Tim Greaton's Blog, page 9

"Red Gloves" FREE today only!

"Red Gloves" FREE today only (26 May 2012) on Amazon Kindle. Book 1 in the Samaritans Conspiracy. http://www.amazon.com/Red-Gloves-Samaritans-Conspiracy-ebook/dp/B0081WIZHY/ref=sr_1_8?ie=UTF8&qid=1338025126&sr=8-8.



More than 80,000 Tim Greaton novels have been downloaded in the last few months.

Just as the City of Portland Maine is struck with a horrific crime wave of high school drugs and teenage killings, Lead Detective Priscilla Harris’ life swirls out of control. A terrible car accident has derailed her son’s basketball dreams, so he quits college and turns to methamphetamines to cope. To keep him from backsliding any further, Priscilla spends thousands of dollars on two drug rehab programs, but when the second try fails she doesn’t know where to turn. Worse yet, she learns her husband has stolen the remaining $30,000 of her inheritance money to run off with his beautiful, blond secretary. In the midst of it all, a mysterious red-gloved stranger is stalking both Priscilla and her son.

Can Priscilla find some way to save her city and her son before the bodies of more Maine teenagers are found stacked like cordwood?

In “The Santa Shop” Tim Greaton showed us the bitterness of despair and the sweet taste of hope. In this second book of “The Samarians Conspiracy” he serves up a full, seven-course emotional meal. Priscilla’s story will drag you through the depths of struggle and despair but not without amazing rewards.

One reviewer says, “Tim’s fans will follow him to Hell in gasoline raincoats….”

You're invited to find out why.


A note from the author:

Dear Reader,

Thank you for considering "Red Gloves."

When I was about sixteen years old, several police cars converged late at night on my father's house. Apologetic for disturbing our family, a detective explained that a local 24-hour store attendant had been stabbed and I was one of a handful of known males about the right age and within walking distance.

I was visiting my girlfriend's house several miles away at the time, and the detective readily agreed with my father that it wouldn't be right to embarrass my girlfriend's family by showing up there. Instead, my father called and asked if I could "...get home right away!"

My girlfriend's mother kindly offered to drive me, but because she had just finished a glass of wine she dropped me off several blocks from my home, a location not so likely to invite questions about her sobriety. Unfortunately, that added twenty minutes of walking time before, quite confused, I walked past the police cars in front of my house and through the door. The detective took one look at my slim frame, button-up shirt and dress slacks then acknowledged I didn't look anything at all like the criminal.

I was, of course, relieved even if my evening had ended early. But, as the apologetic detective turned to leave, he gestured to one of the patrolman and said, "Do you think you could drop this young man back where he was?"

That detective's kind manner is a trait I modeled while writing this novel. Our female detective is street savvy but not jaded, and even though her personal life is filled with disaster, she continues to treat the people around her with compassion and respect.

I enjoyed spending time with Lead Detective Priscilla Harris, and I hope that if you do decide to share her experiences that the conclusion of her difficult journey will leave you with a smile.

Thank you once again for sharing so generously of your time.

Your friend,

Tim GreatonBelow are some of my other titles :-)

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If you've already read Under-Heaven and there's another of my books you'd love to have but finances have been a problem, please email and I promise we'll arrange something. 

A Broken Spooth - Chapters 1 & 2 (2nd draft of my in-progress comedic fantasy novel)

CHAPTER ONE
(WIZARDREST)


            Charred wooden beams jutted out at every angle and from every direction as Garvey Potvinch pulled himself stiffly from the wreckage. His head felt as though an alcohol spell had exploded between his eyes. He pushed aside one final timber and dragged himself out into the open and collapsed on the grass. For a long while he lay there breathing in the warm air.
            Green grass? Warm air?
            Garvey lurched to his feet and inspected himself. Miraculously, he was uninjured. His gray woolen robe had not fared nearly so well, however. Filled with dozens of rips and burn holes, it hung from him in great sooty tatters. It was in such a state that Garvey was truly perplexed as to how he could have remained uninjured while wearing it.
            Looking around, he saw thick grass growing right up to the chunks of black stone and timber that had once been Wizardrest. Why wasn’t the grass scorched by the same fire that destroyed the tower?
            He took a deep breath and looked nervously out over the mountainside. In the northeastern distance, a lush tapestry of green rose and fell in the jagged waves of the Weelyhi Mountains. Since when was December so green?
            He sucked in another warm breath and smelled the unmistakable scent of pollen and fresh buds in the air. All the evidence pointed to an impossible conclusion: it was spring!
            Elija had done something to time. He must have.
            Garvey tried to recall the last few minutes of the battle. All eight wizards had been standing in a semi-circle on the roof of Wizardrest, facing off against an equal number of black mages on Darkheart a few miles away. The cool fall sky was dark but clear. Illuminated by torches spaced evenly along the roof's edge, the apprentices were clustered tightly behind their masters. To Garvey, Elijah’s only apprentice, they all looked the same way he felt, like useless baggage.
            Helpless as newborn dragons, the wizards-in-training watched as three fireballs slammed, one after the other, into the tower walls. The shock waves sent Garvey tumbling to the hard stone surface of the rooftop. Suddenly, a forth flaming sphere crashed into the center of them. Garvey jumped aside but heard the sizzle of hair and flesh. Screams of a young woman in agony rang out into the night.
            Garvey spotted the single door leading down toward water, but Elija's surprisingly strong hand reached back to grip his shoulder. Silently, without turning back, the old man shook his head as if to say the effort would be futile. Stepping away from the flaming remains, Garvey obediently watched as his master and the other Council members held up all eight of the Wizard Prism shards. The hand-sized gems shimmered with internal energy. Suddenly, wizard's flame shot forth from each shard and spun itself into eight individual balls of fire. Heat seared all of them as the yellow balls hovered for a brief moment before zooming upward and colliding into a colossal, brilliant sphere. Then the sphere whizzed away toward the north, towards Darkheart. Out over the lower hills and valleys, at about its halfway point to the enemy's lair, Garvey saw the wizards' yellow energy globe pass over another equally large, incoming red sphere. Horrified, he realized that the Black Mages' fireball was five times the size of the last few.
            All would be lost!
            The wizards solemnly separated, and all but Elija knelt and closed their eyes in silent meditation. Did they see no choice but to accept this cruel twist of fate? Was there nothing anyone could do?
            In a terrible state of shock, Garvey watched the red sphere grow to the size of a cruel blazing sun. There would be no reprieve. They were all going to die. Horrified, he sought the eyes of his master and found the old man’s back turned toward him, away from their imminent death. The old man’s wizened face creased into a wide grin. The last thing Garvey remembered before the world exploded into red light was that…Elijah had winked at him.
            Garvey stared at the remains of Wizardrest. Knowing it was hopeless but unable to stop himself, he began pouring through the debris, hoping against hope that he might find evidence that someone else had lived. Soon, however, hope gave way to despair. Bits of clothing, shoes and blackened bone fragments littered the rubble. He found nothing larger than a partial finger bone until, sometime near sunset, he noticed a shred of blue underneath a mostly disintegrated wooden beam.
            Elija had worn the blue robe!
            With an unjustified sense of hope, he clawed at the stones and ashes and threw great handfuls of debris aside. But then, suddenly, near the neck of the robe, a gleaming white skull stared up at him with hollow eyes. As quickly as they had risen, his high expectations came crashing down. It was true then. Even Elija had died. Garvey reached out his hand to gently stroke his master’s skull, and it immediately turned to dust.
            For a long while, he sat there in the wreckage and let his tears fall. Though Elija had been a difficult teacher, Garvey had always known the old man cared. "Someday," Elija used to tell him, "you will be a great among the greats."
            Garvey smiled.
            "Someday, but not today," the old man would always add. "Now do the dishes." Or, "Now take care of those books."
            Garvey continued to uncover the crumbling corpse of his master. Ignoring the darkness, he scooped up handful after handful of powdered bone and carried it to the edge of the mountain. There he said a goodbye to each handful and threw it into the strong evening breeze. It took some time but just as the sun was beginning to set below the western mountains, he threw the final handful into the air. No trace of Elija's body remained in the tower’s wreckage. His master’s body had been returned, particle by particle, to the Spoothian land that he had loved so much.
            Somehow knowing it was the right thing to do, Garvey took off his own tattered robe and pulled Elija's blue one over his head. Unbelievably, it was in like-new condition. As the final remnants of Elijah’s remains dissipated, Garvey settled down onto the grass. With his hands pillowed behind his head, Garvey stared up at the darkening sky and tried to make sense of what he had seen. Other than the blue robe he now wore, the few other strips of clothing he had found were moldy and moth-eaten. The fragments of bones from the other wizards and apprentices had been picked clean and were gleaning white. There were so many bird droppings on the stones and timbers of the fallen tower that shrubs and even some small trees had begun to grow. Though the White Council’s battle with the Black Order had happened in the fall, all the evidence suggested that it was spring. Only one piece of the puzzle didn't fit.
            Me. Garvey Potvinch.
            Somehow he had not only survived the catastrophic fire, but had also slept through an entire winter? He hadn't starved. He hadn't frozen to death. Even his clothes hadn't seen the same ravages as those of the others. It just wasn't possible. There wasn’t any logical reason for Garvey Potvinch to be alive.
            He envisioned Elija's grin and final wink again, and the thought brought tears to his eyes. It appeared that his master had cast a protective spell on him, even as he himself had been killed.
            "Thank you, Elija," Garvey said, wiping away the tears. "I'm sorry that I'll never be able to say it in person."
            After a time, the grumbling in his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten in possibly months. Garvey stood up and whispered a few well practiced words. He waved his left pinky three times, jumped twice on his right foot and stared at the sky as he pointed his left thumb at the grass in front of him. He felt but ignored the familiar burning sensation on his fingers and right heel. Anxious to fill the growing void in his stomach, he reached down to pick up the expected bread but found nothing. Then, in a truly odd delayed spell reaction, a loaf-shaped section of grass suddenly disappeared.
            Confused, he patted the bare spot and felt only damp soil.
            Perturbed at himself, he whispered the spell a second time and made sure he enunciated each syllable exactly right. Again he waved his left pinky three times, jumped twice on his right foot, then stared upward while simultaneously pointing his left thumb at a new spot in the grass. Again, no loaf materialized but moments later a loaf-shaped chunk of grass once again disappeared.
            Garvey brought a handful of the damp soil to his nose. It smelled like dirt. He ran it between his fingers. It felt like dirt, too.
            "Then it must be dirt, you mental giant," he muttered as he threw the clump back to the ground.
            Why didn't the bread appear? He'd used that particular spell at least as much if not more than any of his others. Personal injury wasn't the problem, because that dinky incantation caused almost none. He should have been able to create six or more loafs before his foot or pinky even began to blister. It just didn't make sense.
            Of the dozen or so spells Garvey knew off hand, only three were "create food" spells. The first was, of course, the bread loaf spell. The second was a cranberry sauce spell (he hated cranberry sauce). And the last was a fried chicken spell. Of all of them the fried chicken spell was the most complicated. More often than not the chicken would appear all plucked, breaded but still alive. Not happy, mind you, but alive.
            In the moonlight, Garvey had no problem finding his discarded robe. He ripped out a sizable swath and held it up to make sure it would be large enough to cover a mid-sized bird. At least if the chicken spell went sour, the poor little bugger wouldn't be naked.
            He chanted an intricate series of words, blinked twice with his left eye, while simultaneously twitching his left elbow twice. He stared up at the sky and pointed down with his right thumb. Nothing happened. No chicken, live or dead. A moment later, a spot of grass disappeared and, as might have been expected, the hole was in the approximate shape of a chicken's body. What was going on?
            Garvey tried unsuccessfully three more times then, resigned to his fate, he cast his cranberry sauce spell. As before, he accomplished only a chuck of missing grass.
            Something was terribly wrong, and unfortunately Garvey didn't have a clue as to what it was. He searched about for his book bag. It was nowhere to be seen. Panicked, he found the spot where he had first emerged from the debris and crawled back in. Moonlight filtered readily, if dimly, through the loose pile. He saw the bag's blue strap after crawling only fifteen feet or so. He dragged his prize out from under a small pile of ash and pulled it outside.
            Wiping the soot from the silky blue material, Garvey breathed a long sigh of relief. Without Elija to help, the contents of this bag would be invaluable. Though it was small on the outside, inside was Elija Goodwhistle's entire library of magical text, everything from acne-curing potions to zombie animation spells. Known as a bag of infinite space, someone could literally have carried a flock of dragons in there.
            Stomach grumbling, Garvey settled onto the grass. He intended to scour every page of every book, until he found a food spell that would work. He was famished.
            Fortunately, Garvey's reflexes had grown incredibly acute during his four-year apprenticeship with Elija. One never knew when the next spell would backfire or when one of Elija's impromptu tests would come about. He had only cracked the bag's flap slightly when a dusty tome leapt out like a cat out of cold water.
            Garvey jerked his head aside as the heavy book whistled past and landed with a dull thud behind him.
            "What the…?"
            Holding the bag out at full arm's length, Garvey cautiously opened the flap again. He expected a dozen more volumes to leap skyward like so much popcorn, but none emerged. Taking great care, he inched the bag closer and peered inside. Nothing.
            Nothing?
            "Can't be!" He yanked the flap open and stared inside. In disbelief, he patted, groped and prodded every inch of the bag's interior. It just wasn't possible but nevertheless the bag was empty. A priceless treasury of magical knowledge, gone. Gone. Destroyed, no doubt, in the final fireball's flames.
            A dull ache of loss settled into his chest, this one as bad if not worse than the loss of Elija. Who could say how much knowledge the world had lost in this one cruel fell swoop? Half or more of those magical volumes were singular copies and irreplaceable, some of them dating back generations before Shardon and the Elvish wizards who had preceded him.
            After the shock passed, Garvey laid the bag aside and lifted the single surviving tome. “THE LITTLE BOOK OF MAGIC,” it read.
            "Figures," Garvey muttered. He opened to the first page. Though no more or less valuable than the others, this book contained some of the most difficult incantations in Elija's library. Fate was not playing fair. The Little Book of Magic was to him like thick steak to a hungry baby.
            Garvey's stomach growled. Somehow the food analogy seemed appropriate.
             

CHAPTER TWO
(THE MORNING AFTER)


            Garvey woke the next morning with his head nestled against the pages of the open wizard's tome. In a panic, he rolled away and nearly sent himself sliding down the mountain’s steep slope. After grabbing at a small bush to stop his momentum, he scrambled back up and found a safe seat against one of the fallen tower stones. His breath coming in gasps and sweat beading his forehead, he stared at the heavy manuscript and realized how close he had just come to death. More than once he had seen bestial hands, flames or worse rise from the pages of Elija's books.
            "Stupid, stupid," he muttered as he flipped the leather cover shut.
            The air was warm and the breeze was milder than it had been the night before. Though still confused by how, he was thankful that it was spring and he hadn't woken here in the middle of the winter. Better to die in the tower fire than with ice in his veins.
            After stretching and mentally assuring his cramped stomach that food was forthcoming, Garvey attempted to return the The Little Book of Magic to Elijah’s bag. In the past, dozens of books had always slipped inside easily. This time, however, he had to shove and strain in order to get the infinite space bag to accept one tome. Once he had it in, he snapped the bag's flap shut and tied the strap around the black ivory button. Slowly, he eased his weight off the bag. Thankfully, the strap held.
            Face flushed and the backs of his arms aching from the strain, Garvey was reminded of his wrestling sessions with Madam Goozy's pet lizards. Obviously, the bag's infinite space spell no longer worked. Garvey tried to suppress the thought of so many other irreplaceable spell books being squeezed out into the fire. The thought made him shutter.
            Realizing he was thirsty, Garvey knelt down on his left knee, made an oinking sound and snapped the fingers of his right hand five times. Then, praying that it would work, he held both hands out. For the briefest instant, he weight in his hands and was relieved that a spell had finally functioned properly. But his relief was immediately replaced by a howl as flames leapt from the pile of animal dung that had appeared in place of the mug he'd been expecting.
            He flung the disgusting muck and watched the flames quickly extinguish themselves.
            How much more perverted could his magic have become? The fire must really have addled his brain. Angrily, Garvey stooped to wipe his hands on the grass and ignored the delightful smell of pumpkin spice that came from the warm, brownish-orange goo that he cleaned off on the grass. It seemed he would have to forage for food and drink the conventional way.
            The path down the mountain should have been easy to find.  For centuries, members of The White Council had been making the pilgrimage to the tower for learning, meditation and semiannual gatherings. But,  for some reason, the trail was now overgrown with ferns, vines and even several oak seedlings, some of which were already more than two feet high—
            In one season?
            An uncomfortable suspicion was beginning to setting into Garvey's mind, one which he neither understood nor was particularly comfortable with. Was it possible that he hadn’t lost just one season in the tower rubble? Could he have been unconscious for more than a year? Fears of having slept for centuries flittered at the edge of his thoughts, but he knew that wasn’t possible. No, the mountain trail was still visible, at least, and the ruined timbers of Wizardrest hadn't yet had time to rot. Nevertheless, he realized that his first priority when he found his way back to civilization would be to find out what year this was.
            Garvey's head swam with the possibilities. The sheer magnitude of what he'd been through made his head ache. He took one last look at the remains of the great tower. With timbers charred black and stones dark with the residue of smoke and heat, it seemed unlikely that the majestic structure could ever be rebuilt. The point was probably moot given that the entire White Council, including their apprentices, had died in that fire.
            In his mind’s eye, Garvey could still see the brilliant red flames engulfing bodies all around him. He could hear their screams, smell their flesh burning—
            No!
            Garvey shook his head free of the terrifying last moments of that ordeal. For his sanity's sake, he promised himself not to think any more about it. Elijah’s final wink left him with the tiniest glimmer of hope. Maybe it had all been a bad dream…one that somehow also included the charred remains of Wizardrest.
            Turning away from the ruined tower, Garvey started down the overgrown trail. In a few hours he would be at Abigail's Den where surely someone would know what had happened…and how much time had passed. As he descended the steep footpath, he couldn't keep his eyes from the dense weeds that pulled at his robes and strangled the fruits and flowers at the edges of the trail. With every step, he became more convinced that none of the wizards could have survived. If even a single member of the White Council had survived, he or she would never have allowed the beautiful flowers and berry bushes along the trail to fall prey to such wanton and wild growth. And, most upsetting of all, he was hungry and hadn't seen even one edible berry or fruit.
            Garvey tried his bread and water spells periodically during the long morning descent, and each time got the same earthen hole filled with wet vegetation. He was about to try his fried chicken spell again when he noticed two ratrells circling overhead. The disgusting snakelike-birds must have mistaken his spell-casting for seizures that might soon leave him unconscious and easy prey.
            Garvey didn't pay the fowl creatures much mind until, during one attempted cranberry spell, a leathery tail slapped at the back of his head. Halting his spell midstream, Garvey swung his bag at the vile bird and yelled out a series of profanities that would have left Madam Goozy's ears burning had she been anywhere near.  The ratrell screeched contemptuously at him, but with great swoops of its three-foot wings it soared back up to continue circling with its equally large and disgusting mate. Thank goodness the creatures’ larger cousins the vreel were nowhere to be seen or Garvey would have been racing downward as fast as possible to find tree cover. One of the huge flying vreel could easily have swallowed him down in one bite.
            Garvey ran his fingers through his thinning red hair and decided to hold off on any on any additional spell-casting. For now it was best not to attract any further attention. Besides, the spells were obviously not going to work anyway.
            By midmorning, he found an apple tree, one of many that had been magically fashioned to ensure food for the journeying wizards during the off season. He picked one of the slightly withered fruits and nearly gagged at his first and only bite. The thing tasted like a cross between moss and bat guano. They had always been so sweet. Slightly further down the trail was an orange tree. Quick to learn, Garvey removed one from the tree and peeled only a small section of the delicious-looking fruit. He didn't have to go any further because already the citrus acid had burned the tips of his thumb and forefinger. He pitched the dangerous orb and imagined that it hissed as it struck the slope further down.
            When he discovered a dozen huge, delicious-looking yellow melons in a patch an hour later, he approached them with great skepticism. Fortunately, a life-threatening taste test wasn't required this time. He had only to pull back several of flat emerald leaves to see a dozen decaying rodent corpses slumped against the swollen rinds. From the looks of the tiny tooth indents in yellow skins, the creatures had died instantly. Yet another of the White Council's works gone bad.
            Was it possible that the Black Order had taken full control of Southern Spooth now? Could The Order have undone all the wonderful things that The Council had created over the preceding centuries? The thought seemed preposterous, but a vision of melons surrounded by dead rodents stayed with him for quite some time.
            It was midday when the steep trail leveled and opened out into a wide flat field. Off to his right, a blue granite face rose straight up to the peak—where Wizardrest had once been. No longer being able to see the great tower left a hole in his chest. As his eyes slid back down the shear face of greatwet granite, named for its blue resemblance to the Greatwet Sea, he felt a strong wave of sadness. The Black Mages had managed to do what not even the evil giant Gorbo could accomplish. It was hard to believe they were all gone. The White Council had stood proud and protective over Spooth for nearly a thousand years. It was them who had had melted the very stone of this mountain in order to cover the face of Gorbo's cave. A giant among giants, Gorbo was said to have been as large as he was hateful. The legends were unclear about whether his wings were natural or acquired by magic, but all the stories seemed to agree that he had mercilessly terrorized the population of Spooth for centuries. His reign of terror had only ended when eight of Spooth’s most powerful wizards came together to defeat him. Of those original men and women, only three had survived to oversee the construction of Wizardrest and to begin training new wizards who would take the remaining five seats of what was to become the White Council. Over the subsequent seven hundred years their group would add four more seats to their membership and assume the daunting task of protecting all the peoples of Spooth.
            "Until now," Garvey thought miserably. A vision of the great fireball that had destroyed the tower and everyone on it came to his mind. Who would have thought such an unspeakable disaster was possible?
            Garvey took a deep breath and stepped up onto the stone gazebo which was perched only a foot from the edge of Gorbo's Plate. For someone who had not almost fallen from the edge as a first-year apprentice, Garvey supposed the view from the Gazebo would have been considered breathtaking. But for him, it was a painful reminder of three particularly terrifying days when gusts of wind at this very spot had multiple times threatened to end his less than stellar magical career. He averted his gaze from the deadly precipice and crawled on all fours out to the stone urn that sat in the center of six stone benches. Purposefully keeping his eyes on the gazebo’s stone floor, he pulled several weeds from the urn then reached down into soil until his fingers came across something hard.
            Yes!
            Just then, a light breeze ruffled his robes and sent him scurrying toward the nearest stone bench where he attached himself to its leg like a hungry leach. Visions of dangling over thousands of feet of empty space lodged themselves just behind his eyes. His fear of heights had been almost legendary and a great source of laughter among the White Council apprentices, but nowhere was that fear more pronounced than here, overlooking the breathtaking vista from Gorbo’s Plate. He took deep gulps of air and stifled his urge to scream. 
            Thank goodness Elijah wasn’t there to see him. Surely the aging wizard would have dragged him to the stone rail and shoved his head out over the dizzying ravine until he either puked or passed out. Garvey tried to shake the images and the resulting fear from his mind, but like a receding tide it took a long time to retreat. When the moment finally came when he could bring himself to crawl back to the urn, he kept his eyes closed and tried to ignore the faint breeze against his cheeks. Once his fingers came in contact with the smooth stone urn, he groped inside for the second time. For a fraction of a second, he feared that in his earlier panic he might accidentally have flung his prize, but soon his fingers wrapped around the familiar shape. He almost forgot where he was as he pulled out the tiny carved bone sculpture and gazed at its intricately carved features. Though tiny, he could see tufts of fur sprouting from its ears and could even make out individual feathers on its magnificent outstretched wings. But his appreciation for the intricately carved melted away as his eyes flicked out the open panorama around him.
            Fear clamped like a dragon’s fist around his chest.
            Prize tightly in hand, Garvey gulped and inched his way backward on hands and knees. A scraped knee received in his haste to slide down the half dozen granite steps to the grassy plateau seemed a small price to pay for having his sandals planted firmly well away from the frightening maw of open air. He still shuddered with the memory of sleeping for three exposed nights out on one of the gazebo benches, one of Elijah’s many failed attempts at curing Garvey of his myriad fears and phobias.
            Turning away from the gazebo and the open precipice beyond, Garvey lifted the bone talisman and studied the delicate features of the tiny flying boar. He tipped it from side to side and studied it from every angle. It was almost as though an actual porkasis had been frozen and then shrunk down to a palm size. Garvey could scarcely imagine the sculpting talent it must have taken to create such an exquisite work of art. Even after years of practice, he still hadn’t mastered carving simple faces into the fall pumpkins that, to the delight of the neighboring village children, were always displayed with lit candles at night around Elijah’s castle walls in the fall.
            Wizard's robes were normally quite comfortable, but Garvey gradually realized that the silky blue material had begun to stick to the scrape on his knee. He stuffed the bone porkasis into one of his many pockets and then winced as he pulled his robe up to inspected the minor but surprisingly painful wound. Seeing a little blood, but nothing deeper than a few layers of skin, he figured a quick healing spell should do it. He spoke the three requisite phrases and inserted his right index finger into his left ear—
            What am I doing?
            He carefully removed his finger from his ear and let out a sigh. The way things were going, he might have wound up with a missing kneecap, or worse. Glancing upward, he could see the ratrells were gone but he knew it wouldn't have taken them long to find him if he had inadvertently crippled himself.
            Before anything else could happen, Garvey determined that it was time to get off the mountain. He moved to the center of Gorbo’s Plate, which was well away from the gazebo and the open cliffs below, and blew draw the porkasis sculpture from his pocket. This was always the part that made him feel weird.
            He turned the creatures butt toward his mouth until he could see the small hole in the end of the creature’s tail and pressed it to his lips. After blowing it three times for good measure, he sat on the grass and waited.
            And waited.
            And waited.
            Something was wrong. He blew into the boar’s tail several more times but still got no response.
            He toyed with the idea of hiking the rest of the way down to Abigail's Den but the wizards had hardly ever used the lower portion of the path. Given how much the upper trail had grown over, it seemed likely the lower portion might not be passable. Besides, even under optimum conditions, it would take a full day to reach Abigail's Den. The attempt wouldn't be practical.
            After another substantial wait, Garvey blew the whistle again. What was taking them so long? Porkasi were seldom far from their grazing perches, and Gorbo’s Plate had always been one of the more popular spots with plentiful grub bushes on the mountain plateau. After ten separate attempts on the whistle Garvey stopped counting, but the afternoon sun had ducked dangerously low to the horizon by the time he saw his first glimpse of a fleshy pink creature. The porkasis came up low over the northern slope, but before Garvey could see much more than the creature’s ears and broad snout the beast swooped down out of sight again.
            What now?
            Already, the gazebo's shadow now stretched almost to the base of the sheer rock face that had once been the entrance to Gorbo's cave. Off several miles to the north, the sun illuminated the western surface of Darkheart. Consisting almost entirely of a bare red stone, the twin mountain to Wizardspeak jutted out of the ground like a giant blooded fang. A chill traversed his spine even though his eyes had already looked away.
            Something nagged at the back of Garvey’s mind. Before he could get his thoughts to focus on the problem, he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. Suspecting but not daring to hope, he slowly turned to look.
            Sure enough, a group of five porkasi was snacking on a grub bush near the opening to the upper trail. Seeing them brought a wash of comfort and normalcy. Ever since Garvey had crawled from the wreckage the previous day, his world had seemed—in fact, had been—out of kilter. The ruined tower, his malfunctioning spells and the overgrown trail, they were all pieces of a world gone awry. But these porkasi were real, the same as they had always been—though, granted, a little late.
            Garvey stood and said, "Here boy. I need a ride."
            Suddenly, they were gone!

A Broken Spooth - Prologue (2nd draft of my in-progress comedic fantasy novel)

Hi, Everyone. Thanks so much for taking the time to stop by. Last week, I conducted an informal survey and learned that most readers are in favor of seeing a work in progress via blog. Those of you who have read my work in the past know that I tend to write in many genres. Though I would likely sell more books by sticking to only one genre, I'm afraid I need to write in the same variety of genres that sheltered me those many years ago. In short, I hope you enjoy reading this new comedic fantasy, because its the current demon in need of excercising :-)


A Shattered Spooth
Book 1 in the Wizard’s Prism series draft 2 of 5
Shardonic Year 437, Day 32
To Corgan of the Drayless Clan,
            Together we, each in our own way, have spent two lifetimes battling the pests of this world. As I see it, we have done a commendable job. Unfortunately, the pests have been many and we exterminators few. We have been but two boot heels against an insect legion—and, sadly, that legion grows.
            Regarding our experiment, his abilities grow painfully slow. However, as we had hoped, his unusual approach to magic gives me reason to hope. By flaying his arms, legs and sometimes his entire body, he manages to cast spells without a speck of the planes filter that I and the others possess. He is still but a boy with minimal skill, but I pray his skill will be enough. The buckets have been readied and we leave for Wizard's Rest within the hour. Soon it will begin. Though you will soon know whether  our last ditch effort will succeed or fail, I and the other wizards can only hope the future will fare better without us.
            Corgan of the Drayless Clan, to fight beside you has been both an honor and a thorn. May your life grow less comfortable with my passing, but may your battle grow easier as well.
            Boot heel to boot heel, I bid you well.




Your Friend,
Elijah P. Goodwhistle
Head Wizard of the West Castle






                                                           Prologue
                                                    KARDIS A'DOR




            "The woman and child are in one of the upper chambers, Your Impecableness," Jonah, a tall reed of a man, said. He bowed deeply.         
            "You're making fun!" Tomlin snarled.
            "No, Master," Johah said, shaking his head. He didn't allow any of his internal sarcasm to reach the expression on his face. Even stupid people had their limits, and he had no intention of pushing the Black Magician too far.
            "Then what in the dark hole does this impic-impickishness mean?"
            "It means only that you are perfect, Master Tomlin," Jonah said. His eyes were momentarily drawn to the hilt of the sword that hung from the Black Mage’s hip. Though the pudgy, red-faced magician was as mentally dull as cornbread, his sword was quite sharp.
            "Perfect, you say?"
            Jonah nodded, a bead of sweat forming on his brow. He couldn't seem to take his eyes from the inch or so of blade that Tomlin had unsheathed. The polished metal surface twinkled viciously beneath the torch lights that were set every few feet into the fortress's stone walls. Jonah nodded more vigorously.
            "Hmm, perfect." Tomlin looked upward and drew his gaudy green and gold cape around him in a grand flourish. "Use that one more often, then. I like it."
            "Yes, Your Impecableness. As you say," Jonah said, a shutter of relief passing through his body. It was true that the man was a buffoon, but if he continued with his subtle affronts, one day he'd find his head mounted beside the others in Tomlin's trophy room. With the addition of the local Mayor’s last week, the cruel mage already had seventeen heads mounted and perfectly preserved by dark magic.
            "Am I to understand the boy is a full year old today?" Tomlin asked.
            "Yes, Your Impecableness," Jonah said. He had personally watched the toddler take its first steps only a few days before.
            "Take me to him. Now!"
            Concerned by his master’s interest, Jonah led the way out into the hall and along the cold stone floors of the warren that had a year and a half ago been dubbed Kardis' A'dor—Abode of the Dead—by the slaves who had been brutalized there during the eight years of its construction. Constantly listening and gauging the distance of Tomlin's unsteady footsteps behind him, Jonah fought the urge to dart into one of the halls to the left or right and find some way to escape the dark castle. But the daily executions beside the moat were stark reminders that attempted escape from Tomlin’s lair wasn’t a wise choice for one who desired a long life. Jonah forced himself to slow for the overweight magician. It was all he could do to block out the image of his deadly sword piercing the flesh of his back.
            Trying to change his focus, Jonah thought about the little boy they were on their way to see. No one had told him why the mother and child had been imprisoned in one of the towers since the day of the child’s birth, but Jonah had his suspicions. What didn’t make sense to him was why Tomlin felt a sudden need to visit them after all this time.
            After weaving their way along several corridors and up two flights of stone stairs, it was with great relief that Jonah reached the doorway to the mother's quarters. He extended a hand to knock, but was roughly pushed aside by his sweating and heavily breathing master. Tomlin shoved forcefully on the door handle as he simultaneously strode, face first, into the solid slab of oak.
            "Ugghh!"
            Jonah stifled a laugh at the smack of skin against wood.
            Playing the part of dutiful servant, he scrambled forward to help, purposefully keeping his eyes downcast, only momentarily glancing at the wood grains etched into the tip of Tomlin's red and rapidly swelling nose. Somehow, Shardon knew how, Jonah kept the laughter in, but the effort brought tears to his eyes. He pulled the door open and, eyes averted, waited for Tomlin to go through.
            The black magician glared then thrust his chest out and stormed into the chambers that had held the woman and her son for the last twelve months.
            “Where is the child?” he bellowed.   
            Jonah followed his Master Tomlin inside. At the far end of the room stood two remarkably ugly female curtrolls. Dressed in revealing rags, as was their tendency, they left most of their bruised and scab-covered flesh hanging out in puffy lumps for the world to see. In keeping with their ill-groomed bodies, long greasy snarls of gray hair hung from overlarge heads. Flat faces were inset with pan-shaped eyes and gigantic bulbous noses common to their species. Though the sight of them was bad enough, their horrendous smell was nearly overwhelming. Jonah had come to believe that each had a perpetual case of gangrene or some other equally horrible flesh rot that only their curtroll constitution kept from infecting beneath the purplish surface of their skin. Regardless of the reason, however, Jonah was forced to cover his nose with the collar of his tunic.
            "Fetch the child to me," Tomlin ordered.
            Even though the black robe covering his nose and mouth muffled the order somewhat, the curtrolls shuffled obediently away. A few minutes later, they returned with an emaciated and trembling woman dangling between them. In one arm, the woman clung to a dark-haired toddler with a handsome, two-tooth smile. Unlike his mother, the child didn't seem in the least bit concerned by the new guests.
            "Juuuu-nah, Juuuu-nah," it said, staring happily at the tall chamberlain.       
             "Shhh," Jonah mouthed, putting his finger over his lips. It wouldn’t do for Tomlin to believe that he and the child had become attached, not unless he wanted to be saddled with an eighteen-year position as Babysitter-to-the-Royal-Brat. Though the child was cute now, it would only be a matter of time before it gave in to its genetic inclinations. And trying to teach anything to a member of the Tomlin line, well the thought was nearly enough to rekindle Jonah's fight with the smirk.
            "Leave us!" Tomlin spat.
            The reeking curtrolls dropped the woman roughly to the floor. Then, seeming neither pleased nor upset, they shuffled back through the same door from which they had come.
            "Time has not treated you well," Tomlin said, his cruel eyes roaming up and down her gaunt, pale body.
            Jonah’s humor melted away. Didn’t the mage realize it was his prison which had created the woman’s malnourished condition? Though Jonah had done what he could to smuggle food and extra skins of milk and water up to the woman and her child, the curtrolls quickly caught on and began searching him before each visit. Then, while he visited the imprisoned family, they would feast on his gifts.
            The mother scrambled weakly to her knees and grabbed her son tightly to her breast. She stared imploringly at Tomlin and mouthed the word “please” over and over. Jonah had never heard the young woman utter a word, which he surmised was either because Tomlin had had her tongue cut out or possibly the black magician’s rape had thrown the poor thing into a near catatonic state of shock.
            "Give the child to me!" Tomlin ordered.
            The mother placed herself between the dark mage and her baby. Tear-filled eyes swung toward Jonah, and deep sobs wracked her frail frame.
            Jonah desperately wanted to intervene, to do something, but he knew the limits of his position. It was no accident that he had survived longer than any of the other chamberlains—a full six months in service to the idiot king. And, as Jonah had promised himself those six months back when Tomlin’s soldiers had kidnapped him from his village, he intended to continue surviving until he could devise a way to escape both Kardis' A'dor and Tomlin's far-reaching and sadistic attention. When that happened, if he could somehow whisk the woman and child away at the same time, so much the better, but survival had to come first.
            Pitiable, the woman struggled to hold her son behind her. Her arms trembled with the effort. Tears streaked her cheeks. Her head swayed from side to side.
            “Please, please," she mouthed.
            "Jonah!" Tomlin said loudly.
            Dutifully, though his heart was breaking, the chamberlain moved forward and extricated the toddler from her weak grip. His heart nearly broke as her feeble grip on the toddler’s leg slipped free and he pulled the now frightened and shrieking boy away.   
            Hating himself for it, Jonah turned to approach his master.
            “Louder!” Tomlin barked, waving his arm in a wide arc.
            It was as if a thick blanket of cotton were thrown over the room and all its occupants. Suddenly, there was complete silence. Though Jonah could see the child's tears and feel its chest heave and shrink with manic screams, no sound came forth. Jonah stopped a few steps from Tomlin and held the boy out to him. The black mage shook his head and motioned for Jonah to put the toddler down. Hesitantly, Jonah did as told. The toddler flipped onto its hands and knees and turned to crawl back toward its mother.
            With the grace of a fallen log, Tomlin dropped heavily to one knee and grabbed a handful of the boy’s hair with one hand and one of the toddler's legs with the other.
            Suddenly, sound returned to the room. The mother’s hysterical sobs intermingled with the child’s shrieks for only a moment before the little body fell silent and limp beneath Tomlin's grip. The evil mage's voice rose and fell in a strange magical cadence.
            “Crasymical Novo Domata, Domata Memba Conobu.”
            Tomlin's eyes roll up into his head. His eyelids fluttered and the arcane lyric stopped. When his eyes snapped opened again, he glared at the boy.
            "My son has magic!"
            Like a dagger to his heart, realization came to Jonah. Tomlin would never allow competition to his throne, not even from his own son. Driven by instinct devoid of common sense, Jonah dove and grabbed for the child.   But, in what was likely the most graceful move the overweight, semi-magician had made in more than a week, Tomlin twisted and yanked back the palm that held a handful of the toddler's hair. There was a sharp, cracking sound.
            Before Jonah’s thin fingers could reach the child, he knew it was too late. The little boy he had watched laugh and play over the previous months had become a lifeless, two-tooth corpse. In the same moment, he also realized that his record of being the longest surviving chamberlain had just come to an end.
            A sickly flash of green light jumped from Tomlin's hands and enveloped him in pain.
            Eyes wide, his flesh sizzling, Jonah fell to the floor. In the few seconds before death, Jonah grinned openly at the buffoon's swollen and purpling nose.
(Chapter One coming in a day or two)

More than 80,000 Tim Greaton novels have been downloaded in the last few months, and now "Red Gloves," is finally out!

More than 80,000 Tim Greaton novels have been downloaded in the last few months, and now "Red Gloves" the long-awaited follow-up to "The Santa Shop" is finally out...



Just as the City of Portland Maine is struck with a horrific crime wave of high school drugs and teenage killings, Lead Detective Priscilla Harris’ life swirls out of control. A terrible car accident has derailed her son’s basketball dreams, so he quits college and turns to methamphetamines to cope. To keep him from backsliding any further, Priscilla spends thousands of dollars on two drug rehab programs, but when the second try fails she doesn’t know where to turn. Worse yet, she learns her husband has stolen the remaining $30,000 of her inheritance money to run off with his beautiful, blond secretary. In the midst of it all, a mysterious red-gloved stranger is stalking both Priscilla and her son.

Can Priscilla find some way to save city and her son before the bodies of more Maine teenagers are found stacked like cordwood?

In “The Santa Shop” Tim Greaton showed us the bitterness of despair and the sweet taste of hope. In this second book of “The Samarians Conspiracy” he serves up a full, seven-course emotional meal. Priscilla’s story will drag you through the depths of struggle and despair but not without amazing rewards.

One reviewer says, “Tim’s fans will follow him to Hell in gasoline raincoats….”

You're invited to find out why.


A note from the author:

Dear Reader,

Thank you for considering "Red Gloves."

When I was about sixteen years old, several police cars converged late at night on my father's house. Apologetic for disturbing our family, a detective explained that a local 24-hour store attendant had been stabbed and I was one of a handful of known males about the right age and within walking distance.

I was visiting my girlfriend's house several miles away at the time, and the detective readily agreed with my father that it wouldn't be right to embarrass my girlfriend's family by showing up there. Instead, my father called and asked if I could "...get home right away!"

My girlfriend's mother kindly offered to drive me, but because she had just finished a glass of wine she dropped me off several blocks from my home, a location not so likely to invite questions about her sobriety. Unfortunately, that added twenty minutes of walking time before, quite confused, I walked past the police cars in front of my house and through the door. The detective took one look at my slim frame, button-up shirt and dress slacks then acknowledged I didn't look anything at all like the criminal.

I was, of course, relieved even if my evening had ended early. But, as the apologetic detective turned to leave, he gestured to one of the patrolman and said, "Do you think you could drop this young man back where he was?"

That detective's kind manner is a trait I modeled while writing this novel. Our female detective is street savvy but not jaded, and even though her personal life is filled with disaster, she continues to treat the people around her with compassion and respect.

I enjoyed spending time with Lead Detective Priscilla Harris, and I hope that if you do decide to share her experiences that the conclusion of her difficult journey will leave you with a smile.

Thank you once again for sharing so generously of your time.

Your friend,

Tim Greaton

Some of my current available titles (just click on a cover to see full descriptions and purchase links)...








   

"Red Gloves," the second book in the Samaritans Conspiracy will be available in 48 hours!

I'm beyond excited to say that "Red Gloves" the second novel in "the Samaritans Conspiracy" will be out within the next 48 hours!




Just as the City of Portland Maine is struck with a horrific crime wave of high school drugs and teenage killings, Lead Detective Priscilla Harris’s life swirls out of control.  A terrible car accident has derailed her son’s basketball dreams, so he quits college and turns to methamphetamines to cope.  To keep him from backsliding any further, Priscilla spends thousands of dollars on two drug rehab programs, but when the second try fails she doesn’t know where to turn. Worse yet, she learns her husband has stolen the remaining $30,000 of her inheritance money to run off with his beautiful, blond secretary. In the midst of it all, a mysterious red-gloved stranger is stalking both Priscilla and her son.
Can Priscilla find some way to save her city before her son joins the other teenagers whose bodies are stacking up like cordwood?
In “The Santa Shop” Tim Greaton showed us the bitterness of despair and the sweet taste of hope. In this second book of “The Samarians Conspiracy,” he serves up a full seven-course, emotional meal. Priscilla’s story will drag you through the depths of struggle and despair but not without amazing rewards.
One reviewer says, “Tim’s fans will follow him to Hell in gasoline raincoats….” Isn’t it time you found out why?  
This novel has been over a year in the making, and I sincerely hope it lives up to the expectations of the 80,000-plus readers who have already enjoyed "The Santa Shop." Please know that I couldn't have done it without the support of so many readers. I will be forever grateful for this life of writing that you have all so graciously granted to me.

Bud's Body Shop...coming FREE tomorrow on Amazon...

Back in 2011, I blogged a little about a bully/coworker at my dad's autobody shop. Tomorrow, in Bud's Body Shop I'll revisit that story while also giving you a brief view into a the unique and captivating personality known as Bud Greaton.... Don't miss this one. Bud's Body Shop coming to Amazon Select tomorrow!

John Carter...a spectacular disaster...

I am not a typically fussy viewer when it comes to science fiction, but I have to say "John Carter" blew it in nearly every way possible. This was especially disappointing because I've been a Taylor Kitsch fan since first encountering him on "Friday Night Lights." Many great actors have survived similar box office crashes, so here's hoping he comes out on top...and a good place to do that would be in his next big-budget flick "Battleship."

Lynn Collins (The Princess of Mars) was beautiful and did a fine job with what she had, but no matter how well you act it's just hard to get past dumb lines and even dumber settings. It was truly amazing how the makeup people presented her as a bronze goddess when she is in reality so pale...but the look was a good one. That's one positive note, I guess.
Back to "John Carter" the flick and all the other points that just plain didn't work. First, let's talk about plot. I, like many middle-age sci-fi readers grew up on "John Carter of Mars." I haven't had one of those slim paperbacks in my hands in over 30 years, however I'd be the first to admit they were fun romps that didn't take themselves too seriously--HOWEVER, there are limits to how many holes you can leave in a plot and still claim it resembles a story. This big screen "John Carter" adaptation has more story and logic holes than a soccer net. Suffice it to say that not even Edgar Rice Burroughs on a bad day would have let this clunker leave his typewriter. I don't want to give away too much, but how about watching John literally slaughtering huge multi-limbed martians by the hundreds, if not the thousands, but a few scenes before and few scenes after he's having a tough time handling just a few of the same breed of creatures. Then there's the little logic issue about how he can snap thick steel chains and rip rocks in half, even though lower gravity can't explain those superhuman feats. While we're discussing it, I also tend to wonder why his flesh seems mostly immune to dizzying impacts with everything from steel to stone to...well, you get the picture. Yes, I know you fall slower in low gravity (which you couldn't tell from John's Hulk-like, high velocity landings) but he not only fell down, he was thrown, swung and hurled in every possible direction all throughout the film...but never with more than a few scratches and dust marring his pale skin.

I've never been a fan of Victorian anachronistic technology, so it's no surprise that I had faint appreciation for the gauze and frame flutter-bug aircraft that often filled the "John Carter" screen, but my absolute central peeve had to do with John Carter's nonsensical reaction to the low gravity environment on Mars. Of course, we all know that was how the author explained the Earthling's super strength (he grew up in high Earth gravity and therefore had dense powerful muscle when in Mars' comparitively low gravity) but none of that provides any clue as to why all the leaping in the movie shows John mostly flying face-forward as though his forehead were weighted with lead. When he first arrives on the red planet (which isn't all that red), he keeps falling forward and can barely seem to crawl without his bangs dragging in the sand. It seems to me that he should have been fighting to stay on the ground, but instead in those opening scenes he looked as though he was struggling to get up out of the sand. Then, every time he leapt, the director may as well have left the cables visible in the scene because the flying movements projected the presense of wires to the point it was painful to watch. It almost felt like a 1930s adventure scene shot on the cheap outside of an early Hollywood studio. Not a single leap seemed believable in any human movement, laws of physics sort of way.

Probably one of the biggest crimes with this picture, however, was how the movie dragged and dragged and dragged. It's no wonder the budget tanked any chance of profitability. It truly felt as though the screen-writer and director couldn't figure out how to end this debacle, so they just kept filming, maybe hoping the equipment would break down and make the decision for them.

I know I haven't given a lot of specifics about the story and characters here, but it's mostly because none of that matters with the many flaws constantly grinding at any reasonable viewer's sense of acceptance. I just wish Disney had called me before they began production, because for a few hundred bucks I would happily have reviewed their plans and scrapped this catastrophe before it ever went into production.

I regret to say that "John Carter" barely registers one star on my five star scale :-(

"Zachary Pill, Of Monsters and Magic" is absolutely FREE book for any e-reader format...

This first book in the Zachary Pill fantasy series is over 200 pages of action-packed fun. From conception to completion, the first three books in the Zachary Pill were easily the most challenging yet most rewarding and fun novels that I've ever written. They also took me five years to complete. I could take a few minutes to describe the book to you, but why don't we let the some of the reviewers of the first Zachary Pill trilogy do it for me :-)

5.0 out of 5 stars One of the best books I've read in a while, August 7, 2011
By Patrick Jones - See all my reviews
Amazon Verified Purchase(What's this?)
This review is from: Zachary Pill, The Dragon at Station End, Trilogy (The Zachary Pill Dragon Magic series - books 1, 2 & 3, 765 pages) (Kindle Edition) Five Stars
Many thanks to Tim Greaton for writing such a brilliant book.

This book is really FANTASTIC and it's written with such a unique writing style. There is no series, that I have read, that I can compare it to. It's both funny and dark at the same time, and I really enjoyed all of the characters, especially Madame Koochie and her "rockets."
Zachary Pill grew up in Boston, but when bats attack and his father suddenly disappears, he is thrown into a whirlwind of danger and magic. From the bats that attack him in Boston, to his forced imprisonment with Madame Koochie and his trips with friends through the nostrils that are just as slimy and gross as they sound, this book is amazing. And to see a wizard boy transform into a dragon was one of my favorite scenes.

I loved this and I'm sure many others will as well. I can't wait for the next book in the series.

Read Zachary Pill, The Dragon at Station End. You will definitely not be sorry.


FREE book here: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/131693

Tim Greaton Sparks Fantasy and Adventure with Verve and Panache, August 19, 2011
By A. J. Grady, Author (NYC) - See all my reviews
Amazon Verified Purchase(What's this?)
This review is from: Zachary Pill, The Dragon at Station End, Trilogy (The Zachary Pill Dragon Magic series - books 1, 2 & 3, 765 pages) (Kindle Edition) Zachary Pill, The Dragon at Station End (The Zachary Pill Series): It's seldom you see fantasy written with such verve and panache. Greaton delights his readers with a montage, a veritable cornucopia of magical, mystical, supernatural elements incorporated within one novel. The book is loaded with action and fantasy yet Greaton doesn't fail to deliver on the story. Zachary Pill is a typical kid with his share of bruises and bumps from schoolyard altercations. Because of a major problem with bats, a problem so great that the early extermination might have saved his father. The fate of his father is a key question after his disappearance with the bats. Zachary moves in with a Madame Koochie ,an orange haired, brightly dressed caretaker that does nothing and lives in filth. Here he makes a refuge. As the story moves on, the possibilities for his dad are learned and history of the family is attached to a unsuspected background that moves in space and time in a place called Pandemones
The mystery of his father's fate is connected to a Krage, a family rival of sorts. Magic is primary to the family powers and is exercised by magic wands and other implements like magic rings, key to the dad's powers. Time after time creatures like Medusa with snake encrusted hair add depth and background to the story, a kind of secretary. Notable and key is the event with a dragon figure that serves to transform him in a kind of metamorphosis.

If you are looking for a fun read that contains bats, werewolves, wizards, trolls, dragons, creepy flying things that resemble snakes all set in a magical fantasy, this is the book. Zachary Pill reads well as it goes from one fantastical event to the next.

I loved the Boston setting and a myriad of bats in this setting. Sections of Boston remind me of New Orleans especially around Halloween.




Fantastic action packed adventure, October 28, 2011
By The Kindle Book Review - See all my reviews
This review is from: Zachary Pill, The Dragon at Station End, Trilogy (The Zachary Pill Dragon Magic series - books 1, 2 & 3, 765 pages) (Kindle Edition) WOW, I don't know where to begin. This book was amazing. Harry Potter meets How to Train Your Dragon. Loved the story and the world that is created within it, so many levels and creatures and Tim's imagination is just out of this world...

Zachary Pill is a normal kid, or so everybody thinks. He gets bullied at school and one day has had enough. Zachary saw another kid being picked on and decided to stand up for him and himself. This is the day everything changes. Zachary started to fight back, literally and ended up with a broken arm and bruising all over. His father was called to school and demanded that Zachary not be taken to the hospital. The School was dumbfounded, why would a father not allow his child to go to the hospital? Well, there is a family secret that has been hidden from Zachary; he is a Wizard, well half Wizard. Zachary was taken to a special hospital, where wizards and creatures and beasts go, he was patched up and his arm put in plaster. Everything would be normal again, or will it? Nope, when they arrive home, his father is vague and wouldn't answer his questions. Eating spaghetti for dinner, Zachary looks at his father's plate and sees worms instead of pasta. Surely Zachary was just imagining things because of his injury. Everything went into chaos, bats swarmed the apartment and everything went dark. Zachary could only use his one arm to find his father. There was a brilliant blue light and his father disappeared. Poof, gone!

Zachary is now on a journey to find his father, calls in his Uncle who palms Zachary off onto an old woman that lives in a pigsty, Madame Kloochie. His Uncle too disappears in search for his father. Zachary befriends the kid from across the road, Bret. Together they try to work through his father's belongings and a way to find his father. Zachary is the last Pill on Earth and is being attacked by all sorts of monsters. He must survive and find his father and Uncle.

This book is quite long, but the story is just amazing and I couldn't put it down. Tim really knows how to draw you into the book and I know there will be a lot of Harry Potter fans that will love it. There are just so many amazing things happening that you will have to read it and find out for yourself (the nostrils, they're travelling tunnels for example, hilarious and gross). ~ Katie Turner (The Kindle Book Review)


Prepare for a sleepless night., October 4, 2011
By Earnest - See all my reviews
Amazon Verified Purchase(What's this?)
This review is from: Zachary Pill, The Dragon at Station End, Trilogy (The Zachary Pill Dragon Magic series - books 1, 2 & 3, 765 pages) (Kindle Edition) This book is fantastic! The story never stands still. I was doubtful at first, thinking, "Oh, boy, another Harry Potter read-a-like," but I was rapidly sucked in by the colorful characters and constant action. I shouldn't have taken it with me on a cruise, because if I hadn't, I'd have gotten a lot more sleep.



5.0 out of 5 stars Modern High Fantasy-at it's best!, October 31, 2011
By Linell Jeppsen (The mountains of Northeast Washington State) - See all my reviews
Amazon Verified Purchase(What's this?)
This review is from: Zachary Pill, The Dragon at Station End, Trilogy (The Zachary Pill Dragon Magic series - books 1, 2 & 3, 765 pages) (Kindle Edition) Trolls, Orks, Goblins, wizards...Dragons! This marvelous modern-day fantasy has it all.
Zachary Pill seems like a regular boy until he breaks his arm in a bullying incident (Zachary is the victim). Suddenly his world is turned upside down. His injury has triggered a series of magical events that will effect his world and many other mysterious realms, because he is the son of one of the most powerful wizards in the universe! This magical tale will hold you, and wisk you away to the land of...anything's possible! Move over, Harry Potter...Zachary Pill's in town!


5.0 out of 5 stars Great fun and characters you care about!, February 25, 2012
By Chris A. Reardon - See all my reviews
(REAL NAME)
Amazon Verified Purchase(What's this?)
This review is from: Zachary Pill, The Dragon at Station End, Trilogy (The Zachary Pill Dragon Magic series - books 1, 2 & 3, 765 pages) (Kindle Edition) I'm going to address the elephant in the room right out of the gate: Yes, _Zachary Pill, The Dragon At Station End_ owes a debt to the Harry Potter series. Downtrodden boy discovers his magical identity and goes on amazing adventures with a male and female friend. Sounds familiar, hmm?

In this case at least, the characters and worlds that Tim Greaton introduces us to and develops throughout this book are so offbeat and engrossing that some plot parallels to "that other young wizard" can be easily overlooked.

Zachary himself is a multi-layered character with a lot of heart. I dare say that many readers will immediately be able to relate to him. Aside from his naturally green hair, there is nothing really outstanding about him at the start of the story. As the plot proceeds, he discovers more and more about who is really is. I am not just talking about his magical persona, but also the personal qualities he has within himself that emerge as he is placed in challenging situations. For me, that is the hallmark of a terrific piece of fiction: a protagonist you can connect with and watch grow and change throughout the plot.

There are many other characters introduced in the story. Greaton makes no secret of the fact that this is intended to be a series, and many characters that we meet are not developed. The assumption is that their part will come in future installments. Zachary's sickly best friend Bret and the outrageous and mysterious Madame Kloochie are two characters that stand out here. There is a great deal of foreshadowing of events that are to come in future installments, and Greaton's characters are developed in such a way that makes them intriguing enough that the reader develops a genuine interest in what is going to happen to them beyond this book.

For the most part, Greaton's fantasy elements in _Zachary Pill, The Dragon At Station End_ are simply whimsical figments of his imagination that he has worked into the tale. And that is a large part of the charm. A flying pig, a "porkasis", is just that, a wacky invention worked into the story for the sake of humor and fun. There are many such inclusions on Greaton's part, as well as familiar fantasy entities such as trolls, ghosts, and werewolves. The mix of the familiar with the unexpected really drew me in while reading _Zachary Pill, The Dragon At Station End_.

This book is geared toward the 9-12 year old crowd, but older children and adults who admire escapist fantasy will also find it appealing. If you enjoyed Harry Potter, or are merely a fan of light fantasy, you will likely enjoy _Zachary Pill, The Dragon At Station End_. I'd encourage you not to compare Zachary to Harry, but just enjoy his story on his own merits. I am very much looking forward to Tim Greaton's next installment in this engrossing series.


5.0 out of 5 stars The next great Magic series is already HERE!, November 30, 2011
By K_Karie (Pacific Northwest) - See all my reviews
Amazon Verified Purchase(What's this?)
This review is from: Zachary Pill, The Dragon at Station End, Trilogy (The Zachary Pill Dragon Magic series - books 1, 2 & 3, 765 pages) (Kindle Edition) This book has one thrill after another. You barely start to recover from one adventure before there is another! I've never read a Harry Potter book, so unlike other reviewers, I can't compare. In terms of magic and mystery, this book strikes just the right balance. It leaves you craving more. I've literally just finished (like five minutes ago) and my head is reeling with questions and possibilities of where this story might go next. I can't WAIT for the sequel!

One thing I really love about this story is how realistic Zachary is. He speaks as I would expect my son would in a similar situation. He reacts to his parents and other adults with sarcasm, annoyance, begrudging obedience, etc. He thinks with the wild imagination of a teen exposed to the unimaginable.



Well, those are some of the things readers are saying. Did I mention the first book in the series is FREE! Thanks so much for taking the time.

'Hope you like your free book. Just click on the first cover above and you can get a copy for any e-reader! :-)

A Brief Retrospection and Upcoming Projects...

Though I do not usually think of myself in the third person, it is nevertheless hard to believe that over 70,000 Tim Greaton novels have been downloaded in just the last few months. For those of you who have been among the purchasers, reviewers and general fans, please know that I could not be more humbled or grateful.
To say these months have been a whirlwind would be a gross understatement, but I have thoroughly enjoyed the experience. 2012 looks to be another busy year and a fabulous challenge. Not including short stories and collaborations, I have at least half a dozen projects in the works, and requests for a more brewing. Here's what you can expect in the very near future…
"Binge Eating, The Nightmare" (working title which will be changed) was a 7000-word terrifying story that has since grown into a 16,000-word novella. I'm in the final stretch of the second draft and hope to have it out to beta readers in just a few days.
"Red Gloves," the second book in my Santa Conspiracy is now in fifth draft and has been through three beta reading sessions. My sole goal with this book was to do an even better job with the mysterious and emotional Santa Conspiracy series. Fortunately, the beta readers were able to point out areas which needed improvement…but that also meant delaying the release by over a month. I'm pleased to say the "corrections" are going well, and as soon as "Binge Eating…" is off to beta readers, I'll be able to complete the final corrections which have already been detailed.
"Zachary Pill, The Dragon at Station End," will soon undergo a repackaging that will break the first book into three parts. Future buyers will be able to purchase the individual sections or the extra-sized original novel. Hardback and paperback releases will be coming out shortly, as well. It's likely I will tackle the next book in the series in very late spring/summer.
"Under-Heaven," is undergoing the final print edits now and will soon be available in paperback. Don't forget to see the official trailer here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z05VBzfDNxg
"Heroes With Fangs," has been on my drawing boards for nearly a year now. It's an elementary school story based on my "Zachary Pill, The Dragon at Station End" series. It should see release within the next few months.
"Vampire Way," is a paranormal romance novel based in the fictional town of Groacherville, Maine.  My outline is already over one hundred pages, and what I can say is that you DO NOT want to be bitten by one of these dark creatures. The virus of "Vampire Way" kills every vampire within five years, so the leaders must brutally murder older vampires to ensure they don't reveal themselves to humans, whose scientists are their only hope for a cure. Imagine being a beautiful teenage girl dragged into such a doomed and tragic circumstance. You don't have to, because I already did. Expect a Spring/Summer release.
I have many other exciting projects on the way, but they will have to wait their turn.Once again, thank you for making 2011 such a spectacular year. This writer couldn't exist without you.