Gerald Dean Rice's Blog, page 38

Up to My Old Tricks Again #iartg #bookboost #writing

Okay, so I haven’t been using my writing goals spreadsheet lately. I haven’t been under any deadlines for a while and I actually want to publish something next month.  So I dusted off the old Google Drive spreadsheet and I figure I’m going to have to write about 2500 words a day for the next 3 weeks to get to where I want to be. Here goes…

If you’re interested in setting up one of these sheets for yourself, send me a message and I’ll show you how. In the meantime, why not consider taking one of these lovely books home?

The Non-Believers, Pt X #free #bookboost #iartg

Vamp-Hire, available now for Kindle from Permuted Press.

And just as quickly he fell silent. Cindy didn’t wait around for the others to look over and see her. There were a few on the ground still mobile that had been thrown off the roof by her father and they were slowly crawling her way. She weaved around them and followed in the general direction her father had gone.

It didn’t take long for her to find her father. There were long skids in the middle of the street she followed to a car that had slid into a wooden electric pole. On the other side of the vehicle she found her daddy on top of what may have been a human being or a hunk of a side of beef, pummeling it with a piece of rebar. She hoped it had been beef, although it appeared to be wearing a pair of shoes.

“Daddy!” she screamed. He went on whacking it for a minute longer before stopping suddenly, standing upright, and pitching his head back. He began grunting like he was making some wordless chant. “Daddy,” she said again. He turned on her.

For a long second there was no recognition in his eyes. He held the rebar up halfway as if considering whether to defend or attack. Cindy took a step back and his eyes dropped to get feet.

“Cccccindy?” he asked as if her name was his best guess to a complex question.

“Daddy,” she said as if recognizing the man beneath the layer of gruel he was covered in.

“I… killed him, Cindy. I stopped the bad boy.”

She sensed this as a pivotal moment. That her father could be her ally in this strange world or her enemy, lost to her forever. Despite her gaggle of friends and the fact she would have probably have been leaving her parents’ home in less than two years she was lonely for them. She had missed being their daughter and all the rights and privileges afforded therein. Even though she still referred to them aloud as Mommy and Daddy she hadn’t been their little girl for a long time. Not since that fall afternoon several years ago when jealousy of her little brother had lead to her making a mistake that would cost her beyond the estimating of a twelve year old, protected suburbanite tweenager.

Beneath all the bits of bone, the spray of blood, the sheen of fear-sweat, and a considerable amount of insanity stood her father, seeing her for the first time, albeit through a warped glass if not a dark one, in many years. Even though her lies had gotten them to this point but with no guarantee for the next few minutes, Cindy had him to herself in a way she’d been craving, to her own surprise. But the attention fueled on her continued deceit, her survival too, so that his question, as heart-breakingly simple-minded as it was for a man with two PhDs made her answer to his question simple, albeit a dagger in the vacancy left by her soul.

“I… done good?” he asked, glancing at the corpse between his feet.

“Yes,” she replied. “You done good.” She looked over her shoulder at the slowly approaching figures coming out of a sudden fog. One of them wore a skirt that may or may not have been the same as her mother’s. “Now it’s time to do more.”

All done! Did you enjoy? Please consider downloading a copy of Anything but Zombies?

The Non-Believers, Pt IX #free #bookboost #iartg

Download The Best Night of the Year just in time for #Halloween.

He growled, but Daddy growled louder, seizing him by the throat and wrenching him out and shaking him like a ragdoll. The boy creature seemed to have some understanding that it was being overpowered, panic wide in its eyes as it flailed feebly at her father’s arms.

“Oh, Bradley, yes!” Cindy said, pulling her shirt down and exposing her meager cleavage to the monster poking its head out (but taking care not to get too close). Daddy tossed away the one in his grasp like an empty beer can and seized the one she was relatively certain was Gregory and began pounding the top of his head with the bottom of his fist. Gregory’s eyes burst out of his head by the third or fourth blow and he slumped back inside to be replaced by two more boy monsters.

Daddy took those two on just as easily, but Cindy saw the growing problem. As crazed with superhuman strength as her father was, this couldn’t last. He was frothing at the mouth, gouging eyes, smashing heads together, tearing out throats (it gave her an odd feeling of flattery that Daddy had gone into an autopilot rage all for her virtue), but her room was overrun with them with more crowding in.

One grabbed her father by the arm and he spun his hand around, grabbing it by the elbow before neatly tearing its arm out of the socket by the shoulder. It looked down at itself in shock and was clubbed repeatedly with its own clawed fist.

“Oh! The beer is here!” Cindy said excitedly, pointing to a vehicle driving slowly down the street.

“What?” Daddy said, turning on her. His face was a mask of fury, slathered in green muck. He had gruel up to his elbows and half looked like one of those monsters. “What have I told you about the evils of alcohol.” His eyes rolled to the vehicle on the street. He quickly turned to the window, shoving back two figures by their heads before slamming the window shut on the fingers of a third.

“I will deal with you when I return,” he said, wagging a finger at the creatures in Cindy’s bedroom. Daddy turned and dived off the roof, tucking and rolling when he landed on the ground, barely making an impression on the lawn. He sprinted after the car.

“Cin, what the hell?” Matt said. She’d almost forgotten her friend was there.

“C’mon,” she said, holding a hand out. “We have to catch him.”

“I don’t know.” Matt shook his head, but took her hand.

They climbed over the lip of the roof and onto the trellis. Cindy was sure and steady with her hand and footholds, checking left and right until she got to the bottom. When she got to the ground she checked around; everything seemed clear.

Matt wasn’t as surefooted, though. He’d seemingly gotten stuck about a quarter of the way down and was shaking terribly.

“C-Cin, I’m scared,” he said.

“Matt, just climb down,” she whispered loudly. “It’s not that far.”

“I know but–”

That was all he got out before he began screaming. A hand slipped into his long, curly hair and yanked him roughly upward. Cindy leapt for his feet, managing to sheer a fingernail off. She swore and plucked the digit into her mouth as Matt vanished over the edge of the roof, his screams going from loud to heavy metal concert.

Make sure to come back next Monday for the last installment! In the meantime, why not download a copy of Anything but Zombies?

I Had this Really Good Idea for My Next Book, but…

Okay, so I’m about to start on my next novel (I’m putting The Roof on the backburner for the time being). I typically have about 6 ideas I really want to write at any given time and I have a quasi-Thunder Dome type battle in my head to whittle it down to the one I actually start. One of the frontrunners was something I was going to call Imaginary Enemy, about a guy whose imaginary friend gets upset by something he does and then begins the process to upend his entire life, but I realized there was a huge problem with that story line.

It’s Fight Club. I mean, that’s pretty much the storyline of Fight Club.

Sure, I could probably write the book still and have it be significantly different from Chuck Pahlaniuk’s 1997 novel, but I think the premises are so similar I’d be constantly aware of his book and it would be like I was looking over my shoulder the entire time I wrote it.

It’s not like with my novella, Fleshbags, which is a zombie novel and there are exactly one billion, two hundred forty-two million, seven zombie stories that came before it (trust me, I counted). It’s a zombie story, but I felt my premise was different enough from at least anything else that I had read that I was comfortable with putting the story to paper without feeling like I was ripping somebody off.

 So now I have to go back to the idea bank. I actually have something I’ve begun to work on which requires a degree of research I had not done before and I’m looking forward to it. I’m hoping to have a draft in the next few months to submit to an agent (I want to land a deal with a major publisher).

See How It All Began… #thewalkingdead #amc

If you’re like me, you’re chomping at the bit for the new series Fear the Walking Dead, which starts this Sunday night! Check out this sneak peak and after, why not download a copy of  Anything but Zombies ?

The Non-Believers, Pt VIII #free #bookboost #iartg

Vamp-Hire, available now for Kindle from Permuted Press.

“The o-o-o–” He looked on the verge of having one himself.

“Yes, Dad. The orgy. Where there’s tons of the sex.”

“Wh-where?” he said. “Wh-wh-when?”

“Oh, I don’t even remember I was so high on the drugs at the time.” She slid a window up and grabbed Matt by the wrist, ushering him toward it. A confused expression hung on his face, but he got the hint and began climbing out. “Matt was there, he could tell you.”

“Wh-what?” Matt said as he pulled his other foot through.

Cindy’s father charged him. Matt windmilled his arms, rebalancing after taking an unsure step back and kept his footing.

“That’s why he’s here now, Daddy,” Cindy said, getting into it. “We’re going to do it. We’re all going to do it.”

By now her father was near frothing at the mouth with rage. His tan skin was a deep burgundy at his neck and face, his eyes shiny brown pricks jutting from his head. He climbed out after the boy and Cindy followed just as the first palms slapped against her bedroom door.

“I’m going to kill you,” Cindy’s father said to the boy. It took her a moment to orient herself so she could balance on the sloped roof. But she got between her father and Matt and manage to halt his forward progress.

Matt was almost as wide-eyed as her father, his eyes filled with terror instead of rage.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said as if he really had been to an orgy with Cindy. He took a small step backward, teetered, and righted himself again.

Cindy got between them before her father could charge. She ignored the silent accusation in Matt’s eyes, considering violator-of-daughters a fair label in exchange for still being alive.

Her bedroom door burst in. There were only seconds before they got to the window and Cindy had to get her father ready.

“Don’t be silly, Daddy,” she said. “Matt’s gay. The other boys are here for the orgy. Today.”

The top of her father’s head must have been as red as a volcano because his forehead was almost purple. He looked at her but she didn’t think he saw her. At least not a sixteen year old version of her. He probably saw his little girl, around four or so, in one of those summer dresses that had been too long for her that she’d countered with a pair of her mother’s highest heels. Daddy had a picture of that very thing on his desk in his study.

“Daddy, don’t hurt them. They love me!”

She hated to say it, but she needed something to push him the rest of the way over the edge. If she couldn’t have his trust or even have him believe his own eyes then she would take his rage.

He turned to the first boy as his arm was poking out the window. Daddy grabbed him by the elbow and the scruff of his neck before hurling him over the edge of the roof. There was a wet smack as flesh met driveway and Daddy was reaching in the window as the next boy approached. The boy growled, nude from the chest up, his skin a wet, emerald green.

We’re coming down the home stretch! Please check back for the next (last?) installment! In the meantime, have you downloaded your copy of Anything but Zombies?

Do Not See Me

geraldrice:

This is actually better than I remembered it.

Originally posted on razorlinepress:

Please feel free to pass this around. This is my first vampire story of any kind and I may turn this into a novel or novella.

Jimmy sat in the back of the cruiser, waiting for the cop to take him in. They’d had them dead to rights, he wasn’t sure what he would have done with that gun even if he’d had the time. But this guy, this police officer, was some kind of magician. He’d appeared out of nowhere and all but plucked the gun right out of Jimmy’s hand.

He hadn’t even noticed until the gun was moving in his grip, the knurled metal handle wedging against his palm, and then saw the officer with a hand on it. Jimmy had panicked, felt himself reflexively squeeze—both his fingers and his guts—but the officer must have put the safety on with a bit of slight of hand. Fire…

View original 1,890 more words

The Non-Believers, Pt VII #free #bookboost #iartg

Download a copy of Anything but Zombies from Atria Books today!

“No, Daddy, they’re not zombies,” Cindy said. “But you can’t go out there. They’ll get you like they got Mommy.”

He affixed her with a laser stare on par with her mother’s. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Verocchio barked again. “I’m going to get my dog.”

“No, sir,” Matt said, standing between her father and the door. “You can’t open the door. You can’t let them in.”

“Your friends?” Mr. Nostrand threw his hands up. “Young man, don’t you think this joke has gone on far long enough? Shouldn’t you be getting home?” He pursed his lips as he considered the boy a moment. “Tell me son, how many beers did you have?”

Matt’s face blanched, but he held his ground.

“Sir, I didn’t have any.”

Even if Cindy hadn’t had firsthand knowledge she wouldn’t have believed him.

“Right.” Mr. Nostrand proceeded to remove Matt from his path as if the boy were no more substantial than a wet bedsheet on a drying line. Gregory had gone still several minutes earlier. He had begun twitching not long after and now he’d begun to rise. Delilah noticed him first and pushed herself against the window to get farther away from him.

“Gre-Gregory!” she said and pointed.

They all turned and save for Mr. Nostrand screamed. The boy had turned a deep emerald color, thick grayish ooze spilling from his mouth. He seemed to be spitting up teeth and when he drew closer to them Cindy could make out the tiny pins in his swollen gums.

He was turning into one of them.

“Oh God, not you too Gregory!” Cindy said.

Her father began to clap slowly.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been as disappointed in you as I am right now. Nor as angry.” He stepped over to the boy, reached and grabbed him by the back of his t-shirt and dragged him to the door. Gregory snarled and snapped at them, but was essentially helpless as Cindy’s father unlocked the door, pulled it open, and unceremoniously dumped him on the deck. He was barely missed by a set of needle teeth chomping the air where his hand had been a moment before and Cindy quickly hustled along side him and pulled the door shut.

She peered over Delilah’s shoulder as the boy dragged himself back upright and stood swaying in the midst of the others.

“It’s the bites,” Matt said. “It must be the bites.”

“Were you bit?” Cindy asked. He quickly checked himself then shook his head. “Were you, Delilah?” The girl was too terrified to speak, keeping her eyes shut as she stood frozen. “Delilah,” Cindy said, seizing her by the shoulder, “were you bit?”

The glass shattered and several hands were suddenly on Delilah, pulling her outside.

“My window!” Cindy’s father said. “What kind of game do you think you’re playing at?” Cindy and Matt screamed, backing away. He wagged a finger at the boy-thing nearest him outside. “I will be contacting your parents about this. What is your name?”

“Hnnnnnnh,” the boy said.

“I-I’m sorry? I didn’t get that. And stop pawing at that young lady’s clothes. Have you no decency?”

“Rrrrrrgh,” another said, stepping closer. They began reaching through the window and Cindy was able to pull herself back just in time to grab her father by the arm and drag him out of reach.

“Daddy, I want to confess. I want to tell you everything. I have condoms and alcohol in my room.”

His head whipped around. Ever since Milton her parents had become accustomed to believing the absolute worst in her. Her confession got him moving in the right direction and he was practically running behind her as she fled up the stairs.

“Where?” he said as he stormed into her room. Matt was already waiting there (although how he’d come to know which one was hers really was innocent) and she shut the door behind him.

“It’s um… it’s um… over here.” She took three quick steps over to her dresser, slid out a drawer and dumped the contents on her bed. Her father watched, his eyes wide as she fished out a flask and thumbed through a paperback until she came to the crusty old condom she’d been using as a bookmark as a goof. She was still a virgin, technically, and had never thought about using the prophylactic. Likewise with the silver flask that her father took out of the pile on the bed. She had tried alcohol before, a bottle of Merlot Tasha had taken from her parents’ wine cellar, but had been the only one who had gotten sick and after having had only three or four sips.

But it would have been useless to tell him that. If he wouldn’t believe her when she told him the truth, maybe she could lie her way to the other side of this.

The back door smashed in, followed shortly by the front. A moment later, she heard them on the stairs, staggering and gurgling like they all had teaspoons of water stuck in their throats.

“Where did you get this?” her father said, shaking the old condom with each word. She looked at him and saw tears in his eyes. Cindy went back to the door and locked it.

“At the orgy,” she said and his eyes went even wider. He froze like all the fluid in his body had been turned to ice.

Be sure to come back soon for the conclusion of “The Non-Believers”. In the meantime, download a copy of Vamp-Hire from Permuted Press.

The Power of Apology

If you are in customer service at any level then you probably have experienced a customer being upset with you, another employee, or your company in general. We’ve all gotten that self-defensive tightness, that ‘fight’ part of our brains that gears up for an argument, even if you do restrain yourself. ‘Hey, it’s not my fault’ (whatever ‘it’ may be) or ‘You’re wrong’ may be a couple responses, although in the heat of the moment those responses probably run a lot more colorful in one’s mind.

But in the spirit of getting actual results, many times it’s most beneficial to have the complete opposite approach to the person at the counter or on the other end of the phone line. Taking ownership of the situation can actually save you time and keep cooler heads all the way around.

I’m suggesting that you say you’re sorry.

I know, I know. You’re not sorry. Not really. You had nothing to do with whatever it was and you don’t even know who would actually be responsible for taking care of the situation. But the person on the other end of the phone doesn’t know that. Sure, even if they’re right about being angry, they’re wrong for taking it out on you, but this is a situation where it’s best to remove as much of yourself from the situation as possible. Approach it from an interested observer’s standpoint. If someone were stranded on the side of the road with a flat tire he or she might very well be upset, but they wouldn’t (necessarily) be mad at you. When you are talking to that person, think of your conversation as a means to do something about their problem. You are the ‘face’ of the company in that instance and have the opportunity to turn the situation into a win/win.

Many years ago, I was a customer service rep for a major medical testing company. You’ve probably been to one of their patient service centers. We took a high volume of calls and reps were so stressed out, that our department had the highest turnover rate in the entire company; if I’m remembering correctly, it was something like 20+% of employees quit in their first year. So the company decided to be proactive and have us all train in active listening. What we learned was a lot of patients felt like they weren’t being heard. Like the person on the other end of the line was just rote responses to resolve a situation in 90 seconds or fewer rather than actually considering what the patient was saying and interacting. One of the first things they trained us to do was to summarize what the caller said in his or her initial volley and proceeding from there.

Now, I’m not really writing about active listening, but just a specific part of it; the apology. Nine times out of ten, in my experience, active listening defused situations before they became situations. I’m talking about that tenth customer—you know, the guy who’s gotten a bill over and over and his insurance was supposed to have taken care of it, the woman whose payment was lost, or the little old lady whose blood sample was dropped in the lab and she had to go back for another draw (yes, that phone call happened many times in my day once upon a time).

In 2004, The University of Michigan Health System began to employ what they call the Michigan Model. They have actually been able to reduce the number of medical malpractice claims by offering apologies to the patients affected. Take a moment to consider how powerful an apology can be if it can save a company millions of dollars in legal fees and malpractice suits.

Think back to the last time you were upset about something. Really steamed. I’d bet that if whoever was responsible had apologized immediately, you’d feel much better, much sooner. And that’s what the person on the phone is looking for. Someone who can tell them that although something has gone wrong, they will take charge and make it right. An apology won’t be the solution to everything, but it’s a huge step in a positive direction.

Check out my new anthology, Anything but Zombies!

 

#FindersKeepers by Stephen King #amreading #bookworm

I just borrowed Finders Keepers eAudiobook from my library. It’s the first sequel in what I’m supposing may be a new series from Stephen King. You may have already read my review of Mr. Mercedes and while I thought it was a poor man’s 11/22/63, I did like it.

So as soon as I finish Kate White’s Eyes on You, I’ll be all over it.

Any book suggestions? Please, let me hear them! [contact-form]

And down forget to check out Vamp-Hire and Anything but Zombies!