by john | Oct 1, 2010 | Fiction, Vampires, Writing
I know, I’ve let this blog languish while I was off writing other things, like silly vampire novels. And now my blog feels like the sponge mop in the Swiffer commercials. So sorry, I suck, but the first draft of the vampire novel is finished. It’s going to be called Hard Day’s Knight, and will be the first of a series called the Black Knight Chronicles. It’s a snarky, somewhat comic vampire series based around a pair of geeky vampire detective. I’ll paste in an excerpt below.
If you’re here because you found the link through Amanda Hocking’s Zombiepalooza blog, then my nefarious plan has worked! BWAHAHAHAHA!!! Sorry. Anyway, thanks for stopping by, and I hope you’ll poke around a little. My first novel, The Chosen, is available from Amazon, on the iBookstore, and from Lulu. There’s a sample on The Chosen tab, check it out. Let me know what you think. I’ve got some live events coming up as well, so if you’re anywhere near Charlotte, let me know and come out and say hello.
So here’s a sample of my next book, Hard Day’s Knight, available in November wherever independent books are sold.
Chapter 1
I hate waking up in an unfamiliar place. I’ve slept in pretty much the same bed for the past twenty years, so when I wake up someplace new, it really throws me off. When that someplace is tied to a metal folding chair in the center of an abandoned warehouse that reeks of stale cigarette smoke, gasoline and harbor water – well, that really started my night off on a sparkling note.
My mood deteriorated even further when I heard a voice behind me say “It’s about time you woke up, bloodsucker.” I mean, seriously, why do people have to be so rude? It’s a condition, like freckles. I’m a vampire. Deal with it. But we can do without the slurs, thank you very much.
“Go easy on the bloodsucker, pal. I haven’t had breakfast.” Was what I tried to say. But since my mouth was duct-taped shut, it came out more like “Mm mmmm mm mmm-mmmmmmm, mmm. Mm mmmmmm mmm mmmmm.” My repartee was gonna need an assist if I was going to talk my way out of this. Of course, if my mysterious captor had wanted me dead, he’d had all day to make that happen, but instead I woke up tied to a chair. I tested my bonds, but I was tied tight, and whatever he had bound me with burned, so it was either blessed, and he was devout, or it was silver. My money was on silver. The true believers are more the stake ‘em in the coffins type than the kidnap them and tie them to chairs type.
“I think, bloodsucker, that since I’m the one with the stake, I get to call you whatever I want. And you, as the one tied to the chair with silver chains, get to sit there and do whatever I say.” My captor moved around in front where I could get a good look at him. I knew him, of course. It’s never the new guy in town who ties you to a chair, it’s always that kinda creepy guy who you’ve seen lurking around the cemetery for a couple weeks. The one that you’re not sure if he was there to mourn or for some other reason. And of course, it was always some other reason.
I’d seen this guy hanging around one of the big oak trees in my cemetery, near the freshest grave in the joint, for a couple of weeks. I never thought much of his wardrobe until now, but in retrospect he was wearing almost stereotypical vampire hunter garb. Black jeans, black boots, long black coat, wide-brimmed black hat. Christ, I bet he owned the Van Helsing Blu-Ray. I swore then that if I ever got the chance, I was eating Hugh Jackman’s liver. No, we don’t usually eat people, but liver’s liver, and I was pissed. I had been caught and trussed up like a Thankgsiving turkey by a skinny twenty-something who watched too many bad vampire movies.
This kid was white, about twenty-three, with mousy brown hair and looked like he played too much Call of Duty instead of getting a job. His skin was paler than mine, for crying out loud, and I’m dead! He was a hair over six foot, weighed maybe one-forty soaking wet, and either had an asthma inhaler in his front pocket or was happy to see me. God, I hoped it was an inhaler.
“Mmmm mmmmm mm mmm mmmm mm mm mm?” I asked, which was supposed to be more of a what do you want me to do type of query, but my mouth was still taped shut. The kid reached forward and ripped the tape off, taking a layer or two of skin with it. “OWWW!” I yelled, straining against my bonds. “You little rat bastard, I swear to God I am going to drink you dry and leave your body on the lawn like an empty bag of flesh!”
I admit, my similes need work.
“I don’t think so, bloodsucker. I think you’re going to do anything I tell you to, or I’ll just leave you tied up there to starve.” He had a point there. It’s not like there were very many people who would miss a vampire, and I hadn’t yet figured out how to get loose from whatever silver-lined bonds he’d created.
“Alright, what do you want?” I asked. Might as well find out right now if he wanted something simple or…
“I want you to turn me,” he replied. The look of hope on his face was a little pathetic, really, but there was a determination there that was disturbing. This was not going to be easy.
“No.” I wanted to get the short and simple part out of the way first, then we could move on to the lengthy explanations.
“Why not?” Wow, from zero to whiny little bitch in .4 seconds. If I’d ever had any thoughts of actually turning this scrawny little zit-farm into a vamp, they would have just evaporated.
“Because I don’t turn people. Because this life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Because I don’t know how to turn people. Because you’d miss all those romantical sunsets you probably write mediocre poetry about. Because it’s not fair to the ecosystem to add another predator. All of the above. None of the above. Pick a reason, kid, any reason you like. I’m not turning you.” I started to look around for another way to get out of this mess, but it didn’t look good for our hero. Or at least my hero, and it’s my story.
For a skinny little gamer-geek, he’d done a good job tying me up. I guess that’s another thing we can thank the internet for – unlimited access to fetish porn has improved the knot-tying ability of men who can’t get dates. I couldn’t exactly see my hands, but by straining around, I could see that my ankles were tied to separate legs of the chair with those plastic zip-ties you get in the electrical aisle. I could see a silver necklace wound around each tie, and by the way my wrists felt, he’d done the same thing there. The chair was the standard metal folding type, the kind that gets sacrificed in countless professional wrestling matches. So I was pretty well neutralized. The silver sapped the strength from my arms just by the contact, and I couldn’t get enough leverage with my legs to do anything useful. I looked up to try and Jedi mind trick my kidnapper, when I noticed two things – one – he was wearing polarized sunglasses, which was a neat idea, although ultimately useless against my mental abilities, and two – he was crying.
“You have to turn me!” He wailed, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I don’t have anything left, and this is the only way I can think to get by.”
I couldn’t believe it; I was actually starting to feel sorry for the guy. “Okay, kid. Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong and I’ll see if I can help.”
“No one can help, but if I were one of the Undead I could help myself.” I swear I could actually hear him capitalize undead.
“You know that’s kinda my job, right? Helping people that can’t help themselves. Kinda like the A-Team, without the Mohawk and the van. Reach into my shirt pocket and grab a business card. I promise not to bite you, and as you know we Undead cannot tell a lie.” Total bull, but I’ve often found with people dumb enough to romanticize the whole vampire thing that a little mendacity goes a long way. He reached into my pocket and took out a business card. It had my name, James Black, and cell phone number under a logo that said “Black Knight Detectives, shedding light on your darkest problems.” Neither the company name nor the stupid slogan was my idea. And I prefer Jimmy.
“You’re a detective?” I nodded. “And you think you can help me?”
“Well, I can’t really know that until you tell me what your problem is. So why don’t you untie me, and we can talk about this like a pair of reasonable people?” I put a little mojo into my eyes, and he started towards me with a pair of wire cutters in his hand. And that’s when things went to hell.
Want to know what happens next? The book comes out next month!
by john | Aug 1, 2010 | Fiction, Writing
I know, I don’t ever write anything here anymore. I haven’t written anything in forever, it seems like. And not just here, but pretty much everywhere. All my writerly attention has been focused on getting The Chosen ready for publication this fall. I put out a short volume of poetry a month or so ago called Red Dirt Boy, which is available online at Lulu. I described it as poetry for people who don’t like poetry, because I’ve had more than one person tell me they didn’t like poetry, but they liked my stuff. I guess I have a more discerning class of readers :). Or most poetry is intentionally obscure shit. One of those. You pick.
But I’ve got a cover design finalized for The Chosen, and I’m really excited about getting that rolling. The fabulous Lindsay Birmingham (buy her pictures!) did the graphic design for me, my niece Dianne did my editing, and Rob Siders is doing the conversion to e-book for an incredibly reasonable price. I found Rob through Joe Konrath’s blog, which is very helpful for anyone who is interested in the self-pub/e-pub world. I think that folks like Joe and Cory Doctorow are going to be required reading for writers in the new world, as the marketplace changes around us every day.
I decided that The Chosen will be primarily published as an e-book, not just because it’s faster, cheaper and I get to keep a higher percentage of the royalties than with traditional publishing, but because in the last six months and additional 3.3 million e-book readers have been purchased in the US alone. As a matter of fact, you can buy one of your very own here. No, I don’t think all, or even most people are using their iPads as e-book readers. Yet. But with Amazon announcing that e-books are currently outselling hardback books on their site, and with the addition of the Kindle app to the iPhone, Droid and iPad, it just makes sense. Plus, you’ll be able to buy the book for $2.99 on Amazon or $3.99 on iTunes, which gives me a much better shot at selling a pile of books to people who don’t know me than a $15 paperback on Lulu with a $5 shipping tag.
That said, I will do print-on-demand for The Chosen, because I know that a lot of people still want a real book in their hands. And I’ll do real copies for signings and book release parties and all that, because I don’t think anyone wants me to take a sharpie to the back of their iPad. But I can get a professional-quality e-book formatted with a great cover design for less than $500 out of pocket, so that’s the path to market I’m planning. I think the book will be ready for early September, and I’m toying with some ideas like a super-limited hardback run, or something like that.
I’m also working on the beginnings of another story (or two). I have this snarky teenage vampire character stuck in my head, and I can’t get rid of him, so I’ve started a story about a pair of 60-year-old teenage vampire detectives. I also have an end of the world story that I’m toying with about the death of technology and return of magic to the world, but that one’s slow to take off. I really need to win the Powerball so I can quit my job and just write for a living, but the redneck 401(k) hasn’t worked out for me yet.
I’m heading off to a comic con here in a few, then grocery shopping for the gimpy wife. She had minor foot surgery on Friday, so I’m on day 3 of nursemaid duty, which is about my upper limit. She’s recovering nicely and has Darvocet for the pain, so hopefully she’ll be in a place where I can go back to work tomorrow.
by john | Jun 27, 2010 | Fiction, Vampires, Writing
I think this is the beginning of a new book. Lemme know what you think. Also, I have a new collection of poetry coming out in the next couple of weeks, and I believe The Chosen will be available for iPad, Kindle and other e-readers by late September, with hard copies available from lulu.com. But check this out and let me know what you think, please.
I hate waking up in an unfamiliar place. I’ve slept in pretty much the same bed for the past fifteen years, so when I wake up someplace new, it really throws me off. When that someplace is tied to a metal folding chair in the center of an abandoned warehouse that reeks of stale cigarette smoke, gasoline and harbor water – well, that really started my night off on a sparkling note.
My mood deteriorated even further when I heard a voice behind me say “It’s about time you woke up, bloodsucker.” I mean, seriously, why do people have to be so rude? It’s a condition, like freckles. I’m a vampire. Deal with it. But we can do without the slurs, thank you very much.
“Go easy on the bloodsucker, pal. I haven’t had breakfast.” Was what I tried to say. But since my mouth was duct-taped shut, it came out more like “Mm mmmm mm mmm-mmmmmmm, mmm. Mm mmmmmm mmm mmmmm.” My repartee was gonna need an assist if I was going to talk my way out of this. Of course, if my mysterious captor had wanted me dead, he’d had all day to make that happen, but instead I woke up tied to a chair. I tested my bonds, but I was tied tight, and whatever he had bound me with burned, so it was either blessed, and he was devout, or it was silver. My money was on silver. The true believers are more the stake ‘em in the coffins type than the kidnap them and tie them to chairs type.
“I think, bloodsucker, that since I’m the one with the stake, I get to call you whatever I want. And you, as the one tied to the chair with silver chains, get to sit there and do whatever I say.” My captor moved around in front where I could get a good look at him. I knew him, of course. It’s never the new guy in town who ties you to a chair, it’s always that kinda creepy guy who you’ve seen lurking around the cemetery for a couple weeks. The one that you’re not sure if he was there to mourn or for some other reason. And of course, it was always some other reason.
I’d seen this guy hanging around one of the big oak trees in my cemetery, near the freshest grave in the joint, for a couple of weeks. I never thought much of his wardrobe until now, but in retrospect he was wearing almost stereotypical vampire hunter garb. Black jeans, black boots, long black coat, wide-brimmed black hat. Christ, I bet he owned the Van Helsing Blu-Ray. I swore then that if I ever got the chance, I was eating Hugh Jackman’s liver. No, we don’t usually eat people, but liver’s liver, and I was pissed. I had been caught and trussed up like a Thankgsiving turkey by a skinny twenty-something who watched too many bad vampire movies.
This kid was white, about twenty-three, with mousy brown hair and looked like he played too much Call of Duty instead of getting a job. His skin was paler than mine, for crying out loud, and I’m dead! He was a hair over six foot, weighed maybe one-forty soaking wet, and either had an asthma inhaler in his front pocket or was happy to see me. God, I hoped it was an inhaler.
“Mmmm mmmmm mm mmm mmmm mm mm mm?” I asked, which was supposed to be more of a what do you want me to do type of query, but my mouth was still taped shut. The kid reached forward and ripped the tape off, taking a layer or two of skin with it. “OWWW!” I yelled, straining against my bonds. “You little rat bastard, I swear to God I am going to drink you dry and leave your body on the lawn like an empty bag of flesh!”
I admit, my similes need work.
“I don’t think so, bloodsucker. I think you’re going to do anything I tell you to, or I’ll just leave you tied up there to starve.” He had a point there. It’s not like there were very many people who would miss a vampire, and I hadn’t yet figured out how to get loose from whatever silver-lined bonds he’d created.
“Alright, what do you want?” I asked. Might as well find out right now if he wanted something simple or…
“I want you to turn me,” he replied. The look of hope on his face was a little pathetic, really, but there was a determination there that was disturbing. This was not going to be easy.
“No.” I wanted to get the short and simple part out of the way first, then we could move on to the lengthy explanations.
“Why not?” Wow, from zero to whiny little bitch in .4 seconds. If I’d ever had any thoughts of actually turning this scrawny little zit-farm into a vamp, they would have just evaporated.
“Because I don’t turn people. Because this life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Because I don’t know how to turn people. Because you’d miss all those romantical sunsets you probably write mediocre poetry about. Because it’s not fair to the ecosystem to add another predator. All of the above. None of the above. Pick a reason, kid, any reason you like. I’m not turning you.” I started to look around for another way to get out of this mess, but it didn’t look good for our hero. Or at least my hero, and it’s my story.
For a skinny little gamer-geek, he’d done a good job tying me up. I guess that’s another thing we can thank the internet for – unlimited access to fetish porn has improved the knot-tying ability of men who can’t get dates. I couldn’t exactly see my hands, but by straining around, I could see that my ankles were tied to separate legs of the chair with those plastic zip-ties you get in the electrical aisle. I could see a silver necklace wound around each tie, and by the way my wrists felt, he’d done the same thing there. The chair was the standard metal folding type, the kind that gets sacrificed in countless professional wrestling matches. So I was pretty well neutralized. The silver sapped the strength from my arms just by the contact, and I couldn’t get enough leverage with my legs to do anything useful. I looked up to try and Jedi mind trick my kidnapper, when I noticed two things – one – he was wearing polarized sunglasses, which was a neat idea, although ultimately useless against my mental abilities, and two – he was crying.
“You have to turn me!” He wailed, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I don’t have anything left, and this is the only way I can think to get by.”
I couldn’t believe it, I was actually starting to feel sorry for the guy. “Okay, kid. Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong and I’ll see if I can help.”
“No one can help, but if I were one of the Undead I could help myself.” I swear I could actually hear him capitalize undead.
“You know that’s kinda my job, right? Helping people that can’t help themselves. Kinda like the A-Team, without the Mohawk and the van. Reach into my shirt pocket and grab a business card. I promise not to bite you, and as you know we Undead cannot tell a lie.” Total bullshit, but I’ve often found with people dumb enough to romanticize the whole vampire thing that a little mendacity goes a long way. He reached into my pocket and took out a business card. It had my name, James Black, and cell phone number under a logo that said “Black Knight Detectives, shedding light on your darkest problems.” Neither the company name nor the stupid slogan was my idea. And I prefer Jimmy.
“You’re a detective?” I nodded. “And you think you can help me?”
“Well, I can’t really know that until you tell me what your problem is. So why don’t you untie me, and we can talk about this like a pair of reasonable people?” I put a little mojo into my eyes, and he started towards me with a pair of wire cutters in his hand. And that’s when things went to hell.
by john | Oct 1, 2009 | Fiction
September 22, 2009
Still counting the days by how often the bucket of Frosted Flakes and milk comes around. Today I saw how it gets in here at least. I had figured that there was some opening in the main door, like a doggy door, and I was right. I sat right next to the door and fell asleep there so I’d wake up when they fed me, if that was how they were doing it. I don’t know how long I’d been asleep before I heard the slot open in the door, and I woke up instantly, trying to get some glimpse of outside light to figure out what time it was. But I guess they blacked out the room outside of this one, too, because I couldn’t see shit. Just a bucket sliding out with cereal and a carton of milk and a plastic spoon in it.
So I don’t know where I am, I don’t really know what day it is, and I don’t know what they want from me. Whoever has me hasn’t spoken to me once in the four days I’ve been here. The longer I’m here the more freaked out that makes me, like they’re not talking to me to keep from getting attached or something. Like how you treat an animal that you brought in just to kill – you don’t want to get attached.
At least lunch was different today. They brought me McDonald’s. It was a little cold, so I guess I’m a little bit of a drive away from anything, but it was soooo good to taste a hamburger and fries! When I was done, I looked around and said “Thank You. I don’t know if you watch me, or how, or whatever, but if you can hear me, thanks. That was really good.” A week ago if somebody told me that I’d ever thank someone for giving me McD’s like it was a 5-star restaurant I’d have laughed in their face, but now it just felt so good to remember that there was a world out there, that the whole world didn’t end right outside my walls.
I started working out today. I figured I was bored enough, and if I ever got a chance to try and fight my was out of here, I’d better be ready. I was disgusted by the terrible shape I’m in, though. I could only do seven pushups and only 20 situps before I was done. I did a few jumping jacks to warm up, but my equipment choices are a little limited in my two-room shack. Maybe if I exercise every day, I can get strong enough to try and bust through a door, or a window, or something. There’s got to be some way out of here. I’ve got a life to get back to – parents, a girlfriend, school. I can’t die here. I’m not ready to die yet.
by john | Sep 30, 2009 | Fiction
After re-reading what I stuck up here yesterday, I decided to blow it up and reconstruct the whole concept. So I kept the first-person point of view, but decided to tell the story through diary entries. I have an idea that this could be kinda long, but we’ll see where it goes.
September 18, 2009
Although, to be honest, that’s a little bit of a guess. I don’t really know what day it is, jut like I’m not really sure it’s even day. All I know for sure is that I’m in trouble, and I don’t know if I’ll ever get out of it, and I’d like to leave some kind of record of what happened to me if somebody ever finds this notebook. Which I guess is doubtful, but it’s about the only thing I’ve got right now, so I’m gonna hang on to that if it’s okay with you.
I guess I should start at the beginning. Or at least close enough to give you an idea of who I am and what the hell I’m talking about, huh? My name is Jason Shorham, and I’ve been kidnapped. I don’t know by who and I don’t know where they’re keeping me, and I don’t know if I’ll ever get out of here. By the best guess I can come up with I’ve been here for three days, and I haven’t seen anyone in that time. I’m being held in a cabin with one big room, one smaller bedroom, a kitchen, kinda, and a bathroom. It’s pretty comfortable, actually. I guess as jail cells go it’s really nice, except for the fact that all the windows and doors are boarded up so that I can’t even see whether it’s day or night and I can’t get out. Even the fireplace is blocked up with metal sheeting so I can’t even look up the chimney or try to climb out up it. Which with the way my luck has gone this week would be something I’d try, then get stuck up there and die. There’s a bed in the bedroom, and one lamp. There’s a couch in the big room, which I guess would be a living room, and a desk, which is where I found this notebook and some pens. Other than that, there’s a whole lot of nothing. The bathroom has a shower and toilet, and some towels and toilet paper, but nothing to read, which sucks. So while I guess it’s okay for prisons, there’s not much to recommend this place as a vacation spot.
I don’t know why I’m joking. I’m fucked. I’m probably about as fucked as fucked can get. I’m kidnapped, in the middle of nowhere I assume, in a log cabin with boarded up windows and doors, and I haven’t seen any food in three days. Yeah, I’ve been here three days I guess. Or at least I’ve gone to sleep three times and woken up three times, so I’m guessing it’s been three days. I don’t have any way to tell time, the fuckers that took me took my cell phone (of course) and like everybody else nowadays I don’t wear a watch. Why would I? I never go anywhere without my cell phone and usually my laptop, too. But I didn’t dress for kidnapping when I left home this morning. Or Saturday morning, however long ago that was. Fuck this, this is stupid. Nobody’s ever gonna read this shit, and if they do it’ll be because I’m dead anyway, so what do I care?
September 21, 2009
Me again. But then again, who else would it be? It’s not like there’s anybody else here. I figured I might as well write this shit down. It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do. My social calendar, as they say, is more than usually empty of late. Like I said before I’m not really sure of the day, or if it is day. I can’t manage to beat on the board on the windows enough to get any light through them, so I sleep when I’m tired and get up when I feel like it. Perfect life, right? Yeah, except for that whole locked in a cabin where you have no fucking idea what’s going on part. At least there’s food. I didn’t mention that my captors do feed me, so it looks like there’s a plan to keep me a live for a little while, anyway. I wake up, and there’s food in a bucket in the middle of the floor. Nothing specific, just some bread, some ham or deli meat, crap like that. Nothing to drink but water out of the bathroom sink, and I only have one cup to drink out of. It’s plastic. I guess they think if I had too much glass around I’d try to use it as a weapon, or maybe off myself. But they left me the lamp in the bedroom, with a regular lightbulb, so I don’t know what that’s about. So I started tracking my days by how many times I get fed. I figure when they send down cereal and those little paper cartons of milk, it’s breakfast. When they send down real food later, it’s lunch. There’s only been two meals a day so far, so I’m counting breakfasts to figure out what day it is. But who knows? They could be totally fucking with me and giving me a breakfast every three hours and maybe I’ve only been here for like two days. But that doesn’t make any sense. I know it’s been most of a week at least just by how much my beard’s grown. And how gross my clothes are starting to feel. If you’ve never worn the same underwear every day for a week, then just trust me, it’s not the best thing in the world. I rinsed out all my clothes in the bathroom sink, but then I was just naked and cold and when I put everything back on it didn’t really feel clean anyway, so I just decided fuck it. I’ll try and keep up this journal just to have something to do. I’m sure at some point whoever took me will figure out they aren’t getting any money and let me loose.
by john | Sep 29, 2009 | Fiction
A blend of an odd dream I had, an audiobook I’m listening to and a movie that Suzy made me watch part of inspired the beginnings of this story. It’s pretty dark. Lemme know what you think.
I never saw the face of the man that destroyed my childhood and made my life into something entirely unexpected until he was lying dead at my feet in the middle of the South Carolina woods with a pool of blood spreading out from the back of his head. Up until I leaned over, and with fear-palsied fingers pulled the ski mask and sunglasses off his face, I had no idea what the man who had controlled my every moment for six months looked like. Aside from the unfamiliarity of the face, the sheer blandness of his features took me aback.
This man, who had taken me prisoner, made me into something I never imagined I could be, and had now ultimately died at my hands, looked like nothing. Not even the pudgy innocuousness of a Gacy or the rakish handsomeness of a Bundy. He looked like nothing. Completely normal. Medium blue-grey eyes, mousy brown hair, slightly out of date chin beard. Nothing to distinguish him from thousands of other suburban soccer dads out there in the wide world. Nothing to make anyone think that he might be evil personified.
I stood there with a tree branch in my numb fingers for a while, I don’t really know how long, until finally I threw the branch down next to his body, which was starting to ooze other fluids than blood as the bowels and bladder released with death, and I walked out of the woods and tried to find my way back to something like daylight.
