Doug Lamoreux's Blog
June 12, 2020
Still alive and writing.
Toying with six novels, actively working on three, making way-less progress than I ought in these 'fun' times. Slid Nod Blake's second sequel aside for a few days to put some finishing touches on the opening chapter of my haunted U-boat novel. For those interested, here's that first chapter... just to prove I'm still alive and writing.
Chapter 1 – Tuskar Rock
The dark of night. A blustery wind. A swirling fog stabbed there, and there, and there by blades of pale moonlight. The tropes of a Gothic mystery were all in place. But this was no Gothic mystery. It was a true tale of terror with quite a different setting, for this mystery would unfold at sea.
Seven miles off the southeast coast of County Wexford, Ireland, a collection of jagged rocks jutted menacingly from the sea. The Vikings, in the Old Norse, called this island Tu Skar. Meaning, simply and precisely, 'Large Rock'. The Irish had never changed it. Since man first sailed, Tuskar had crushed passing ships for pleasure and drowned their crews for sport. When men fought back, with the October 1812 start of construction of a lighthouse, the elements conspired with a tempest that killed fourteen workers and washed away their barracks. The few survivors clung to the wet rocks for days praying for rescue. But men persevered and a granite lighthouse arose on Tuskar. Standing 120 feet tall, it began operation in June 1815. Still, ships continued to meet their doom. By the start of The Great War, known now as World War I, over one hundred vessels had gone to wreck and ruin near craggy Tuskar. Seafarers sailed those waters in fear.
Well they might.
On Halloween night, 31 October 1917, three years into The Great War, something more terrifying than rocks lurked beneath the waves of the Irish coastal waters, threatening hazard to passing ships and Heaven or Hell to vulnerable sailors.
The men aboard the Skagul were ignorant of danger as they sailed from the Irish Sea into the foggy moonlit waters southwest of Tuskar. Suddenly, off their port bow, the ocean surface churned.
It is not recorded which among the sailors first noticed the behemoth emerge from the depths. One soon did. “Sea monster!” he shouted (in their native tongue). The ship’s startled compliment raced on deck in alarm. Their captain called the men back to stations to restore order, then, “Hard to starboard!” in hopes of escape. In the seconds it took for his crew to respond the captain found his binoculars and strained through the swirl of gray for his own look at the thing in their way. He focused his lenses and realized escape was impossible. That first cry of “Sea monster” had been joined by others and echoed about the deck of Skagul. The captain shook his head miserably. If only the leviathan before them were a mythological horror; if only!
The reality was far worse. The nightmare's square black head rose above massive shoulders sluicing seawater like rain as the behemoth settled on the surface. A real monster on the war-time sea, a U-boat of the Kaiserliche Marine, the Imperial German Navy.
The only hope for his crew, Skagul’s frightened captain knew, was immediate surrender. With trembling lips he ordered his men to drop anchor and lower their sails.
The wheel in the hatch cover atop the German submarine’s conning tower rotated. The hatch came open with a heavy clank. A sailor appeared from below; the boat’s first officer (an Oberleutnant zur See by the rank on his cap). He climbed up and out into the night. Rumpled and unshaven, dark and rugged, he stepped to the command station at the forward bulkhead, lifted a pair of binoculars and gazed through the fog and moon glow at the waylaid ship.
Echoes arose below; voices the first knew to be the shrill exclamations of the submarine’s war pilot interrupted by the terse replies of their commander coming up the ladder. The captain appeared in the hatchway, climbed out, and joined the first up top. He was a handsome opposite, blond and bold, hard and humorless. Coming abreast of his first officer, the captain took up his own glasses.
“Skagul.” The war pilot, still jabbering, arrived behind them. “A Swedish barque. Neutral.”
The captain grunted, acknowledgment and annoyance. A war pilot was often vitally important. But not this one, not now. Now, like a gnat, the man buzzed relentlessly in his ear; telling him things he already knew. He’d seen the masts and rigging, knew she was a barque. He’d seen her flag, knew she was Swedish – and certainly knew Sweden to be neutral. He’d guessed her crew to be unarmed civilians. Still the irritating war pilot prattled on. With more important considerations, the captain ignored him. What to do with these Swedish merchants, supplying the enemy, was an easy answer. How to do it was the question. Torpedoes cost real money, were hard to come by three years into the war, and were best saved for armed targets. There were cheaper ways to deal with enemy enablers. “Man the deck gun.”
The first reached past the binnacle, grabbed up the speaking tube, and repeated the order. Seconds later, the boat’s forward hatch opened and three men hurried up and onto the deck. They took their places at the ominous black gun and rotated the weapon toward the barque.
“Shall we signal her, sir?” asked the first.
The captain nodded. Of course. He was a warrior, not a monster. “Tell them to abandon ship.”
The first aimed a signal light into the gray swirls and shifting moonlight and, across the distance separating their boat from the Swedish ship, flickered his captain’s message.
A shout of alarm in response. A central figure on the Swedes' deck gesticulated. Those around him went into motion, phantoms in and out of the fog.
“Their captain,” the war pilot said. He lowered his binoculars and lifted his Ship Book, a page already selected. “The last known master of Skagul…”
“No!” the U-boat captain snapped. He glowered at the war pilot, then his first officer, telling each with his eyes he didn't need the enemy humanized. “What difference his name? We are at war. There are U-boats and there are targets, that is all. You will identify targets and relate their tonnage. Nothing else matters.”
Chastised, the men knew better than to share a glance. Each took his medicine alone. “Yes, sir,” replied the first. “As you say, captain,” said the war pilot.
The captain returned to his binoculars. His frown grew more severe. The barque's crew were responding to his warning, uncovering and righting a skiff; making it ready to put to sea. But were, in the German captain's eyes, doing so lazily. They were taking their sweet time abandoning his target. Their sloth needlessly exposed his boat to danger, took advantage of his good nature. The rules compelling submarine commanders to allow the crews of merchant ships an escape before their vessels were scuttled, adopted at the start of the war, had been abandoned as impractical and idiotic. The German captain no longer had any such obligation. He was being a gentleman and, for his trouble, was being made a fool of. That would not do.
The captain nodded curtly to his first. “Open fire.”
The first repeated the order to the men on the fore deck. The gunner crew acted. The deck gun spit flame.
The shell hit the barque at her waterline with an explosion and shower of water. The ship's hull opened and the sea rushed in. On her top deck, their jeopardy finally dawning on them, the barque’s captain shouted and his lackadaisical crew began to rush as well. The Swedes scrambled now to get their small boat afloat.
The hint of a smile played at one corner of the German captain’s thin lips.
While most of her crew struggled to lower their boat, several of the more frightened Swedes elected not to wait. They leaped into the sea and swam for their lives. The skiff hit the water behind them, as the U-boat’s gun sounded again. The second shell struck and the already-wounded barque listed hard to port. The deck gun boomed a third time. The shell streaked over the Swedes, hunched in terror atop their oars, and a third explosion followed. The sailing ship creaked and groaned in pain and impending death.
The Swedes rowed awkwardly away and, as they came upon them, began to collect their scattered mates. The soggy cowards were hoisted aboard to join the rest in their over-packed skiff. With all aboard, the boldest among them turned back to watch their ship sink at the bow while her rudder reached high to touch the eerie fog-shrouded moon. Then all turned away as the sea gulped and Skagul vanished into cold black silence. The shaken Swedes, eight in all, bent to their oars, stroked the waters, and turned their bow to the northwest, toward the Tuskar lighthouse (several miles distant) and Ireland (seven miles further on). They returned to rowing. What else could they do?
The gunners, the war pilot, and the first officer of Unterseeboot-65 were dismissed to disappear back inside her iron hull. The captain, alone at the conning tower command station, issued his next orders. He brought his boat about and, without a thought for Swedish jetsam, engaged his diesel engines and, riding the surface of the sea, headed southwest for the deeper waters of the Atlantic Ocean.
Chapter 1 – Tuskar Rock
The dark of night. A blustery wind. A swirling fog stabbed there, and there, and there by blades of pale moonlight. The tropes of a Gothic mystery were all in place. But this was no Gothic mystery. It was a true tale of terror with quite a different setting, for this mystery would unfold at sea.
Seven miles off the southeast coast of County Wexford, Ireland, a collection of jagged rocks jutted menacingly from the sea. The Vikings, in the Old Norse, called this island Tu Skar. Meaning, simply and precisely, 'Large Rock'. The Irish had never changed it. Since man first sailed, Tuskar had crushed passing ships for pleasure and drowned their crews for sport. When men fought back, with the October 1812 start of construction of a lighthouse, the elements conspired with a tempest that killed fourteen workers and washed away their barracks. The few survivors clung to the wet rocks for days praying for rescue. But men persevered and a granite lighthouse arose on Tuskar. Standing 120 feet tall, it began operation in June 1815. Still, ships continued to meet their doom. By the start of The Great War, known now as World War I, over one hundred vessels had gone to wreck and ruin near craggy Tuskar. Seafarers sailed those waters in fear.
Well they might.
On Halloween night, 31 October 1917, three years into The Great War, something more terrifying than rocks lurked beneath the waves of the Irish coastal waters, threatening hazard to passing ships and Heaven or Hell to vulnerable sailors.
The men aboard the Skagul were ignorant of danger as they sailed from the Irish Sea into the foggy moonlit waters southwest of Tuskar. Suddenly, off their port bow, the ocean surface churned.
It is not recorded which among the sailors first noticed the behemoth emerge from the depths. One soon did. “Sea monster!” he shouted (in their native tongue). The ship’s startled compliment raced on deck in alarm. Their captain called the men back to stations to restore order, then, “Hard to starboard!” in hopes of escape. In the seconds it took for his crew to respond the captain found his binoculars and strained through the swirl of gray for his own look at the thing in their way. He focused his lenses and realized escape was impossible. That first cry of “Sea monster” had been joined by others and echoed about the deck of Skagul. The captain shook his head miserably. If only the leviathan before them were a mythological horror; if only!
The reality was far worse. The nightmare's square black head rose above massive shoulders sluicing seawater like rain as the behemoth settled on the surface. A real monster on the war-time sea, a U-boat of the Kaiserliche Marine, the Imperial German Navy.
The only hope for his crew, Skagul’s frightened captain knew, was immediate surrender. With trembling lips he ordered his men to drop anchor and lower their sails.
The wheel in the hatch cover atop the German submarine’s conning tower rotated. The hatch came open with a heavy clank. A sailor appeared from below; the boat’s first officer (an Oberleutnant zur See by the rank on his cap). He climbed up and out into the night. Rumpled and unshaven, dark and rugged, he stepped to the command station at the forward bulkhead, lifted a pair of binoculars and gazed through the fog and moon glow at the waylaid ship.
Echoes arose below; voices the first knew to be the shrill exclamations of the submarine’s war pilot interrupted by the terse replies of their commander coming up the ladder. The captain appeared in the hatchway, climbed out, and joined the first up top. He was a handsome opposite, blond and bold, hard and humorless. Coming abreast of his first officer, the captain took up his own glasses.
“Skagul.” The war pilot, still jabbering, arrived behind them. “A Swedish barque. Neutral.”
The captain grunted, acknowledgment and annoyance. A war pilot was often vitally important. But not this one, not now. Now, like a gnat, the man buzzed relentlessly in his ear; telling him things he already knew. He’d seen the masts and rigging, knew she was a barque. He’d seen her flag, knew she was Swedish – and certainly knew Sweden to be neutral. He’d guessed her crew to be unarmed civilians. Still the irritating war pilot prattled on. With more important considerations, the captain ignored him. What to do with these Swedish merchants, supplying the enemy, was an easy answer. How to do it was the question. Torpedoes cost real money, were hard to come by three years into the war, and were best saved for armed targets. There were cheaper ways to deal with enemy enablers. “Man the deck gun.”
The first reached past the binnacle, grabbed up the speaking tube, and repeated the order. Seconds later, the boat’s forward hatch opened and three men hurried up and onto the deck. They took their places at the ominous black gun and rotated the weapon toward the barque.
“Shall we signal her, sir?” asked the first.
The captain nodded. Of course. He was a warrior, not a monster. “Tell them to abandon ship.”
The first aimed a signal light into the gray swirls and shifting moonlight and, across the distance separating their boat from the Swedish ship, flickered his captain’s message.
A shout of alarm in response. A central figure on the Swedes' deck gesticulated. Those around him went into motion, phantoms in and out of the fog.
“Their captain,” the war pilot said. He lowered his binoculars and lifted his Ship Book, a page already selected. “The last known master of Skagul…”
“No!” the U-boat captain snapped. He glowered at the war pilot, then his first officer, telling each with his eyes he didn't need the enemy humanized. “What difference his name? We are at war. There are U-boats and there are targets, that is all. You will identify targets and relate their tonnage. Nothing else matters.”
Chastised, the men knew better than to share a glance. Each took his medicine alone. “Yes, sir,” replied the first. “As you say, captain,” said the war pilot.
The captain returned to his binoculars. His frown grew more severe. The barque's crew were responding to his warning, uncovering and righting a skiff; making it ready to put to sea. But were, in the German captain's eyes, doing so lazily. They were taking their sweet time abandoning his target. Their sloth needlessly exposed his boat to danger, took advantage of his good nature. The rules compelling submarine commanders to allow the crews of merchant ships an escape before their vessels were scuttled, adopted at the start of the war, had been abandoned as impractical and idiotic. The German captain no longer had any such obligation. He was being a gentleman and, for his trouble, was being made a fool of. That would not do.
The captain nodded curtly to his first. “Open fire.”
The first repeated the order to the men on the fore deck. The gunner crew acted. The deck gun spit flame.
The shell hit the barque at her waterline with an explosion and shower of water. The ship's hull opened and the sea rushed in. On her top deck, their jeopardy finally dawning on them, the barque’s captain shouted and his lackadaisical crew began to rush as well. The Swedes scrambled now to get their small boat afloat.
The hint of a smile played at one corner of the German captain’s thin lips.
While most of her crew struggled to lower their boat, several of the more frightened Swedes elected not to wait. They leaped into the sea and swam for their lives. The skiff hit the water behind them, as the U-boat’s gun sounded again. The second shell struck and the already-wounded barque listed hard to port. The deck gun boomed a third time. The shell streaked over the Swedes, hunched in terror atop their oars, and a third explosion followed. The sailing ship creaked and groaned in pain and impending death.
The Swedes rowed awkwardly away and, as they came upon them, began to collect their scattered mates. The soggy cowards were hoisted aboard to join the rest in their over-packed skiff. With all aboard, the boldest among them turned back to watch their ship sink at the bow while her rudder reached high to touch the eerie fog-shrouded moon. Then all turned away as the sea gulped and Skagul vanished into cold black silence. The shaken Swedes, eight in all, bent to their oars, stroked the waters, and turned their bow to the northwest, toward the Tuskar lighthouse (several miles distant) and Ireland (seven miles further on). They returned to rowing. What else could they do?
The gunners, the war pilot, and the first officer of Unterseeboot-65 were dismissed to disappear back inside her iron hull. The captain, alone at the conning tower command station, issued his next orders. He brought his boat about and, without a thought for Swedish jetsam, engaged his diesel engines and, riding the surface of the sea, headed southwest for the deeper waters of the Atlantic Ocean.
January 26, 2020
fUN wITH aMAZON
Oh Amazon, you so funny!
Owing to a cyclical book promotion, my second novel 'Dracula's Demeter' is currently being given away FREE on Amazon. When that happens, my books frequently hit #1 in many different categories (based on key words, algorithms, and blah and blah). Flattering, but not lucrative. Lots of downloads, no money. It's Free. And there are so many categories that reaching #1 is not only easy, it's hilarious.
One fellow self-published a book called 'My Left Toe'. It featured a picture of his left toe, and nothing more. Then he bought a copy of his own book; making himself a #1 best selling Amazon author in the category of Kindle store > Biology > Anatomy > Feet > Left Toe. But he was #1, AND he got paid for that sale.
I relate this story because I was amused this morning to see that this new book promotion has managed to make Dracula's Demeter #1 in three categories, including a category called 'Teen & Young Adult Survival Stories'. Dracula's Demeter is many things, but a SURVIVAL STORY is not one of them.
May all of your books (and book promotions) bring you like smiles.
Owing to a cyclical book promotion, my second novel 'Dracula's Demeter' is currently being given away FREE on Amazon. When that happens, my books frequently hit #1 in many different categories (based on key words, algorithms, and blah and blah). Flattering, but not lucrative. Lots of downloads, no money. It's Free. And there are so many categories that reaching #1 is not only easy, it's hilarious.
One fellow self-published a book called 'My Left Toe'. It featured a picture of his left toe, and nothing more. Then he bought a copy of his own book; making himself a #1 best selling Amazon author in the category of Kindle store > Biology > Anatomy > Feet > Left Toe. But he was #1, AND he got paid for that sale.
I relate this story because I was amused this morning to see that this new book promotion has managed to make Dracula's Demeter #1 in three categories, including a category called 'Teen & Young Adult Survival Stories'. Dracula's Demeter is many things, but a SURVIVAL STORY is not one of them.
May all of your books (and book promotions) bring you like smiles.
June 10, 2019
A Horror Writer's Life - The Fun Conundrum of Bad Reviews
Writers love four and five star reviews. They are good for the book and good for the fragile ego. But you can't please everybody. And, for a writer of horror fiction, I'm here to tell you that... if you can't get a good review, the next best thing is a bad review. In example, a recent review:
'1 out of 5 stars - Images I wish I could get out of my head!
Any writer who can create images that haunt you is good, I'll give you that. But I truly wish I'd never read a single page of this book. It left really ugly images in my head and I do not thank the author for that. Granted, because of this I did not finish the book. So take what I say with a grain of salt. But I hereby warn tender souls; this may not be good for you.'
Why readers who don't like 'horror' pick up horror novels is an unsolvable puzzle. But they do, and they are sometimes traumatized. Oh well. Worse for her, reviews like this will only bring me more horror fans.
'1 out of 5 stars - Images I wish I could get out of my head!
Any writer who can create images that haunt you is good, I'll give you that. But I truly wish I'd never read a single page of this book. It left really ugly images in my head and I do not thank the author for that. Granted, because of this I did not finish the book. So take what I say with a grain of salt. But I hereby warn tender souls; this may not be good for you.'
Why readers who don't like 'horror' pick up horror novels is an unsolvable puzzle. But they do, and they are sometimes traumatized. Oh well. Worse for her, reviews like this will only bring me more horror fans.
August 25, 2015
Good Day to Scream!
Awoke to lovely news for a horror writer. My novel Apparition Lake, co-written with my brother, out-doors writer and wildlife photographer Daniel D. Lamoreux, is currently the #1 Best Selling Native American novel on Amazon. It's been #1 twice before, but it's delightful to see the book back there again!!
Apparition Lake is available on SALE this week for Kindle. You can save four hard earned dollars!
More than that, my new novel When the Tik-Tik Sings
is now available in Kindle and paperback editions and the first reviews are starting to come out. Words like "awesome", "creepy", "suspenseful", and "real" are following in its wake, and I am more than delighted by that. If you've got what it takes to face a creature right out of Philippine legend, do give it a look. If you haven't heard the Tik-Tik sing, you soon will.
Yeah... It's a good day to Scream!
Apparition Lake is available on SALE this week for Kindle. You can save four hard earned dollars!
More than that, my new novel When the Tik-Tik Sings
is now available in Kindle and paperback editions and the first reviews are starting to come out. Words like "awesome", "creepy", "suspenseful", and "real" are following in its wake, and I am more than delighted by that. If you've got what it takes to face a creature right out of Philippine legend, do give it a look. If you haven't heard the Tik-Tik sing, you soon will.
Yeah... It's a good day to Scream!
November 1, 2014
Readers, thank you!
One of the greatest things that could happen to a writer happened last night, one of my novels (co-written with my talented brother Daniel D. Lamoreux) became a #1 best seller (in two separate categories) on Amazon. Better yet, I'm primarily a horror and mystery writer and the novel, Apparition Lake, a Native American paranormal thriller, reached #1 just before midnight on Halloween. How freaking cool is that!
Thank you Miika Hannila, our wonderful publisher, Creativia, our wonderful publishing house, our readers, fans, friends, and family for your support and for making Apparition Lake a best seller!
Happy Halloween!
Thank you Miika Hannila, our wonderful publisher, Creativia, our wonderful publishing house, our readers, fans, friends, and family for your support and for making Apparition Lake a best seller!
Happy Halloween!
October 19, 2014
Follow me... There are zombies ahead!
Instead of writing a blog this time, I went visiting.
That's right, little ol' me (who does not know the taste of humble pie). I am interviewed about the zombie genre and The Melting Dead in particular...
...along with writers Essel Pratt, Ray Wallace, S.G. Bynum, and Jaime Johnesee, on Anthony Servante's wonderful blog:
Servante of Darkness: Horror, SF, and Noir. Words & Sounds for the Living.
Zombies, Ghouls, and Gods V:
A Look at the Literature of the Zombie Apocalypse
If you're into writing, writing horror, reading or writing zombies, zombie films, or the Zombie Apocalypse, I invite you to hop, lurch, stumble, or shuffle on over and take a bite of this tasty blog.
http://servanteofdarkness.blogspot.co...
That's right, little ol' me (who does not know the taste of humble pie). I am interviewed about the zombie genre and The Melting Dead in particular...
...along with writers Essel Pratt, Ray Wallace, S.G. Bynum, and Jaime Johnesee, on Anthony Servante's wonderful blog:
Servante of Darkness: Horror, SF, and Noir. Words & Sounds for the Living.
Zombies, Ghouls, and Gods V:
A Look at the Literature of the Zombie Apocalypse
If you're into writing, writing horror, reading or writing zombies, zombie films, or the Zombie Apocalypse, I invite you to hop, lurch, stumble, or shuffle on over and take a bite of this tasty blog.
http://servanteofdarkness.blogspot.co...
October 15, 2014
To err is human, to blog divine
Came across this, this morning, and was delighted:
As he went to sit, putting his stick and hat on the desk, he looked at Bliss.
'Your face is vaguely familiar,' he said.
'My name is Bliss,' replied the detective.
The eyes of the two men met.
So this was Bliss: Maurice averted his eyes from that defiant stare.
'I'm sorry - I thought I knew you.'
He seated himself carefully near the desk, placed his hat on the table and drew off his gloves.
It's from The Ringer, a famous mystery novel published in 1926 by one of the all-time great mystery writers, Edgar Wallace. Wallace wrote The Angel of Terror, and The Dark Eyes of London (turned into a fun Bela Lugosi film in 1939; the first film ever to receive Britain's 'H' rating for 'Horrific' content). With Merian C. Cooper, Wallace, wrote the original story upon which the screenplay for the classic King Kong (1933) was based. Yes, I'm all over the place because I love old horror and mystery, but I actually DO have a point - about writing. My point is, Edgar Wallace was no slouch. He was no amateur self-pub. He knew his business. And (please, see above if you don't believe me), in one of his most acclaimed novels, in the space of seven sentences, in a moment of introduction, he has one of his chief villains, Maurice Meister, dispose of his hat twice in two different places in the room.
I love Edgar Wallce's work. I take no pleasure in pointing out a mistake. I take inspiration, and offer the same to you, fellow author. Even the great writers of history, on occasion, did an 'oops'. And sometimes their editors missed them and they got into print. I'm not the only one. And neither are you.
Reread your work. Convert the doc to a pdf and enlarge it to help overcome the brain's unique ability to read through errors without seeing them. Find literate, competent, honest beta readers. Edit carefully. Happy reading and writing. Be well.
As he went to sit, putting his stick and hat on the desk, he looked at Bliss.
'Your face is vaguely familiar,' he said.
'My name is Bliss,' replied the detective.
The eyes of the two men met.
So this was Bliss: Maurice averted his eyes from that defiant stare.
'I'm sorry - I thought I knew you.'
He seated himself carefully near the desk, placed his hat on the table and drew off his gloves.
It's from The Ringer, a famous mystery novel published in 1926 by one of the all-time great mystery writers, Edgar Wallace. Wallace wrote The Angel of Terror, and The Dark Eyes of London (turned into a fun Bela Lugosi film in 1939; the first film ever to receive Britain's 'H' rating for 'Horrific' content). With Merian C. Cooper, Wallace, wrote the original story upon which the screenplay for the classic King Kong (1933) was based. Yes, I'm all over the place because I love old horror and mystery, but I actually DO have a point - about writing. My point is, Edgar Wallace was no slouch. He was no amateur self-pub. He knew his business. And (please, see above if you don't believe me), in one of his most acclaimed novels, in the space of seven sentences, in a moment of introduction, he has one of his chief villains, Maurice Meister, dispose of his hat twice in two different places in the room.
I love Edgar Wallce's work. I take no pleasure in pointing out a mistake. I take inspiration, and offer the same to you, fellow author. Even the great writers of history, on occasion, did an 'oops'. And sometimes their editors missed them and they got into print. I'm not the only one. And neither are you.
Reread your work. Convert the doc to a pdf and enlarge it to help overcome the brain's unique ability to read through errors without seeing them. Find literate, competent, honest beta readers. Edit carefully. Happy reading and writing. Be well.
September 19, 2014
The Work-In-Progress Blog Tour
I was challenged to take part in this Work-In-Progress Blog Tour by the talented Autumn M. Birt. I am to ask you to check out the projects Autumn is working on and I do so by saying, "Coming soon from Autumn Birt..." Do yourself a treat and follow this link to Autumn's blog and books: http://www.nomapnomad.com/ww/the-work...
I am then to reveal something about my current work-in-progress. I always have several projects on the burners as inspiration and desire comes and goes in thunderous waves. Here they are:
The first is a new straight out horror novel, When the Tik-Tik Sings. It features a strong cast of characters including a female patrol officer, her firefighter lover, a nosey local reporter (who tells the tale), battling undiluted darkness in the form of a transplanted demon out of Philippine lore. Set in the gorgeous little tourist town of Dubuque, Iowa, on the Mississippi River, the fictional City Fathers are about to receive a tourist the like of which they never dreamed.
Secondly, there is the second installment in the crazy Nod Blake Mystery series. If you read my last blog, you're aware I've been wrestling with the wisdom of writing this or not. Well, I'm writing it. At least I'm plotting it, and collecting my thoughts, and rounding up the characters in my head, and jotting notes, and scribbling witty dialogue. Yeah, I'm writing it. The working title, a title it will probably not have by the time you see it, is 'Please Pass the Malice: A Nod Blake Mystery'. Let the murder and high-jinx begin!
Thirdly, The Path, a horror novel so creepy that I creeped myself out framing the story. It has been moved to the back burner until I filter the whole thing through the galls of mirth.
And finally, the screenplay for the film version of my novel Dracula's Demeter, under development at ThunderBall Films Ltd (London), and to be co-written by producer Brian L. Porter. Brian is currently hard at work casting and lining up production on the television series, Jack the Ripper: Reality and Myth, based upon his books. I'm really excited about Dracula's Demeter and am taking this time to write some really incredible visuals that I'm looking forward to bringing to the table when the time comes. It really has the potential to be an epic horror film.
That's my current Works-In-Progress.
Finally, to finish the game, I am to challenge other writers to join the tour by blogging about their works-in-progress. I do so and ask the following authors, What ya got cookin'?:
Writer extraordinaire, Barbara Willis, author of Family of Strangers https://www.goodreads.com/author/show...
Kevin A. Ranson, author of The Matriarch series http://thinkingskull.com/
Donovan Gray, author of The Eighth Day https://www.goodreads.com/author/show...
Thanks for dropping by. Please do check out the other blogs, forward and back, in This Work-In-Progress tour!
I am then to reveal something about my current work-in-progress. I always have several projects on the burners as inspiration and desire comes and goes in thunderous waves. Here they are:
The first is a new straight out horror novel, When the Tik-Tik Sings. It features a strong cast of characters including a female patrol officer, her firefighter lover, a nosey local reporter (who tells the tale), battling undiluted darkness in the form of a transplanted demon out of Philippine lore. Set in the gorgeous little tourist town of Dubuque, Iowa, on the Mississippi River, the fictional City Fathers are about to receive a tourist the like of which they never dreamed.
Secondly, there is the second installment in the crazy Nod Blake Mystery series. If you read my last blog, you're aware I've been wrestling with the wisdom of writing this or not. Well, I'm writing it. At least I'm plotting it, and collecting my thoughts, and rounding up the characters in my head, and jotting notes, and scribbling witty dialogue. Yeah, I'm writing it. The working title, a title it will probably not have by the time you see it, is 'Please Pass the Malice: A Nod Blake Mystery'. Let the murder and high-jinx begin!
Thirdly, The Path, a horror novel so creepy that I creeped myself out framing the story. It has been moved to the back burner until I filter the whole thing through the galls of mirth.
And finally, the screenplay for the film version of my novel Dracula's Demeter, under development at ThunderBall Films Ltd (London), and to be co-written by producer Brian L. Porter. Brian is currently hard at work casting and lining up production on the television series, Jack the Ripper: Reality and Myth, based upon his books. I'm really excited about Dracula's Demeter and am taking this time to write some really incredible visuals that I'm looking forward to bringing to the table when the time comes. It really has the potential to be an epic horror film.
That's my current Works-In-Progress.
Finally, to finish the game, I am to challenge other writers to join the tour by blogging about their works-in-progress. I do so and ask the following authors, What ya got cookin'?:
Writer extraordinaire, Barbara Willis, author of Family of Strangers https://www.goodreads.com/author/show...
Kevin A. Ranson, author of The Matriarch series http://thinkingskull.com/
Donovan Gray, author of The Eighth Day https://www.goodreads.com/author/show...
Thanks for dropping by. Please do check out the other blogs, forward and back, in This Work-In-Progress tour!
September 7, 2014
To Sequel or Not to Sequel
Hamlet said, "To be or not to be, that is the question." Well, not to belittle his dilemma but, the great Dane was wrong. For me, there's no question of being or not being. I'm here for the duration and you'll have to put up with me. My question is, "To sequel or not to sequel?"
It isn't a question every writer faces. When your book is titled 'The Chronicles of...', or sub-titled 'Book One of the...' the question doesn't arise. These writers started with a long term vision of a series, or an intention, or at the very least enough hutzpah that they knew a single volume couldn't contain it. There would be sequels. I didn't start that way.
Bit of background. I have been predominantly a horror writer, Apparition Lake, Dracula's Demeter, et al, with some success, a few sales, a few award nominations, and even a win (The Igor Award from The Horror Society). But, like many writers, I was, am, always in search of a comfortable voice. The 'right' voice for the 'right' new writing project. So, I tried my hand at a paranormal mystery. The result was Corpses Say the Darndest Things.
Set in 1979 Chicago, for flavor and fun, and because it allowed me to listen to great early rock and claim I was working, the novel features a dinosaur of a noir detective, past his prime, trying to solve a series of murders for which he appears to be guilty, while receiving psychic messages FROM the murdered victims. The situation forces the street weary detective, with no luck but a hardened sense of humor, to ask himself over and over again - How can I solve these murders when the victims won't shut up?
The book was not intended to start a series. It's self-contained. There's no cliff-hanger. But there certainly is a denouement that allows for the characters to return should they face another difficulty worth talking about (or the acclaim of readers demanding a sequel). I even hedged the bet by subtitling the book 'A Nod Blake Mystery' in spite of it being the first one.
Critically, I'm delighted to say, it's been a hit. Author J M McDole, at Impact On-line, said, "... Lamoreux is a clever writer and quite funny. He manages to combine humor with a very grisly murder mystery in an engaging manner. Considering the nature of the crimes, the combination shouldn’t have worked but it did. I’d be happy to read more Nod Blake mysteries... I believe the author has found his genre." Peter Schwotzer at Literary Mayhem said simply, "Doug really surprised me with this excellent detective tale."
And the folks who surrendered their hard earned cash have really enjoyed it.
"I love Nod Blake and hope Lamoreux follows up with more adventures." - Barbara Rosenbalm
"You will love this book... A book that's too hard to put down. Enjoy!" - Stacy Reynolds
"I loved this book... I can't wait until I can read the next Nod Blake Mystery. If you love a great mystery this one is it!!!" - Sally Kersten
"I really enjoyed the twists, turns, and surprises.... Definitely a page turner. Nod is an unlikely hero and one tough gum shoe. This is one of the few books I will keep to read again." - Michael Clenney
"A fast and fun read that I think fans of horror and mystery will both enjoy." - Denna Holm
You get the point. Folks have enjoyed it. Five of ten reviewers on Amazon have said they "loved" it. Seven specifically said they hoped for a sequel. (Something I've never experienced before.) They want more. SO WHAT'S THE PROBLEM? I'll tell you. And I hope Creativia, my wonderful publisher doesn't mind, but...
Corpses Say the Darndest Things: A Nod Blake Mystery has not sold particularly well. Mind you, everyone that's read it, so far, has loved it. And that's not an exaggeration. Those that have made contact with me, in one way or another, have made it clear they want to read more of the adventures of Nod Blake and his secretary Lisa Solomon. Like no other book I've written, its fans are emotional. But so far, there are few of them. Leaving me to wrestle with the question, "To sequel or not to sequel?"
I like Blake myself. I'm actively plotting his return. But I haven't been able to convince myself yet to write it with fervor. I have other projects in the works, and the screenplay for the film version of Dracula's Demeter (in development from ThunderBall Films Ltd), and I have my publisher to think of. That's right. I have an obligation to my publisher to write - not only good books that fans will love - but books that sell well. That's today's quandary for me. While I consider new ways to market Corpses Say the Darndest Things: A Nod Blake Mystery, and fight with myself over whether or not to write the requested sequel, I put it to you readers and writers alike. What would you do in my place? "To sequel or not to sequel? That is the question."
By the way, Corpses Say the Darndest Things is, for the next five days, being offered for .99 cents on Kindle, if you know anyone that might want to give it a look. Have a great day!
It isn't a question every writer faces. When your book is titled 'The Chronicles of...', or sub-titled 'Book One of the...' the question doesn't arise. These writers started with a long term vision of a series, or an intention, or at the very least enough hutzpah that they knew a single volume couldn't contain it. There would be sequels. I didn't start that way.
Bit of background. I have been predominantly a horror writer, Apparition Lake, Dracula's Demeter, et al, with some success, a few sales, a few award nominations, and even a win (The Igor Award from The Horror Society). But, like many writers, I was, am, always in search of a comfortable voice. The 'right' voice for the 'right' new writing project. So, I tried my hand at a paranormal mystery. The result was Corpses Say the Darndest Things.
Set in 1979 Chicago, for flavor and fun, and because it allowed me to listen to great early rock and claim I was working, the novel features a dinosaur of a noir detective, past his prime, trying to solve a series of murders for which he appears to be guilty, while receiving psychic messages FROM the murdered victims. The situation forces the street weary detective, with no luck but a hardened sense of humor, to ask himself over and over again - How can I solve these murders when the victims won't shut up?
The book was not intended to start a series. It's self-contained. There's no cliff-hanger. But there certainly is a denouement that allows for the characters to return should they face another difficulty worth talking about (or the acclaim of readers demanding a sequel). I even hedged the bet by subtitling the book 'A Nod Blake Mystery' in spite of it being the first one.
Critically, I'm delighted to say, it's been a hit. Author J M McDole, at Impact On-line, said, "... Lamoreux is a clever writer and quite funny. He manages to combine humor with a very grisly murder mystery in an engaging manner. Considering the nature of the crimes, the combination shouldn’t have worked but it did. I’d be happy to read more Nod Blake mysteries... I believe the author has found his genre." Peter Schwotzer at Literary Mayhem said simply, "Doug really surprised me with this excellent detective tale."
And the folks who surrendered their hard earned cash have really enjoyed it.
"I love Nod Blake and hope Lamoreux follows up with more adventures." - Barbara Rosenbalm
"You will love this book... A book that's too hard to put down. Enjoy!" - Stacy Reynolds
"I loved this book... I can't wait until I can read the next Nod Blake Mystery. If you love a great mystery this one is it!!!" - Sally Kersten
"I really enjoyed the twists, turns, and surprises.... Definitely a page turner. Nod is an unlikely hero and one tough gum shoe. This is one of the few books I will keep to read again." - Michael Clenney
"A fast and fun read that I think fans of horror and mystery will both enjoy." - Denna Holm
You get the point. Folks have enjoyed it. Five of ten reviewers on Amazon have said they "loved" it. Seven specifically said they hoped for a sequel. (Something I've never experienced before.) They want more. SO WHAT'S THE PROBLEM? I'll tell you. And I hope Creativia, my wonderful publisher doesn't mind, but...
Corpses Say the Darndest Things: A Nod Blake Mystery has not sold particularly well. Mind you, everyone that's read it, so far, has loved it. And that's not an exaggeration. Those that have made contact with me, in one way or another, have made it clear they want to read more of the adventures of Nod Blake and his secretary Lisa Solomon. Like no other book I've written, its fans are emotional. But so far, there are few of them. Leaving me to wrestle with the question, "To sequel or not to sequel?"
I like Blake myself. I'm actively plotting his return. But I haven't been able to convince myself yet to write it with fervor. I have other projects in the works, and the screenplay for the film version of Dracula's Demeter (in development from ThunderBall Films Ltd), and I have my publisher to think of. That's right. I have an obligation to my publisher to write - not only good books that fans will love - but books that sell well. That's today's quandary for me. While I consider new ways to market Corpses Say the Darndest Things: A Nod Blake Mystery, and fight with myself over whether or not to write the requested sequel, I put it to you readers and writers alike. What would you do in my place? "To sequel or not to sequel? That is the question."
By the way, Corpses Say the Darndest Things is, for the next five days, being offered for .99 cents on Kindle, if you know anyone that might want to give it a look. Have a great day!
August 2, 2014
Sometimes I need my head candled!
I was having a genuinely crappy day yesterday. My bad attitude had a bad attitude. Then this happened.
I walked into a room and was stopped by an acquaintance (who shall remain unnamed here). She said, "That book of yours. The new one that's on sale, I bought it today."
Instead of showing immediate gratitude because I was in a bad mood (and probably because sometimes I'm an ass) I replied, "You don't have a Kindle do you?"
She smiled and said, No. I downloaded the free Kindle onto my laptop, then I bought your book."
Instead of showing gratitude because I was in a bad mood (and definitely because I'm an ass) I replied, "You don't like scary books, do you?"
She smiled and said, "No. To tell you the truth, I'm not going to read it. My daughter will read it, she likes scary books, but I'm not going to read it."
Instead of showing gratitude (for no other reason than I am an ass) I replied, "Why did you buy it if you're not going to read it?"
She looked at me like the cantankerous child I was, smiled, and said, "I wanted to support you."
Like the Grinch whose "small heart grew three sizes that day," I found my gratitude - and I shared it with her. Then I apologized for almost stealing Christmas.
I walked out a much happier man than I walked in. Not because someone had spent .99 cents on Apparition Lake. But because an acquaintance had taken the time to be a friend.
While I'm at it; I'd like to thank all of my friends and readers. I am grateful to each and every one of you. I'll try to show it more often.
I walked into a room and was stopped by an acquaintance (who shall remain unnamed here). She said, "That book of yours. The new one that's on sale, I bought it today."
Instead of showing immediate gratitude because I was in a bad mood (and probably because sometimes I'm an ass) I replied, "You don't have a Kindle do you?"
She smiled and said, No. I downloaded the free Kindle onto my laptop, then I bought your book."
Instead of showing gratitude because I was in a bad mood (and definitely because I'm an ass) I replied, "You don't like scary books, do you?"
She smiled and said, "No. To tell you the truth, I'm not going to read it. My daughter will read it, she likes scary books, but I'm not going to read it."
Instead of showing gratitude (for no other reason than I am an ass) I replied, "Why did you buy it if you're not going to read it?"
She looked at me like the cantankerous child I was, smiled, and said, "I wanted to support you."
Like the Grinch whose "small heart grew three sizes that day," I found my gratitude - and I shared it with her. Then I apologized for almost stealing Christmas.
I walked out a much happier man than I walked in. Not because someone had spent .99 cents on Apparition Lake. But because an acquaintance had taken the time to be a friend.
While I'm at it; I'd like to thank all of my friends and readers. I am grateful to each and every one of you. I'll try to show it more often.
