It’s time again for one of my Weekly Exercises. These flash fiction pieces are my chance to practice my craft, as well as receive feedback from my readers and possibly get them interested in my published work. Remember, the Weekly Exercises are dependent on reader feedback, so whatever you think, please let me know in a comment if you have the time.
Also, if you’re interested in reading the other Weekly Exercise, just follow the link here.
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Daddy always said that Mommy had disappeared and that they didn’t need her because she was a whore and a bitch and they didn’t need that kind of woman in the house. Sometimes Devin thought otherwise, because surely Mommy was nicer than Daddy no matter what she was. Daddy was always angry about something, and he was angrier when he drank. One time Devin tried to ask Daddy not to drink because it only made him angry. Daddy punished Devin by making him wear a dirty diaper he’d stolen from the neighbor’s trash can and stand in the dark closet with the rats.
But now Devin wasn’t so sure that things were better with Mommy. Because Mommy had come back. At first Devin was glad to see Mommy again, but then Mommy had pulled out a knife. Daddy had been sleeping on the couch, burping and farting in his sleep. Mommy had stabbed Daddy while Devin watched. There was a lot of blood, and some of it got on Devin. She stabbed him again and again. And Devin could only watch and cry.
At some point Mommy stopped stabbing Daddy and looked at Devin. It was like she’d never noticed him standing there till now, judging by the look of surprise on her face. “Devin!” she said. “What’s the matter?”
Devin could only cry harder as he tried to speak to his mother. “Why-why did you stab Daddy?” he hiccupped. “Why?”
Mommy smiled, and her pearly-white teeth scared Devin because they looked like rat teeth. “Because I’ve always wanted to.” she said. “And because I can.”
A couple of weeks ago, I wrote a post about the scariest scene I’d ever written in my career. It was a pretty intense sexual assault scene, so bad that I had to go out shopping in the middle of a downpour just to find my center and write about it in a blog post (it was that bad). Two of the concerns I had with the scene was if it would deliver the emotional effect I was looking for, and was it well written?
Well, I can’t really testify as to the former question. Only readers of the story could tell me, and that novel is still in its first draft. But for the latter, I might have an answer.
The book I’m reading for class right now.
I’ve mentioned before that I’m taking a literature class that covers science-fiction literature (and a couple movies). One of the books we’re reading is called The Windup Girl by Paolo Baciagalupi, and early on it has a pretty terrifying rape scene. I found myself reading it on my couch, putting a hand over my mouth as it ended. I was thinking about it the whole rest of the day and well into the evening, trying to wrap my head around it.
And then I realized something. I felt these same emotions writing my own rape scene. Not at the same intensity, but close to it. And it was written in a similar way to my own scene as well. In fact, I thought to myself, “There are many similarities between the scene in Baciagalupi’s novel and my own draft for Laura Horn.” Now I’m not saying I’m on par with a novelist who’s won the Hugo and Nebula Awards (and besides, his scene had some sci-fi twists, making it very different from mine), but the similarities really sprung out at me, especially the emotional similarities. It made me realize that wondering whether it’s well-written–whether I included the right words, whether I was describing anything right–was the wrong thing to worry about.
Instead, I should be worrying about delivering the emotional impact that you’d expect from a rape scene. The terror, the humiliation, the pain, the anger, the crushing despair. I should be more focused on those aspects of the writing when I write those sort of scenes. If I do that, the well-written part will somehow weave itself into the scene.
So now that I’ve figured that out, I think I’ll approach those scenes very differently in the future, should I decide to do one again. In the meantime though, I think I’ll go to bed, as it’s getting quite late. Goodnight, my dear Followers of Fear (that’s what I’ve started calling people who read this blog regularly, along with those on my Facebook page and Twitter feed. Do you like the nickname?).
Oh, and for those of you who are wondering when I’m going to end this self-imposed hiatus on my writing (if anyone’s wondering that at all. I’m sure most of my readers have more important things to think about, but you never know), I promise you it’ll be as soon as my workload clears up a bit. That might not be till after final exams, when all I have is work at my job and whatever’s on TV or whatever I’m reading at the moment, but on the plus side, exams are in four or five weeks, so it’ll be soon. And then I plan on writing up a mean storm of fiction! It’ll make up for all I’ve missed during NaNoWriMo!
It’s time for my Weekly Exercises. These flash fiction pieces are part chance to practice my craft, part sounding board to see what works with readers and what doesn’t, and part shameless plug to get people interested in my published work.
If you like or hate this week’s Exercise, please let me know. I appreciate feedback, positive or negative. And if you want to read past Weekly Exercises, please click here.
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Darla led her cousin Will through the fields behind her Daddy’s farm, pulling on his hand as she led him through the tall stalks of corn. She giggled and he laughed, letting himself be pulled along. Overhead, the country moon shown bright above them as they raced for the woods behind Old Man Keller’s house, where they would have some alone time.
Will had come to stay with them this summer because Darla’s Uncle Pete thought that Will’s city friends were bad news, and he wanted Will somewhere away from that sort of environment. Darla didn’t mind at all. She and Will hadn’t seen each other at all since they were both four years old, and in that time Will had gone from a cute little boy to just plain cute. Plus he had that big-city swagger and confidence and that dialect you only heard in the city and in the blockbusters they showed at the theater in town. It made Will that much cooler, and if he didn’t mind, Darla wouldn’t mind herself if they were kissing cousins for the summer.
“So what was your Dad talking about earlier?” asked Will when they reached the woods. “That Owl-Man thing he mentioned?”
Darla groaned; her father had probably figured out that she planned to take Will out to the woods and had tried to make her reconsider by mentioning sightings of the Owl-Man in the woods and in the fields.
“It’s just an old urban legend.” said Darla. “That the guy who owned Keller’s woods before he did was into black magic and one day he cursed himself with an owl’s head, so now he lives in the woods pecking the eyes out of anyone who crosses into his woods and sees him so he can keep his secret. It’s just meant to keep kids from making out in the woods. The real reason why nobody should go in is because Old Man Keller has a gun.”
“Then why are we going in?” asked Will.
“Because it’s the only place nobody goes to make out.” said Darla with a wink. “We’ll have the whole place to ourselves.” Will grinned as they ran into the trees. When they were a ways in, they stopped and Will pulled out two of Daddy’s beer cans from inside his jacket. They were about to take a long deep drink when they heard a branch break. Both froze, looking around in case someone had followed them in. There was no way around.
Shrugging, they toasted each other with the beer cans and took a long gulp. The beer tasted dark and full of teenage rebellion. Darla wiped her mouth and looked at Will. She wondered if this was a good time to see if he wanted to kiss when there was another cracking noise. Will stood up, looking around. “Somebody there?” he shouted.
“Oh, sit down.” said Darla. “It’s probably somebody who had the same idea as us. And if Old Man Keller hears you, he’ll shoot you—Eek!”
A man emerged from the dark, holding a rifle in his hands. Darla couldn’t make out his face very well, but from the smell of tobacco and his girth she was pretty sure that it was Old Man Keller.
“Oh, hi Mr. Keller.” she said. “Um…we were just leaving. So if you don’t mind telling my Daddy about this, that would be great. ‘Kay?”
All Old Man Keller did was fall over onto his belly. Darla jumped away, spilling beer all over her shirt. Why was he so big? And why did he fall down? He had nearly crushed her!
Will turned over Old Man Keller, asking him if he was okay. The next moment he jumped away, his face suddenly green. Darla looked at Old Man Keller and saw that his eyes were missing from their sockets. Darla screamed, dropping her beer can in fright. She must’ve stood there screaming for half a minute before Will pulled her away. They were running away at top speed, heading through the cornfields and back to Darla’s house. When they got there, they stood bent over their knees, breathing hard.
“What was that?” asked Will. “Why were his eyes–?”
“Didn’t I tell you kids not to go out to Old Man Keller’s woods?” said a voice, Darla’s Daddy’s voice. Darla and Will jumped, looking around for Darla’s dad. “Owl Man’s watching for anybody who goes into his woods at night who shouldn’t be there. That includes his own family.”
They looked up and saw a man in a T-shirt and overalls standing on the roof. At first Darla recognized her father and was glad he was there. But then feathers sprouted from his face. And then to her horror he jumped down, his beak clicking loudly for eyeballs to eat.
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.
Rami Ungar The Writer 