. Leaping as high as he could with the heavy yellow truck, he made a grab for the silver chain that hung like a life line from the ceiling.

The chain clicked and cast an eerie pall that fell from the ceiling like an unsatisfactory cone of dim light. Beyond the cone, the basement retreated into darkness. Darren squinted into the grey and black world clinging to his tiny refuge of light. He knew that his pile of toys lay a dozen feet deeper into the gloom, past where he could hope to see. He took a step towards the darkness.

Then he felt the breeze cross over him again. This time it tickled the back of his head first and then ran over his ears and face and into the black unknown. Darren rubbed his arms for warmth and took a step backwards into the light.

An idea struck him.

He bent onto his knees in the middle of conical sanctuary. The stone floor felt grimy on his hands and a small black smudge left its mark on his palm. Darren didn't care. He focused on setting the wheels of his truck straight. He eyed up the area where he knew his mountain of toys lay hidden from sight. He brought the truck backwards and rocked it forward. He had to get the angle right. He pushed the truck forward, the cool metal gliding across his palm as the yellow truck squeaked slowly into the dark on black plastic wheels. The truck rattled as it rolled along the uneven floor until it disappeared from view.

The wheels continued their cry.

Squeak

Darren felt the hair on his neck stand up and he looked harder into the dark.

Squeak

The draft washed over him smelling of basement musk and mildew and dirt.

Then he heard it. Faint at first, so faint he thought it may have been the squeaking wheels. But then he heard it again and his eyes went wide. His heart finally dropped out of his throat but it didn't resettle until it hit the pit of his stomach. On reflex, Darren stood straight up.

He he he...

It laughed again. He had never heard a laugh without joy before. Whatever lurked in the dark struck Darren's childlike sensibilities as instantly wrong. He froze, fear locking his feet to the cement floor. He thought to run. His feet disobeyed.

Squeak

He heard the wheels of the truck again. Could he have imagined the laugh?

Squeak

The sound seemed to be coming closer

Squeak

The yellow truck emerged from the embrace of the shadows and came to a slow stop at Darren's feet. He knew he had to get out of there.

Superheros are scared of nothing!

The laugh seemed to come from the side this time. Darren spun around and made a break for the stairs.

He he he

He reached the stairs and leaped up two at a time. A breeze wafted over him again, but he ignored it as he made his way for the door and the light up above. He was at the top stair when the door slammed shut.

He turned around and looked down the stairway. He could see the mud from the floor on his knees and curling out from the underside of his socks. His heart seemed to stop beating and contented itself with rattling the inside of his fingers. Darren reached behind him and felt the doorknob. It didn't turn.

Then the light at the bottom of the stairs went dark as if someone or something had snuffed out a candle.

"Mom?" Darren tried to bang his tiny fist against the door behind him but his arms had gone week. He let out a trembling breath. A white cloud puffed out of his mouth as the cool air seemed to instantly drop to frigid. The last light flickered above him.

"Mom!" Darren yelled. His strength returned, he turned and pounded on the basement door. "Mom!"

The last light went out bathing Darren in frozen darkness.

"Mom!" his voice shook. He felt tears rim his eyes and they stung from the freeze that bit at him through his thin cotton pajamas.

He felt something grip his ankle. A frozen grip that lashed through his pajama pants and tore into his ankle. He cried out and gripped the doorknob in both hands. Then his feet were airborne as it tried to pull him down the stairs. Darren clutched the knob with all of his strength and his body went taut. Fire burned in his arms and his midsection felt like he might be pulled in two.

Superheros are strong.

"Mom!" he cried in one last desperate plea. Then it yanked him harder than before and Darren's grip broke. His face hit the top stair before he could bring his arms around to brace. He felt the warmth of his blood trickle along his brow and then he was descending the stairs. Each step bounced into his forearms at jagged angles and cruel ledges bit into him all the way down leaving a trail of fresh blood, invisible in the darkness.

Darren tried to scream as he was dragged across the dirty basement floor and past his idle yellow truck, but he had no strength left.

He he he

The voice seemed pleased. One last thought fluttered through Darren's fast fading consciousnesses as he succumbed into weeping oblivion.

"I'm not a superhero."

The Lies We Tell Our Children

2011-09-28T13:56:00.000-07:00

Quick note: October will be ghost story blogging time. Get ready for it and feel free to email me or 'comment' suggestions. I shall shamelessly pander to reader requests.

Quick note 2: Buffalo Soldiers is at 50,000 words. Yep.

The blog....

A friend of mine recently launched into an explanation about how she can't sleep because her daughter wakes up three times a night, comes into her room, and in a sleep-zombie-like coma, grabs her face and lays her head on the bed while still standing. She is convinced it isn't a sleep walk as I suggested being armed with very little facts. So she told her daughter that if she sleeps in her bed the whole night through, then the Sleep Fairy will visit and leave a treat.

Well, mother knows best and it apparently worked. Now her daughter sleeps the night through and checks each morning for a new piece of candy. Day five of this brought a repeat of day numero uno's treat. According to the parent, this resulted in the candy being placed on the counter with a huff of disappointment. "I don't know what do," she said. "This might not hold up and I will have to find another lie to keep her in bed the whole night through."

This got me thinking...

We lie to children all the time. It isn't merely a trick, or something done only to keep up mystical appearances. I think it is a cultural habit. Don't get me wrong, I fully intend on lying to my future child as well, but it really is accepted practice. At what age is it wrong to lie? Is it only wrong to lie when all parties involved in the conversation are mentally sound enough to see through the lie? Under that logic is it okay to lie if the other party never suspects? Is it okay to tell a story...

Top Lies I Uncovered As A Child

1) Duh. Santa didn't exist. I found this out at my mother's house because I hid in her closet during a game of hide and seek and found a toy gun. Said gun was then either re-gifted by the jolly fat man or it was a lie! His name was certainly on it.

His slave workforce needs to be fed too doesn't it?

2) Easter Bunny. I walked out of my room in a sleep-zombie-like coma and saw my older brother and mother stuffing baskets with candy. I inquired. I was told the Easter Bunny was sick. That didn't hold water even at my fragile age. (No it was not last year...not that I would admit to you anyway)

Ha! I know how you feel kid. I felt the same way when I found out...

3) Tooth Fairy. I felt your hand go under my pillow Dad. You might want to invest in ninja stealth courses...or dispense with the charade and just give me cold hard cash. I say cold and hard because you only gave me a quarter. Cheap-o.

I got the same letter! Only those were REAL teeth Dad!

What lies did YOU uncover as a child? I would love to hear some of them..post below so we can make fun of you for being a sucker! :)

For Nothing Movie Adaptation Update / Preview

2011-09-21T08:20:00.000-07:00

I thought some of you might be interested in the latest news about For Nothing. As some of you know, the story is being reworked into a screenplay by the talented Welshman, Thomas Humphreys.

Thomas, who has fought through breaking his wrist, has been working diligently to try and get this disaster into top screenplay form. It means a ton that he believes in the work enough to undertake the monumental task of parsing a 300 page story into about a 100 page screenplay. But to break your wrist and still find ways to work on the project, that is dedication my friends.

For example, I was once hungover and so did not write a word.

At any rate, Thomas and I had a bet as to who would finish first: me on the sequel Buffalo Soldiers or him on adapting For Nothing into a screenplay. Since he broke his wrist he is at a serious disadvantage at the moment. As I round the 60-65% complete mark, who knows where Thomas is on this adaptation...

But alas! Thomas does, and has sent us a preview of the screenplay!

Thanks Mr. Humphreys. That actually got my adrenaline going. How exciting! Though I feel safely ahead...for the moment.

Follow Tom on twitter @Mr_Frodo_esq

All About Context My Dear

2011-09-16T15:16:00.000-07:00

Context is an amazing device. It lends back story to individual sentences and has the unique ability to keep us from sounding equal parts ignorant, ridiculous, or just plain confusing. For instance, I recently wrote about my Google history being somewhat scary sounding. In fact it was ripe for an FBI search of my home.

Consider:

- Detonator
- Fertilizer
- FBI protocol
- Properties of acid
- Violent chemical compounds

This combination is enough to make me seem quite mad. Fortunately, if big brother really is watching, they know I am writing a novel. "I AM WRITING A NOVEL," I call out to my smoke detectors on my ceiling. Yeah sure...smoke detectors.

So the context matters in this case to make sure I don't get arrested.

Why am I thinking of all of this? The reason is because I was contemplating a few of the various actions this past week and I am pretty sure that if I just list them out there would be a whole new layer of eccentricity. So without providing context here are a few highlights:

1. Did the "reeling in a fish" dance; partner included.

We did a way better job than these jokers though.

2. Ate pizza at three am. This proceeded tears from somebody (not me) and preceded the same person's attempts at stealing construction cones. Relax he (or she?) didn't steal them.

3. Sang the song "Fuck You" in a crowded place (not me I am amazing). Then played the tambourine because the singing was so off....

No image, video, or audio. Thank God.

Back To Books Blog Hop WINNERS

2011-09-09T06:31:00.000-07:00

First, thanks to everyone who stopped by my blog and entered this contest. It has been so fun to see your comments pouring in, even if it was "Just Business". It is great to see so many avid readers out there and even better when a few of you guys are willing to take a chance on a debut novel.

...even if it IS free...

Since I hate speeches, let us jump into the winners of this wonderful contest!

As promised, I am giving away three ebooks!

The winners of an ebook copy of For Nothing, America's #1 Crime Thriller (by Nicholas Denmon) are...

Darlene of Darlene's Book Nook

Tina of Tinaburiedunderbooks

and...

Carmee ... just Carmee...

Now Darlene and Tina you provided an email address and I will email you to see the best way to get these ebooks to you. Carmee - you did NOT leave an email address so I will need you to email me at nicholasdenmon08 at gmail dot com. You have 24 hours to get back to me or I will select a new winner! :) SO HURRY!!!

And now... The Moment you have ALL been waiting Forrrrrr......

The Winner of the Grand Prize!!! The Winner of a SIGNED copy of For Nothing, one of America's best fiction novels (by Nicholas Denmon)is...

BJ of @beejee77 via Twitter!! Congrats! I will email you promptly to discern the best way to have your copy delivered!

For everyone else who entered, remember I hold these contest about once a month so don't lose heart! Your free copy might be just around the corner... of course, you could just buy the book and support my pizza habit.

Back To The Books Giveaway Hop

2011-08-31T19:26:00.000-07:00

It's that time again where I like to give out free stuff! Well of course it is in exchange for you doing a few simple tasks...

<insert evil laugh> sounds something like Muah Muah Muah (not to be confused with kissing noises)

What am I giving away??

I'm giving away three e-books of For Nothing! Yay!

Three winners will win e-book copies (format of your choice) of America's #1 Crime Thriller For Nothing by Nicholas Denmon...(What? It was number one on Smashwords for a moment :) )

Drum-roll...

There is also A GRAND prize. A Grand Prize Winner! One paperback signed by me. It might take a way the value of it but I like to write in books. I promise I won't sign it in crayon.

Alright, go! Follow this blog! Leave a special comment below with the words "It's just business".

+1 entry - "Like" my Facebook Page.
+1 entry - Follow me on Twitter. - @nicholasdenmon
+1 entry - Friend me on Goodreads.

Giveaway ends September 7th. Remember, you follow the instructions, you sign up for your chance to win! Simple, easy, fun...DO IT! IT'S FREE!!!

Now jump to these other great authors giving away free stuff too!! Go on! Get going!

Writing, Drinking and Saved By The Bell?

2011-08-30T06:41:00.000-07:00

Apparently I have the ability to fall off of the face of the earth at times. As a writer, I lock myself in my office and go through a methodical process of shutting everyone in my life out so I can spend time with my imaginary friends. When the clamoring gets too loud, I make time for my family and friends and quietly admonish myself to find more time to walk amongst the living.

I am always happy when I do.

This weekend, to the detriment of my novel's progress I went with family and friends on a day time Saturday barhop along St. Pete Beach. I got some sun, forgot about dieting, ate some chicken wings, had a few brews, and told quite a few jokes. All in all it was a good time. I'd do it again. Just not tomorrow.

Tonight, tomorrow, and the rest of this week will be me playing catch up. My WIP (work in progress) stands at just past 30,000 words. I MUST MUST MUST get to 40,000 by this weekend.

I think I can. I think I can. I think I can.

Speaking of Thomas the Tank Engine, I wonder if my niece even knows about the wonders of that story.... I am unsure where and how deep generational gaps go. I work with a few younger twenty somethings and they barely know about Saved By The Bell and my A.C. Slater and Zack Morris references fall on deaf ears more times than not.

Maybe if I had some of what she has, I could finish this manuscript faster....

Haha. Just kidding children. This is how I really feel about drugs...

Have a safe and drug free Tuesday!

A Tale of a Gollum, A Book, and an Interview

2011-08-19T13:29:00.000-07:00

Let's get business out of the way first. Thank you for everyone buying, promoting, reviewing and loving (of course) For Nothing. The response, which I owe to all of you, has been amazing. I am working on the sequel and am nearing the end of the first act of that book (roughly one third of the way done). Sorry that it takes a bit away from my blogging, but I will make a better effort to update.

That being said, there was an awesome interview done with me and the awesome reviewer and writer Cambria Hebert. We cover such fun facts as: Do I wear boxers or briefs? Would I rather be a werewolf or a vampire? Find out that and more in my interview with Cambria Hebert here.

As you may have read, my brother Chris and I wake up at 5:30 am these days in order to go to the gym in order to get our pump on. These wonderful excursions to the gym have led me to compile a few things I have wondered while working out.

1) Hey guy, is the grunt that important? Not the little grunt, the one that makes all the ladies give you a wide berth in case you're really a roided rapist?

2) How do I take my boxers off to get in the shower with out ruining everybody's day?

3) How do I get them back on? (I have solved this issue by wearing my towel like a kilt and going up and under).

4) I can't believe the gym is so packed that early. I said to Chris, "People that come to the gym this early are really serious about their work out." He replied, "And then there is us." In between bites of my two power Twinkies I asked, "What do you mean?"

5) It is amazing how body's react differently to the same work out. Case and point, Chris works out the same as me...he even does a few more reps than I do. But look at the differences in how we are shaping up:

Me getting my svelte on...I grew those mountains myself.

He is looking more tan though

Ok guys and gals that's it for now. Enjoy you weekend!!

Now this is how you pump iron!

2011-08-11T15:58:00.000-07:00

Well I put the challenge out there to my lovely fans (really just friends and family more likely than not) to help me reach 400 'LIKES" on Facebook.

The terms?

A signed copy of For Nothing mailed out by your favorite author (better be me) to a random fan who liked my page during that run to 400.

Who won? I knew you would ask. Stay tuned for the answer later tonight.

In writing news, I am trying to hit 25,000 words tonight on For Nothing's sequel. Buffalo Soldiers is scheduled to go out October 15th and I need to really focus like a laser beam on that deadline.

In personal news, my brother and I are doing this diet workout thing that sucks. My dinner tonight is a fruit smoothie and starting on Monday we will be waking up three days a week at 5:30 am to workout before our day jobs.

Crap. Whose idea was this anyway??

I suppose it's okay though because we might eventually look like this guy and have the same ...er... feelings... towards the effects.

It's funny I suppose but when I work out I always take it to another level. Apparently I can't do anything half way. This is a home video of me teaching Chris how to properly train:

ENJOY!!!

Movies Based on Comics Are Taking Me For Granted and Why Shouldn't They?

2011-08-01T09:19:00.000-07:00

The weekend is usually a good time to relax and rinse away the rigor of the work week. But every so often you have so much to do or have so much fun that you are actually more tired on Monday than you were on Friday.

That is pretty much how I feel today.

I had a going away dinner for my brother Rob who is becoming a Customs Border Patrol officer on Friday. So the evening was full of good food and drinks as we toasted him a farewell before he leaves for months of training and then to wherever they decide to place him. It was a good time and you can't help but be happy for someone who gets something they have been working towards for a good long while. But part of you is also sad to see them go.

Four of us brothers lived here in the greater Tampa Bay area just three short months ago, but now only two of us remain.

Ah, the price of growing up and moving on.

So in good Denmon fashion, we hid our feelings behind a wall of booze and laughter and on Sunday I watched Captain America in honor of my brother Rob who is probably going to keep a few of the worlds bad apples away from American soil. The movie was decent, enjoyable even. But I think I might have been distracted through the entirety of the film by a PREVIEW.

Another damned Spider-Man movie? Really?? Even worse, it seems to be the retelling of the story from the beginning, from the spider bite, sans Toby Maguire. How many times must I suffer Hollywood's lack of creativity?

Some guy named Garfield who is a new Spider-Man

Oh well. I will probably see it and help perpetuate the notion that retreads are a good idea when it comes to lining pockets versus actually coming up with something new. Captain America, despite this distraction, was a fun film and the Avengers movies are going to make a boatload of money. They already have, but wait until they all join forces in one movie in 2012.

My brother Rob standing strong at the border.

Other than that, I got into some scotch and cigars in order celebrate my buddy Craig's engagement to long time sweetheart Stacey. His parents always throw great parties and this was no exception. If you happened to show up, I was the guy hanging out by the meatballs and the aforementioned scotch.

He is getting married in March so I need to find the best place to rent a donkey for his bachelor party...

The donkey show from Jay and Silent Bob

On the writing front, I am about 17,500 words into the sequel to For Nothing. Buffalo Soldiers is really coming along and I think everyone who read For Nothing will love where I am taking the Upstate New York Mafia Tales. Here's to hoping!

Cheers!

Treasure Hunt Blog Hop Winners!

2011-07-26T15:59:00.000-07:00

Well they say when you want to bury a body you should bring along a shovel and a few bags of lime. The gangsters who follow this blog know what I'm talking about and I am pretty sure a few of this month's contest winners were in on the Jimmy Hoffa disappearance.

Essential Gangster Supplies

Quite a few people entered the contest and went on the search for Jimmy Hoffa's body, and by the activity on this blog, my Fanpage, and on Goodreads - a fair amount of holes were dug in the wilderness hoping to solve the mystery of his resting place. But in good mafia fashion those of you who know where he is, kept your mouths shut. A book apparently wasn't enough to bribe you into ratting on your fellow Denmon Familia members (by the way that was a suggestion for the name of those who follow my blog and fanpage etc and I think I like it! What do you think?)

But since I am the Don in this enterprise only a select few of you get a cut of this month's take. Your participation, as always, was amazing but there are winners and there are losers and the winners for this month's blog hop are as follows:

Electronic Book copy of For Nothing

J. Barrett
HeatherC8
Nikki aka Sherri McCarver
Nathiel
Helen Seely

I have already emailed you so please email me if you did not get your coupon code

As for the GRAND PRIZE WINNER of a SIGNED AUTOGRAPHED COPY of FOR NOTHING:

Super Gangster....

Extraordinaire...

Fan-tastic member of the Denmon Familia (will it stick?)...

SONIA REMO aka Momma Elk!!

Sonia please email at nicholasdenmon08@gmail.com to collect your prize. I will need your mailing address!

For the rest of you, there really are no losers, because it was fun wasn't it? And there just might be another contest NEXT month! So how bout that?

Of course you can always buy a copy of the book if you are impatient. Check out my website HERE and click the book cover to buy it!

Treasure Quest: Discovery Lies Between The Covers: Mega Blog Hop Tour

2011-07-16T09:43:00.000-07:00

The lovely ladies involved in the Mega Blog Hop Tour invited me to once again take part in their wonderful Blog Hop. The theme for this one is a Treasure Quest. What could be more appropriate for a bunch of mafia lovers than the promise of treasure.

After all, the mafia hustles everyday in order to get their piece of the pie. Occasionally they haul off loads of treasure such as:

The Lufthansa heist was a robbery at John F. Kennedy International Airport on December 11, 1978. An estimated $5 million in cash and $875,000 in jewels were stolen, at the time making it the largest cash robbery ever committed on American soil.^[1] This robbery was the subject of two television films, The 10 Million Dollar Getaway and The Big Heist, and is a key plot element in the 1990 film Goodfellas. (Wikipedia)

Lufthansa -twice jacked for loads of cash

Or

They make other's go on a treasure hunt for nothing, we call that a wild goose-chase such as:

James Riddle "Jimmy" Hoffa (born February 14, 1913 – disappeared July 30, 1975, declared legally dead July 30, 1982^[1]^[2]) was an American labor unionleader and author.

Hoffa was involved with the International Brotherhood of Teamsters union, as an organizer from 1932 to 1975. He served as the union's General President from 1958 to 1971. Hoffa, who had been convicted of jury tampering, attempted bribery, and fraud in 1964, was imprisoned in 1967, sentenced to 13 years, after exhausting the appeal process. It was not until mid-1971 that he officially resigned the Teamsters' presidency, an action that was part of a pardon agreement with U.S. president Richard Nixon, in order to facilitate his release later that year. Nixon blocked Hoffa from union activities until 1980; Hoffa was attempting to overturn this order and to regain support.

Hoffa was last seen in late July 1975, outside the Machus Red Fox, a suburban Detroit restaurant (Wikipedia).

Jimmy Hoffa, his body has never been found

So what does this mean for you? I will be doing a fun combination of the two. In order to claim your loot, you must find someone. If you join my Fanpage on Facebook at www.facebook.com/authornicholasdenmon AND join my blog as a follower, you will be entered into a raffle to win a free ebook. Just sign up, and comment on the wall or in the comments section with, "I came here looking for Jimmy Hoffa!"

5 people will win a free ebook of For Nothing (currently the #1 selling thriller on Smashwords).

HERE IS WHERE IT GETS INTERESTING THOUGH!!

If you find a friend to join my blog as a follower OR to join my Facebook fan page they will be entered into the raffle too AND each person who says "I was sent here by (enter your name) to look for Jimmy Hoffa!" will give YOU another raffle ticket (thus increasing your chance to win) up to as many people as you can find to join your gang and to help search for Jimmy Hoffa's body!

Whoever gets the most people to join the search will win the GRAND PRIZE...a signed hardcopy of For Nothing.

SO what are you waiting for?? Get out there and find your gang to look for Jimmy Hoffa's body...just don't look under Giants Stadium, it has been tried unsuccessfully. Besides it has since been torn down....

THE BLOG HOP CONTINUES---THE NEXT STOP IS RIGHT HERE: http://madisonroadtohell.blogspot.com/2011/07/treasure-quest-discovery-lies-between.html

TOUR RULES:

1) HAVE FUN!!!

2) INVITE ALL OF YOUR FRIENDS!!! SPREAD THE WORD!!!

3) THIS TOUR STARTS: Monday, July 18, at Midnight (Arizona Time)

THIS TOUR ENDS: Monday, July 25, at Midnight (Arizona Time)

Winners will be drawn and posted June 21st! ***

4) MEET AND MINGLE WITH ALL THE AUTHORS! EXPERIENCE A NEW PARTY DESTINATION AT EVERY STOP! PARTICIPATE IN EVERY BLOG CONTEST AND BE ENTERED FOR CHANCES TO WIN MULTIPLE PRIZES! EVERY BLOG VISITED IS ANOTHER OPPORTUNITY TO WIN!!

5) PARTICIPATION AT ALL BLOGS IS RECOMMENDED, BUT NOT REQUIRED. REMEMBER, THE MORE BLOGS YOU HOP, THE BETTER YOUR CHANCES OF WINNING PRIZES. EVERY AUTHOR IS WAITING TO MEET AND INTERACT WITH YOU, SO PLEASE BE SURE TO SHOW EVERY AUTHOR SOME LOVE!

6) DID I MENTION TO HAVE FUN? WHOO! HOO!! HERE WE GOOOOOOOOOOOO!

***Authors have full discretion to choose an alternate winner in the event any winner fails to claim their prize(s) within 72 hours of their name being posted or after notification of win, whichever comes first. Anyone who participates in this blog hop tour is subject to these rules***

http://madisonroadtohell.blogspot.com/2011/07/treasure-quest-discovery-lies-between.html

For Nothing is #1 Best Selling Thriller via Smashwords!

2011-07-14T08:03:00.000-07:00

As of 11:00 AM EST For Nothing is the #1 Best Seller on Smashwords. Check the link while it lasts! https://www.smashwords.com/books/category/874/popular/0/any/any

Also of note, it was pointed out to me that For Nothing is the 13th Best Seller on Smashwords out of all of their products.

Very cool!

Remember Tom Cruise and the couch incident??

2011-07-12T10:56:00.000-07:00

I do. And so what? Mission Impossible 4 - Ghost Protocol is coming out and I will see it.

That is all on that subject.

Next up?

I made promises to see Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2 so that will be fulfilled later this week. Emma Watson is growing prettier these days so that is an added bonus.

I hope I picked an 18+ picture...she is in college now.

Moving right along...

Buffalo Soldiers, the latest installment of An Upstate New York Mafia Tale is well under way. I think this story has the teeth to be even better than For Nothing. That is okay though because For Nothing is my first born baby and will always have a spot in my heart. For now, For Nothing remains America's #1 Crime Thriller by Nicholas Denmon.

But what will tomorrow bring? Maybe Buffalo Soldiers will knock it off the top spot.

Speaking of things related to my book pandering prowess, check out a new website my brother made for me at: www.best-fiction-novels.com He did a really great job on it. It is sort of a one stop shop for my book, blog, other works in progress, and reader and writer interaction. Very cool stuff.

Last but not least we have For Nothing on a Goodreads Poll. The link is here: http://www.goodreads.com/group/show/12544.The_Book_Addicts_

Like with the lists you vote on, if you vote, you enter a raffle to win a free ebook. If you vote on ALL the lists and the poll you enter to win a free paperback SIGNED copy. Now who wouldn't want that?? If you vote for Allie Burkes Violet Midnight you will receive an extra bonus surprise with your free ebook! VOTE VOTE VOTE! There are a few good books up there so this should be fun just to be in the running!

UPDATE: 52 people have voted. I will be emailing you guys your free ebook coupon. At the end of the month I will announce a grand-prize winner!

Optimus Prime's Oscar Worthy Performance

2011-07-06T06:54:00.000-07:00

I hope everyone had a great 4^th of July. I know I did. Friends and family made the long trek to pay homage to the Great Grill at my home as is customary for the 4^th of July. Hamburgers reigned supreme with not a single guest interested in the charms of hot dogs. I can’t say that I blame them, as I found myself shaking from the meat-sweats after my third cheeseburger.

We had the normal 4^th fair with hamburgers, anti-pasta salad, blueberry crumble, baked beans, apple pie and ice cream, cookies, potato chips, and the smattering of fireworks in the distance. All while the Rays got shutout on T.V. in uninspired fashion.

But it was fun celebrating the 4^th with family and friends and I even received some well wishes from my international pals. My buddy Thomas Humphreys, who is Welsh, sent me a happy 4^th message on Facebook. Here is the exchange which I found humorous in a Braveheart meets The Patriot sort of way:

Between You and Thomas 'Frodo' Humphreys

Thomas 'Frodo' Humphreys July 4 at 3:21pm Report

Happy 4th July to you and your fam, bro! how's it been?

Nicholas Denmon July 4 at 7:54pm

Thanks! Surprised you follow the 4th out that way!

Sent via Facebook Mobile

Thomas 'Frodo' Humphreys July 5 at 4:02am Report

Ha I love the 4th man! 1st time in a long while that I've not been in the states for it... Gota love anything that celebrates people escaping the english lol

Sent via Facebook Mobile

Word. We should definitely have a “War of 1812” celebration too if it means more hamburgers all in the name of being American.

JULY 3RD

Arguably better than July 4^th. Why? Because I saw Transformers: Dark of the Moon with my older brother Chris. We watched the cartoon growing up so the last few movies have been another trek towards a Mecca of sorts as we meet up at the local cinema and partake in the glory that is Transformers.

This was my brother’s first time watching a movie in 3D and he was in awe of the difference it made. At one point I looked over at this 32 year old man, father, husband, attorney extraordinaire and saw him with his thick lens 3D glasses on, staring up at the screen with a box of sweet tarts in one hand a Monster Energy Drink in the other hand, mouth hanging open.

Unfortunately, he was not able to make his way to my 4^th of July gathering so I had to settle for this text the next day:

Piece of Poop (yes he is in my phone that way): Oscar worthy performance by optimus. Still thinking about it.

I have to say I absolutely agree. IF he doesn’t win, its just another instance where the committee is showing animation or CGI bias.

Also, the new transformer girl, Rosie Huntington-Whiteley is way hotter than Megan Fox. See below:

And if you disagree, I am pretty sure my brother will challenge you to a nerd slap fight as soon as he is done watching all three Transformers movies in a row.

Gauging success

2011-06-28T13:28:00.000-07:00

Life has been pretty hectic the last six weeks. In that time, I have finished a novel, placed it at about a dozen e-reader distributors, finished the paperback version of the same novel, done a half dozen interviews, joined another half dozen book clubs with great people who support new authors, and started book two of the “An Upstate New York Mafia Tale” series.

Book two is tentatively called Buffalo Soldiers. Tentatively because I am aware of the historical implications with the name, but love what the title means with a mafia spin.

Also, I have worked with my brothers and my Dad to alternately spit-ball ideas, work on the legal side of the writing business, and get the online version of the writing business up to snuff. To that end, we have a new website opening up called Best Fiction Novels at www.best-fiction-novels.com. Thanks to Rob Denmon at Florida SEO Design, we have a workable presence on the web outside of this lovely blog.

With all of these things going on, I haven’t been able to reflect much on whether or not my novel is actually doing well since I released it. I am having trouble finding the right way to gauge success. I know it sounds like an odd thing to worry about, and I hear it from other indie authors a lot. I have sold a couple hundred novels at this point. I am told that is pretty good, but I have the desire to be read by as many people as possible and don’t really feel satisfied. I guess that is a bit greedy.

I try to remind myself when I started toying with the idea of self-publishing that I would be happy if one person read my book and liked it. I remember saying, “Hey, if one person reads it, that’s better than it sitting in a drawer collecting dust.” But a curious thing began to happen. As people read it and good reviews began to flow in, my confidence in the story has also grown. It is almost a snowball effect of dissatisfaction based slowly on rising expectations.

To be clear, I don’t envision having the world’s number one seller, even though it is “America’s #1 Crime Thriller” by Nicholas Denmon. But suddenly I feel eager to see just how far this novel, this series, can go. The support of readers who like your book is contagious. I remember when I dabbled in acting for a time. I remember the addicting feeling of performing for an audience and that instant feedback on the performance. It really is something hard to equal. But reader support as they finish your work and give it a stamp of approval is really a feeling that rivals the instant gratification of performing on a stage.

So, in a way, the feedback and support has really made me ready to go hardcore on Buffalo Soldiers. I don’t want to disappoint and I know what it is like as a reader to want the next installment in a series.

So, to sum up, thanks for the support and motivation!

Family Note:

Speaking of family, recently three of us boys, the ladies, and my Dad and his lady friend Paula and her daughter and his boyfriend met at an Italian restaurant to celebrate two of my brother’s birthdays. At this restaurant an older man named Carmine greeted me at the door.

Carmine was as Italian as the meatballs and walked me to the table where my family and friends sat. In route he told me he knew who I was because I resembled my brother who had already arrived. He knew Paula and gave us our first round of drinks for free, and I felt like my novel came to life for a moment and we were suddenly sitting like a bunch of Goodfellas. It was pretty cool.

I love moments where the whole crew gets together and laughter flows as freely as the booze. Time seems to have sped up a bit lately, so I really appreciate moments like that. I know I sound old at 29, but hey, shut it.

Teaser Chapter for the Sequel to For Nothing - Buffalo Soldiers; An Upstate New York Mafia Tale II

2011-06-23T17:46:00.000-07:00

Teaser Chapter:

Buffalo Soldiers

Rafael Rontego tasted the iron flavor of his blood running over what was left of his cracked lips as the warm liquid filled his mouth.   He couldn’t see a thing and he felt a burning sensation on the back of his neck where it pulled against some unwilling tendons. It was unnatural to hang your head so far forward, but Rafael dared not let them know he was awake under the hood.

The hood.

The damn thing smelled like straw, canvas, or dust. Some sort of sack, Rafael mused. It scratched at his face, and if his hands weren’t tied off behind his back he sure as hell would have tried to scratch half of his face off. Or wipe the blood from his lips.

Or kill the bastards who brought me here.

Rontego couldn’t remember much. He lay down to catch some sleep. Sleep was all he had done it seemed. Don Ciancetta told him he needed to lay low for a while. The heat was too hot. So he rented a suite at Salvatore’s Grand Hotel.   He felt the fog lift a bit as he thought of the place with its perfectly polished floors and marble. Marble everywhere. But it was the Jacuzzi hot tub that made him almost smile right there with the blood running down his face and the hood blinding him. The things he and the blond had done in there. It was almost unfair to let them ever rent that room out again. The room lay right next to the thruway and so had an easy escape route if he needed it. Canada wasn’t far away and there were half a dozen neighborhoods he could disappear in if someone came looking for him.

The price was right too. The owner knew Rafael Rontego. He knew the hitman, and he knew his boss, Don Ciancetta. Everything was going well. The stories on the news slowly drifted out of circulation. The little amount of evidence, the Buffalo Police Department, had was destroyed, purchased, or went missing.

Even scared that cop straight into an early retirement.

This time he did grin, but the pain of his cracked lips brought him down in a hurry.   He had to focus. Everything was so damn quiet. Even though he couldn’t see a thing, Rafael closed his eyes.

Drip. Drip-drip. Drip.

The water was faint but his ears caught it all the same. He prided himself on his hearing. The notion made him grimace. He never even woke up. He never heard them when they grabbed him. He assumed it was they. It must have been well organized because he had lain down…he had lain down…and what?

What did I do before I lay down. I drank a scotch. I drank a scotch, laid down, and then… and then I was slung over someone’s shoulder and bumping my head on someone that smelled like old cigarettes and sweat.

The bumping felt like stairs. Rafael vaguely remembered hearing the thud of boots on wood too.   Then there was the dripping, the infernal dripping somewhere to his right. Rafael strained his nose to smell past the iron and the damned sack covering his face. It smelled wet.

Rafael’s heart sank.

I’m in a fucking basement.

He knew what happened in basements. He had been on the giving end of a few of those wonderful parties.

His heart thudded against his chin threatening to knock through his chest and slap him in the face. It only got worse when he heard footsteps descending.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The footsteps stopped, but a second joined the first and then he heard voices. At first Rafael decided he must have been hit harder than he thought. He couldn’t understand anything that came out of their mouths.

Then it hit him. They were speaking a different language. A language he hadn’t heard much of for the last eleven years.

They were speaking Russian.

PARTY TILL YOUR HEELS (Err...Boots) FLY OFF WINNERS -The results are in!

2011-06-23T07:42:00.000-07:00

Well folks, we have winners from the Mafia Initiation Blog Party! As promised we have awards to give out!

These folks swore by "oath and blood" and were initiated into the Denmon Familia and were thusly entered into our fun raffle for free e-books!

The winners are (sorry if the names are misspelled, mismatches of your real name and blogger name, etc. Some of you posted in various places under various names!):

Victoria Krauchunas

Jean Patton

Ashley Welborne

Cullen Confection

and Genevieve Begg

Congrats on winning your free e-book copy of America's #1 Crime Novel, For Nothing....by Nicholas Denmon! Please email me at nicholasdenmon08 at gmail dot com and I will give you a coupon for the free download!

Also....

There is a GRAND PRIZE winner! This person (among others) Went to all of the various listings- Goodreads, Facebook, this blog, etc and swore the oath! They were then entered into a raffle of other readers who jumped through the same (fun) hoops.

Congratulations RENEE BENNETT! You win an autographed paperback copy of For Nothing! Only the Best Fiction Novel ever.....by Nicholas Denmon! Email me at the above address with your mailing information so I can have your book mailed out to you!

For the rest of you who did not win this time....STAY TUNED...I hear there is a July giveaway as well!!

Interview With Allie Burke Books

2011-06-22T06:51:00.000-07:00

Please check out the most recent interview regarding For Nothing with Allie Burke Books.

The link is here and let me say what a good time it was!

‎"I am a firm believer that there is rarely a straight line between good and evil." -Nicholas Denmon

[EXCERPT]

For the Loves' first Author Interview, EVER, and I have the pleasure of spending the day with Author of the amazing mafia crime thriller For Nothing. Do join us as Denmon talks about his widely acclaimed novel, of putting himself in "the shoes of a killer", and much, much more.

READ ON!

PARTY TILL YOUR HEELS (Err...Boots) FLY OFF WINNERS

2011-06-21T07:35:00.000-07:00

Stay tuned. The winners of the five free ebooks of For Nothing as well as the grand prize winner of a signed paperback will be announced shortly.

Thank you all so much for participating! This has been a blast!

"I swear by oath and blood!"

And if you don't win, don't let that keep you from picking up your very own copy of For Nothing by clicking the picture below!

For Nothing Paperback Release Trailer!!

2011-06-15T16:05:00.000-07:00

Brought to you by Rashnu aka Adizz09 aka Alex Denmon

For Nothing Available In Paperback!

2011-06-14T18:39:00.000-07:00

QUICK UPDATE (and then please continue the blog party in the post below):

For Nothing is now available in paperback! You can pick up the novel at this link: For Nothing Paperback

So if you were one of those souls waiting for the paperback because you have not bought in to the E-Reader craziness... the wait is over!

See what readers are saying about For Nothing and see why the first ten reviews all came in at 5 Stars!

PARTY 'TIL YOUR HEELS (Errr...I mean...Boots) FLY OFF: MEGA AUTHOR BLOG HOP TOUR (JUNE 13-20)

2011-06-12T12:06:00.000-07:00

TOUR RULES:

1) HAVE FUN!!!

2) INVITE ALL OF YOUR FRIENDS!!! SPREAD THE WORD!!!

3) THIS TOUR STARTS: Monday, June 13, at Midnight (Arizona Time)
THIS TOUR ENDS: Monday, June 20, at Midnight (Arizona Time)
Winners will be drawn and posted June 21st! ***

4) MEET AND MINGLE WITH ALL THE AUTHORS! EXPERIENCE A NEW PARTY DESTINATION AT EVERY STOP! PARTICIPATE IN EVERY BLOG CONTEST AND BE ENTERED FOR CHANCES TO WIN MULTIPLE PRIZES! EVERY BLOG VISITED IS ANOTHER OPPORTUNITY TO WIN!!

5) PARTICIPATION AT ALL BLOGS IS RECOMMENDED, BUT NOT REQUIRED. REMEMBER, THE MORE BLOGS YOU HOP, THE BETTER YOUR CHANCES OF WINNING PRIZES. EVERY AUTHOR IS WAITING TO MEET AND INTERACT WITH YOU, SO PLEASE BE SURE TO SHOW EVERY AUTHOR SOME LOVE!

6) DID I MENTION TO HAVE FUN? WHOO! HOO!! HERE WE GOOOOOOOOOOOO!

***Authors have full discretion to choose an alternate winner in the event any winner fails to claim their prize(s) within 72 hours of their name being posted or after notification of win, whichever comes first. Anyone who participates in this blog hop tour is subject to these rules***

You think you're a wiseguy?

So welcome to my very first blog tour / blog party. Setting up for this tour has been a really fun experience. Each of the wonderful bloggers on this tour are putting together some great themes for their blogs. Mine, as you can probably tell, is a mafia initiation. So grab a candle, grab a gun, a glass of your favorite Italian red and let's get this party started!

What is a party without door prizes you ask?

Well I will be giving away 5 ebooks of my debut novel entitled For Nothing. AND as a GRAND-PRIZE one free SIGNED print copy! Take a look at it here:

Synopsis:

Undercover cop Alex Vaughn goes deeper than ever into the organized crime family of Buffalo, NY. Motivated by justice and revenge, he seeks out the assassin that laid his friend Jack low.

Professional killer Rafael Rontego traverses the deadly politics of Buffalo’s mafia underbelly. In a city whose winter can be just as deadly as those wielding power, Rontego tries to stay ahead of the game.

Their two worlds collide in this epic thriller that takes the reader on a search for self, justice, and truth.

How do you win?

It's easy! All you have to do is "Follow" this blog and leave a comment saying, "I swear by oath and blood!" Then you are initiated. Follow that up with a "Like" on my fan page and re-post the same quote and you will be entered into the raffle. Once you do those two small things, you are in! I will randomly select five people to receive a free ebook from those that enter the raffle!

If you post the oath on my Facebook, follow me on Twitter (with a mention about me and For Nothing), Follow and post the oath on my blog, and post the oath on my Goodreads, you will be entered for the GRAND PRIZE signed COPY.

So what are you waiting for?

1) Follow the blog
2) Swear the oath on my comment section below!
3) Like my facebook fan page: The link is HERE
4) Post your oath there too!
5) Follow my Goodreads and post the oath HERE
6) Follow and mention my twitter: @NICHOLASDENMON

Then you will officially be members of the For Nothing Fan Club as well as entered in my raffle to win a free ebook!

The Initiation

Sonne knelt before the old gangster. His heart raced as the man eyed him from behind his weather beaten visage. His face was old, but his eyes had the look of power. The look of a power older than even him. Sonne clenched his fist to squeeze the tremble from his fingers.

The man spoke, and his voice boomed over the half dozen men assembled. They wore black hoods but Sonne recognized several of them by the eyes gazing out from beneath the coverings. He looked on one set as old man Aldo continued. "We must ask again, Sonne, do you wish to enter into this thing of ours?"

Sonne swallowed hard but as he locked onto the eyes of his father, he knew there was only one answer.

"I do."

Aldo lifted his hands and Sonne couldn't help but be reminded of the old priests in his neighborhood church. "Repeat after me, Sonne Pieri." The old man continued in Italian, "Io, Sonne, voglio entrare in questa organizzazione per proteggere la mia famiglia e per proteggere I miei amici"

Sonne repeated the words, going over the translation in his head, "I, Sonne, want to enter into this organization to protect my family and to protect all my friends."

Aldo nodded his head in approval, but still Sonne looked for the tell-tale twinkle from his father's eyes before he sighed in relief. It was almost done.

Aldo came forward and asked, "Which finger do you use to pull the trigger?"

Sonne held up the finger on his right hand.

Aldo took a small knife and pressed the steel into the flesh of his finger drawing a small bubble of dark liquid.

Sonne didn't flinch and saw the twinkle again in his father's eyes, as he came forward and knelt next to him.

His father was his compare for the final part of the initiation.

Sonne felt his heart slow as his father settled in next to him. Sonne cupped his hands before him as Aldo held up a card with the Ciancetta patron saint, their saint from the old country, from back in Sicily. Aldo muttered something Sonne couldn't hear, and crumpled the card in Sonne's hand. He then took a match, struck it, and began to light the corners of the card creating a small ball of fire in his hands.

Sonne heard his words come out of his mouth of their own volition. Commanded by the winds of fate. ""As burns this saint, so will burn my soul. I enter alive and I will have to get out dead."

His father spoke next to him, "Come in alive, go out dead."

With that, Aldo and Sonne's father pressed Sonne's hands together, extinguishing the flame. Aldo grabbed Sonne's hands and lifted him to his feet. The old man kissed him once on each cheek, smiled and said, "Welcome. Welcome to this thing of ours."

MAKE SURE TO GO TO THE NEXT BLOG PARTY BEING HOSTED BY Sandra Nachlinger - BBQ PICNIC!!!! - http://iousex.blogspot.com/ I hear she has a GREAT PARTY planned!!!

My Proof copy of America's #1 Crime Thriller came in...

2011-06-08T15:12:00.000-07:00

My book before it is placed in its rightful spot...

As the print release for For Nothing gets ever closer, I was excited when I came home from work and saw a curious package on my doorstep. I scooped it up, ran inside and opened the very first copy of my novel in print. Hooray! So I have it, I like it, what's next and why is it taking so long to get the book in print?

Straight answer? I found a way to make the novel cheaper. Almost half the price and it still maintains the quality I demand. So unfortunately, it took a little longer than expected, but if I can save everyone ten bucks on the purchase, I thought it necessary.

Speaking of my novel....

I was interviewed this week by Patti Roberts. The link is here.

Also, I received another excellent review on For Nothing and it was the tenth consecutive 5 star review. That review can be found here.

And finally, on book news, I added my novel to an ebook platform called XinXii.com and on this site, my novel is the most viewed for the second day in a row. If you want to take a look and keep that streak going to three days, please click on this link.

The more clicks, the more exposure, so don't be shy!

One final note...more blog/book related than just book related. I will be hosting a blog party. The blog party is really a contest of sorts and it is called (get this) PARTY 'TIL YOUR HEELS FLY OFF: MEGA AUTHOR BLOG HOP TOUR - Now, I have been assured that even though mostly lady authors are doing this...(it consists of a contest where I give away free ebooks, decorate my blog consistent with a theme, and influencing a good old time as far as reading and winning goodies) I am allowed to put a boot or something other than heels in the title...

My blog party theme is a Mafia induction ceremony. So be ready for that. I will also be giving away free ebooks, and perhaps a signed regular copy of my book to the people who win the blog contest. The rules will be announced later this week but it will be something easy like entering into my raffle by posting a key phrase on my fan page, blog, etc. The more places you post, the more raffle entries you get, you dig?

And that is it for today my friends!

Ever Tried To Kill Your Brother?

2011-06-06T16:29:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday to Chris who is now old as of June 2nd. Happy Birthday to Rob who will be older as of June 12.

I write this article knowing I have limited funds for birthday gifts, and two brothers who have birthdays within ten days of each other. This article should help me hash out who deserves the better gift, and frankly, more of my love.

My brothers and I have a very complicated history. By complicated I mean we love each other, but neither has this love prevented us from trying to murder each other on many occasions. Generally, it has been a good thing that our failings as individuals carries over to our ability to plot and execute murder.

Why is this a good thing?

First, it is a good thing because none of us are currently in jail.

Second, I hate moving furniture and it would be exponentially harder with just me, or down one of my three brothers. It would make for an odd number and inevitably one of us would just be sitting around.

Third, over the years I have found my brothers to be very humorous people and I wouldn't trade those laughs for less than a million bucks in cold hard U.S. cash. Or Canadian currency otherwise known as maple syrup.

But before all of these great reasons to not murder one another, in the ignorance of our youth, we decided at various occasions that one of us must go.

Here are some quick examples:

1) As far as I know this was our first attempt. Chris and I are the eldest. Chris is older than me but I don't think he honed his fratricide skills yet as I grew into a stellar toddler.   By the time he had, it was too late to try and "off" me and he made me an accomplice. You see, quite unexpectedly, to us - probably not to her, my mother shot a third child from her womb.

There were three bedrooms in our house. Our parents shared one.   I had one. Chris had one. Some quick math told us that this new addition had to be subtracted.

Enter phase one of our plotting.

My mother owned a collapsible stroller. I remember it vividly. Even though I was about three years old, I remember it. Adrenaline coursing through your veins as you plot the demise of a sibling has a way of solidifying your memory even at a very young age.

We took the stroller with its yellow and white flower pattern (it was the 80's folks) and we placed our brother Rob on the stroller.   He was one. Maybe a hair older.

Chris, at five, was like our household McGyver. He knew we had stairs, a baby, and a stroller.

So when our mom was asleep or otherwise distracted, we loaded up that bundle of joy known as Rob into that flimsy stroller, lined him up on the stairs and gave a nonchalant shove.

Clunk! Clunk! Clunk!

We heard a yell. My mom came running around the corner.

Everything happened so fast.

MacGyver, the Swiss Army Knife of 1990's T.V

Chris, murderous Wunderkind

Chris ran left. My mom ran down the stairs while simultaneously grabbing my arm. As I blew down the stairs attached to my streaking mother like a flag on a pole in a harsh wind, I couldn't take my eyes off of the bottom of the stairs.

I was...dumbfounded.

The stroller had gone down an entire flight of stairs, into the basement, and landed upright on all four wheels.

Wile E. Coyote couldn't have a more disastrous ending.

And life went on.

And the murder plots and destruction continued.

2) This could have resulted in at least the loss of an eye so I am including it. My mom came in the room just in time to see Chris cutting the eyelashes from my eye because my grandmother made a comment about how long and wonderful they were. I went the next six weeks growing them back on one eye.

Yep. One eye with lash. The other eye without.

3) A few years later I took a Lego to the head from a slingshot pointed by Chris as I opened my bedroom door. The bastard had lain in wait. It was a heck of a shot and took me directly between the eyes. I remember the sound more than the shot and the throb just above the bridge of my nose. As the light came back into focus, Chris stood there in the corner of the bedroom. He looked shocked that he shot so straight and so true. Even more shocked that the perfect aim hadn't resulted in my death.

4) Several weeks later, I served up a dish of ice cold revenge as I took a dive off the top bunk onto Chris' head doing my best Sargent Slaughter foot stomp circa W.W.F. in the 1990's.

Come to think of it, most of these murderous endeavors were undertaken by Chris and myself.

Hmmm. Maybe Rob was just better at it and never got caught.

As I sit here thinking which brother deserves a better birthday gift from me, I have to tell you I am leaning more towards Rob now. I don't know if I owe it to him for years of attempted fratricide or if I owe it to him for not hatching evil plots on his older brother.

My only memories of his big fights were with Alex, the child born after him.

Perhaps true fratricide rolls downhill.

Either way, Chris looks less likely to get the good present this year.

Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (Not mine, my buddy's so it's funny)

2011-06-01T12:27:00.000-07:00

In life there are instances of unannounced and unanticipated moments of hilarity. I have a buddy at work, and for the moment let us call him Jordon, who recently had a two and half week attempt at a relationship that derived from a blind date.

On this blind date he was introduced to a girl that we will call Jessica. At first, everything was great. Jordon found out that they both wanted to name their future dog Bo-jangles. They even had the same name for a future kid that isn't something normal like "John". It 's Kai. As in Cobra Kai (think Karate Kid). Not to be confused with the Cobra commander.

Any one of these could be Jordon's future kid

Most likely NOT Jordon's future kid

Jordon told me at lunch that he thought it was "destiny" when he found out she had the matching couch and chair for his love-seat.

But passion such as this has a way of flaming out. The hotter flame, the quicker the burn...or something like that.

Jordon started to notice how crazy Jessica was. In fact he became crazily obsessed about it. He noticed how she over dressed for everything. "She would wear make-up and high heels just to get the mail, so I told her I don't need you to dress up for everything".

So the next day she wore sweatpants and a garbage bag if my memory serves me right.

"She started to listen to my music and watch my shows," a very bitter Jordon informed over lunch.

At first, I tried to let Jordon know it was a good thing that she took an interest in his likes. "Trust me, you'll have things to talk about after the passion dies down."

But Jordon had enough, and he took Jessica to lunch to call it quits.

Where she told him in no uncertain terms, "no". He was not allowed to break up with her. He told her, yes it was in fact happening, and that is when the crazy train came to town.

In the span of a month (almost twice as long as they actually 'dated'...they saw each other under 10 times) she did the following which I deem funny enough to immortalize in my blog:

1) After they 'broke up' Jordon received an email from her every hour on the hour. He didn't respond because he was getting a bit creeped out at this point.

Bad mistake....

2) He is invisible on Facebook. I tried to find him and can't. Then again, I am not an ex-investigative journalist like Jessica. She found him on Facebook and sent him a message there...and on Twitter...and on LinkedIn...and via text...and left multiple messages on his phone. The last message was, "Fine. I am deleting your number". And several days of peace went by....

3) Jordon got a call from his Dad. His Dad lives in another part of the country. Jessica used her, apparently considerable, skills and tracked down Jordon's Dad and called him. You see, she deleted his number and could not remember it. Jordon is not listed so Jessica called his Dad and said she was a friend from New York. Being thus disarmed, Jordon's Dad gave Jessica his number and the texts, phone messages, and email resumed.

But it is better to catch a fly with honey...
If they were a couple this would be sweet. But at this point it even creeps me out...

4) She knew that Jordon had a certain fondness for cupcakes that are made in Nashville. She bought them and had them delivered to Jordon at work...

5) Jessica took his boss out to dinner...to ask about him. It was so blatant and obvious that the boss told us all the next day and is now refusing to dine with Jessica anymore.

And last but not least...

6) She called and left a message of herself singing a song on Jordon's answering machine. Jordon made the off the cuff remark during one of there three dinners that he never heard her sing (she professed to be excellent, and was now proved to be a liar).

For the most part these, individually, aren't that bad. But taken as a whole and given the short nature of their relationship, it is downright nuts. Jordon and I went to lunch today and as we were walking out Jordon picked up his pace abnormally. It was almost a sprint. When I asked him what was wrong he replied, "Just keep walking, that was Jessica".

He saw her in line. She lives forty miles away. What are the chances of that?

Perhaps it was destiny after all.

Busy weekend!

2011-05-28T09:45:00.000-07:00

Besides promoting and finalizing the print version of For Nothing (now available in all your E formats for only $.99) I have familial duties and Memorial Day weekend ahead. Should be a fun and distracting three days.

Once the print version of For Nothing comes out I will be tremendously relieved. It has been quite the hassle. It seems the Print on Demand industry is slightly overpriced but that is what you get for not printing in bulk.

Also, author Allie Burke is releasing the second novel in her series. Emerald Destiny releases Monday. Keep an eye out for that.

Okay, gotta run. The mall awaits and I need new shoes.

Do you believe in Ghosts - The Things That Follow Part VII

2011-05-26T20:59:00.000-07:00

The Things That Follow: Part VII

After we opened a gate inadvertently, or pissed off some ornery spirits in a forgotten cemetery, they followed us home.

Say what you want, but kids and animals see things we adults can not or will not. Ever see a baby staring past you? Or a cat staring at the wall for long minutes, and then looking back at you like you're an idiot? Or a dog barking at what you dismiss as the wind?

Deep down you know your cat isn't nuts. You know your child isn't vacant. You know it's not the wind. But the truth, what ever it might be, is less preferable to the bliss of our ignorance. So we make excuses, we forget, we move on, we live.

But not the children.

My cousin Lacy wasn't with us when we discovered the cemetery. She didn't know of our suspicion of 'The Things That Follow', in fact those suspicions were just coming into being when she decided to spend the night.

Still under four feet tall and a bright-eyed eight year old, spending the night at her aunt Dini's house was a big event. No mom, just her cousins, bad movies, too much candy and staying up far too late; it was a right of passage.

We went to bed that night, my brother Rob in my room with me and Lacy in his room, alone. The lights went out, and the steady hum of the ceiling fan rhythmically lulled me to sleep.

I awake.

I'm not sure why, but the fan is off and Rob is breathing deep in the embrace of sleep. I hear a slight noise from down the hall. I lay there for a moment, knowing what I know about the house. The noises, the lights, the things. I lay there for a long moment. The moment gets longer. I can't tell if I merely cannot move or if I will not.

I hear her quiet sobs.

I want to get out of bed but I can't move. My eyes won't open all the way. My heart rapidly beats in my chest. I try to will myself up. I can hear my heart in my ears now. My limbs are lead. Nothing is responding.

Still the sobs continue.

I think I hear the floor board creak.

The fan is off.

Rob is breathing.

I can't move.

The sobbing continues.

The floorboards creak again. Faster now. I can hear them coming down the hall towards my bedroom. Rob won't wake up and when I try to call to him, my voice comes out in an inaudible moan. Too quiet to hear, to nonsensical to matter.

Something is coming.

The door swings open. I can't see past the dark abyss beyond. The door knocks gently against the wall. I can't see anything but I hear it. Scraping along the wall.

The fan turns on.

I can't breath past the heartbeat filling my lungs.

The light comes on.

Standing in the door way is my brother Chris.

I still can't move.

He shakes me awake and it's like snapping a spell.

I shake my limbs. I look at Rob who is finally rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Lacy's going home." Chris said it and his face said he didn't approve.

I look at the clock, it's 1am.
"It's one in the morning."

"I know, Aunt Debbie is picking her up. She says the house scares her." Chris looks at me and we share a moment. All that comes out though is, "Wuss."

Lacy went home that night. Her big moment was ruined by who knows what. I'll never forget her apologetic look as her mother picked her up in the middle of the night. She said from under her mother's arm, "I'm sorry. I just, something, there was something."

But she was the lucky one. I walked up the rickety stairs with Rob in tow. He didn't go back to his room that night. I lay down, wondering if I would ever be able to sleep, and if I did, would I ever be able to wake?

Do You Believe in Ghosts- The Things That Follow: Part VI

2011-05-23T17:22:00.000-07:00

Before we get into the story several fast updates.

I would like to thank all of my new blog followers. I think something like 25 joined this week and I really appreciate it. Also, For Nothing is available in all your e-reader formats. A website for my book will be coming up soon. But for now you can go to these links to buy it for your Nook, Kindle, or whatever.

Amazon / Kindle

Barnes and Noble/ Nook

Smashwords -if you don't have an e-reader, or if you do and want to buy from the site that gives me the most royalties...

Also, my fan page is up and going, you can click "Like" on the right side of this page in the Facebook window.

Okay, enough with that crap.

On to ghost stories:

The Things That Follow: Part VI

My brothers and I brought something home with us after an ill-advised trip to a hidden cemetery in the middle of nowhere on a cliff that over looked a rumbling creek. The tombstones were worn and broken, and apparently, something did not like our excursions there.

My mom had the house blessed after it was apparent things were awry on the home front. A carpet layered with a thousand yellow jackets and the sounds of a man pacing in your child's bedroom will do that to you if you know you had just vacuumed said carpet and you were staring at the room and could not see anyone making the walking noises.

She thought she vanquished the spirit, but maybe she just sent him to the loft above the garage, because that was where my brothers and I found a trunk full of satanic poetry. When we decided to burn the notebooks containing the poetry, it was as if the priest never came.

At first, it was just odd occurrences. Things that you really could just chalk up to something else. We began to find dead animals around the house. Not around the house, at the doorways. A dead field mouse was at the back door. A dead bird by the front door.

"She's a good hunter, Junior is." My mom said it with the authority that only a mom can muster up.

"But she only has three legs," I said.

"That makes it even more amazing. We'll put a bell on her so that way she can't sneak up on anymore birds and mice."

My mother has infinite amounts of wisdom. Despite the cat's meows of protest, the bell went on her collar.

But the killings continued.

Now it was two mice, a chipmunk, a raccoon by the garbage, and another bird in the front lawn. There is no way my three-legged bell saddled cat was killing raccoons.

I know what you're thinking.

So what it could be anything.

By itself, I would agree with you. But along with everything that happened before and after, I find it curious.

Then there is this strange gem, and I have no clue if I mark it down as one part The Things That Follow or one part Something the Fuck Else. In either case it’s worth noting.

One evening five us, seven if you count the two dogs, were watching television. My three brothers, Dennis, and my mom. Two dogs. Equals seven.

I think we watching Up All Night with Rhonda on USA. This was a really bad channel that showed such classics as "Attack of the Meat Eating Slugs".

She was on television doing her normal shtick, "Thanks for watching UP all night with RHONDA, here on USA" or something of that nature.

That's when it happened.

I thought it was just a light out of the corner of my eye. You know how sometimes you think you see a light flash, you turn your head and its nothing? Well this time it wasn't nothing. At the same moment all five humans turned their head to the left.

Dennis, who worked in a Chevy factory and is a man's man exclaims, "What the hell is that?"

The dogs both stand up and look in the hallway.

"That's just the orb dear." My mom says this as if nothing strange was going on. "They visit sometimes. I am surprised you haven't seen them before."

We all see this one. This one right now. Translucent, two feet in circumference, hovering. It floats down the hallway and goes out the back door. I look over and Dennis is holding a tennis racquet. Five mouths are hanging on the floor. Two tails are curiously low and it takes the dogs several moments to even work up the courage to issue a low growl.

Thanks, man's best friend.

It is with this in mind that I eventually go to my bedroom. My bedroom is down the hall, nearly twenty paces from my little brother's bedroom where the ghost was pacing and sat down on his bed. My bedroom has two windows, one is at the head of the bed and another is to my left when I lay down. I work myself up as I lay there and my ears tell me lies about the man shuffling his feet in the bedroom down the hall.

I doze.

I awake.

Oddly, I feel very light. I get up off of the bed, but I am light. So light. Weightless. I turn and look at the bed.

I must have pushed up to hard when I got up.

I am now floating above the bed.

But wait, I can't be awake. I see myself sleeping in the bed. It is definitely me, but it looks, different, somehow. Less alive. It doesn't bother me. I don't know fear.

I look away from my sleeping body and glance out the window to my hovering right, my sleeping left. I see these wisps. White, gentle, rolling wisps, streak across the sky and curve around the house. I follow them with my eyes, or whatever my vision is made of, and can see them streak past the window at my sleeping head.

Hundreds of them swiftly and silently slide past.

I will myself forward, towards the window. It opens.

I float next to the window, over my sleeping head, and look out.

They look so beautiful. I want to join them. And why not, I can fly too. I can hover for sure, and I bet it's not much different.

I prepare to leap. I prepare to join these traveling waifs of white vapor.

Just as I am about to will myself forward, into the dark starless night, one of the wisps streaks past the window, but much closer than the others.

It slows.

I can make out, at the very front, human-like features. A face. But just as I start to place the face, it morphs and like smoke, it is something different, then human-like once again. The wisp looks at me.

Now is not your time. Go back to sleep. It doesn't move a mouth, but its message enters my brain. Telepathic? I suppose.

But I want to fly with you, I protest.

One day, but not today.

I feel the weight of the truth in the statement. Cowed, I slink back to myself and lay down on top of my body. I float downward, downward, downward.

My eyes open. The sun is in my room and it's hot.

What a dream!

I can't wait to tell my brothers and my mom. I smell bacon drifting up the stairs as I run down them three at a time.

"I had the craziest dream," I yell.

My mom comes over and gives me a piece of bacon and I crunch it in my teeth feeling the grease wet my tongue a moment before I taste it. As I chew it, my mom brushes my hair away from my eyes.

"My baby. Good morning. I had a crazy dream too."

I grab another piece of bacon. I love it. I can't help it. Mouth full, my mom continues.

Her eyes meet mine and all I can see are the deep pools of green set there and my chewing reflection bouncing off the knowing orbs.

"I had a dream that you were about to jump from your window, and I told you, to go back to sleep. Now's not your time baby. Now's not your time."

[The Things That Follow Part VII: Thursday]

America's #1 Crime Novel?...by Nicholas Denmon ?

2011-05-20T12:55:00.000-07:00

It has been a whirl wind of a week. Midnight editing, blogging, twittering, facebooking, formatting, and (when time allowed) writing has kept me from much of a social life. Social life not internet related.

My novel, For Nothing hit the e-market this weekend. The Kindle, the Nook, and all other e-readers should be carrying For Nothing. The e-reader version is priced very cheap at just $0.99 and I figure that is fair for people taking a chance on an unknown product. I have sold close to thirty copies so whoever is buying my novel, thank you.

I hope it's not my Dad buying one every day. My mom doesn't know how to use a computer so I am safe there until the print version comes out.

As the readership increases, I will experiment with raising the price to $2.99. So the point is, jump on the bandwagon now and save a couple bucks. After all it is the best crime novel in the world. The best mafia crime novel in the world ever written...by Nicholas Denmon.

As a side note, I have "America's #1 crime novel" in my twitter heading, fan page, etc; and one gentleman (who also writes crime novels) took issue with it. Here is his quote:

CENCORED May 20 at 12:59pm Report

I think touting your book as "America’s #1 crime novel” is way over the top. Saying it doesn't make it so.

Saying it doesn't make it so, unless it is a matter of opinion. I gave my Dad a mug for Father's Day once (or was it my brother? Never mind that now) that said, "#1 Dad". That was #1 in the whole world too, not just America. I didn't get a letter from some Dad across the way disputing my claim. Sure there might be a better Dad out there, unlikely but possible. But it doesn't really matter does it? I think he is, and I am well within my right to call him, #1. So it goes with my novel. I believe it is America's #1 crime novel ever written...by Nicholas Denmon.

I explained to the gentleman that I didn't claim that it was America's #1 bestseller. I also explained that it was clearly a way to market it and have some fun. He backed off and now we are Facebook friends. So it's official.

Suck it.

Moving on....

The print edition is available this weekend. When I have the link I will post it here, on Facebook, and Twitter, and ...well you get the point. Starting Saturday or Sunday, I will be getting back to work on my trilogy and outlining the sequel to For Nothing, America's #1 Crime Novel...by Nicholas Denmon.

Do You Believe in Ghosts- The Things That Follow: Part V

2011-05-18T16:33:00.000-07:00

My mother had enough of ghosts about the same time she heard someone walking around my little brother's bedroom. The spirit kept her up all night with its pacing and when she went to clean the room, he rewarded her with thousands of bees on the carpet floor.   Though Dennis, her husband, has tried to explain the Yellow Jackets away by any other means available, my mother was convinced that something weird was going on.

I know now that all of these happenings began after my brothers and me went to a cemetery on the edge of a cliff, in the middle of the woods. She merely understood that whatever happened was not something she wanted in her house out in the middle of Corn-ville, USA.

She did what any good Catholic would do (she is a much better Catholic than I am). She called a priest.

When you call a priest you know what you are going to get. You are going to get someone over the age of sixty. You are going to get a house full of incense, some palm crucifixes, and a "blessing" in the house. If all goes well, you kick out the spirits too.

This guy didn't fit the bill at all.   Father John was a man in his mid thirties. He had some holy water, and he was armed with a head full of doubt. Ghosts don't exist, I suppose. Angels, demons, saints, all good. Ghosts though, "Eh." But Father John was dutiful, and he sprinkled some water, went room to room, and said a blessing. My mom made him do my little brother's room twice.

Then Father John gathered up his robes and left.

And IT was pissed.

We didn't know it was pissed. So we went to my mom's house like we did every summer.

Outside of my mother's hundreds-of-years-old house is a detached garage. It is dilapidated and made of wood and cinder block. The bottom part is all cinder block, but the top part is a loft that looks almost like the top half of a barn. In fact a small barn door at the top is accessible by ladder, and this part is made of all wood. Wood that became a pile of rot after decades of harsh winters. We were forbidden to go up and into it.

Naturally, my older brother Chris, fearless leader that he is (along with my instigator cousin Joey) convinces us that on this particular day, this is the adventure of a lifetime.

Snake-oil salesman.

So the four of us make our way into this hot, rotted, loft above the garage. Cobwebs stick to our sweaty faces. Our breathing comes out in rasps as the sense of adventure creeps into our bones. I am the third one up and in. We always seem to do things like this in the order of our births. Chris climbs in, Joey, then me. As I poke my head through the door and Rob climbs up the ladder at my feet, I see that part of the floor has rot away, and I can see into the garage. Chris grabs my hand and pulls me up and says, "Watch out for the hole."

Thanks.

The place hasn't been touched in years. Dust lines the wooden floor, old leaves have blown through a broken window at the base of the roof. But next to the window is an old desk. Next to that desk is a box piled with papers and what from this distance looks like magazines. Someone has lived in this loft.

Forgetting about the bugs and cobweb and dust, we continue forward in single file. Joey and Chris lead us along a beam, just in case any more floor boards are rotting through. "I don't need to get in trouble because you guys hurt yourselves," he whispers.

I don't know why people whisper in these types of moments. We weren't sneaking up on anyone.

Joey pretends to push me through the hole in the floor as we turn to go. I slam my foot on the ground to brace and he gives a tiny laugh. "I wouldn't push you."

I punch him in the arm and we continue onward until we reach the desk. Somehow, at this moment, we turn into experienced pilferers. The desk drawers slide out, several hands go into the box where we find hand written journals and the first porno magazine I have ever seen. I pick it up, curious. "Give me that," Chris says. "You're too young."

"I've seen those before," I lie.

"No you haven't," Rob whispers.

Traitor.

But very fast, we lose interest in the magazine.   Joey starts to read from the hand written journals out loud.

The words come out and sear into my brain, "My horned father, give me strength to vanquish those who oppose me. Bless me with your eternal heat so that the coolness of death can not touch me."

We stumble on the journals, the rantings and ravings of a Satanic worshiper. At that age I don't know much about religion other than what Catholic school taught me. But I know, that this is creepy.

"Let's go," I say. I look at the faces of those gathered around me. Wrinkling brows and darting eyes greet me.

For once, Chris doesn't oppose my idea. "Yeah we better go. Let's bring this to the fire pit and burn it."

We all agree and Joey and Chris slide the box towards the entrance while Rob and I climb down.

In a mad dash we assemble gasoline, lighters, and the notes from the loft. We pile them in the fire pit, with at least one glance at the magazine, and douse it all in gas. The flames jump high and the scent of burning gas meets my nose with a certain satisfaction.

Just as the flames leap into the sky, we hear a crash and yell from inside the house. We all look at each other, our faces streaked with dirt, soot, and sweat. But cutting through it all is the unmistakable look of fear. We run inside.
There on the floor is Dennis' grandfather clock. Shattered to bits. My mom is starring at it. Her lip trembles.

"What happened," Rob asks.

"Something threw it down." My mother throws the words out flat and succinct.

"Could it just fall?"   Chris asks. We all know better.

That clock stood in that room for more than five years. Nothing short of an earthquake should have knocked it down.

As the fire burns outside, the four of us help my mom clean up the mess. We exchange nervous glances the whole time.

I went to bed that night. I was scared because that was the first time I encountered something I believed to be pure evil. Sure the swinging light was freaky.    But this, this was evil. I felt it in my bones.

Time would bear witness to the nature of the events as well.

That night, I would have the most curious of dreams. That summer, was when the dead animals began to appear.

[The Things That Follow Part VI: Monday]

Do You Believe in Ghosts- The Things That Follow: Part IV

2011-05-16T17:07:00.000-07:00

Old houses can be lonely. Imagine a house built hundreds of years ago in a place best known for its corn fields. Eden, New York was a place that boasted a neighborhood of homes built in the seventeen hundreds. Many of the homes were purchased by the Historical Preservation Society, and across the street from my mother's home is a legitimate one-room school house painted fire engine red. It rests on a cliff of evergreens and oaks that wrap around the creek bed and under a one lane bridge. The creek winds its way along the cliff face and under a small waterfall not more than a hundred yards from a cemetery rediscovered by my brothers and me when were young.

Ever since that day, things have been happening.

Imagine a house, full of laughter in the summers and every other Christmas. During these times, the house is filled with love and joy, and the things that follow seem to be a distant memory. But what happens when the kids leave, and it's just you in the house? Every floor board that settles, every light that begins to flicker, every scream in the night, is amplified while your husband works the 4am factory shift at Chevy.

So it was for my mother.

She lay in bed that night. Listening. Dennis, her husband, left at 2 am as he always did, to make it to work on time at the Chevy plant. She heard the floorboards moan. The first time, she thought, she hoped, it was the house settling. But there is a difference, she noticed, between a settling house and the familiar sounds of a man pacing in her youngest child's bedroom.

Clunk clunk.

Her thoughts try to reason with her. Maybe something hit the house.

Clunk Clunk.

Maybe it's my three-legged cat.

Clunk Clunk Clunk Clunk.

Someone is in the house!

Palms sweaty, she rises from the waterbed. The swishing betrays her, and anyone inside would have ran for it, realizing the house was occupied. The cat is sitting on the foot of the bed, ears alert. She sees something in the bedroom that used to be her master's walk in closet. My mother looks. But she can't see anything. It's dark. Underneath a crucifix hanging in the room, is a night-light that casts an eerie shadow across the floor. She is almost afraid to even look, but the waiting is worse. Her foot trembles as she walks and her knees threaten to give out on her. She takes an uncertain step.

Creeeeek.

Her traitor house lends a floorboard to give her away further. It is warm tonight, but suddenly she can see her breath in the room. A thermostat hangs on the wall next to the crucifix as well. It is still eighty degrees in the home with no central heating. She gathers her courage and in two quick steps she is across the threshold to the bedroom and flicks the light on. The light goes on. She half expected it to flicker, but it didn't.   The noises stopped.

For a moment.

She glances to the bed. The bed where her youngest child slept. She washed the covers each summer when the children went away. Careful, she made the beds to await their return. Summer after summer, the same ritual.

Her breath came out in a slow gasp.

The covers lay strewn across the floor. The imprint of a body remains on the bed.

Meowwww!

She turns back to the doorway, just in time to see the three-legged feline sprint past the door in a hurry.

Clunk clunk.

The noise is in the far side of the room.

Clunk Clunk.

Closer now. Fast.

Clunk Clunk.

Fright jumping from her very skin, she turns the light off and runs from the room, down the stairs and into the kitchen. She turns on the lights downstairs, the kitchen, the living room, the bathroom. At a little past 2am the house is a beacon of light in the wilderness.   She pours herself a glass of wine.

Clunk Clunk.

She hears it pacing up there. It paces until dawn, or until she falls asleep from exhaustion. Which came first, she doesn't know. What she does know is that Dennis came home to find her sleeping. She makes him wait. All six feet of him waits for her while she carries the vacuum up the stairs.

"Whatever it was, I can't have it messing up the room."

She makes the bed. Dennis watches.

She sprays the dresser with Lysol.

Dennis watches. He doesn't believe, but he loves his wife.

She vacuums the floor.

He watches. He watches as she takes the cord and wraps it around the vacuum. She wheels it out, turns off the light.

Satisfied, they prepare to leave and watch television downstairs.

"Honey, I forgot the Lysol rag. Can you get it?"

"Of course," he says. She watches him leave, but she still feels her skin crawling. She hurries after him.

She catches up just as he flicks the light in the bedroom.

"Jesus Christ!" He yells and falls backward out of the room. She runs up to him and grabs his arm. She can feel his pulse through his bicep. Or is it hers through her fingers?

She peers around him and into the room. Yellow jackets.

Bees are everywhere. Thousands upon thousands. The carpet seems alive with their dying bodies. One big yellow and black wave of stingers and wings.

Dramatic rendering of bees on my brother's bedroom floor

Evil has many forms. Sometimes it shows up as a blue-eyed blonde haired boyscout leader. Sometimes it shows up as a homeless guy with an axe to grind. Sometimes it shows up as a swinging flickering light. Sometimes it sits on your bed. Sometimes, it shows up as a swarm of dying yellow jackets on your carpet floor at five in the afternoon.

That's when you call the priest.

That's when all Hell breaks loose.

[The Things that Follow Part V – Wednesday]

The world's best crime thriller novel

2011-05-13T10:27:00.000-07:00

This will be the best crime thriller novel in the world.....by Nicholas Denmon. That is because it's my first crime thriller novel. But I really like it, and why shouldn't I? It has everything a crime thriller needs. Ahem, everything I think a crime thriller needs. I wrote a story that I thought would be fun and included all the elements I always wished a novel of this type would contain. I have one review so far, and it got me 5 stars.

Action? Check!!

Revenge? Check!!

Betrayal? Check!!

Plot Twists? Check!!

The novel will be available starting Saturday, and I am very excited. That is all.

Do You Believe in Ghosts- The Things That Follow: Part III

2011-05-11T15:08:00.000-07:00

Do You Believe in Ghosts- The Things That Follow: Part III

A brief rehash: We found a cemetery in the summer. I encountered a swinging light bulb in my basement, that decided to turn itself on and off, in the winter. Then, there was the next summer…

The next summer a few things happened.

Every year, my family liked to come together and visit my mother’s house when my brothers and I were in town. One of the things we like to do is have a bonfire in the backyard. In those days, there was an old sour apple tree that hung over the back of the house. It extended its branches up towards the heavens, reaching skyward and draped over the second story of the vinyl paneled home. Apples would fall into the grass below and either rot away, or become missiles with which my brothers and I could torment each other.

The fire pit was of our own making. It was a hole in the yard with some slate rocks my brothers and I had carted up the hillside from the creek down the road. In preparation we would go out to the surrounding wood and search the forest floor for dry twigs and branches. We would also raid my mother’s cabinet for the old edition of the phone book. Then, when no one was looking, we would go to the detached garage and grab the gasoline can, and pretend we were expert fire builders.

Isn’t everyone when they have a can of gasoline?

The festivities began; family members came from all around. It was a good time.

Dusk descended, bringing the country stars to a shine above us in the black night sky. I remember the moon had an ethereal glow to it, not quite a white gold, but not a bright orange you sometimes see in an enlarged moon. Usually, on nights like this, the clouds make an appearance and cover the moon in wisps of grey shadow that are jealous of her glory.

Not on this night.

She was bare for the world to see. The clouds had left her alone as if she had dropped them to the floor like so many encumbering robes. Most of our family admired her beauty with a passing glance, for the fire at our feet stole their attention.

As children are wont to do, we began to tell stories around the campfire. My cousin Joey had a habit of scaring us in such a setting. He would poke at the fire with a stick or with his foot and regal us with stories of poisoned ivy in the wood around the home. Poisoned berries were a staple of his as well. Wearing his black T-Shirts and a grin that instigated us to acts of mischievous nature, he would poke at us the same way he poked the fire.

In an attempt to get him back I said, “Well we found a cemetery.”

And before I knew what was happening, we were walking out into the woods with a set of flashlights.

Everyone knows that in horror stories the one thing you don’t do is visit cemeteries at night with a pair of inconsistent flashlights, but this wasn’t a movie, it was real life. Besides we had a pair of adults with us in Aunt Cathy and Uncle Clem.

When we made our way through the dark and along the dirt path that led to the cemetery, we split up and walked along the rows of stone that marked the passageway between the living and the dead. A cottontail deer bound away as we shone the light on the final resting place of those souls encamped six feet under.

We were there only a few moments when my Aunt Cathy turned a shade of white paler than the whitest moon. A very levelheaded woman she said, “We need to leave. I don’t feel well.”

Uncle Clem led us from the cemetery, and being a stupid young man, I asked over and over, “What is wrong? Are you sick? What is wrong? What is wrong?”

I was shooed away by Uncle Clem a few times. Until finally, my Aunt Cathy said, “No, I feel nauseous. I feel as if someone was very angry we were there. We are not wanted there.”

I stopped asking questions. My younger brother walked next to me, unsure whether he heard correctly. My older brother and my cousin just made spooky ghost noises from us as we made the walk home.

After the gathering, we said our good nights and went to bed.

I woke up the next morning, feeling great.

My younger brother did not.

He woke up with bright red eyes because, well, he hadn’t slept at all.

“What’s wrong with you?” I asked.

“I couldn’t sleep. That’s all” He said.

“Why not?” I really didn’t care, I just liked finding out what bothered my little brother. If I could find out, then maybe I could pick on him later.

“Nothing.”

It wasn’t until sometime later that I found out the truth. He had been lying there, that night, trying to fall asleep. The only problem was the pacing going on in his little five-foot by five-foot bedroom that used to be a closet. He could hear somebody or something walking around his bed. He thought he made it all up, but he covered his head with a blanket hoping that it would go away. He hoped he had imagined it, you see. That is why he was so shocked when he felt it sit down on the foot of his bed. He felt the bed compress and lower to the ground, while he lay there. Then he felt it decompress, and the pacing continued. A few moments later (or was it hours? He couldn’t tell) it happened again. This went on through the night until just before dawn.

Dramatic rendering of my brother's bed and room

To this day, he barely talks about it.

Sometimes, when you go to cemeteries, things follow.

Fortunately, after that week, we went back to Florida. My mom wasn’t so lucky. These things that were minor occurrences during our summers she lived with year round.

That was when the bees began to show up.

[The Things that Follow Part IV – Monday]

Do You Believe in Ghosts- The Things That Follow: Part II

2011-05-09T14:58:00.000-07:00

The Things That Follow: Part II

Every summer and every other winter, my brothers and I would visit our mother’s home in a place called Eden, NY. It was outside of Buffalo and surrounded by a deep old wood that sloped up and down hills crawling with evergreens. The brown and faded green corn fields hugged the hills and obscured the hundred year old homes from the one-lane highway that split the landscape.

Hidden in the hills, and along twisting dirt paths, were untold adventures for three boys with a will to explore. Sometimes, though, when you go looking for adventure you find it.

That summer, the cemetery sent us scurrying home just as dusk fell on the sleepy town.

When we returned the next winter, something was waiting.

Out there, so far from city lights, the eight thousand residents of Eden, New York had become accustomed to their midnight black evenings. The gray cloud covered sky brought evening in a hurry, and kept the stars at bay. The trees would whisper at the approach of gloom and shook their branches for extra warmth. Their leaves rested on the frozen floor beneath feet of pure white snow.

Inside, my mother kept a pelt furnace burning to keep the cold from creeping and crawling through the cracks of the old house. When the lake wind from the Great Lakes blew through Buffalo, we played inside.

My older brother had decided it was time to create a playroom in the basement.

This wasn’t a complete basement with carpet and lighting that was reliable. No. It was a dank, dark, musty place. There was one light bulb that hung in the center of the basement that could only be turned on by pulling a string underneath it.

Dramatic rendering of my childhood basement

That meant a half dozen paces in pitch black dark. It meant swinging your hand around, hoping to touch the string, but fearful of…touching something else. Fearful of turning it on, to see…something else.

When we went down in the basement together, it was bearable. That was how we found the almost secret compartment that lead to an enclosed room at the back of the basement. It was really just a plywood and wood-panel enclosure that ran from the ceiling to the floor in the shape of a box. There was another light inside, when you could find it.

Together, we painted the walls, we cleaned the room out. We dusted cobwebs, and we put toys in there we loved. I, for instance, put a Ninja Turtle set down there. Quite possibly the biggest mistake of my life.

After a full day of playing downstairs, my mother called us up to eat a meal of home cooked lasagna and scalloped potatoes. We ran up the stairs. I was the last one up, and I felt my heart racing. I couldn’t explain why. Just something didn’t feel right. I left the light on as I bolted up the stairs, not daring to be the one left behind in the dark.

Dinner came and went. We speculated about the room downstairs. Who had built it and why? Maybe it was to hide from Indians, we thought. Whatever the reason, we watched some television as a family and after a while, my mom told us it was time for bed.

“Not with out my Ninja Turtles,” I said. Then remembering where they were, I asked, “Mom, will you wait by the top of the stairs for me?”

She smiled knowingly. “Of course, I’ll wait while I let the dog out.”

I smiled back. Mother’s have no fear.

The darkness beckoned to me as I stood the top of the stairs and my mom let the dog outside. The back door stood next to he basement door. I could smell the basement usually, but this was the first time I felt it. Hadn’t I left the light on? I wondered.

Maybe my brother had gone back down and turned it off. I inched down the first step, my leg trembling. One foot in front of the other, I made my way into the belly of the beast. I reached the middle of the room, and waved my hand back and forth. The string had to be somewhere around here. But what if it had tangled on top of the light. That had happened before. I reached up and felt a fist full of cobwebs. The sticky strands made my hand recoil, but as I did, I felt the string.

I closed my eyes and pulled.

With a click, the light came on, casting an eerie pale orange glow that swung back and forth with the momentum of the string. Smiling in victory, I shouted up to my mom.

I heard nothing, in reply.

“Mom?” I said again. I could feel the tremble in my voice. The stairs waited behind me, but my toys waited in the dark enclosed room ahead. I hadn’t come this far to be turned away now. Besides, I was sure my mom waited for me at the top.

I sprinted forward. I opened the panel door, and in the dim light provided by the swinging bulb beyond, I found the next light. I pulled the cord.

It flickered to life.

I saw my small red case that held my Ninja Turtles and picked it up. Victory was mine.

And just like that, it was taken away.

The light above began to dim and then surge with light again. It did this in quick succession, each pulse of light quickened the pulse in my chest. I ran out from the door as it flickered off completely, the lone light bulb beyond swinging as a beacon to light my way. I took several hurried steps forward, my toy case clutched to my chest.

Then that light too pulsed with an electrical surge. I stopped in my tracks. I wanted to run to the stairs, but not at the cost of crossing the swinging light. Who knew what was causing the light to glow like that? Shouldn’t the light bulb have stopped its swinging by now? It swung more fiercely than it had when I first yanked the cord. I swallowed. My spit felt like a sideways brick, but there was only one way out.

I ran past the light.

It grew brighter in protest as I brushed past it, then it went out all together as I fell on the first stair in the dark. I could hear the light bulb swinging like a tether ball in blackness behind me. On my knees, I crawled up the stairs one at time and got to the top.

The door was closed.

The smell of the moldy basement enveloped me and the swinging light called to me below, I reached up and grabbed the door handle. I shoved the door outward so hard it bounced off of the wall behind it with a resounding CRACK. A breath of my mother’s smoke filled house hit me like a burst of fresh air.

I slammed the door behind me and gulped the air. My mother walked back into the house holding our dog, a speckled mutt that had three-inch long legs under the body of a barrel. I shot my mother an accusing stare.

“Sorry baby, he ran off.” She gave me a wry smile. She knew her betrayal.

“I hate basements.” I threw the words at her, hoping they would smack her in the face, but she smiled and I couldn’t be mad.

“Me too, they smell awful.”

And, for a time, I was content to forget what had happened to me in the basement. Although I never went back down alone, I still accompanied my brothers into that abyss. It was nearly two weeks later when I heard about what happened to my younger brother.

He was cryptic at first. But what happened to him, what continued to happen to him, makes my event look like child’s play. Whatever it was, it was just the beginning.

The Things That Follow: Part III [Wednesday]

Do You Believe In Ghosts?

2011-05-06T10:19:00.000-07:00

Recently, a friend of mine asked me if I believe in ghosts.

Short answer? I don’t know.

But what I do know is that things have happened. Things that are not easily dismissed. Every family has their stories. Stories of…happenings. I invite you to share your stories in my comments section. This is one such event that happened to my brothers and me, enjoy:

THE THINGS THAT FOLLOW: PART 1

It’s a house built in the 1800’s. You know the type. It’s made of old wood and mothballs. The paint used to peel but a remodel of vinyl siding creeps up the two story structure. The peeling paint can still be seen on the rotting wood frame of the crusted windows. Either it’s nicotine build up or it’s the remnants of decades of harsh winters and too short summers. It has a dark dank basement that wafts through the brittle frame of the house with the soft scent of mildew. The thick gnarled trees that surround the home have been around even longer than the house, and they aren’t happy about their new neighbors. They lean toward the home from their perch on the hillside, grasping at it in the slow patient way of trees that have nothing but time.

For me, it was home. My brothers and I used to run around the faded, light-blue, iron, well-covering and marvel at how people used to get their water from hand pumps. The old house didn’t have city water, but the snow-melt from the town’s long winters were consistant in providing the water neeeded to last through the summer droughts.

We knew every inch of the wood around my mother’s home. We used to splash In the creeks and slide down the slate waterfall, ripping our bathing suits and shorts as if it were routine. We found little overgrown paths through tangles of underbrush and followed them to whatever end awaited.

That was how we found the cemetary.

The resting place was nestled off the main road. If you were in a car you would never have seen the narrow dirt avenue. On foot, you could only see it if you were facing just the right direction. My older brother saw it first, and he took a tentative step towards the dirt path. Deer were in these woods. We had seen the tracks.

We followed the trail, the three of us. My older and younger brothers loved exploring. The three of us rarely feared to go anywhere, so long as it was together.

The path was much shorter than the twisting and knotted lanes we had charted a thousand times. A dozen paces took the brown and beaten path through an army of elms that stood sentinel before a wire post fence. The wood was worn and cracked with rot and time, it leaned forward as if trying to hug the ground in slow motion.

There was no gate, so we walked in.

The cemetary rested on the top of a cliff that overlooked a valley carved by the creek that sliced through the hillside. A hush fell over us as we realized our find. The plot was old, and the headstones were hand chiseled. The silent stone slabs slunk with a sadness that cried tears of forgetfulness. They cried for the life that went on beyond their unmoving charges six feet below. Weather had softened the dates to the point of being illegible.

Occasionally, one survived the elements a bit better than its cousins, and a quiet voice would read out, “1771”.

A few moments later, “1712”. Respect or awe or a morbid fascination would silence us for a time.

“This one was less than a year old when it died”.

It died. There wasn’t even a name. Just a date.

We walked the edge of the cliff and looked down into the maw of the ravine below. Erosion had reached her hand upward and ripped the side of the hill, pulling a chunk of the graveyard with it. Tiny stone markers dotted the decline like a handful of speckled teeth that jutted outward in various angles. We looked down upon the slide of dirt and stone rubble and wondered if the caskets had been exposed in the collapse that shuffled so many tons of dirt and rock.

We dared each other to go out to a lone stone marker that rested at a forty-five degree angle from the cliff face. A gnarled and bulbous root craddled it with greed. It warned boys like us to not meddle in the affairs of the dead. A wind swirled around our bodies, a sudden omen.

No one went.

Dusk fell on us all at once. The late night air sent a chill up my spine. It was time to go, we all agreed.

We left that cemetery, back through the narrow trail. We slipped quietly past the great trees standing guard at the rickety wire fence. We left the dead behind, to go on living.

We left, but we didn’t know that someone, something, had come with us.

[MONDAY: The Things That Follow: Part Two]

Writing: How do you know you're good enough?

2011-05-03T18:05:00.000-07:00

Being a writer is a lot like playing Pin the Tail On the Donkey (PTTOTD). In the game, you're blind, you spin in a circle, you walk towards where you think the target is and hope you stick the equine on the ass with the pin.

In writing, you are creating a story (fiction writers), following guidelines as varied as the agents and publishing houses who decide the work's fate, sending out query letters and making pitches based on guidelines that may be outdated or ill suited for a particular agent or publisher. And as you stamp that envelop or click that send button, you hope you have aimed right and true.

Sure, in PTTOTD you can look under the blindfold just before you're spun into a tornado of darkness.

In writing you can read a "How To" book written by one agent, who has nothing in common with the wants of other agents, and talk to an agent at a writing conference and get advice that is the exact opposite of the previous agent, thus spinning yourself into a dizzy oblivion.

So the question is, how, with all this white-noise, and agents trying to make a buck off of their "expertise" do you filter out the static and find out whether or not you are good enough. How do you find out if you have what it takes? If this particular work has the power to stick?

Do you play by their rules? Even with the emerging E-market and the Nook and the Kindle and Smashwords...and...and...AND!

Their rules.

Their rules are you have to first get through the first line of defense. The first line being agents. You write your query letter, send it off, and hope you hit that donkey on the ass. If and when an agent decides you are good enough to enter the game on their terms, your agent then has to shop you and your work around to publishers and hope that they too think you are good enough to play the game, on their terms. Line up, spin around, hope, and pin that fucker on the ass!

What other business is run this way? With such little control? The owner of the business letting the bank call the shots? I don't think so. Sure, in a capital driven endeavor, the bank has some say, and sure, so too does a publishing house. After all, they foot the initial bill, absorb some risk. But how much risk is associated with the E-market? Admittedly, being ignorant of all the ins and outs of what a publishing house can do for an emerging author, I know that the cost to publish online is near to insignificant, and it is mostly profit. That is how I, a 9-5 employee, can afford to put my book out there on my own. I paid my own editor, commissioned my own cover art, and wrote the damned novel.

Full cost? Less than a grand.

What business owner in their right mind would rely so heavily on hope? Writers, you are business owners. You own your product, you are going to have to do most of the marketing for it anyway. You take all the risk from inception until hopefully someone appreciates you and what you created.

Is this folly?

I am not sure. But I can tell you that my father didn't raise a fool. If I am going to take all of the risk, provide all of the effort, come up with the marketing plan, and come up with the idea, why should I let someone who has the same English degree as me, probably read the same amount of books, understands economics about the same, and who is probably a step late on finding the next emerging market, tell me whether or not I am good enough to play a game in which they make all the rules?

Fuck that donkey. Fuck his tail. I don't even think the donkey deserves a tail. I'm gonna go play chess, where at least I get to create the strategy and have a say in the outcome. If I wanted to just sit around and hope, I'd play something as ridiculous as "Guess what number I'm thinking of?" I hate that game too, because the answer is unverifiable.

I hated English class as well. Not because of the reading and writing, but because your work was subject to the whim and interpretation of the teacher. Each teacher had a different format from year to year. You know it's true. You had to spin the wheel for the first paper nine times out of ten, and when the corrections came back, you adjusted your next paper accordingly. I can't tell you how many times I got a B or a C on a paper, only to wait after class, and patiently explain to the teacher what I was thinking, and how the remarks were off in their interpretation. I usually left with A's.

So, how do you know? How do you know that you're good enough to play by their rules? How do you know you're good enough to be a writer?

You write. You say, "fuck your rules." You pick up the pen, punch the keyboard until your finger tips are raw. You keep going until your eyes water from the bright light of the computer screen baking them in your dark, little, cat-hair filled office. You fight with your husband or your wife to find the time to write, and then you write some more.

You send out the query and hope...

But you don't give them all the power. You keep one foot on the self-publishing pedal. Get your tires squealing, and get ready to gun the engine. Give yourself a deadline from which to hear from them and to get your WIP a little greased up for the big show. You outline that next book as the deadline approaches, and if it comes and goes with out the coach tapping you on the shoulder and saying you get to play, you throw the bat down on the ground and go play your own game.

And know, that all along you were good enough. You could have won the game if they didn't spin you around and blind fold you. You could have hit a home-run if the coach just gave you a chance. You go play your own game and self-publish.

Don't be scared either. When you go and play your own game, you'll realize that there are a bunch of other bench-warmers who will come and play too.

Sure, the kids who got into the other game might laugh, they might say, "look at the un-cool kids, look at the nerds." But I'm happy to be a nerd. You know what else? When they see all the kids in our game getting a chance to play, when they see us having fun doing it too, and making the rules up as we go, eventually they are gonna look over their shoulders and say, "I wish I had played that game".

And we'll let em. Because that's what nerds do.

Everything prevented me from writing...even me

2011-05-01T14:58:00.000-07:00

This weekend has been nearly a wash as far as writing. To be sure, I have some more time tonight to hammer out "make up" work, but all things considered it was a tough weekend. I knew there would be things that would get in the way, but life is full of unanticipated surprises. Is that redundant? Can surprises be anticipated?

I guess they could be, but that would defeat the purpose.

Just so you know what I am talking about, I set aside two hours to write last night. At 9:30, I sat down, turned on my computer, loaded up my WIP, and my outline. I cracked my knuckles, turned twitter off, went to iTunes, put on some Tom Petty, everything was ready to go....

and then....

My Mac decided to inform me I needed a Microsoft Word update.

Thinking that this shouldn't take long, I agreed to the update. Only now the update paused at 75% and informed me that Safari, Microsoft Word, iTunes, and my outline program all had to be closed to complete installation. Then it had to reboot. Then it paused with 1 minute left for installation for 15 minutes.

"ARG!" I said.

Still moderately determined, if not truly motivated anymore, I rebooted the computer.

I reloaded my programs, cracked my knuckles, and then...

Safari informed me it needed to update.

I could not believe it. So I updated Safari, which took ten more minutes, and through all of this my 2 hours became one hour. I wasn't feeling it. I was mad at the computer...

Things like this happen all the time. It ruins my flow, and I am convinced it drags my writing process out two to three times longer than it needs to be.

Oh and then my lovely kitties; they do things like this:

I can't even get mad at that though. (Look at her. Doesn't she look like she is actually reading?) But they do have an uncanny ability to know just when to complicate things even more.

Anyone else get these minor inconveniences that just add up and add up to week long extensions of your deadlines? It really is, well, unreal.

In other news, I took a breather today and caught a Rays game. I promised a pic of the seats and here it is:

Now I am seriously off to write for a bit. Game of Thrones, episode three, comes on tonight. So I have to hit this WIP up before that comes to the front of Distractionville.

Crazy weekend ahead

2011-04-29T17:11:00.001-07:00

This weekend should be fun. I have a birthday party for a college buddy of mine tonight at a place called The Lime. How can you go wrong with a place named that?

Lime sounds alive. I think.

Also, you put lime in rum and coke which happens to be my drink of choice.

As it stands, I am at the place, but the birthday guy and his cronies (fools all) are late. Late for your own birthday party, haven't even left the house. Lame. Though I have been late for my own birthday parties too... So there is that to consider.

Tomorrow I have to do some house duties, and write.

Sunday, the Tampa Bay Rays baseball game. Wonderful seats, I might post a pic while I am there.

Then I suppose I can write some more.

Hooray for the weekend, I hope you all have a great one too.

Sent from my iPhone

Failed.

2011-04-28T16:07:00.000-07:00

I did not even come close to my goal yesterday. I hammered out a mere 500 words after all my talk of 2,500. Welcome to Suckville.

Residents: 1.

I am sitting down with renewed vigor tonight. I shall overcome.

Write. Like. Your. Life. Depends. On. It.

...until your friends ask you to play Call of Duty: Black Ops with them.

Or family gets mad at you...

But write I shall.

Peace out gangsters.

Cat video and Novel Updates

2011-04-27T16:07:00.000-07:00

Finally, I have critiques of my manuscript coming in. This is wonderful for two reasons.

The first is that it means even though I had to ask, someone has read my story. "Yay" for begging, coercing, paying, and promising. Although the story has holes and spots that need definite editing, the general mood has been positive. Also, they seem to be reading it quickly once they pick it up. Readers finish it in a matter of days, which speaks to a decent flow, or page turn ability. So that is exciting.

The second reason why this rocks my socks, is that now I can use their fresh eyes, opinions, questions, and thoughts in general, to make a good story into a decent novel. That is what this is all about, after all.

Tonight I hope to hit 40,000 words in my WIP (work in progress). We will see how far I get. That would be a 2,500 word run tonight, so I really need to get busy.

In other news, my book cover is decided. You will have to wait to see which one I selected, but I promise you that you will be pleased.

On that note, sorry for the short post. As I usually do in such situations; please enjoy the video below and forgive me.

Special thanks to beta readers, @marnimann @christinmowery @allieburkebooks Chris, Paul, Aaron, and Jen.

#amwriting, #BNFF, #ForNothing

Revenge of the Nerd; A College Misadventure

2011-04-26T17:04:00.000-07:00

We went over how nerdy I am in great detail last week. If you missed it, you can find that story, in all of its (ahem) glory, here. Just because I was, and really still am, a nerd does not mean there weren't a few attempts at stepping out of the nerd box and into the realm of those select few we call, The Cool.

Nerds. We had nothing all through eighth grade. We picked up steam in high school, but it was never enough was it?

Sure we had moments where members of the math team thought we were hot. A very few of us may have pulled the cheerleader who got her college freshmen fifteen early, like sophomore year of high school. Maybe, just maybe, you went to a school where nerds were viewed as cool due to some twilight-zone fluke. I went to one of those schools, and still was not a member of The Cool.

So it goes. Life isn't fair.

But I wasn't the kid who had "Andrew Is Gay" (Their words not mine. I have no problem with my brethren who prefer those of like build, musculature, and facial hair.) spray painted in the center of the school courtyard. I had a friend or two, mostly nerds also. I managed to get by.

I felt there was hope I might yet enter the world of those car owning, bad grade, good-looking, types.

I might yet transcend my genetic walls and infiltrate The Cool.

This theory, my hypothesis indicated, involved a lot of drinking and bad decisions.

Fortunately, this coincided with college. You have already heard about Miss Piggy. She wasn't the first nor was she the last. Hell, I am perfectly aware that I might have been her bad decision, but let us not get bogged down in details.

Enter freshman year of college. I mean, some time when I was 21. When I was 21, my brother (who also attended UF with me) and I decided to do Power Hour. For those of you in The Cool, I need not explain the rules. But for my nerdy counterparts the game goes like this:

You drink a shot of beer every minute for one hour.

Brilliant? Yes. So brilliant, that somewhere along the line I decided my red plastic cup was not sufficient for drinking. I filled a Captain Morgan bottle with beer from the keg. Fast forward some hours. I don't remember much except that there was a party.

I am up on a balcony over looking a pool. My brother and maybe a half dozen of our friends are below in the pool chairs. There is a girl from high school, who ironically liked nerds in high school.

The apartment balcony where the fuzz caught me beer-handed (and also I got a kiss).

She gives me a kiss. Jubilant, I look over the rail for witnesses, where I see my brother and friends all cheering me on. At last, victory, sweet victory. The nerd gets his due.

Oh, he does.

Lifting my handle of Captain Morgan bottle filled with beer, I salute my comrades below. Arms spread out, I am, for a moment, king of the world.

But wait. Suddenly, everyone from the party has moved inside. I am alone on the balcony and my friends and brother below are yelling.

This celebration seems to have gone on longer than it should. Crazy bastards.

But the masses must be appeased. I raise my hands yet again...

...and someone taps me from behind. I look down at those below, who have suddenly been silenced.

Why the look of dread?

I turn. And come face to face with a pig. No, not Miss Piggy in her rumpled saggy goodness. The fuzz. The 5-0.

In a panic, I send my bottle over the railing with a CRASH of finality as it hits the concrete below.

Face creased and brow furrowed, he tilted his hat back, flash light at the ready. "Can I see your I.D. please?"

The details don't matter. Suffice it to say, that at $75.00 for an open container infraction, this being cool thing wasn't making sense economically. After about four more years of that nonsense, I humbly submitted myself to lifetime of nerd-om.

That, my friends, has made all the difference.

An Interview With Nicole Ireland, Author of A Second Chance

2011-04-25T07:18:00.000-07:00

Nicole Ireland has her debut novel on the shelves. I invited her to visit my blog and let us in on the secrets behind A Second Chance. Since I hate speeches, read below:

Me: Nicole, give my friends the skinny on who you are and what you do.

Nicole: During the day I juggle being a mom with working from home all while feeling like a member of the walking dead. (Insomnia’s a bitch!)

Workwise, I’m the Reality TV Curator for MySpace. (Yes, that’s right. I said MySpace. It’s still around. And better than ever, in my opinion.)

I’m also a freelance writer, as well as a compliance coordinator and administrative assistant for a pizza dough production company.

At night, that’s when I let my hair down and frolic with the people who live inside my head. They’re a rowdy bunch.

Me: I think interviews should always have an icebreaker, so here’s mine; “What is the craziest thing you have ever done?”

Nicole: That depends on your definition of crazy. I’m not generally prone to moments of craziness. Well, I do talk to myself on a frequent basis, but that’s normal for writers. Right?

Honestly, the craziest thing I’ve ever done was when my brother, my best friend and I decided to snoop around the farm behind my parent’s house. We decided to check out the farm’s old guest house that no one used. While we were in there, the entire building started shaking. What caused it, we’ll never know. But I can tell you we high-tailed it out of that house in record time. We were, as the saying goes, scared shitless.

Me: Recently you released your novel A Second Chance. A review by "Doubleshot Reviews", gave it their highest ranking, a Quad Expresso Shot which means:

You don't already own and have read this book multiple times? What's wrong with you?! Put down the coffee and go buy this book!

How did you go about finding the right people to review your work?

Nicole: I’m just so damn charming they come to me, like a moth to a flame. LOL!

Seriously, though, I have made some amazing friends over the years who understand who I am and what I’m trying to accomplish with my writing. A lot of the reviews you see are ones they wrote on their own accord, which I’m grateful for.

As far as the review from "Doubleshot Reviews", I’d actually sent Heather Faville a copy of A Second Chance for her to read and give me her insight on. At that point I was actually questioning whether or not I should publish it. I was afraid it sucked, and I needed the opinion of someone who I hadn’t known for years to tell me the truth.

So imagine my surprise and delight when I read her review. I can honestly say I broke down into tears. Hell, during moments of uncertainty over the past couple of weeks I’ve returned to that review for a pick me up.

Some of the more recent reviews have come from fellow authors that I’ve asked to review my work because I felt they’d give their honest opinion and not just say what I wanted to hear.

And while I’ve been lucky thus far, I’m dreading the day I get the hated one-star review. I know I’m not exempt from them. No one is, so I hope when my turn comes, I can focus on the positive ones I’ve received and not let the one-star one bring me down.

Me: The next two questions are things many writers wonder. The first is fun. The second is more, technical.

From where do you draw your inspiration? Specifically, where did you pull the inspiration for your main character, Annabelle Dixon?

Nicole: I draw inspiration from my own life, as well as from stories I’ve read, my friends, my family, my children, TV and my own dreams.

As far as Annabelle Dixon is concerned, the inspiration for her was me. I know some authors frown on basing characters on one’s self, but I’ve experienced a lot in my life, and I think sharing some of those experiences could help others.

As for Annabelle’s battle with cancer, all of the emotions and fears she experienced are ones I felt while awaiting biopsy results a few years back. It was a really rough time. I kept looking at my children and asking myself all sorts of “what if” questions. The last thing I wanted was to leave my babies without their mom.

In addition, I also drew on experiences from fellow family members and friends, some of whom one their battle with cancer while others weren’t so fortunate.

Me: How would you describe your writing process? For instance, some writers just sit down and go. Others need to develop an outline, a back-story, and character histories. How was A Second Chance put on paper?

Nicole: It depends. I’ve outlined stories in the past, but I’ve found that more often than not, the stories always undergo a significant amount of change from their original concepts, so now I shoot from hip, so to speak.

Me: Finally, my blog is full of random facts about me. I believe people are interested in not just a novel, but also the person who creates the story. In that spirit, tell me five unique things about Nicole Ireland.

Nicole:

1- I once was a junior firefighter for our local volunteer fire department.

2- If I could be any mammal I’d be a dolphin.

3- I’m parts French, English, Irish, Native American and Norwegian.

4- My favorite food is Japanese, followed by Italian.

5- I’m a country girl at heart. Big cities, traffic and smog are not for me. I need wide open spaces, green grass, tall trees and clean air.

Me: Thank you so much for joining me on Cat Get Off My Keyboard. I know several people who want to purchase your novel, so where would they go to get a copy?

Nicole: Thank you for having me, Nick. It’s been a pleasure. I just hope I didn’t bore everyone too bad. (Me: You did not. You clearly kicked ass.)

As for where you can purchase A Second Chance, it’s currently available via Smashwords and Amazon. I’m still waiting on PubIt!, Barnes & Noble publishing platform. Once it’s available on B&N, I’ll post it to my site, so for those who want to wait to purchase through B&N, I suggest stopping by every few days to see if it’s available. I will update my site as soon as it is.

NicoleIreland

Nerdy Nerd McNerderson

2011-04-21T18:15:00.000-07:00

In high school I was a huge nerd. I still am, but back then the difference was I tried to be cool. Somewhere along the line I managed to make decent grades, do fairly well as a wrestler, and go to college and brought home the finest piece of ass (also very nerdy) north of Pembroke Pines. But before my college days, I was just a nerd, trying to get by.

Me, aged 11, a few years before high school

I read at night, with a flash light, under the covers. I thought that, perhaps, I was pulling one over on my old man. Bedtime is for suckers or in the words of 50 Cent, "Sleep is for those people who are broke."

The net result was the magnificent pair of CIA specs on the boy above, an outrageous verbal SAT score, and a whole bunch of nerd-tastic tendencies. These tendencies included, but were not limited to:

1) Laughing at my own jokes. Fuck off. The timing of jokes takes a while to develop, as much time as say a dose of testosterone...

2) Gladly imitating the character Fuller from Home Alone. Dammit, the truth hurts. The quotes, "I don't want to sleep on the hide-a bed with Fuller. If he has something to drink, he'll wet the bed." and "Lay off the Pepsi, Fuller" echo in the recesses of my brain.

3) Being compared with Lucas from the movie Lucas, didn't phase me...fuck. Yes it did. It stung then and still stings now. My brothers still love to call me Lucas. One day, they'll get theirs. *shakes fist at the heavens*

4) Also writing blogs is nerdy, but guess what, you're reading this so what does that make you? Come to think of it, people watched those movies too...

5) The glorification of nerds in public makes me smile. I recently read on a Jimmy Johns poster that you should be nice to nerds because one day you'll end up working for one. That warms my heart, until I realize that, either there were way more people nerdier than myself, or that statement is simply inaccurate.

Tomorrow, my post on the Revenge of the Nerd, and his glorious college misadventures.

What a funny dog

2011-04-20T17:11:00.000-07:00

Okay, so over the last couple days, I have been spending time with family and took the out to Miami first chance I got. It has been really fun, totally inhibited my writing (some of you might have seen my tweets on the subject) but has been worth it. Since I don't have a ton of updates I will leave you with this hilarious video, which is a true story by the way.

Before I let you read it though, I would like to say thank you to all my new followers. I really appreciate you spending the time to check in on me from time to time. Special thanks to @Jen_Conroy who was my 70th follower! (Stalker comment notwithstanding hehe):

The Stories: Book One; Book Trailer

2011-04-19T11:48:00.000-07:00

Fellow author Tymothy Longoria has a really unique twist on stories we have all heard before. Legends will be reborn. I present his book trailer. Thanks for the video Tymothy! It is always exciting to present work from a fellow #BNFF

Feel free to leave comments, as I assume Tymothy would love feedback as well!

Book Cover Hell

2011-04-18T21:46:00.000-07:00

As you know, my art team has been preparing my book cover for my debut novel. The art is decided, but the font and exact wording is still being debated by my internal team. By team, I mean my two art fellas (who rock) and me. Basically, it has been narrowed down to four possibilities. We took a vote and each picked a different one as our favorite. Then, I opened it up to eight of my trusted friends and family; I ended up with another split decision.

Either all of the covers are good, or none of them are. My family, friends, and readers of this blog all say they love the artwork. They love the font too, just the fonts THEY picked- which none of them agree on. Frustration.

End result? I am just going to pick it and be done with it.

As a side note: My Mr. Potato(e) Head blog became my top read blog of all time almost instantly. I guess titles matter, and of course I might have a few more lovely readers now as well. I really appreciate those of you who leave comments, subscribe, follow my blog, and re-post on various media forums. Much love Brotesticles and Ladies.

Screw you, Mr. Potatoe head...err Potato Head

2011-04-15T16:18:00.000-07:00

I like to call myself a writer. It is on par with calling yourself a mathematician because you can add. I string words together, weave a story, and hopefully someone likes it somewhere. I can write good. I mean well. I mean, I don't mean well (I'm actually a devious bastard), I mean to say that I can write well, sometimes.

But certain things piss me off about the English language. For example:

1) Why is there no agreement on the correct way to spell potato(e)? Google has both! So both must be acceptable. Though to be fair it does italicize one version or the other and ask in customary Google fashion, "Did you mean Potato(e)?" Ugh. And then dictionary.com has it like four slots down. So screw you Mr. Potato(e) Head and all the pain you have wrought me since kindergarten.

2) Redundancy bothers me, oh it bothers me, bothers me. When people say things like, "the best jelly in the WHOLE ENTIRE world." Fuck you. Whole surely works as well as entire, or else the words are not as all encompassing as I think they are. For the love of God, pick one.

3) Read and read and red. Seriously? We couldn't come up with anything original? Take for example, I read books. What does that mean??? I have done it in the past or I am currently doing it? Bite me. I don't even care anymore. I could talk about that one until I was red in the face.

4) Lead and lead. Ummm. Not as angry about this one, context is everything. You get a pass Mr. Lead... (but guess which one I used there?) Leeeead or Led? Hmmm? I guess we will never know.

5) A box becomes boxes, but an Ox never becomes oxes. This has screwed me on words with friends so many times. Is there a letter I could write to the folks at Webster? Probably knot.

Time crunch!

2011-04-14T17:06:00.000-07:00

So I just finished my guest blog for Nicole Ireland. Hopefully that will release in the near future. I got home from work late, so that ate up a bunch of time I wanted to use for this blog. But since I don't have the time to give you a legit post, please accept this video as my apologies. I must go and write now. I have a weekend goal of 35,000 words so I am still 6,000 words shy.

P.S. I will b hanging out with my schitzo mom this weekend so there is likely to be another funny story. I might even do a Sunday blog post, if it is good enough!

With out further ado:

Original Book cover "For Nothing"

2011-04-13T15:27:00.000-07:00

Recently I made a post with the type of book of cover I have decided to go with for my debut novel, For Nothing. The art work is mostly finalized and you can view it here. But the original artwork was pretty intense too. My art team sent it to me so that I could post it on my blog, and here it is (your thoughts would be most welcome as always):

Jesse Horst did the art, and you can view his stuff here. Jesse and his partner on this project, graphic design artist Joey Zgoda, from Zgoda Design continue to impress.

A picture is worth a thousand words...

2011-04-12T15:02:00.000-07:00

I drank too much scotch. Look at these lovely ladies. I have it on good authority that they have the best of taste. I hope you enjoy the picture. Also, I am still doing the guest blog for Nicole Ireland, so be on the look out for that. Her website is here and has some awesome people lining up to tell a tale or two, I'm honored to be among them.

I might delay the launch of my novel on the Kindle for a few weeks. It is taking my beta readers a bit longer than expected to get back to me and I realize it doesn't matter how fast I think I can make corrections, it won't be as fast as I like. I hope the crime thriller will be worth the wait. Well, I don't hope, I know it will be.

Sorry for the brief blog today, but I will be back tomorrow, refreshed and hopefully 1500 words deeper into this fantastic trilogy I am preparing for all of you. If you like Knights, and Portals, and Monsters, and Political Intrigue, and something else I can find to capitalize, then this trilogy will be for you!

A Wedding Bromance?

2011-04-11T15:26:00.000-07:00

Weddings are a ton of fun. They are counter-productive to writing goals, but they are a ton of fun. Especially weddings where there is an open bar. These types of evenings are almost magical in nature, and this one was not the exception.

We met at the bar while our lovely ladies were talking over bacon wrapped scallops and the smell of lamb shank permeated the cocktail hour. At first it was an innocent rum and diet coke, for me. He had a scotch and water. A subtle handshake. A laugh.

Then:

"You went to Gainesville?"

"I'm a Gator too!"

I felt the magic brewing, but "she" wanted a soda, and so I went to fetch it.

Then the cocktail hour was over and people were taking their seats. But wait! Where is Patrick? The crowd closed in, I tried to find him but the hunger of the masses blocked me out and he was gone.

Damn it, I thought as I scanned my assigned table. Not here.

I was unsure where he went, the lights were dim and my eyes hadn't adjusted yet. There must have been a hundred people packed into the ball room. She grabbed my hand and said something sweet. Grumbling, I pulled away and said, "I'll be right back, I need a drink."

"Sally, I need a rum and diet, better make it a double". I said. Sally could tell I meant business and I think she poured a triple. It was more like straight rum with a splash of diet coke.

"What is that? Rum? Scotch and water for me."

The room froze. I knew that voice. "Patrick?"

"Hey Nick, weddings are lame aren't they? I need a scotch."

"Sally, I need a scotch too, with water."

Sally clearly hated her job. She took my rum back, muttered something, and poured the scotch. You'd think I hadn't tipped her all night by the look, but would of thought I tipped her a Benjamin by the pure scotch. Thanks Sally.

I made some awkward comment to Patrick about scotch putting hair on the chest, and he laughed. So delightful. But duty called, and we went back to our tables.

But then the dance floor called louder...

I saw him there, throwing a fishing hook into the crowd of lesser dancers, and his lady caught the hook in her mouth as her reeled her in. At this point, my feet weren't moving, or propelling me forward, I was simply floating. Jen followed, worried or irritated, I can't be sure.

"My god." Patrick turned. "Did you just throw the fishing hook? I LOVE that dance. I do the lasso myself." Pointing at her I said, "Go out to the middle of the floor lets show Patrick the lasso." She obliged.

"I have never seen the lasso before," he said. "That was amazing! Wanna go get some more scotch?"

And we drank some more scotch. Then we had some scotch to chase it down. Then we double-fisted some beers at last call at the open bar. Then we made sure we met up at the club house for scotch afterward. We left everyone and sat at the bar leaving a few very concerned and curious women in our wake.

"I just don't understand it. What about us?" I heard one of them say.

It was the power of the bromance. The stars aligned. Magic trumped science.

I awoke with a start. It was nine in the morning. Had it been all a dream? Cruel gods.

But then I got it, a text so reassuring I almost put my 401k on it. "Is it safe to assume you feel as terrible as I do today?"

He felt terrible! This was amazing news! I hadn't just dreamed him into life like my second grade girl friends....

And then he followed it up with this gem, "I would be lying to u if I said I didn't just throw up scotch and the chicken." Glorious.

I got some breakfast with the family, all smiles. But then it hit me. He lives in Miami and I live in St.Petersburg. Was I, gasp, a one night stand? I sent him the question, palms sweaty, and waited. Hours went by. Maybe I should call him? That wouldn't be cool though. I had to wait it out.

6:41pm: "Oh please...last night was too fantastic to be considered that."

Bam. And now we're Facebook friends.

Keeping busy, book cover, trilogy, guest blog, and #BNFF

2011-04-08T11:26:00.000-07:00

This weekend should be fun. I have a wedding to go to and that is always a blast. I never remember what happens at weddings, just whether or not I got drunk. Sometimes I remember the venue. Generally though, it is a good time and I am looking forward to seeing some good friends of the family take the leap.

I have been writing up a storm lately. That's encouraging, but I am withholding judgement on the quality of the writing until I go back and look at it with a clear mind and have the rest of the story out of my head and onto the screen. I find myself wanting to stray from my outline, as ideas crop up, and I wonder whether or not that will be detrimental in the long run. We shall see.

Word count = 27,500.

That would have me at a bit more than a third of the way through book one of this trilogy. I guess I have to have a working title for it so people will know what I am talking about and for now I will go with The In-Between.

Exciting news as well, I will be doing my first guest blog with my pal Nicole Ireland sometime this week. You can check out her blog here. She has a list of sample works on her page and is really doing everything right on her blog. She has live blogged Season 7 of American Idol, worked for Mahalo.com, and has covered celebrity news in the past. So this should be fun and I am looking forward to it.

So, despite the guest blog, working on For Nothing's cover, and getting into the In-Between, there is rumor of me and a few of my #BNFF putting together a website and Facebook networking apparatus.

Who is the #BNFF?

Only the BEST group in the world; Best Nerd Friends Forever.

Membership that I know of includes:

@ChristinMowery http://www.ChristinMowery.com

@MarniMann http://marnismann.com/

@TymothyLongoria http://tymothylongoria.wordpress.com/

And according to rumor:

@authorthomasamo http://tinyurl.com/4xlhb8v

So, needless to say, I am keeping busy. But I love that people actually read this blog. I am having a good time networking and hearing tales from writers across the ol' blogosphere; so don't be shy in those comments! Have a good weekend everyone!!

Book Cover Concept

2011-04-07T09:20:00.000-07:00

These are two dueling concepts my cover art team are putting together for me. Some really solid work by artist Jesse Horst. Check some of his other work here. Jesse and his partner on this project, graphic design artist Joey Zgoda, from Zgoda Design have really been genius in their adaptation of my original concept.

They have the landmark Shea's Theater in the background and have silhouetted my protagonist, Rafael Rontego, on the cover. A bit of blood splatter hits the bottom of the cover, and I like the overall effect. Now I just need to settle on a title to see what it will ultimately look like.

The art team has a few more ideas they are putting together, then we will pick which one looks the best, and go from there. Really fun and exciting stuff.

Memories...sweet memories...

2011-04-05T13:58:00.000-07:00

When I went to the University of Florida I knew two things. I was going to get an awesome education and I was going to have a good time. Since no one likes to hear about sitting in lecture halls, or astronomy class, or Mr. Baum’s logic class (which I took just to share a class with my brother) I am going to tell a story that may or may not be true and may or may not have anything to do with me.

There once was a gentleman who turned twenty-one years old; let us call him Mr. Awesome. On this particular day, he had a buddy named “Pope” that came to visit him from Tampa. Oh what plans of debauchery they had!

The plan:

Go out and drink

Find women

Bring women home

Eat pizza

The plan started off as smooth as ice. They drank all sorts of alcohol that they had heretofore never had legally. They drank before they went out, they drank on the way to parties, they drank at the parties, they drank, they drank, and they drank.

They had another buddy named “The Shua Monster” as well. The Shua Monster was a six foot tall ex-Navy man who was going to school on the GI Bill and his idea of a party was a bit more, err advanced, than these newly minted twenty-one year olds. Having spent his free time partying when shore leave came around, The Shua Monster liked to make an event of everything; his roommate’s twenty-first birthday was not going to be the exception. He had bottles of liquor. He tried to hit on every woman under the moon.

The liquor might have brought his game down a notch because all three of these friends failed at the attempt to bring home women. Mr. Awesome was less awesome. The Pope was a man lost in sin. The Shua Monsters, was too monstrous.

But they were also Americans. And Americans never give up. Even when they should.

The Shua Monster grumbled out, “Ehhn Betta Lil shBe’t”. Which in Shua language means, “I am going to call some girls.”

He had it all set up that there would be a girl for him when he got home. Meanwhile, Mr. Awesome and the Pope stumbled back to the apartment, thinking the night had been fun, and if they couldn't have women they could at least have pizza (despite their pizza issues in the past ,which is another story).

But alas, pizza was not to be.

The Shua Monster was running amok in the apartment when the two friends arrived.

Frantically waving his hands, with blood-shot red eyes, The Shua Monster cried out, “Gy’e man the Sh’bleh!”

“What’s that?” said the Pope. “You have a girl coming over but you already have one in your room?”

“That is a conundrum,” said Mr. Awesome.

“Arg blah tr’bet le sh’bo!” The Shua Monster said.

“Okay, I’ll entertain her for you while you play hide the acrobat in your room” said Mr. Awesome.

They waited. But the drinks from earlier were like kryptonite.

“I’m going to bed,” the Pope yawned. And to bed he went.

Still, Mr. Awesome waited, and eventually, the girl did come over.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Well, hello there Miss Piggy,” he said.

“Hello,” she said, looking at the ground, turning just a bit more piggy pink. “The Shua Monster said I should come over because you shouldn’t spend your birthday alone.”

“He did?” said Mr. Awesome. “That is nice of him. Well, I am a bit tired though, we could just hang out in the room and watch the church channel.”

“That sounds great” she said.

Though Miss Piggy did not have church on her mind. When they lay down to watch the television that Mr. Awesome turned on (quietly so as to not disturb his visitor the Pope who was sleeping on the floor), Miss Piggy aggressively pursued Mr. Awesome in his drunk and weakened state. Did I say kryptonite was involved? Mr. Awesome was in no place to resist.

After a frantic few moments, Mr. Awesome walked Miss Piggy out.

When he returned, the television was off.

Weird, he had never turned it off himself…

Glancing sideways in the dark, it dawned on him, “Good night Pope”, he said.

“Good night, Mr. Awesome”.

The end.

The Bounce House Fiasco

2011-04-04T10:20:00.000-07:00

My niece turned three this weekend. What a curious age. She is half between a baby and a normal person. She has every man in her life wrapped around her little finger and she knows it. But it doesn’t matter. We all shuffle in front of her waiting for her thumb up or thumb down that dictates the amount of three-year-old-love we get for the day.

There is only so much power we have against her little curls, ice cream covered face and toothy grin that shows baby teeth that might still be a little big for her tiny mouth. But the voice comes out in an unmistakable order.

“The bounce house! Bounce!” she says. She takes off in this weird wobbling run towards the bounce house that can only be achieved by someone still growing into her legs.

“Yes ma’am.” I shuffle off only too happy to comply. After all, bounce houses can still be fun at 28. Right?

I chase after her like someone still growing into his adult mentality. It doesn’t matter. I kick off my shoes. As Dora the Explorer watches over us, we slide into the bounce house. My niece is too happy. She is jumping in little puffs of six inch leaps and laughing and running in hopping circles. I am jumping away from her at a distance, pretty sure that the balance of power would be too strongly in my favor.

Then it happens. I can’t help myself. I just can’t.

I time her leap and as she lands, I jump and smash downward.

In slow motion, my leap catapults the three year old girl into the air about three feet. A leg goes left, a leg goes right, an arm goes up an arm goes down, and up and up she goes.

I think, “Why, why did you do that?” Her back is parallel to the bounce house now and her eyes are wide and her smile becomes a perfect ‘O’.

She lands. Then she lands again. And again. Then she lays there. Legs, arms, all over the place. Surely, I have broken her.

Then she laughs. She gets up and runs around the bounce house, leaps into the air and laughs again. With a sigh of relief, I exit, and retire from bounce houses with three year olds. For now. And my niece, well she lives to see birthday number four.

Barbra Streisand is seriously out to kill me

2011-04-02T17:41:00.000-07:00

Or the version of her put forth by the group Duck Sauce is out to kill me. I wrote earlier this week about how much I hate that song and lo and behold, the damn thing comes on again on the radio. I really hope this thing doesn't have staying power.

Every year some lame song comes out that just won't go away.

There was the Barbie Girl song...

There was the Macarena...

There was Bananas...

And now there is this spawn of Satan. Please go away soon.

Weekend is going well despite that song, and I will update on my niece's birthday and the jump house fiasco tomorrow or Monday depending on when I have time to do the story justice.

For now, I am off to write a bit of my novel numero two.

Goal is 25,000 by the end of Sunday.

Shelley Watters' Twitter Pitch

2011-04-01T09:53:00.000-07:00

For a contest on Shelley Watters' blog:

Title: For Nothing
Genre: Crime Thriller
Word count: 84,327

A bullet rips the night, a Buffalo detective’s life, in a flash. Dueling an assassin in a dance of death the winter threatens to swallow all

*Attempt 1

This is my 140 character twitter pitch about For Nothing, a mafia crime thriller.

*Attempt 2 Tomorrow.

Screw it. All these great suggestions made me want to get working on a re-write now.

So attempt 2:

A murder sends Alex back undercover into the Buffalo mob. As his prey traverses the underworld game of deadly politics, Alex seeks revenge.

Attempt 3:

A murder sends Alex undercover into the Buffalo mafia. His prey leads him through an underworld fraught with civil war. Alex seeks revenge.

It is between attempt 2 and 3 at this point. If you would like, I would love to hear your votes!

Noah doesn't have crap on me?

2011-04-01T08:24:00.000-07:00

It rained so hard yesterday that I looked up the blueprints to building an ark online. I didn’t know what a cubit was, so I stopped and fortunately, so did the rain. I did notice that my family must really care about me, or had a premonition. I received no less than four phone calls about the weather and how I should be careful.

I appreciate the thought. Really, it is nice to know people care.

However, I can’t help but feel that there must be some reason my parents and siblings think an act of God is like to take me out. My mom (remember) still thinks a fault line is under her house and wants me to stock canned goods in case we get hammered by a rift in the earth.

My Dad, let me know that a tornado touched down in Tampa and was last seen traveling in my general direction.

Me: “Thanks Dad, but I am ever the soul of caution.”

Pappy: “Yeah right. That’s you.”

Such little faith.

Me: “It is really raining here.”

Pa-pa: “It is 80 degrees and sunny in the Keys.”

It sort of sounded like he said “suckerrrr” but he never actually used the words.

Me: “Dad, the phone is breaking up, gotta go!”

Then my mom called me. Three times. Once on my cell, another on my house phone and another on my cell again, in case I didn’t get the other two messages. It is good to know I am loved and people care, did I mention that?

But she could just say this, “In case the earthquake doesn’t get you, I am pretty sure you are going to be flooded and washed out to sea. Oh and that tornado looks like it is going to smash you to bits if the tide doesn’t get you first. Love you! By the way, I made some homemade lasagna and some cookies in case you survive.”

In other news…

My niece has a birthday this weekend, and that is exciting. I love to give her presents. I don’t know why. I just do. She is going to be three going on thirty and my brother decided to forego the petting zoo this time for a bounce house. He said, “Yeah we can drink a few beers, kick the kids out of the bounce house and have a great time.” Ah, parenting.

In a game of “Where's Waldo” my brother Adizz is still running around out west somewhere. While he has been gone, he has become a YouTube sensation at my office because of videos like this that he makes:

Oh and I hit 22,000 words on my novel. The cover art is moving along nicely for my ebook, and I am getting increasingly excited. Have a great weekend fellas!