I’ve decided to post excerpts of my published work on separate pages. From now on, readers can click on any of the pages for the books I have out and read excerpts from the final drafts of each novel/short story collection. So if you’re interested in getting a sneak peek at The Quiet Game, Reborn City or Snake, you can scroll above, click on any of the pages for those works, and find a link to an excerpt.
I hope you get a chance to take a look at them. Each excerpt is carefully selected to give you an idea of what you might be reading should you decide you might want to purchase a hard copy of my published work (or e-copy, as it is these days).
I’m signing off now, but I want to let you know at some point during the week, besides more countdown posts for Reborn City and the usual Weekly Exercise, I also plan to write a reflection piece or two on themes in writing and perhaps a special Halloween post. Oh, and my last review till the Doctor Who 50th anniversary special.
Until then, have a good night everybody! See you later in the week and happy reading!
Yes, another review. Don’t worry, I plan to do the new Anne Rice book and then just leave it at that till the Doctor Who 50th anniversary special. On with the review!
From the beginning, promoters for the new Dracula series have been saying this won’t be your usual look at the Dracula story, and they certainly didn’t lie. In this incarnation, the Prince of Vampires is played by the darkly sexy Jonathan Rhys Meyers (I cannot believe I just wrote that, but it’s true). And guess what? Dracula’s playing roles too, this time as Alexander Grayson, an American industrialist who plans to bring free power to England using fantastic technology. Why the disguise? Because apparently he’s hunting the Order of the Dragon, a secret society that Dracula has a history with (quite literally actually: the Order of the Dragon was a real order during Vlad Tepes’ time that fought to keep Christendom in Europe safe from Turkish and Moorish invasion. Here though it’s every myth about the power of the Illuminati/Freemasons/Jews rolled into one tight British package). When not hunting members of the Order though, Dracula seems rather taken with a certain young medical student named Mina Murray, who looks a lot like Dracula’s deceased wife from 500 years ago.
While the whole my-love-has-been-reincarnated trope has been used before with the Dracula legend, it’s been done sparingly enough that there’s room for breaking new ground here, and it looks like they intend to break a lot of new ground with this Dracula story. Here Dracula’s portrayed as an antihero seeking to use a combination of traditional vampiric war and deft political maneuvers to take out his enemies, who so far are portrayed as elitists wishing to retain their power with oil and their money and influence (gosh, why does that sound familiar?). And Mina Murray and Jonathan Harker have also been updated in this version, given the roles of a sweet medical student and an aspiring reporter respectively, and Renfield’s been portrayed so far as an intelligent black gentlemen who acts as Dracula’s link to the world rather than a crazy bug eater in Bethlehem Hospital (progress in the media!).
I have returned with a sexy beard. And thank the producers I don’t glow!
The acting is very solid as well. Meyers switches accents very well, as he also does with his personality, going from charming Victorian to ruthless, tormented killer in seconds. The character of Lady Jane, played by Victoria Smurfit, is also an interesting character, because she seems to be holding more secrets than other characters. It’ll be interesting to see where her character goes in the series…if she survives! And I can’t wait to see the interplay of the Dracula-Mina-Harker love triangle that will inevitably occur (we’ve known it would happen before we even saw the previews). If it’s done as well as the first episode has been done, even things we can see coming can have quite the impact.
And for those of you who are wondering if it’s too scary to watch, it’s not that bad. And coming from a guy who doesn’t get too terrified watching Evil Dead or Carrie, that’s saying something. There’s minimal blood and the scenes where blood does show up are tolerable. Indeed, you find yourself more interested in the action, the character interaction, and wondering how this battle will play out.
I’m looking forward to seeing where this miniseries goes. The first episode sets the bar high, but if they can keep meeting the challenge…who knows? Emmys and a second season might be in the mix.
I’m giving the first episode a 4.2 out of 5. I look forward to next week’s episode. I hope it’ll be terrifying.
I didn’t get to do this with The Quiet Game (I forget why), so I’m doing it with Reborn City. Guess what:
Yes, seven days! Reborn City will be coming out November 1st in both print paperback and e-book formats. It’s been a long process, but it’s finally almost time! And I could not be more excited. Well I could be but I’m pretty sure it would involve illegal drugs, so I’ll stay at my normal levels of excitement.
You know, it’s been over four years since I first sat down and started writing Reborn City. I had an idea for a novel–possibly one with a sequel or two–on the way home from the library while listening to a CD with a lot of rap and rock music. I stopped by a Dairy Queen for a treat and started thinking about how to develop this idea, which had street gangs at the center of it and a sci-fi twist. Then at my sister’s birthday, after the cake and presents had been put away, I started writing some notes down in a journal. Then I started researching, and typing a manuscript, and then after many breaks and a lot of painstaking work over the course of two years, I finished the manuscript. Another year and a third of editing, eight months spent emailing chapters to my dear friend Matt Williams and making more adjustment based on his suggestions and the final copy was done. Finally I created a cover on CreateSpace (which you can see above) and I sent it all off to the copyright office.
A few months pass by, a book trailer comes out, and now we’re finally at the end of this long journey. I’m hoping for wonderful things to happen with this book. I’ve poured a lot of blood, sweat, and tears into RC, and I hope people really like reading it. It’s not as scary as some of my other work, so that may appeal to less fear-loving readers. And it’s sci-fi dystopian fiction, so considering today’s market that’s good to have.
But there’s more to it than that. The novel tackles some powerful themes, like racism and Islamaphobia, drugs and gang violence, and a number of other issues. And I’m hoping its those themes that will resonate with readers and help them fall in love with characters, rather than some dashing heroine and a couple of good-looking guys rebelling against a government that’s pure evil (how many franchises did I just describe there? I think I got Twilight in there too).
So without further ado, I’m going to give you guys a treat in honor of RC coming out. The first treat is the RC book trailer, which is right underneath the next paragraph. Immediately following the video is an excerpt from Chapter One of RC, for all your reading pleasure. I hope you like the video and the excerpt and that you’ll be interested in reading the actual book afterwards.
Also, if you haven’t already read them, please see my interviews with Zahara Bakur, Rip, and Jason Price, three very important characters from Reborn City. They’re very amazing people…though two of them did threaten to kill me for various reasons.
Reborn City, former Nevada
28 Anno Bombus (2056 CE)
June 28
Zahara and her family had decided to eat out at a restaurant in North Reborn that served kosher meat, the closest they could get to halāl. “I know it’s for Jews mostly, but it’s a very nice place and the Jews were very nice to us in New York.” Zahara’s father, Emir Bakur had said when he’d suggested it. “They know they don’t have to fear Muslims anymore. And the Chaplinsky family in 4F was nice enough, right?”
However Emir had taken a wrong turn on the still-unfamiliar streets and highways and they had somehow ended up in West Reborn. The sight of the place gave Zahara chills, and it just wasn’t the reports of gang violence: the area had a grittiness that Zahara didn’t like. The cold brown houses, the rusty lamp poles, the cracked, light-grey concrete. West Reborn looked unkempt, uncared for, like the city had kept up the other areas of the city but had forgotten about this one. The only buildings that looked in any good condition were casinos, bars, and strip clubs, displaying three-dimensional holograms of cash prizes and sexy women drinking beer while looking at passerby with bedroom eyes. The sight of them disgusted Zahara.
In the front of the car Emir and Aaliyah were arguing, trying to figure out how to get back to where they were going. Zahara closed her eyes and tried to let the music from her filepiece filter into her right ear. Surrendering to the small device, she wondered if she’d ever get out of this city and get back to New York where she belonged. Somehow, Zahara had a feeling she would never come to like Reborn City, no matter how much she lived here.
After a few more minutes of her parents arguing about which direction, Zahara opened her eyes again, prepared to tell them they should just check their phones for the directions. Her eyes widened as she saw an arm swing up from the sidewalk and throw a rock at the windshield. The glass cracked as the rock rebounded off the windshield and into the road. Aaliyah and Zahara screamed as Emir braked the car and jerked at the steering wheel. The car skidded to a screeching halt, the nose pointing towards the middle of the road.
Zahara saw her father unbuckle his seatbelt and before she could stop him, stepping out to inspect the damage. “What in the name of Allah—?” he said, but stopped as he heard the click of a jackknife being opened. He turned around and saw two men, one of whom was holding a long, deadly-looking blade. Leaning forward in her seat, Zahara could make out the details of the two men: both of the men had a ruddy tan complexion, were wearing green clothes, and had looks on their faces that said they did not like making new friends. On the neck of one Zahara could make out what looked like a tattoo of a pitchfork with a sombrero hung over the right prong.
One of them, who was large and muscular, spoke to Zahara’s father. “Hand over yo’ fuckin’ money an’ yo fuckin’ car.” he said with a Spanish accent. “Ya got that?”
“Sure!” said Zahara’s father, holding his hands up defensively, looking so unlike the corporate lawyer he was. “Just take it easy, okay? Just take it easy—!”
“Hurry the fuck up!” said the other man. “Who ya think yo messin’ with, estupido?” This man was thin and gangly and had a strange leer on his face, like he would rather punch Emir than talk to him.
“Okay, okay!” said Emir, backing back up to the door and turning off the engine. Zahara’s mother Aaliyah saw this and as her husband stood back up out of the car, unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the car door.
“Mother!” said Zahara in English. Aaliyah looked behind her to where her daughter was sitting on the edge of her seat, fists balled in her lap, chewing her lower lip. “Don’t go out there!” Zahara hissed; Zahara rarely used English with her parents and she was only using it now because she didn’t know if these two men in green were fans of Muslims or not. Either way, it was not a good time to find out.
Zahara’s mother looked at her daughter as if she’d gone mad. “I don’t have a choice, Zahara.” she said in Arabic, pushing a loose lock of hair back under her hijab. “Our car is being stolen.” She opened her door and slid out of the seat. Zahara watched with disbelief as her mother closed the car door. Did her mother think things would go peacefully?
Suddenly the skinny gangster stared at Zahara’s mother and pointed at her hijab. “Hey Manny!” said the skinny gangster. “Check out the headscarf. Musulmàns!”
The fat gangster, Manny, stared at Zahara’s mother, then turned back to Emir, his expression livid. “So, you thought you’d get the jump on us, huh?” he said, thrusting the knife at Zahara’s father. “Fuckin’ terrorist! Let us jack ya car an’ explode us too?”
Zahara winced. Fuckin’ terrorist. She had been right, these two men hated Muslims.
“No, that’s not it at all!” said Emir, looking terrified as the skinny gangster pulled out a gun. “Please, you have to believe me—!”
“Shaddup!” yelled Manny, stabbing Emir in the belly. Emir went rigid as the knife plunged into his belly, then collapsed as Manny pulled the blade out. Blood poured out of Zahara’s father, pooling around him in a big red circle.
Aaliyah screamed in horror, staring at her husband as tears flooded down her cheeks. “Emir!” she cried. “Emir—!”
The skinny gangster pulled out his gun and shot Aaliyah in the forehead; her eyes rolled into the back of her head as Zahara’s mother fell lifeless to the ground. Zahara gasped, trying to keep her tears and screams inside herself. If the gangsters saw her they’d kill her too. And maybe…just because she was a teenager and a girl…they’d do other stuff to her, too. Zahara shuddered to think of what they’d do to her if they did that too.
Manny was kicking Emir’s lifeless body casually, making sure he was dead. “Think they’d play us, did they?” he said to his companion. “Fuckin’ terrorists.”
“Yeah, well they’re shittin’ in hell now.” said the skinny gangster. “Shows what happens when ya mess with Diablos.”
“Yeah.” said Manny, looking up from Emir’s body. “Come on, let’s go—wait a minute.” Manny’s piggy little eyes fixed on Zahara in the backseat of her parent’s car. Zahara squeaked as Manny took two steps towards her. “Yo, Che. Come check this out.” Manny called to his friend, followed by something in Spanish. Zahara nearly froze up as she realized she’d been discovered.
Quickly Zahara unbuckled her seatbelt, threw open the car door and ran, throwing her filepiece as a distraction. Manny and Che jumped back as the filepiece hit the ground, probably thinking it was a grenade or something. By the time they realized their mistake, Zahara already had a head start on them. They set off after her, angrily yelling in Spanish at her. Zahara turned around, saw them catching up, and ran faster, determined to get away.
As Zahara ran, bumping into people and flying past holograms, she began to cry; her parents were dead, she was miles away from any familiar place and with no familiar people to help her. The heartache she was feeling was so intense that she could just keel over and die, but she wouldn’t die here, and she would not let herself be caught by the gangsters chasing after her. She’d get out of West Reborn, find the house (she still hadn’t thought of it as “home” yet), and then she’d call New York and get help. Or maybe kill herself. Either way, she had to get out.
The gangsters were only a few feet behind her. But a few blocks ahead there was a police station. Maybe, if she was able to get there, she’d be safe. She could tell the police what was going on, they’d arrest her parents’ murderers, and then she could go back to New York—
Suddenly Zahara tripped on a shifted slab of concrete and fell. Thrusting her hands out in front of her, Zahara cried out as she scraped her hands and knees. She tried to stand up again but then someone grabbed her shirt from behind and yanked her up. Zahara stared into the faces of Manny and Che, the Hispanic gangsters who had murdered her parents. Che grabbed Zahara’s arms and twisted them into a painful armlock.
“Hello, Little Miss Terrorist.” said Manny. “Thought ya could get away so easily. Thought the po-po would help ya out. Wrong!”
Both of them laughed cruelly, and Manny brought out his knife, holding it close to Zahara’s jugular. The blade gleamed with the blood of Zahara’s father still fresh on it. Che and Manny laughed harder at the expression on Zahara’s face. “The po-po are just pussies.” said Che. “Fuckin’ pussies. They couldn’t catch us an’ throw us in the clink, an’ they would never help a fuckin’ Musalmàn. Besides, even if they would, them assholes can’t see us. It’s dark out, ya know.”
Manny pressed his face close to Zahara’s, grinning wickedly. The foul smell of his breath wafted over Zahara’s face, making her want to puke. “And the nearest streetlamp is right ovuh there.” he added, cocking his head in the direction of the lonely streetlamp.
With a great effort Zahara twisted her head away from the knife. “Somebody help me!” she screamed.
“No one’s gonna fuckin’ come to your rescue, Little Miss Terrorist.” said Manny, pressing the blade to Zahara’s neck; a little bit of Zahara’s blood trickled onto the knife, mixing with Emir’s. Zahara whimpered as Manny pressed his face even closer than before, so close she could see the pupils in his beady eyes. Behind her Zahara could feel Che’s hot breath on the nape of her neck.
Suddenly Manny’s free hand swooped down and grabbed the button on Zahara’s pants, undoing it in an instant. His hand reached into her pants and began feeling around.
“No, please.” said Zahara, tears spilling from the corner of her eyes. “Please don’t do this—!”
“Shaddup!” said Manny, looking up from what he was doing; Zahara felt the blade of the knife dig a little deeper into her neck. “Ya shaddup an’ try ta enjoy it. Maybe aftowards we’ll let ya kill yoself, got it? But no bombs; ya might hurt someone.”
Che giggled as Manny worked Zahara’s pants off, exposing her white underwear. As he did Zahara felt the fight go out of her. She was going to die and painfully too and at the hands of her parents’ murderers. She’d never see her friends again, she’d never see her parents again, and like the two men had said, no one was going to help her—
“What ya mothas doin’?” said a voice. Zahara looked away from Manny as a figure dressed in a black hoodie and jeans stepped into the lamplight. Manny paused and then stood up, pulling the knife away from Zahara’s neck.
As he did Zahara felt her energy disappear. Black edged into her field of vision as Zahara strained to discern the face of the newcomer. But the darkness took her and Zahara couldn’t see his face. The last thing Zahara thought before she fainted was that she would’ve liked to see the face of her potential rescuer.
That, and how embarrassed she was that her pants were lying uselessly around her ankles.
It’s time once again for my Weekly Exercises. These flash fiction pieces are my chance to practice my craft. They also act as sounding boards for readers to comment on how I’m doing, and they’re my shameless plug to get people interested in my published work.
This one’s a special one, since it’s number 10. Ten weeks in a row, plugging these things out. It’s been quite fun writing them and I’m constantly looking for new ideas for an exercise (and if you have one let me know. I may just write an exercise based on a suggestion, and you’ll get a mention). For this week’s exercise, I decided to do something a little special. I wrote a piece about an obsessed fan, but I changed a few things around for this piece. It’s always nice to try something original.
If you have any thoughts, please let me know. I love getting feedback from readers, which is partly what the Weekly Exercises are for. Also, if you want to take a look at any other exercises, you can check out the Weekly Exercises page.
Enjoy!
~~~
Katie loved the books of Emma Davies, stories of love and swashbuckling adventure on the high seas. She had probably read the Vivian Carpenter books a dozen times, cried each of the five times she’d read The Admiral’s Daughter, and when Davies’ latest book, Shanghai Bride, had come out, Katie had stayed up for two days straight reading it, pouring over the text, imagining the characters in her mind, gushing over each and every word in the book.
And sometimes, when she was alone at her apartment or at work or those rare opportunities when she was the only rider on the bus, she would kiss Emma Davies’ photo on the back of her paperbacks, kiss it like she’d never kissed anyone before. She loved the woman, blue eyes and blonde hair with pink highlights. Emma Davies loved Katie too, she knew it. Every book had been written for her, coded as a fun adventure story as well as a romance-filled love letter to Katie. Oh, when would Katie and Emma Davies be united at last? She couldn’t stand the wait!
So Katie packed up her bags and drove out to New Hampshire, where Emma Davies was supposed to live. It took some time, but Katie tracked Emma down to a lovely Victorian mansion in Concord with a brick wall encircling it. Oh, Katie wanted their wedding here! She climbed over the wall, tiptoed through the lawn to the back and was trying to unlock the back door when she felt a sharp pain on the top of her head and passed out.
When she woke up, her head hurt, she was in a dark room with only a single light bulb and no windows. Emma Davies stood before her, wearing a white silk kimono and frowning angrily. Overjoyed to be finally united with her, Katie tried to get up and hug her, but found she had been tied with chains and had a gag in her mouth. She tried to shout through the gag to Emma, but the beautiful woman only scoffed.
“Did you think that I would be happy to find you on my lawn?” she said, shaking her head. “I mean, I get how popular I am with my fans. I’ve hugged crying women more times than I can count at book signings and in the supermarket and while getting my hair done at Aveda. But honestly, if you’re going to sneak onto private property, you should know there are some consequences. So what do you have to say for yourself?”
Emma removed the gag. Katie sucked in a lungful of air. “Emma, I love you!” she cried, tears falling down her face. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“Oh, I love you too.” said Emma, kissing Katie’s forehead. “I love all my fans very dearly. But the ones who go the extra mile and think their love trumps my personal space must be punished when they step out of line.”
“What do you mean?” asked Katie, but as she spoke Emma picked up a chainsaw from the corner. Seeing it, she realized what was happening. She screamed.
“Oh, don’t scream.” said Emma, pulling the chainsaw’s cord. “It’ll be quick. And besides, you’ll be remembered. Once this kimono’s soaked up your blood, I’ll frame it in my office. I tell people the bloody kimonos I collect once belonged to a little-known pirate who was a terrible sadist. It’s a hoot how they buy it up. And yours make six. One for every book I’ve written! How exciting.”
Ever since I heard that this film was being made, I’ve been excited for it. Over the past few days, my behavior has been pretty close to that of a Belieber right before a Justin Beiber concert, I’ve been so excited. And this evening I went to the movies after dinner and sat in the best seat in the house. Afterwards, I struggled to find a phrase or a sentence, some way to describe the Carrie remake. I hit on it on the way home:
This is not like any version of Carrie you’ve ever seen before.
And I mean that. The storytelling, the acting, the music, and the special effects go together perfectly to create an awesome Halloween movie. Even when I knew something was going to happen, from plot points to scares, I was totally freaked out.
I’ll start with the acting, because that was just phenomenal. It’s amazing to watch Carrie White, played by Chloe Grace Moretz, go from a shy, terrified girl to someone who’s starting to come into her own power and rebel. Then at the climax of the movie, she doesn’t just become an angry telekinetic girl. She becomes Nemesis, Goddess of Revenge, and an angry witch upon her dais emerges to reap what has been sown. Afterwards, broken by all the pain and misery, she become a little girl again, wanting only love. And when she can’t get that, she looks for peace.
Julianne Moore was also great. You sensed she cared for Carrie, but the way she played Margaret White as a delusional woman with vacant eyes and a propensity for self-flagellation even in public was positively spooky. Honestly, she could win an award for playing Margaret and putting the “mental” in fundamentalist. In addition, all the other actors were great in their roles. I truly got the sense that Sue Snell, played by Gabriella Wilde, made me feel her remorse as the one girl who regretted hurting Carrie, while Portia Doubleday embodied the entitled bitch that was Chris Hargensen. And Judy Greer, you get a nod for really seeming like you cared for Carrie, comforting her while also making sure that no one would hurt her further. I can see why Carrie left your character alive. You made us believe she deserved not to die.
The next aspect was the storytelling. In this version of Carrie they actually included parts not seen in other adaptations of Carrie, including the love between Sue and Tommy Ross and what that love results in, the destruction of the town, and even the flying rocks make an appearance in the story (though not in the way we might expect). The filmmakers were also able to work the Information Age seamlessly into the plot, using a video of Carrie’s first period to the greatest effect. The only thing added in that I didn’t care for was the bath scene at the end. Honestly, there’s no bath scene in the book, and we already get Carrie covered in blood in the shower. Why do we need it again in the bathtub?
You don’t want to mess with this Carrie!
Now for the music, it was terrifying and vivid. It matched every moment and I felt it adding to my terror during certain parts of the film. And the special effects were better than everything we’ve ever seen in a Carrie adaptation. The destruction at prom had everyone in the theater on the edge of their seats and the showdown between Chris Hargensen, Billy Nolan, and Carrie is like watching Titans battling each other! I couldn’t believe any of it was done with computers or wires, because it all seemed so real and terrifying to me. The only thing I didn’t like was the blood that fell on Carrie’s head. I thought it looked more like corn syrup or Jell-O that hadn’t yet solidified than blood, but maybe that’s just me.
Am I using the word terrifying too much?
This lady deserves the Award for Best Supporting Actress.
Doesn’t matter. Honestly, I want to buy the DVD when it comes out, because this was one freaking epic horror film and I loved every minute of it. For the 2013 adaptation of Carrie, I give it a 5 out of 5. Congratulations to the cast, the crew, including director Kimberly Pierce, and a special congratulations Stephen King, Chloe Grace Moretz, and Julianne Moore. King made a wonderful story that will last long after he has left the Earth (hopefully that won’t happen anytime soon) and I think Moretz and Moore could easily win Oscars for this one. It’s just that good, so go and see it if you get the chance. You will not regret it.
Last night a review for The Quiet Game: Five Tales To Chill Your Bones appeared on Amazon. This was a very nice 4-star review, keeping the average on Amazon a 4 out of 5. And it was written by my dear old father, affectionately called Abba. Here’s what my dad had to say:
This is not my genre, but since I know the author [:-)], I read the stories. Each one was very unique and created its own atmosphere and mood. My favorite story was the Quiet Game but I found the ending a little confusing since I didn’t really know the literary reference at the end; what I loved was the world created in the story and the message it conveyed. I look forward to the author’s improving his craft, and I will certainly read more.
Well Abba, since you didn’t know the reference, let me tell you that Puck is a fairy or spirit from English folklore who’s considered a very nasty trickster. Don’t cross him if you ever meet him, because he’s just as likely to give you a winning lottery ticket as he is to give you an atomic wedgie. And I’d rather not see that on Facebook.
Also, thanks for uploading that review. It means a lot to me, and there’s good news. Since Reborn City is coming out soon, you can look forward to me hounding you to read that in two weeks’ time! Yay more fiction from your son to read out of obligation as a father! I’m kidding, I bet you can’t wait to read it.
I’m always happy to hear from readers, so whether you liked The Quiet Game or hated it, I don’t mind hearing from you about it. And if you’re interested in reading The Quiet Game; Five Tales To Chill Your Bones, you can read it on Amazon and Smashwords. Have a lovely day.
It’s been exactly three months since I uploaded The Quiet Game: Five Tales To Chill Your Bones onto Amazon and Smashwords. I’ve done a sort-of-but-not-quite second edition to fix the typos in the first couple of books, I’ve told people all about it, and now I’m marking the passage of time again, as I cannot believe how well it’s doing.
I didn’t really have any expectations when I first published The Quiet Game. I mean, I wanted it to do well, but with the volatile market that is self-publishing, I could be totally obscure and sell only a few copies or maybe it’ll be some strange explosion and a lot of copies will sell and plenty of people will write reviews. Turned out to be somewhere in the middle, where in the past three months I’ve sold a little under fifty copies and recieved four reviews (there are supposed to be two more but for some reason neither have appeared on Amazon’s website). The average rating right now is still 4 out of 5 stars incidentally, which I’m very happy about. My one five-star review came from Jason Haxton, author of The Dybbuk Box and owner of a box believed to be possessed by an evil spirit. It meant so much that another published writer thought so highly of my work. Then again, The Quiet Game has a dybbuk* in one of its stories, so that might explain a bit of it.
*A dybbuk, for those of you unfamiliar, is a spirit in Jewish folklore. To find out more about it, please go to Wikipedia, see various films about them, or read my book or Jason’s book.
I’m really looking forward to seeing how The Quiet Game does from here on out. And who knows? With Reborn City coming out in fifteen days, sales may increase. Wait, fifteen days? Jeez, that’s soon!
If you’d like to check out The Quiet Game, you can find it on Amazon and Smashwords. Both offer previews into what the book is like, so take a look if you’re interested.
Time once again for my Weekly Exercises. These flash fiction pieces are part opportunity to practice my craft, part sounding board so as I can feedback on what works and what doesn’t work when I write, and part shameless plug to get readers interested in my published fiction. Remember, the Weekly Exercises rely on reader feedback, so whatever your thoughts, it’s greatly appreciated if you leave a comment and let me know.
Also, if you wish to see my past Weekly Exercises, please follow the link to the Weekly Exercises page.
~~~
He was angry. He’d been taken from the prison system as soon as his mother had died. They said they were going to take him to the funeral service. A special treat, said Officer Marcus, for good behavior. If anything, Teddy would’ve rather had a drink and some video games to celebrate his mother’s death rather than go to his funeral and see if anyone actually showed up, let alone anyone showed up with anything nice to say. After all, Teddy’s mother had let him go to school hungry every day to pay for her drug habit. And when he started breaking into people’s homes in high school, she had given him up as a scoundrel and a menace and lied at the trial! Now at least she could finance her drug habit without having to worry about her kid.
But he was glad to get out of prison for a little while. He could see the sun without having bars around him, and maybe convince these cops to stop by McDonalds for some real food.
But then he’d been taken to a government lab and drugged. And then they’d started experimenting on him, putting weird stuff into his bloodstream. What were they trying to achieve? To turn him into a super soldier? To see how they could awaken telekinetic abilities in him? To see how much a person could be tampered with before their bodies broke down? Or did they just do it for kicks and they had a poor minority kid in the system, so why not use him? Nobody would miss him!
But at some point the experiments had worked. And now he was taking his revenge. The scientists ran in terror while soldiers came for him with bullets. Teddy let them come, let them feel his wrath. He hit them with one of his new tentacles and then started biting them with his poisonous fangs. He was a monster, but he was finally the one in control of his life instead of stupid adults who only cared about themselves.
With a crash and a bang Teddy escaped the lab onto the roof. Far away were the lights of a huge city. Jumping off the roof, crashing through the gates and hiding in the forest, Teddy slowly made his way towards the city, using the trees and rocks and the river to hide from his pursuers. Now that he was out, he thought he’d hit the town and have a little fun.
It’s time for my Weekly Exercises again. These flash fiction pieces are part chance to practice my craft, part sounding board so that my readers can tell me what they think works or doesn’t work, and part shameless marketing ploy to get people interested in my published work. Remember, these Weekly Exercises rely on reader feedback, so whether you love it or hate it, please let me know. I love to hear your opinions.
This week’s exercise is a bit longer than the past seven have been. But it needed to be in order to get what I wanted out of it. Tell me, is it better being longer than the others? Or I was better being brief? You decide.
Hope you like it. And if you wish to read more of my Weekly Exercises, you can find them all on their very own page.
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Lacey had been staring at the painting ever since they’d moved into the house. It came with the house, her mother said. It wasn’t very amazing, for a painting. It was a bunch of ladies in big dresses holding parasols on a beach. The plaque on the frame said it was called The Spider’s Web by William Ryan and painted in 1865. Other than the weird title, she didn’t know why she was so obsessed with the painting.
But for some reason Lacey kept staring at it, kept coming to look at the women in the dresses. Sometimes she thought she could hear the sound of waves and seagulls, a snatch of womanly laughter. And she wanted to know what the laughter was about.
Until the little girl appeared in the painting, though. She hadn’t been there before, hadn’t been holding the women’s hands when Lacey first moved here. And for some reason, the little girl looked a lot like Lacey. And she heard her voice giggling with the woman’s laughter and the seagulls and the ocean waves. She wanted to be in the painting too.
Momma was worried about Lacey. “You spend too much time in front of that painting.” she said. “Play with some toys. Watch TV. Go to school and make some friends. Put rocks up your nose.” And Lacey did all those things, went to school and made friends and played with toys and did things kids shouldn’t do. But she still stared at that painting. Stared at it, and the little girl with the women in the painting
And the painting whispered to her. It said that she could come in. They wanted Lacey to come in and be with them. Lacey wished and dreamed to be in the painting with them. And then one day, the women and little girl came out of the painting. But when they did, they became a big spider with a woman’s head. Lacey wasn’t scared though. She wanted this. And the spider lady picked her up in its six arms and brought her into the painting. And then Lacey was with the ladies on the beach, holding their hands and laughing with them.
She never knew what they laughed about, or that Momma cried when she disappeared, or that the spider lady was eating her soul bit by bit. But she laughed anyway, because she got her wish.
Some of you may be wondering what the scariest chapter I’ve ever written so far must be. I write scary stories, so it must be something gruesome. What could it be? Monsters? Evil spirits? Something not of this world or any other world we know of?
If you guessed pure, human evil, then you were correct.
I’ve written several times on this blog that one of my works-in-progress, Laura Horn, has a teenage girl and a survivor of sexual assault as its protagonist. Naturally, the question came up of whether or not to actually show her sexual assault in the novel. I’m not sure when I decided on that issue, though it was probably when I wrote the outline for the novel. But I decided to show her assault, devoting Chapter 17 of the book to it.
The past few weeks, where I knew it was only a matter of time till I reached that chapter, were not terrifying, nerve-wracking, or exciting as I expected writing a sexual assault would be. Instead, I just felt a sort of…acceptance, I guess. I’d committed to writing that sort of scene, and when I finally got to it, I got to it.
And last night, after finishing Chapter 17 of Video Rage, I took a short break, and then I started writing Chapter 17 of Laura Horn. Today, after finishing up my homework and meditation class, I did the last of it. and now the first draft of that chapter is complete.
I don’t know if what I’ve written will resonate with readers or feel real to them. I wrote this scene based on testimonies and memoirs by rape victims that I’ve read, the articles I’ve read on the statistic and psychology of rape, more Law & Order: SVU episodes than I dare mention, and my own overactive and sometimes unhealthy imagination. (Those last two I’m not sure you can count as credible sources). But if I’ve done my job right, then I will be able to put the reader directly into Laura’s state of mind at the time of her assault, make them understand what she’s been through and how it’s affected her three years after the event when the story takes place. And only then will the readers really understand who Laura Horn is, and truly be able to empathize with her.
And speaking of which, I’ve had trouble at certain points of writing this story getting into Laura’s head and understanding her both as a character and as a person. But having just written the formative event of her young life, I now can truly get into her head, understand her motivations, her thoughts, were obsession with avoiding drawing attention to herself. So hopefully writing the rest of Laura Horn will be a little bit easier.
However, that doesn’t change the fact that this is the scariest chapter I’ve ever written. In fact, it scared me personally, because I was terrified of the fact that I could conceive this scene and then write it down without losing my stomach. Even now, I’m wondering how screwed up I truly am to write such a scene. Considering how many times Stephen King’s written that sort of scene, I can say I’m fairly f***ed up.
I’m not sure if I’ll ever do such a scene again. However I do believe that when Laura Horn makes it to print, whenever that is, if I’ve done my job right, then the readers will feel the fear I wish to convey. And maybe they’ll understand the terror and trauma of rape victims. Maybe the book will help people who’ve experienced sexual assault. Maybe it’ll cause some people to think before they say someone deserves to be raped. I don’t know if any of that’ll happen, but it’s my hope that it will.
And now I’m going to take a break from writing. I’ve done a lot in the past 48 hours, and I’d like a little break before I pick up with Video Rage Ch. 18. I’ll need to recharge my batteries, especially after writing that sexual assault scene.
Rami Ungar The Writer 