Patrick Elliott's Blog, page 7
September 23, 2015
In the Beginning - Compensation Plan
Chapter 26
Hahnee did not concern himself with time, the passage of the sun and moon were things for the elders to consider. Despite this, he was well known throughout his tribe for two things. First was his daring as an explorer. He once took his boat all the way to the long island south and east of his homeland and, after mapping the shore, returned to tell his people of it. That trip he made alone. This one he had a crew for.
The second was the spiritual twig. He discovered it in the heart of the lightning tree. A great mahogany that offended one of the spirits so much that they launched fire from the sky, shearing the ancient tree in half and setting it aflame. When the fire died down, Hahnee was the first to brave its location. In the heart of the stump were two pieces of wood, twisted and charred together around a stone. The metal had melted then cooled at the heart of the branches, forming the center of it. To Hahnee the gift from the spirits looked like a man with his arms extended.
There was a storm coming though. Hahnee sensed it, so did the elders. Men would bring this storm. Pale men with one great spirit laying claim to all of their hearts. One great spirit with no earthly form. Men who brought disease and death, who would call Hahnee's trinket a "cross" and try to take it from him. Another thing Hahnee did not concern himself with. He would give up the gift from the spirits, if another needed it more. He would do so gladly, as it meant a great deal to their totem and almost nothing to his.
He wished to find a safe place for his people though. That he did care about. A place they could hide if the storm meant to destroy them when it arrived. So he stood at the head of his boat, with four brave men behind him. He would circle the great waters and return home from the other side. Somewhere along the way he would find a haven.
As they approached the great vortex between worlds his crew grew restless. They did not wish to enter, they told him so. He knew they must though. So they did. As they slipped into the disappearing waves a storm rose around them, a brutal thing that, in seconds, tossed all five men from the boat.
Hahnee slipped beneath the waves with his trinket clutched to his chest. He whispered pleas to the unknown spirit to save him for the kindness he showed to the symbol. That spirit had other plans though. It liked its symbols washed in blood. As the cold crushed down on him and darkness closed on his eyes the cross slid from his fingers. It floated away, towards a different future.________________________________________________________________________________
Nicole blinked away the dream. She knew the story, of course, her father told it to her. It was one of the foundations of the prophecy. Her children stood over her, smiling, and she was terrified. In that moment she knew what the rest of the world would see in them. Her daughter grinned at her, with Chester's meat still on her teeth. Her son did so around a mouthful of ancient mahogany cross. The symbol of the prophecy finding its way home. She cringed away from those smiles, but only for a second.
"Oh, my Lord! You have tested me and I will not fail."
She reached out and plucked the cross from her son's hands. He was not old enough to own it yet. she gave a smile of her own and now it was her children's turn to flinch back.
#shortstory #novel #author #writer #writing
Hahnee did not concern himself with time, the passage of the sun and moon were things for the elders to consider. Despite this, he was well known throughout his tribe for two things. First was his daring as an explorer. He once took his boat all the way to the long island south and east of his homeland and, after mapping the shore, returned to tell his people of it. That trip he made alone. This one he had a crew for.
The second was the spiritual twig. He discovered it in the heart of the lightning tree. A great mahogany that offended one of the spirits so much that they launched fire from the sky, shearing the ancient tree in half and setting it aflame. When the fire died down, Hahnee was the first to brave its location. In the heart of the stump were two pieces of wood, twisted and charred together around a stone. The metal had melted then cooled at the heart of the branches, forming the center of it. To Hahnee the gift from the spirits looked like a man with his arms extended.
There was a storm coming though. Hahnee sensed it, so did the elders. Men would bring this storm. Pale men with one great spirit laying claim to all of their hearts. One great spirit with no earthly form. Men who brought disease and death, who would call Hahnee's trinket a "cross" and try to take it from him. Another thing Hahnee did not concern himself with. He would give up the gift from the spirits, if another needed it more. He would do so gladly, as it meant a great deal to their totem and almost nothing to his.
He wished to find a safe place for his people though. That he did care about. A place they could hide if the storm meant to destroy them when it arrived. So he stood at the head of his boat, with four brave men behind him. He would circle the great waters and return home from the other side. Somewhere along the way he would find a haven.
As they approached the great vortex between worlds his crew grew restless. They did not wish to enter, they told him so. He knew they must though. So they did. As they slipped into the disappearing waves a storm rose around them, a brutal thing that, in seconds, tossed all five men from the boat.
Hahnee slipped beneath the waves with his trinket clutched to his chest. He whispered pleas to the unknown spirit to save him for the kindness he showed to the symbol. That spirit had other plans though. It liked its symbols washed in blood. As the cold crushed down on him and darkness closed on his eyes the cross slid from his fingers. It floated away, towards a different future.________________________________________________________________________________
Nicole blinked away the dream. She knew the story, of course, her father told it to her. It was one of the foundations of the prophecy. Her children stood over her, smiling, and she was terrified. In that moment she knew what the rest of the world would see in them. Her daughter grinned at her, with Chester's meat still on her teeth. Her son did so around a mouthful of ancient mahogany cross. The symbol of the prophecy finding its way home. She cringed away from those smiles, but only for a second.
"Oh, my Lord! You have tested me and I will not fail."
She reached out and plucked the cross from her son's hands. He was not old enough to own it yet. she gave a smile of her own and now it was her children's turn to flinch back.
#shortstory #novel #author #writer #writing
September 22, 2015
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An amazing author with an amazing last name! Check him out. He has a very awesome book coming back out. Show some love.
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September 16, 2015
Reflexion
I swallow the bitter liquid and close my eyes. I wonder if my love has downed her own remedy. Sheets of lightning course through the space between my eyes and their lids. I have finally captured it inside of my body. I inhale one of the last few breaths I will take. The stale smell of stagnant air offends my nose, but there are worse scents. At least it is not the odor of the showers.
The light fades in a pulsing blue flash and I am terrified to open my eyes. I know there is no other world, no paradise of the sheep or punishment of the wicked. Still, for a moment my heart trembles. Now I smell air that moves, it is not trapped but filled with the stink of too many people. Before I look I take stock of my body and the space around me.
I am taller, that is wonderful. I am thicker but not fatter, this is good. My scalp feels colder though, my hair must be thinner. That is less good. It is almost time to open my eyes. First I grip the podium in front of me. I am making a speech then, this is normal. Expectant sheep murmur, not violent approval and agreement. Have I arrived in England? These are not my people. The crowd stinks like mongrels and culture destroyers.
No more time to waste. I feel eyes upon me, they are waiting for my answer, so they must have asked me a question. I open my eyes and things look so different I know I am in either the future or the past. A quick look to the camera reflecting my image and I know it is the future. That is acceptable, I have always adapted quickly. I see in this image that while my hair is thinning it is the right color, and so are my eyes. This trip has turned me into one of the master race I love so much.
The people though. They are sickening; overfed, weak, imperfect. For all of that there is anger there, a willingness to shed blood, the ability to go to war for no reason beyond being disillusioned. They are my people. My first people were no better when I swayed them. The leaders of the sheep, those at the table, look at me expectantly. I cannot ask them to repeat the question. That would be weakness.
I look to my right and see the dark skin of one who should not be allowed in public, much less a debate. I can look no further that way. My head jerks left. Three ugly men and a woman who does not know her place. I look back to the crowd and know what I must say.
"We must keep the Jew from gaining power and destroying our great nation..."
I have more to say but the crowd erupts in applause and shouts. Just like before.
#shortstory #author #tipsylit #writingprompt #author #politicalcommentary #shortstory #socialcommentary #tribute #writer #writing
September 15, 2015
In the Beginning - The Sixth Sign
Part 25, all previous parts are below.
They left Jack in charge of the women. Nicole thought Chester deserved a vacation. Even prophets needed a break every now and again. Chester liked the beach. So she arranged this weekend for the four of them, parents and children. Not the most romantic getaway but they didn't trust Jack that much yet.
As soon as they arrived, Chester insisted on heading to the water. Nicole knew he would, it was still warm enough to swim. She barely convinced him to wait while she checked them in and gave the bags to a bellhop. Their clothes would be waiting when they reached in the room later.
Chester's impatience to reach the surf left Nicole carrying their infant son and holding the hand of their daughter as they followed the man of the house to the sand. Nicole had forgotten the sign. With only two left and things proceeding so well her mind refused it on instinct. She had a moment to wonder, was this how the unbelievers felt when confronted with the harsh reality that would bring paradise? If so she could pity them but not understand.
The waves boiled with crabs, king crab that had no place in this particular section of the planet. Nicole slipped to her knees with tears sliding down her cheeks. Her son wriggled free and began to crawl towards the water. Her daughter knew her job as an older sister. Until the wars came she was to protect her little brother. Nicole simply looked upon the water. The kind of water Jesus could walk on without a miracle. With more crabs than spray it looked solid. They skittered over each other and rolled in just like a wave of pinchers and shells.
The smell of salt was the most tangible thing on that beach as everything else grew surreal. Chester ran towards the waves, the crustaceans. He stripped his clothes as he did. With every inch of skin exposed he morphed further into a crab. Their children toddled and crawled after him, but as he shrunk his speed lessened and theirs did not. They quickly gained on him.
"No!" It was all Nicole could think to scream. She knew the outcome in advance though. That was the disadvantage to prophecy.
Their son caught up to the Chester crab. He grabbed it by the claws. Instinctively the crab snapped and pinched at its son. The boy cried out in pain and gripped tighter, pulling until those claws ripped free with a sound too like rending flesh. The boy lifted the crab, not yet done with his angry vengeance. He brought it's back down on a hard rock, shattering its body and spreading the meat and life across the sand.
Meat that the daughter picked up happily. She raised it to her lips and tasted the transformed flesh of the father, of her first god. She declared through a smile too young to be sadistic but with all the signs of such, "Daddy nummy!"
Nicole fainted.
#shortstory #novel #author #writing #writer
They left Jack in charge of the women. Nicole thought Chester deserved a vacation. Even prophets needed a break every now and again. Chester liked the beach. So she arranged this weekend for the four of them, parents and children. Not the most romantic getaway but they didn't trust Jack that much yet.
As soon as they arrived, Chester insisted on heading to the water. Nicole knew he would, it was still warm enough to swim. She barely convinced him to wait while she checked them in and gave the bags to a bellhop. Their clothes would be waiting when they reached in the room later.
Chester's impatience to reach the surf left Nicole carrying their infant son and holding the hand of their daughter as they followed the man of the house to the sand. Nicole had forgotten the sign. With only two left and things proceeding so well her mind refused it on instinct. She had a moment to wonder, was this how the unbelievers felt when confronted with the harsh reality that would bring paradise? If so she could pity them but not understand.
The waves boiled with crabs, king crab that had no place in this particular section of the planet. Nicole slipped to her knees with tears sliding down her cheeks. Her son wriggled free and began to crawl towards the water. Her daughter knew her job as an older sister. Until the wars came she was to protect her little brother. Nicole simply looked upon the water. The kind of water Jesus could walk on without a miracle. With more crabs than spray it looked solid. They skittered over each other and rolled in just like a wave of pinchers and shells.
The smell of salt was the most tangible thing on that beach as everything else grew surreal. Chester ran towards the waves, the crustaceans. He stripped his clothes as he did. With every inch of skin exposed he morphed further into a crab. Their children toddled and crawled after him, but as he shrunk his speed lessened and theirs did not. They quickly gained on him.
"No!" It was all Nicole could think to scream. She knew the outcome in advance though. That was the disadvantage to prophecy.
Their son caught up to the Chester crab. He grabbed it by the claws. Instinctively the crab snapped and pinched at its son. The boy cried out in pain and gripped tighter, pulling until those claws ripped free with a sound too like rending flesh. The boy lifted the crab, not yet done with his angry vengeance. He brought it's back down on a hard rock, shattering its body and spreading the meat and life across the sand.
Meat that the daughter picked up happily. She raised it to her lips and tasted the transformed flesh of the father, of her first god. She declared through a smile too young to be sadistic but with all the signs of such, "Daddy nummy!"
Nicole fainted.
#shortstory #novel #author #writing #writer
September 8, 2015
In the Beginning - Amazing Patience
Chapter 24
Jack was growing used to waking up in a strange place, but not this one. Why was the bed so firm? Nicole and Chester’s guest bed wasn’t as comfortable as the one at home but it didn’t normally feel like stone. Jack reached down and ran his hand over the hard, cold, stone mattress. It was colder than normal too, maybe that was causing the discomfort? He rolled slightly then blinked. Stone? That wasn’t right.
Jack sat up on the stone… altar was the best word her could think of. The kind of silence that can only echo off stone in small rooms that formed larger structures greeted his ears. The stale scent of subterranean moss and distant, stagnant water filled his nose. The dim light half filling the chamber could be emanating from that moss, reflecting from the surface all the way down, for all Jack knew. He saw no other possible source.
Jack was not surprised when his eyes adjusted quickly, or that he woke almost instantly. His shock came from knowing this was not a dream, that someone moved him from the bed to this dais without waking him. He had always been a light sleeper. His eyes slid up to the only real plants in the cave, the ivy hanging from the ceiling. The sign hung by the vines, as if they were grown not only into the hooks but exclusively for that purpose.
You have one hour. Don’t touch the walls.
Jack meditated on the words. Did they know? Had they somehow figured out that he warned the father? If so the walls would be covered with a poison. If not it was likely just a hallucinogen, something to cause a spirit vision. These nouveau Christians did love to mix the pagan and shamanistic into their little games. Don’t touch the walls? He could give them better than that.
He crossed his legs and sat still, watching the walls. He did not move when colors swirled over the stone. He refused to move when blood flowed from the crevices. He did not even twitch when he heard the daughter crying out for uncle Jack to help her. He did laugh when he heard the roar of a bull he assumed was meant to sound like a minotaur.
He endured an hour of petty tortures and childish mind games. He tensed as light bloomed down a narrow tunnel. The soft click of heels in a place they did not belong was more ominous than any sound before it. The glow grew stronger, closer as the footfalls began to echo off rocks, like impending doom. Finally the shadows parted to reveal Nicole peering at him with a stern look.
“You passed, detective, it is time for breakfast. Follow me please.”
Jack wondered how long he could play this game. The father was safe, but if Jack had to put up with too much more of this he might start shooting his enemies. He understood that was not how this story was supposed to end. One did not make martyrs of zealots, not without consequences.
#shortstory #novel #author #writer #writing
Jack was growing used to waking up in a strange place, but not this one. Why was the bed so firm? Nicole and Chester’s guest bed wasn’t as comfortable as the one at home but it didn’t normally feel like stone. Jack reached down and ran his hand over the hard, cold, stone mattress. It was colder than normal too, maybe that was causing the discomfort? He rolled slightly then blinked. Stone? That wasn’t right.
Jack sat up on the stone… altar was the best word her could think of. The kind of silence that can only echo off stone in small rooms that formed larger structures greeted his ears. The stale scent of subterranean moss and distant, stagnant water filled his nose. The dim light half filling the chamber could be emanating from that moss, reflecting from the surface all the way down, for all Jack knew. He saw no other possible source.
Jack was not surprised when his eyes adjusted quickly, or that he woke almost instantly. His shock came from knowing this was not a dream, that someone moved him from the bed to this dais without waking him. He had always been a light sleeper. His eyes slid up to the only real plants in the cave, the ivy hanging from the ceiling. The sign hung by the vines, as if they were grown not only into the hooks but exclusively for that purpose.
You have one hour. Don’t touch the walls.
Jack meditated on the words. Did they know? Had they somehow figured out that he warned the father? If so the walls would be covered with a poison. If not it was likely just a hallucinogen, something to cause a spirit vision. These nouveau Christians did love to mix the pagan and shamanistic into their little games. Don’t touch the walls? He could give them better than that.
He crossed his legs and sat still, watching the walls. He did not move when colors swirled over the stone. He refused to move when blood flowed from the crevices. He did not even twitch when he heard the daughter crying out for uncle Jack to help her. He did laugh when he heard the roar of a bull he assumed was meant to sound like a minotaur.
He endured an hour of petty tortures and childish mind games. He tensed as light bloomed down a narrow tunnel. The soft click of heels in a place they did not belong was more ominous than any sound before it. The glow grew stronger, closer as the footfalls began to echo off rocks, like impending doom. Finally the shadows parted to reveal Nicole peering at him with a stern look.
“You passed, detective, it is time for breakfast. Follow me please.”
Jack wondered how long he could play this game. The father was safe, but if Jack had to put up with too much more of this he might start shooting his enemies. He understood that was not how this story was supposed to end. One did not make martyrs of zealots, not without consequences.
#shortstory #novel #author #writer #writing
September 1, 2015
In the Beginning - Walking with Jesus
This is part 23.
Father O’Reilly plodded along a deserted, dirt road outside town. Prayer held no solace recently. In the middle of a modern holy war talking to God was a solitary pursuit. God didn’t answer. Except in the symbolic and internal ways he always had. O’Reilly realized how used to company he had grown. Even if said companionship was intermittent.
Father O’Reilly missed Jack. He longed for that other voice telling him they fought the good fight. He knew he still was, but confirmation helped. He wasn’t sure if Jack was still fighting at all. Everything would be easier if the priest knew the detective was alive. It would even be easier if he knew for sure that Jack was dead.
It was a quirk of his profession that Father O’Reilly never called the police station. He trusted in providence to provide the answer. His eyes and heart would tell him the truth. Nothing else could be trusted. They might have influence over everything else.
His heart knew Jack was alive. His heart knew he was lonely. So he walked alone in the middle of nowhere. He remembered a lesson from seminary though. Not an official catechism, something an old Bishop said. When you walk with Jesus you are never alone. So Father O’Reilly walked in the woods with Jesus, asking for a miracle.
It came in the form of an abandoned amusement park. Father O’Reilly looked at this offering in the middle of his own, personal desert. Moss grew on steel, saplings threaded up through floorboards on most of the rides. What was it doing here?
O’Reilly felt a phantom hand pushing him forward, there was something there for him. As he approached the lights came on, sputtering in an attempt to die permanently. Jaunty carnival music spun up, piped in through rusty tubes that distorted the tinny sounds of childhood joy. Phantasmal but no less real the scents of cold buttered popcorn, mildew ridden hotdogs, and mold infused cotton candy wafted to his nose.
O’Reilly walked on. Why was the carousel the only ride without plants growth? He made his way to that as his own personal Jesus whispered in the center of his head. ‘Because it was always your favorite.’ True, but he must be very lonely indeed if he was so far gone he was literally hearing the voice of God. Only Archbishops and above had that privilege.
Stepping onto the carousel he walked to the pure black Arabian, also his favorite. On the saddle sat a small square of paper. A note, one the priest knew came from Jack. He lifted it and read. His heart fell, less sure about his world and his fight than ever. Was he being turned on? The simple script read…
Father,
Sometimes faith and the fight require sacrifices. I don’t want you to be mine. Keep your head down and stay hidden. Wait until you hear from me again to take up the battle again.
Your Friend
#shortstory #novel #author #writer #writing
Father O’Reilly plodded along a deserted, dirt road outside town. Prayer held no solace recently. In the middle of a modern holy war talking to God was a solitary pursuit. God didn’t answer. Except in the symbolic and internal ways he always had. O’Reilly realized how used to company he had grown. Even if said companionship was intermittent.
Father O’Reilly missed Jack. He longed for that other voice telling him they fought the good fight. He knew he still was, but confirmation helped. He wasn’t sure if Jack was still fighting at all. Everything would be easier if the priest knew the detective was alive. It would even be easier if he knew for sure that Jack was dead.
It was a quirk of his profession that Father O’Reilly never called the police station. He trusted in providence to provide the answer. His eyes and heart would tell him the truth. Nothing else could be trusted. They might have influence over everything else.
His heart knew Jack was alive. His heart knew he was lonely. So he walked alone in the middle of nowhere. He remembered a lesson from seminary though. Not an official catechism, something an old Bishop said. When you walk with Jesus you are never alone. So Father O’Reilly walked in the woods with Jesus, asking for a miracle.
It came in the form of an abandoned amusement park. Father O’Reilly looked at this offering in the middle of his own, personal desert. Moss grew on steel, saplings threaded up through floorboards on most of the rides. What was it doing here?
O’Reilly felt a phantom hand pushing him forward, there was something there for him. As he approached the lights came on, sputtering in an attempt to die permanently. Jaunty carnival music spun up, piped in through rusty tubes that distorted the tinny sounds of childhood joy. Phantasmal but no less real the scents of cold buttered popcorn, mildew ridden hotdogs, and mold infused cotton candy wafted to his nose.
O’Reilly walked on. Why was the carousel the only ride without plants growth? He made his way to that as his own personal Jesus whispered in the center of his head. ‘Because it was always your favorite.’ True, but he must be very lonely indeed if he was so far gone he was literally hearing the voice of God. Only Archbishops and above had that privilege.
Stepping onto the carousel he walked to the pure black Arabian, also his favorite. On the saddle sat a small square of paper. A note, one the priest knew came from Jack. He lifted it and read. His heart fell, less sure about his world and his fight than ever. Was he being turned on? The simple script read…
Father,
Sometimes faith and the fight require sacrifices. I don’t want you to be mine. Keep your head down and stay hidden. Wait until you hear from me again to take up the battle again.
Your Friend
#shortstory #novel #author #writer #writing
August 25, 2015
In the Beginning - The False Sign
Part 22. All previous parts are below, past the recent self promotion.
Chester stood across the street from the grocery store. Jack and Nicole were back at the house, playing with the kids. Dinner had not been a distraction, entirely, but it worked well as such. While Jack was gruffly learning about the prophecy and why it was important, Chester had work to do. He worried about leaving Jack with his children but Nicole could protect them, and half the women were there to back her up.
The other half were here, with Chester. Most of these women had experience on farms or in the circus. That was good, because getting cows to ride bicycles was not an easy task. Chester was sure he would have failed at it. Part of that came from how silly he found the idea though. He still felt that way as he looked at a scene that belonged in one of his aunt Madge’s kitschy knick-knack display cases. Cows on bikes paraded in the parking lot and through the street. Cows with umbrellas, cows with guns, cows with digital cameras, and of course cows on cell phones. The display stopped traffic.
The ones carrying objects were some of the women in costumes, pedaling serenely along. The real cows lowed their annoyance but managed to stay up and keep their own bicycles moving slowly, thanks to the leashes, sharp sticks, whips and cattle prods of the women on foot.
Jack sighed and raised the binoculars to watch the old man exit the store. Stunned, the man dropped his bags. Glass shattered, liquid stained the paper to flow over the asphalt. Jack could smell the distinct odor of spilt milk on a hot day from where he was. The cows mooed louder at the desecration of their lifeblood.
The old man whipped his head around frantically. At first he sought confirmation of the insanity, someone else understanding how wrong this all was. Then the shock overwhelmed him and he was looking for help. His right hand rose to his chest, clutching the left breast. He choked out sounds unheard over the laughter of the crowd, and of course the cows. The man fell to his knees, then to his face atop the broken glass. Chester thought if the man hadn’t died instantly that would surely hurt.
Nobody else took notice. In this day of flash mobs, look at me, instant gratification and viral videos people didn’t find it strange at all. They pulled out their phones, hoping to get the best capture for YouTube. Only a small child noticed the heart attack. When she said, “Mommy, I think that man needs helps,” her mother shushed her, told her to watch the funny.
This was not a sign of what was coming. To test the waters the servants created it. Sure, it would make the paper but as a funny piece. This is what it came to. This is what people accepted. Chester felt surer than ever that Nicole was right. It was time for the world to be reborn from the ashes.
#shortstory #novel #author #writer #writing
Chester stood across the street from the grocery store. Jack and Nicole were back at the house, playing with the kids. Dinner had not been a distraction, entirely, but it worked well as such. While Jack was gruffly learning about the prophecy and why it was important, Chester had work to do. He worried about leaving Jack with his children but Nicole could protect them, and half the women were there to back her up.
The other half were here, with Chester. Most of these women had experience on farms or in the circus. That was good, because getting cows to ride bicycles was not an easy task. Chester was sure he would have failed at it. Part of that came from how silly he found the idea though. He still felt that way as he looked at a scene that belonged in one of his aunt Madge’s kitschy knick-knack display cases. Cows on bikes paraded in the parking lot and through the street. Cows with umbrellas, cows with guns, cows with digital cameras, and of course cows on cell phones. The display stopped traffic.
The ones carrying objects were some of the women in costumes, pedaling serenely along. The real cows lowed their annoyance but managed to stay up and keep their own bicycles moving slowly, thanks to the leashes, sharp sticks, whips and cattle prods of the women on foot.
Jack sighed and raised the binoculars to watch the old man exit the store. Stunned, the man dropped his bags. Glass shattered, liquid stained the paper to flow over the asphalt. Jack could smell the distinct odor of spilt milk on a hot day from where he was. The cows mooed louder at the desecration of their lifeblood.
The old man whipped his head around frantically. At first he sought confirmation of the insanity, someone else understanding how wrong this all was. Then the shock overwhelmed him and he was looking for help. His right hand rose to his chest, clutching the left breast. He choked out sounds unheard over the laughter of the crowd, and of course the cows. The man fell to his knees, then to his face atop the broken glass. Chester thought if the man hadn’t died instantly that would surely hurt.
Nobody else took notice. In this day of flash mobs, look at me, instant gratification and viral videos people didn’t find it strange at all. They pulled out their phones, hoping to get the best capture for YouTube. Only a small child noticed the heart attack. When she said, “Mommy, I think that man needs helps,” her mother shushed her, told her to watch the funny.
This was not a sign of what was coming. To test the waters the servants created it. Sure, it would make the paper but as a funny piece. This is what it came to. This is what people accepted. Chester felt surer than ever that Nicole was right. It was time for the world to be reborn from the ashes.
#shortstory #novel #author #writer #writing
Now, Presented for the Safety of the Public
Imagine the future, during the impending zombie apocalypse. You are, of course, fighting on the side of humanity. You have risen in the ranks and are leading a small but scrappy band of resistance fighters. For time frame we must qualify, this is before humanities semi-surprising defeat, but after the completely expected point where I betrayed humanity and joined with the zombie horde.As twilight descends you are facing me and my throng of necromantic minions across a bloody, smokey field of battle. Standing next to you is your second in command, let's call him John because names are hard and this is, after all, just an advertisement. No use spending brain power on the secondary characters.As we stare at each other and work up our bloodlust you raise your voice and shout. "Patrick... you sick bastard! I read your book!" With the education system being what it is we will ignore for now whether or not you know that you're plagiarizing Patton. John, you remember John? Not to be outdone, raises his own voice and screams. "Me too, and I paid full price!"So the battle ensues, and inevitably my zombies overrun you. All of your soldiers (who did not buy Old Odd Ends) are dead. You and John lay wounded in the dirt. You can survive if we leave you alone, and the zombies are milling but not attacking. You hear the squelch of my boots as I approach through the mud caused by the death of your followers. You look into my eyes and gasp out..."I... even left... a review... on... Amazon!"I smile at you, it's an evil thing, but it's something. I turn. Yes! I am going to let you live! I look at your old friend John and you hear my soulless voice slither through the deepening night. "Did you review it?" The bottom drops out of your stomach. You know the answer to that and you're about to be alone on this field.We all know you have until April 21st, 2019 (the day astrologically determined as the one when patient zero has turned enough people into zombies for the war to be inevitable) to avoid being one of those silly soldiers. You even have that long to avoid part of John's fate.However!You only have the rest of today to avoid paying for the book like he did. Free through today, full price tomorrow. hyperurl.co/9a1fe9Go get it now!
#novel #shamelessselfpromotion
#novel #shamelessselfpromotion
August 22, 2015
Why I Published on Kobo
So, I recently put out my two newest books on Kobo. This is in part an experiment with other sales channels but I added Kobo in. I did this in spite of the fact that I don't really expect to see any sales on this platform. So why did I do it?
Because Kobo is the reader most independent stores use. I like indies in general, and even more when it comes to the stores. I want them to be around for a long time. I like the classic feel along with the innovation it takes just for these guys to stay afloat. So I will do what I can to support them. If you have a Kobo and want to read the two books of shorts I would say, please do it. There is a handy link here where you can find them, they are the first two that show up. It's a search though so it might change at some point.Basically, prove me wrong. Show me that you love the independent book stores as much as I do and get them and me some money. I will happily eat these words if you do.
https://store.kobobooks.com/search?Qu...
So that's it. I put it up there because I love these guys and want to see them thrive. I don't expect to see much from it. Sometimes you just have to take that stance that supports the things you are passionate about though. So I did.
Not that I dislike Barnes & Noble, they just don't need my help. They'll be fine no matter what I do. Honestly, the indies don't need my help either, I'm not that arrogant... yet, but they deserve it. If you're a huge Barnes & Noble fan you can find my books there too. However, due to a technical glitch I can't provide you a link just yet. You can search for Old Odd Ends and get it in paperback there. You can search for Half Flashed and Too Dark for Television and find them on the Nook, and eventually in paperback as well. If you search for my name you will only find Half Flashed and Too Dark for Television currently only shows the names of the artists for the cover. Hopefully that will be fixed soon. Of course there is Amazon but those links are up on the right. They are also up on Googleplay, you can just search for the titles on your phone or tablet, Half Flashed and Too Dark for Television only on Google currently.
Basically, you have options, and I like that. I'm all about your freedom and your choices. If you're completely platform agnostic though? Consider getting books on the Kobo, both mine and those of other authors when available. These guys are doing it right. I always recommend going with the physical copy over everything else. There will always be something special about that experience. If you're using a reader though? You know the one I'm championing for here.
If you really want to support the independents, both the stores and the authors, here's another idea. Go into your local book store. Tell them you want a book by a certain author (let's say Old Odd Ends, Half Flashed, or Too Dark for Television by Patrick Elliott) or all of the works by said author at once. (Okay, you can choose a different author, but for the purposes of this example let's stick with me.) They can order them for you. It's going to take a couple of days but they can do it. They will do it. You may have to tell them it's done on CreateSpace because there are reasons they don't stock but only special order these books unless they know they are going to sell. They can and will provide though. Then everyone gets money and everyone wins. Especially you, because you have some bright, shiny, new books to put on your shelf. You remember that right? It's the thing that is currently housing all of your kids' video games.
Long story short? Support the little guys because they are awesome and need to feed their families. Buy books on the Kobo or in your local mom and pop book store. Buy mine, buy other peoples, buy all of them. Support these guys because they deserve it and I did. I'm awesome, you know you want to be like me.
#commentary #aboutme #author #indies #kobo #nook #novel #shortstory #shamelessselfpromotion #writer #writing
Because Kobo is the reader most independent stores use. I like indies in general, and even more when it comes to the stores. I want them to be around for a long time. I like the classic feel along with the innovation it takes just for these guys to stay afloat. So I will do what I can to support them. If you have a Kobo and want to read the two books of shorts I would say, please do it. There is a handy link here where you can find them, they are the first two that show up. It's a search though so it might change at some point.Basically, prove me wrong. Show me that you love the independent book stores as much as I do and get them and me some money. I will happily eat these words if you do.
https://store.kobobooks.com/search?Qu...
So that's it. I put it up there because I love these guys and want to see them thrive. I don't expect to see much from it. Sometimes you just have to take that stance that supports the things you are passionate about though. So I did.
Not that I dislike Barnes & Noble, they just don't need my help. They'll be fine no matter what I do. Honestly, the indies don't need my help either, I'm not that arrogant... yet, but they deserve it. If you're a huge Barnes & Noble fan you can find my books there too. However, due to a technical glitch I can't provide you a link just yet. You can search for Old Odd Ends and get it in paperback there. You can search for Half Flashed and Too Dark for Television and find them on the Nook, and eventually in paperback as well. If you search for my name you will only find Half Flashed and Too Dark for Television currently only shows the names of the artists for the cover. Hopefully that will be fixed soon. Of course there is Amazon but those links are up on the right. They are also up on Googleplay, you can just search for the titles on your phone or tablet, Half Flashed and Too Dark for Television only on Google currently.
Basically, you have options, and I like that. I'm all about your freedom and your choices. If you're completely platform agnostic though? Consider getting books on the Kobo, both mine and those of other authors when available. These guys are doing it right. I always recommend going with the physical copy over everything else. There will always be something special about that experience. If you're using a reader though? You know the one I'm championing for here.
If you really want to support the independents, both the stores and the authors, here's another idea. Go into your local book store. Tell them you want a book by a certain author (let's say Old Odd Ends, Half Flashed, or Too Dark for Television by Patrick Elliott) or all of the works by said author at once. (Okay, you can choose a different author, but for the purposes of this example let's stick with me.) They can order them for you. It's going to take a couple of days but they can do it. They will do it. You may have to tell them it's done on CreateSpace because there are reasons they don't stock but only special order these books unless they know they are going to sell. They can and will provide though. Then everyone gets money and everyone wins. Especially you, because you have some bright, shiny, new books to put on your shelf. You remember that right? It's the thing that is currently housing all of your kids' video games.
Long story short? Support the little guys because they are awesome and need to feed their families. Buy books on the Kobo or in your local mom and pop book store. Buy mine, buy other peoples, buy all of them. Support these guys because they deserve it and I did. I'm awesome, you know you want to be like me.
#commentary #aboutme #author #indies #kobo #nook #novel #shortstory #shamelessselfpromotion #writer #writing
August 21, 2015
Kindle Madness
Old Odd Ends is currently on a free promotion on Amazon. Go here and and you can get it for free - http://www.amazon.com/Old-Odd-Ends-Pa...
For the physical copy or to purchase electronic, or physicals of the two new books go here - http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00NCV8UVK
Some other countries have their own links, but I'm lazy, for those, look on the right side of the page.
Oh yeah! And welcome Japan to the links, since there is now an Amazon Author Central page for you guys. It's not the free one but if you read English, need some shorts for your commute, and have run out of light novels... check out Half Flashed and Too Dark for Television.
#shamelessselfpromotion #kindle #free #somethingfornothing #japan
For the physical copy or to purchase electronic, or physicals of the two new books go here - http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00NCV8UVK
Some other countries have their own links, but I'm lazy, for those, look on the right side of the page.
Oh yeah! And welcome Japan to the links, since there is now an Amazon Author Central page for you guys. It's not the free one but if you read English, need some shorts for your commute, and have run out of light novels... check out Half Flashed and Too Dark for Television.
#shamelessselfpromotion #kindle #free #somethingfornothing #japan
