R.D. Murray's Blog
January 9, 2022
I almost lost my life, after two years I'm back.
Thanks for continuing to be my friend on here, I have been off Goodreads for two years to recover. I am finally back on, I was run over by a reckless driver and I almost lost my life in the process. I was in a wheel chair for a year and Im beginning to walk with pain but I can walk now, I can't work to support my 4 kids and my wife like I use to anymore so I decided to continue to push my ebooks to support them. I brought out an ebook right before my accident occurred. I decided to bring it back out in hopes for any sales and reviews. It would help me and my family greatly if you could its only 5.99 and my book is called Help Me Kill My Husband- My second book is free at the time called My Dead Blue Caterpillar... any little bit can help.
Also since I been off any good books out you could recommend.
https://www.amazon.com/Help.../dp/B08......
Also since I been off any good books out you could recommend.
https://www.amazon.com/Help.../dp/B08......
March 21, 2020
Please Join my cats book review page
I was run over by a car last year and I nearly died, since then I been recovering and I decided to make a book review page on Instagram for my cat thrilla. I would love for you to join it on Instagram. It’s a cat and his book reviews
https://www.instagram.com/thrillathe6...
https://www.instagram.com/thrillathe6...
January 25, 2020
Chapter One from my new book Help Me Kill My Husband. Free Today Download.
Chapter One
It’s 2:46 a.m.
I cough back on my saliva, choking, bracing, a short panic.
I rise up in my bed without a thought, just a motion. A reaction of sorts!
A scuffling chatter, creaks from the baseboards below.
The air in our bedroom is thick and heavy.
I think I hear a noise coming from downstairs. No! I know I hear a noise coming from downstairs.
“Dale!”
I try calling out for my husband, but I forget he is not in Syracuse right now. He’s a research development director and half the time he is away on business. There are even times I think he is at home when he is not and there are times I feel he isn’t here when he is. We have grown into having this distant relationship, so to speak, but at this moment I’d rather have him here in the house at least.
A dish pierces the floor, shattering against the hard wood, causing me to refocus my attention. All I can think of is the china. Oh no, not the fine china. I know it’s shallow, but it was a gift from Dale’s late grandfather. A wedding gift, at that.
Reality hits me again. I hop out of bed, and snatch my robe, wrapping it around my frigid body. I yank the straps tightly then tiptoe toward the bedroom door.
Maybe I should close the door, hide and call 911, but then again, I left my cell phone on the kitchen counter last night somewhere in the midst of that old seventies music and a half bottle of chardonnay. Besides, I’m not the hiding type. I will not just sit back coy, like the damsel in distress needing a rescue or something.
No, that’s not me. That’s not Dani. It’s not who I am, or how I was raised.
I snatch the wooden baseball bat Dale keeps wedged behind the bedroom door. He hates guns, so he says the bat is there just for protection. I squeeze the handle tightly. The sweat on my palms merge with the wood. I try to ignore the feeling and slowly open the door with the tips of my toes of my bare right foot.
The hallway is as cold and creepy as a cemetery at night, and the house is pitch-black dark. That is, except the over glare of a couple of flashlights from below the stairs, bouncing off the ceiling like those pen lights cats all go crazy over.
How many of them are there? Do they even know someone’s home?
I creep toward the stairs. Delicately, soundless, careful.
The lights disappear. I glance over the banister. There’s nothing, not a peep, not a sound. Where did they go?
I make my way down the stairs; light creaks from my steps pierce the cool air.
Slow, steady, breathless.
As I descend, I raise the bat eye level, squeezing it as tightly as I can, despite the slippery, oily sweat gushing from my hands.
When I reach the bottom step, a dim light flicks on from the kitchen area. I cautiously peer to the left, and then over to my right, as if I were crossing the street during rush-hour traffic.
Wait! I just saw a figure pass the kitchen. Enough to make out dark clothes, black boots, tattoos on his neck.
I follow, edging closer and closer, my heart racing. I brace myself, pulling the sweat-drenched bat back, anxious to swing.
There he is! He’s calmly observing my kitchen as if he were shopping for groceries in a supermarket. Broad build, husky, and a bit stocky. He has on a mask covering eighty percent of his face.
I advance toward him, almost as if I am floating. I cannot feel my feet moving. I just know I am closing the distance between us.
I stand directly behind him, my breath damn near on his neck.
He turns. I flinch, and he gasps.
I try to swing, but I am too close. Almost instantly, he grabs the bat, but I don’t let go.
Shit! He’s way too strong.
Dani, how did you get into this mess?
He flings the bat and me across the kitchen counter, knocking down utensils, the half bottle of wine, as well as my cell phone. I slam hard against the kitchen floor, banging the base of my head. The baseball bat lands on the floor beside me.
Broken pieces of china now mix with the alcohol and glass shards from the bottle of chardonnay. The phone battery skips out of the back of my phone.
He jumps over the counter, his hands on the bat, and falls on top of me, pressing the wooden handle against my throat, restricting my airway.
“Fucking bitch,” he growls.
I feel myself quickly losing air. A single tear falls from my right eye.
My one hand is locked around his wrist, the other against the broken glass on the floor. Oh, shit! How am I going to get out of this? This is all happening so fast.
Blood drips from a deep cut on my hand. My throat closes. I’m slowly fading in and out.
What the hell was I thinking? Stupid move, Dani, stupid move.
My phone is laying to the left of me, the battery two feet away, but the back cover of the phone is wedged in between the bottom of the stove and the floor.
This sucks. I might die here. The thought enrages me. I struggle to grasp the idea.
From the corner of my eye, off to the right I see my big spoon – the type you stir chili with – and my long kitchen knife. They accompany each other side by side among the spilled utensils scattered across the floor.
I try desperately to reach them, and, for a moment, I feel hopeful. I feel like God is giving me a hand.
Among the agony, and the pain, I have a chance to fight. I stretch my arm so far it feels out of socket. This is my last shot, or I will die here on my own kitchen floor.
Come on, come on! I have to do something, anything.
Things are going black, the room’s view fuzzy and dull; like the worst hangover.
My bloody fingers are prickling the base of the knife. I force an outstretched arm as far as I can, still barely grabbing its slender frame with the tips of my fingers.
I slam the blade all the way into the guy’s right side. The sounds of flesh being sliced through echo in my ears. Once! Twice! Three times! I drop the weapon, the entire blade and handle covered in blood.
I lay clinging to the floor, coughing feverishly.
He falls to the floor. The bat slowly rolls off my neck and to the floor on the opposite side. His partner rushes in and just stands at the kitchen doorway. He slumps his shoulders in disappointment. In his one hand, there is a gun half raised.
This is it. I won’t be able to get away from this in one piece. Sealed fate, I feel.
Wait! Maybe this is a dream; it sure as hell feels like one. I try desperately to convince myself it is, but I know it’s not.
He lowers the gun. Then for some strange reason he takes off his mask. His appearance is average looking; goatee, fair skin, a bit of a receding hairline.
Why the fuck did he do that? I mean, I can identify him, but then again, what are the chances he’ll let me live, especially now that he’s shown me his face?
He looks at me with sadness, almost as if he knows me, needs me, feels for me. I can’t explain it. It’s just really strange. The guy is in a slight bit of a daze and he exhales deeply.
Blood spewing from his partner engulfs half of the kitchen floor, but he doesn’t appear to even care about him. He’s in a deep trance; bewildered, stuck, confused.
After a few moments, he tucks the gun into his pants, and with a lost expression on his face he just walks away.
What was that? Why am I still alive? Why didn’t he kill me?
Sirens sound; cop cars from a distance, yet close. Who could have called the cops? It probably isn’t for me, or maybe our nosey neighbors have figured something out and called for help. They are so good for that, but almost a little too late. In fact, they are much too late tonight.
I drop my head slightly on the solid kitchen floor opposite the blood. I’m puzzled but relieved he didn’t shoot me. The man next to me is cold and lifeless. He’s not so lucky. The blood keeps flowing from his open wounds. It just won’t stop. I never in my thirty-two years of life on this earth, have seen this much blood.
It’s 2:46 a.m.
I cough back on my saliva, choking, bracing, a short panic.
I rise up in my bed without a thought, just a motion. A reaction of sorts!
A scuffling chatter, creaks from the baseboards below.
The air in our bedroom is thick and heavy.
I think I hear a noise coming from downstairs. No! I know I hear a noise coming from downstairs.
“Dale!”
I try calling out for my husband, but I forget he is not in Syracuse right now. He’s a research development director and half the time he is away on business. There are even times I think he is at home when he is not and there are times I feel he isn’t here when he is. We have grown into having this distant relationship, so to speak, but at this moment I’d rather have him here in the house at least.
A dish pierces the floor, shattering against the hard wood, causing me to refocus my attention. All I can think of is the china. Oh no, not the fine china. I know it’s shallow, but it was a gift from Dale’s late grandfather. A wedding gift, at that.
Reality hits me again. I hop out of bed, and snatch my robe, wrapping it around my frigid body. I yank the straps tightly then tiptoe toward the bedroom door.
Maybe I should close the door, hide and call 911, but then again, I left my cell phone on the kitchen counter last night somewhere in the midst of that old seventies music and a half bottle of chardonnay. Besides, I’m not the hiding type. I will not just sit back coy, like the damsel in distress needing a rescue or something.
No, that’s not me. That’s not Dani. It’s not who I am, or how I was raised.
I snatch the wooden baseball bat Dale keeps wedged behind the bedroom door. He hates guns, so he says the bat is there just for protection. I squeeze the handle tightly. The sweat on my palms merge with the wood. I try to ignore the feeling and slowly open the door with the tips of my toes of my bare right foot.
The hallway is as cold and creepy as a cemetery at night, and the house is pitch-black dark. That is, except the over glare of a couple of flashlights from below the stairs, bouncing off the ceiling like those pen lights cats all go crazy over.
How many of them are there? Do they even know someone’s home?
I creep toward the stairs. Delicately, soundless, careful.
The lights disappear. I glance over the banister. There’s nothing, not a peep, not a sound. Where did they go?
I make my way down the stairs; light creaks from my steps pierce the cool air.
Slow, steady, breathless.
As I descend, I raise the bat eye level, squeezing it as tightly as I can, despite the slippery, oily sweat gushing from my hands.
When I reach the bottom step, a dim light flicks on from the kitchen area. I cautiously peer to the left, and then over to my right, as if I were crossing the street during rush-hour traffic.
Wait! I just saw a figure pass the kitchen. Enough to make out dark clothes, black boots, tattoos on his neck.
I follow, edging closer and closer, my heart racing. I brace myself, pulling the sweat-drenched bat back, anxious to swing.
There he is! He’s calmly observing my kitchen as if he were shopping for groceries in a supermarket. Broad build, husky, and a bit stocky. He has on a mask covering eighty percent of his face.
I advance toward him, almost as if I am floating. I cannot feel my feet moving. I just know I am closing the distance between us.
I stand directly behind him, my breath damn near on his neck.
He turns. I flinch, and he gasps.
I try to swing, but I am too close. Almost instantly, he grabs the bat, but I don’t let go.
Shit! He’s way too strong.
Dani, how did you get into this mess?
He flings the bat and me across the kitchen counter, knocking down utensils, the half bottle of wine, as well as my cell phone. I slam hard against the kitchen floor, banging the base of my head. The baseball bat lands on the floor beside me.
Broken pieces of china now mix with the alcohol and glass shards from the bottle of chardonnay. The phone battery skips out of the back of my phone.
He jumps over the counter, his hands on the bat, and falls on top of me, pressing the wooden handle against my throat, restricting my airway.
“Fucking bitch,” he growls.
I feel myself quickly losing air. A single tear falls from my right eye.
My one hand is locked around his wrist, the other against the broken glass on the floor. Oh, shit! How am I going to get out of this? This is all happening so fast.
Blood drips from a deep cut on my hand. My throat closes. I’m slowly fading in and out.
What the hell was I thinking? Stupid move, Dani, stupid move.
My phone is laying to the left of me, the battery two feet away, but the back cover of the phone is wedged in between the bottom of the stove and the floor.
This sucks. I might die here. The thought enrages me. I struggle to grasp the idea.
From the corner of my eye, off to the right I see my big spoon – the type you stir chili with – and my long kitchen knife. They accompany each other side by side among the spilled utensils scattered across the floor.
I try desperately to reach them, and, for a moment, I feel hopeful. I feel like God is giving me a hand.
Among the agony, and the pain, I have a chance to fight. I stretch my arm so far it feels out of socket. This is my last shot, or I will die here on my own kitchen floor.
Come on, come on! I have to do something, anything.
Things are going black, the room’s view fuzzy and dull; like the worst hangover.
My bloody fingers are prickling the base of the knife. I force an outstretched arm as far as I can, still barely grabbing its slender frame with the tips of my fingers.
I slam the blade all the way into the guy’s right side. The sounds of flesh being sliced through echo in my ears. Once! Twice! Three times! I drop the weapon, the entire blade and handle covered in blood.
I lay clinging to the floor, coughing feverishly.
He falls to the floor. The bat slowly rolls off my neck and to the floor on the opposite side. His partner rushes in and just stands at the kitchen doorway. He slumps his shoulders in disappointment. In his one hand, there is a gun half raised.
This is it. I won’t be able to get away from this in one piece. Sealed fate, I feel.
Wait! Maybe this is a dream; it sure as hell feels like one. I try desperately to convince myself it is, but I know it’s not.
He lowers the gun. Then for some strange reason he takes off his mask. His appearance is average looking; goatee, fair skin, a bit of a receding hairline.
Why the fuck did he do that? I mean, I can identify him, but then again, what are the chances he’ll let me live, especially now that he’s shown me his face?
He looks at me with sadness, almost as if he knows me, needs me, feels for me. I can’t explain it. It’s just really strange. The guy is in a slight bit of a daze and he exhales deeply.
Blood spewing from his partner engulfs half of the kitchen floor, but he doesn’t appear to even care about him. He’s in a deep trance; bewildered, stuck, confused.
After a few moments, he tucks the gun into his pants, and with a lost expression on his face he just walks away.
What was that? Why am I still alive? Why didn’t he kill me?
Sirens sound; cop cars from a distance, yet close. Who could have called the cops? It probably isn’t for me, or maybe our nosey neighbors have figured something out and called for help. They are so good for that, but almost a little too late. In fact, they are much too late tonight.
I drop my head slightly on the solid kitchen floor opposite the blood. I’m puzzled but relieved he didn’t shoot me. The man next to me is cold and lifeless. He’s not so lucky. The blood keeps flowing from his open wounds. It just won’t stop. I never in my thirty-two years of life on this earth, have seen this much blood.
December 30, 2019
Help Me Kill My Husband
I just need support to push forward through my tragedy,Please I can use any uplifting support...August I was run over by a reckless driver, I almost lost my life. I didn't want to continue writing, I didn't want to do much of anything but I fought hard and I finally went back to writing and I finished my second Novel called "Help Me Kill My Husband" A wife finds out several secrets about her husband. One of those secrets is that her husband is planning to kill her. She believes the only way out is to kill him before he kills her, but things aren't all that simple. I appreciate any support, reviews and just anybody to read it and help me through my PTS and Depression..... The book is very cheap. https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08...
December 27, 2019
Help Me Kill My Husband
Help Me Kill My HusbandI just need support to push forward through my tragedy,Please I can use any uplifting support...August I was run over by a reckless driver, I almost lost my life. I didn't want to continue writing, I didn't want to do much of anything but I fought hard and I finally went back to writing and I finished my second Novel called
"Help Me Kill My Husband”
A wife finds out several secrets about her husband. One of those secrets is that her husband is planning to kill her. She believes the only way out is to kill him before he kills her, but things aren't all that simple.
I appreciate any support, reviews and just anybody to read it and help me through my PTS and Depression..... The book is very cheap.
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08...
"Help Me Kill My Husband”
A wife finds out several secrets about her husband. One of those secrets is that her husband is planning to kill her. She believes the only way out is to kill him before he kills her, but things aren't all that simple.
I appreciate any support, reviews and just anybody to read it and help me through my PTS and Depression..... The book is very cheap.
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08...
September 22, 2019
FREE BOOK TODAY
So sorry to bother you...this is a little tough to write. I was severely bullied for 4 years, Kids would kick and punch me and spit on me because I was shy.....I always loved writing and after 32 years I finally gained the courage to write my first Novel- MY BOOK IS FREE TODAY can you please download it, it would help so much....I would love for you read it, maybe if you can in the future send me a review, just want to show my talent after all these years of being scared to face the world. I am supporting Bullied children by showing them that you can overcome and be something special. I also won book of the month on Goodreads so I’m on the right track. Thank you so so very much for your support 🙏 I write thrillers
https://www.amazon.com/DEAD-BLUE-CATE...
https://www.amazon.com/DEAD-BLUE-CATE...
May 1, 2019
MY DEAD BLUE CATERPILLAR PART TWO
AND IT BEGINS-PART 2 TO MY DEAD BLUE CATERPILLAR- 😃 IN THE WORKS..!
February 26, 2019
My Dead Blue Caterpillar
My Dead Blue Caterpillar-Mysterious Psychological Thriller is on sale for 99 cents.
https://www.amazon.com/DEAD-BLUE-CATE...
https://www.amazon.com/DEAD-BLUE-CATE...
January 16, 2019
My dead blue caterpillar
My Book Is Free Today -So sorry to bother you I was bullied for 4 years, it affected my whole life. I always loved writing and after 32 years I finally gain the courage to write my first Novel- My Dead Blue Caterpillar.🙏 it’s free for today. Please help support
https://www.amazon.com/DEAD-BLUE-CATE...
https://www.amazon.com/DEAD-BLUE-CATE...
November 15, 2018
My Dead Blue Caterpillar.
My debut novel is doing great. I am working on part two as we speak.
Description for My Dead Blue Caterpillar
Nothing is what it seems! No one is who they claim to be!
Everyone has secrets but no one has secrets as big as Harold’s. When Karen Pine finds out her husband is sleeping with a multitude of women, and has a book full of their names and addresses, she has to decide if she: A.) wants to kill him. B.) wants to punish his women or C.) all of the above.
As she struggles with the discovery of a secret book, the reality of what it all means, and searches for answers, more and more secrets start to come to life about her husband.
Karen is soon sucked into a mind-bending, mysterious, and devious revenge story. But it isn’t until Harold suddenly disappears, that things take a turn for the worse. Leaving Karen to fight a battle she could never imagine, even in her wildest
My Dead Blue Caterpillar
Description for My Dead Blue Caterpillar
Nothing is what it seems! No one is who they claim to be!
Everyone has secrets but no one has secrets as big as Harold’s. When Karen Pine finds out her husband is sleeping with a multitude of women, and has a book full of their names and addresses, she has to decide if she: A.) wants to kill him. B.) wants to punish his women or C.) all of the above.
As she struggles with the discovery of a secret book, the reality of what it all means, and searches for answers, more and more secrets start to come to life about her husband.
Karen is soon sucked into a mind-bending, mysterious, and devious revenge story. But it isn’t until Harold suddenly disappears, that things take a turn for the worse. Leaving Karen to fight a battle she could never imagine, even in her wildest
My Dead Blue Caterpillar
