Todd Russell's Blog, page 3
October 6, 2011
What Scares Author Velda Brotherton
SCARE ME, GO AHEAD, I LOVE ITRevealing what scares me is easy, but what scares me is not "really" scaring me. It's thrilling me, getting the adreline pumping, raising the hair on the back of my neck, making my heart race, adding to my enjoyment. All these things feed some weird need which I don't understand.
Remember those Freddie movies, where this guy comes out of dreams to terrorize the dreamer? And later that movie where the girl with hair over her face crawls out of the television, to terrorize the viewer? By now you can tell I'm a movie buff, but I'm also an avid reader. The most unusual aspect is that I love being scared. I thrive on it. Obviously others do too, for they flock to the movies and buy the books of those who can scare them the most.
Give me a Stephen King horror novel and I can't put it down. The Shining where the Dad goes slightly bonkers and begins to stalk his family with an axe. King is expert at taking a normal family or situation and ripping it apart when something goes badly wrong with one or more of them. He plays on human nature's fears rather than making up a boogie man. And he is one heck of a writer because he grabs his readers by the hand and literally drags them into the world he's created.
The worst thing about my thirst for terror is it doesn't stop with the good scary stories. The bad ones intrigue me as well. I've been known to read some of the dreck along with the best as long as it's scary. There's no explaining that, because I'll usually throw a bad book across the room, unless there's something supernatural, or a ghost or demon involved.
Edgar Allan Poe is an example of an author good at scaring me so bad I feel great.
In his day Poe was a writer of all genres. He is credited with inventing the detective story in Murders in the Rue Morgue. Arthur Conan Doyle fashioned some of his Sherlock Holmes tales after Poe's earlier works. And there were Poe's love stories, "The Purloined Letter" and who could forget "The Raven"?
On the other hand, "The Tell-tale Heart" and "The Fall of the House of Usher" were so creepy they were not popular with the readers of his time. They are two of my favorites for that very reason. I get the shivers reading them.
This is not unusual for authors today who write "way out of the box," as they try to outdo each other terrifying the reader. As time goes by and writers and movie producers vie to tell the most terrorizing tales, we might find Poe's work tame.
For information on Poe, his work and his history, see http://www.poestories.com
Here are some examples of today's writers who succeed in scaring me:
Robert R. McCammon's best book is probably Swan Song which is evil personified. It's difficult to put down because the characters are so flawed and yet so likable.
Phantoms by Dean Koontz is a delicious read. In a town where no one survived, what is that moving about in the shadows?
Graham Masterson's Walkers is a frightening tale of walls that have eyes, ears and a soul.
So give me more and keep me scared and I'll be happy.
About Montana Promises
Montana Promises is a Western Historical Romance, the first of a trilogy that spans the years between the gold strikes in Virginia City and the cattle ranch wars after the Civil War. Tressie Reed is left alone on the high plains after her mother dies in childbirth. All she wants is to follow her father who abandoned them to go in search of gold. Ex soldier Reed Bannon, fleeing Union soldiers after the Battle of Prairie Grove, has been badly injured but makes it to the soddy where Tressie tends to his wounds. Reed must clear his name and Tressie must forgive her father before they can make a life together.
Montana Promises at Amazon (Kindle): http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005G4WVSE/
Montana Dreams at Amazon (Kindle): http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005LDPE48/
About the Author
Velda has been writing since 1983 when she began working for newspapers, first as a stringer for a daily, then later as a feature editor for a local weekly newspaper. Her first books came out in 1994 with a nonfiction and her first Western Historical Romance with Topaz/Penguin. After six romance novels, she wrote several regional nonfiction historical books for different publishers. She has gone back to her first love, fiction, and turned to Ebook publication. Her Western Historical Romance Stone Heart's Woman will be released by The Wild Rose Press in Feb. 2012. A paranormal, Wolf Song, will be released by SynergEbooks in November, 2011. She has published four Kindle novels and plans on two more in the near future. She lives with her husband in the Ozark National Forest of Arkansas. They enjoy traveling and join together in researching her historical books. They have two children, three grandchildren and one great-grandchild.
Website: http://www.veldabrotherton.com
Blogs: A Writer's Blog, A Journal
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/authorveldabrotherton
Twitter: @veldabrotherton
Wow, Velda we share an affection for the same authors. Thank you for sharing what scares you.
- Todd
Read what scares the last 10 authors in the What Scares Authors series:
Tim C. Taylor
LeAnna Shields
Sarah Woodbury
Jeannie Walker
Joshua Mays
Athanasios
Steven R. Drennon
Heather Marie Adkins
Sue Owen
Laura Yirak
September 25, 2011
Fresh Flesh excerpt: Torque
After twenty-six years in San Quentin for the brutal murder of his mother and wife, and eighteen months before Jessica Stanton washed ashore the island, the state of California decided to let Torque walk. And it was no longer than five minutes after he passed the gate, smiling, waving goodbye to the guards, that he smelled the coppery scent of blood.
They let me out, he thought, whistling the Marine song, and on such a glorious day.
A sunny, hot Valentine's Day. He could already see the pitiful young lovers, gathering like moss under the shade of towering oaks, playing pussy-pussy, kissy-kissy games. Husbands forced into buying chocolate sweets and long stem roses (which died after two weeks anyway, so what was the fucking purpose?). Wives acting phony when their surprise came or cuntish when it didn't. Little boys and girls barely acquainted with the birds and bees, passing out nonsensical Will You Be Mine cards. Torque just couldn't understand the fascination. He knew the only good thing about Valentine's Day was the color: red.
The same color as blood.
Satan's color.
Torque sighed wistfully, looking across the jammed parking lot for Baby Blue, his pick-up up truck. It had to be there somewhere, he knew, because Uncle Sal told him it was in his last letter. Uncle Sal said he parked it and left sweet Sally under the seat. Uncle Sal was a swell guy, he kept Sally all these years, and took care of her like she was one of his own. Uncle Sal knew Sally would be put to good use again someday. If not by Torque, by him; Uncle Sal said his wife was getting too big for her britches. If that came down, Sally would be pleased. She loved blood.
But not more than Torque.
There she was: Baby Blue, sitting next to some red foreign piece of shit; what a disgrace. Uncle Sal must have missed it, Torque was disappointed, and decided that as a good, upstanding citizen of the United States he would slash the tires and steal the stereo. The least he could do.
Torque's birth name was Wally Adamson, but those who knew that were either the law, dead, or as crazy as him (Uncle Sal, for example). He'd gotten the nickname by the way he torqued his mother and ex-wife's heads with his monstrous hands until they snapped. After he torqued their heads, he let Sally do the rest.
It took him three minutes to reach Baby Blue. Four more to fix the foreign jobby. It would have taken less time, but he was a little rusty, and he would have felt wrong not slicing the leather upholstery to ribbons.
He climbed into the pick-up and looked underneath the seat. The keys were waiting on Sally's sleek body. He took them, jammed them into the ignition and let her rip. She fired like she'd never gone cold. Now that's love.
Looking back at San Quentin, his home since he was eighteen, he felt a little sad to be leaving. He took a moment and studied its beautiful figure. The cold, unforgiving concrete and you're-never-going-to-leave-here barbed wire fences. He couldn't have asked for a nicer prison home. He loved it and it loved him.
Before tearing out of the parking lot, he opened the window and spit on the foreign jobby. It would never park next to Baby Blue again. The road opened up, and Satan led Torque's nose to the overwhelming scent.
"Speak to me," he said crazily. "Tell me what I must do. Tell me how I can join you."
The wind brought him an answer. Another smell. It was a weird, succinct odor that, at first, stupefied him. He hadn't come upon that odor for quite some time.
And then he recognized it was fried chicken.
Southern Fried Chicken.
"Wonderful." He laughed happy as the day was bright, driving toward the smell of chicken.
And blood.
On the way a few cars passed him too close on the two-lane road. He could tell Sally was getting nervous and it started bothering him. Back off, he gave them all dirty, hateful stares. They obeyed and gave Baby Blue breathing room.
The power of Satan. I have the power of Satan.
It took about five minutes to trace the smell down. Torque was right, it was emitting from a Southern Fried Chicken fast food restaurant. He pulled into the barely-filled parking lot, passing the slowly revolving chicken logo. It was their knockoff of Kentucky Fried Chicken's spinning bucket of chicken. Everybody ripped off everybody else on the outside. The smell was unbearable.
Too much chicken. Not enough blood.
He turned off the engine and hugged Sally. In the glove box, Uncle Sal had packed plenty of ammo. He cradled Sally, the sawed-off double barrel pointing like eager fingers toward blood. Sally could smell it a thousand miles away, something Torque could never quite figure out. He wondered if a vampire could smell it that far away. No, he decided, vampires are pussies. They can only kill after daylight, at night. Sally never slept; she was ready for blood 24/7, 365.
And boy was she ready now. She was trembling in his hands.
He got out of Baby Blue and, in broad daylight, walked across the parking lot with Sally ready at his side.
Valentine's Day. Cupid had his bow and arrow. Torque had Sally.
A starry-eyed college kid waltzed out of the front door, a bucket of chicken in his hands, a small grin on his face.
"First blood," Torque laughed, aiming.
Fresh Flesh is coming September 29, 2011. You can read the first two chapters of Fresh Flesh as bonus content at the end of the ebook version of Mental Shrillness available at Amazon US UK DE and Smashwords.
September 18, 2011
Fresh Flesh excerpt: Alone
Jessica awoke and sensed being alone. She sprung up and searched around.
Where was Dick? The rock where he had been whittling was vacant. The sun still shone brightly through the cave entrance, and she told herself that he had probably just stepped outside to find another branch to whittle. She must not have been asleep that long. An hour? two? At least, Dick had not left her alone in the dark.
But he had left her alone.
Fear strangled her body. Tiny ripples of gooseflesh rose like weeds all over her body. The cave reeked not only of fish, but of a worse odor, a fouler stench: loneliness.
She got up and went quickly to the cave entrance.
"Dick? Dick?"
The wind howled. Mocked.
Louder: "Dick?"
Nothing. No echo.
She walked ten feet down the beaten trail. Stood alongside the makeshift bathroom. Called again.
"Dick?"
He was gone.
Looking into the jungle's confusing mixture of plants, vines, rocks and trees, she remembered his cautionary words: Still plenty big enough to get lost in.
Yes, she thought and his other words resonated inside her brain: if you know what I mean.
The wind drove a few icy chills up and down her spine.
Where could Dick have gone? The beach? Fishing?
"Dick?" she called out again. No doubt, he'd left her alone. What's wrong with that? Her conscience was annoyed, it's broad daylight and you're being (Edward's words) chickenshit.
But even in their Valford mansion she couldn't stand being left alone. And Edward seemed to leave her alone too often. "Stop being so yellow honey," he'd say with his annoying chuckle. A sound like billiard balls cracking together during an aggressive break. "What's so bad about being home alone? Turn on the TV or radio if you want some company."
Sometimes that worked.
Except now she didn't see any big screen TV or high end stereo receivers popping out of the bushes. Let me charge that to the Mastercard too please.
Jessica turned and stared back at the cave entrance. It was approximately ten feet in diameter with long green and brown vines twisting around the creepy opening. It reminded her of the hungry, spittle-dripping mouth. Darkness and evil dominating over light inside the cave. There was nothing positive Jessica could say about her new home, even from a good distance.
There was something wrong with this "freakishly unknown" island. She felt something dark and disturbing churning inside her stomach.
She decided it wasn't wise for her to have left the cave. She started back. She made it five feet before she heard something rustling in the bushes nearby.
Something alive.
Something moving closer.
Her heartbeat shifted into overdrive, pummeling the ventricle walls. Hairs on the back of her neck rose. Prickling sensations nipped at random spots on her body: fingertips, toes and palms.
Her eyes searched for the intruder. Found none. She was disturbed and on the verge of executing her best shriek.
Nothing, Jessica. Edward's click-clack (eight-ball corner pocket) chuckle: chickenshit.
A harsh wind blew and the whole ravine came alive; shiver-dancing to the ocean tide's music.
Damn imagination. Her heartbeat slowed, returned to normal. A minute passed before she felt silly being scared of nothing.
That was when something cold, something real, emerged from the ravine, grasped her naked shoulder, and squeezed.
"Gotcha."
It was only Dick.
"Hey! You scared the shit out of me." Jessica trembled.
"I--I was just teasing, sorry." Dick yanked back his icy hand. "I was watching you."
"Then why didn't you answer me?"
"I thought...I just--"
"I don't enjoy being frightened, Dick, and this island scares me enough. Please don't. Don't do that again."
He held up his spear, a string of fish tied onto it. "Peace? I brought dinner."
"Don't do that again." She was still in reprimand mode. "My nerves aren't steel, okay?"
"Okay."
She looked at his despondent eyes. "I don't like being left alone."
"You don't have to explain yourself, Jessica. It's not the first time I've screwed up."
"Then," she said, eyeing the fish with a grimace. "Let's go...eat."
Fresh Flesh is coming September 29, 2011. You can read the first two chapters of Fresh Flesh as bonus content at the end of the ebook version of Mental Shrillness available at Amazon US UK DE and Smashwords.
What Scares Author Tim C Taylor
My son scares me the most. I guess my wife does too, but mostly my son, and he's only five.
I blame Rudyard Kipling.
When I was very young, I used to love Kipling's Just So Stories; these old-fashioned and rather silly parables about animals delighted me, and intrigued me with the way the author addresses the reader as 'dearly beloved'. Years later, when my wife was pregnant, I watched a TV documentary about Kipling and rediscovered that sense of delight when I learned that Kipling wrote 'dearly beloved' to address his daughter, Josephine. He made up the Just So Stories as bedtime tales for her; she would quietly hold his hand as he wrote them down to sell to periodicals.
Then, having built this picture of blissful family life, the documentary shattered it because Josephine died very suddenly of pneumonia when still a little girl. Kipling was devastated. A few years later, in 1915, his only son was killed at the Battle of Loos.
Thanks, BBC, for screening that, just as I was about to become a dad.So what scares me most is the thought of my son being damaged. Falling off a cliff, bird flu, mugger, Martin invasion: in my darkest moments I've imagined all of them (except the last one). Wife and son in a car crash: 100 points, game over!
I don't let it show; I don't let him know. Most of the time I don't worry about him but always lurking in the back of my mind...
Maybe I'm just soppy, maybe I'm just a dad, maybe it was all those dad hormones when I watched that TV program -- I don't know. What I am sure about is that the thing that scares me most is my son.
I wrote a science fiction story about those fears. It's a short story called No More than Human after the Theodore Sturgeon classic More than Human. In it, the future for unmodified people, as we largely are today, looks very bleak indeed. Something cracks when the main character watches his wife brutalized (I couldn't bring myself to portray a child damaged so). In the end he deliberately endangers his children and the generations to come after, but in doing so he buys hope.
Where To Buy No More Than Human
Amazon US | Amazon UK | Smashwords (multiple e-formats) | Barnes & Noble (NOOK) | iTunes US | iTunes UK
About the Author
Tim writes science fiction, though latterly people are calling his work steampunk or fantasy. When he lost his job in February 2011, his co-workers gave him a Kindle as a leaving present. A few weeks later he had set up Greyhart Press and begun to publish other authors of horror, science fiction, and fantasy.
Tim's blog: www.timctaylor.com On Twitter: @TimCTaylor
Thanks Tim!
- Todd
Read what scares the last 10 authors in the What Scares Authors series:
LeAnna Shields
Sarah Woodbury
Jeannie Walker
Joshua Mays
Athanasios
Steven R. Drennon
Heather Marie Adkins
Sue Owen
Laura Yirak
Arshad Ahsanuddin
September 4, 2011
What Scares Author LeAnna Shields
Hi everyone.
My name's LeAnna and I guess I'm supposed to write about what scares me. Hmmm well I suppose the answer I should give is that since I'm a follower of Christ I don't have to be scared of anything except life without Him.
But the truth is there are things that scare me.
One is wasps for sort of good reason. I'm very mildly allergic to wasp stings. I won't die or anything, but my skin has an over reaction to the venom.
Amazon (Kindle)
About The Author
LeAnna Shields grew up and lives in Colorado. She went to public schools until high school and then chose a home school out of Chicago called Christian Liberty Academy Satellite School. Home school is where she excelled and learned to write. It was fun for her to write fan fiction about Star Wars. During college she started this series, Alestrion Chronicles. She has put much love and hard work into it. Hope you enjoy it as much as many of us have.
Thanks LeAnna!
- Todd
Read what scares the last 10 authors in the What Scares Authors series:
Sarah Woodbury
Jeannie Walker
Joshua Mays
Athanasios
Steven R. Drennon
Heather Marie Adkins
Sue Owen
Laura Yirak
Arshad Ahsanuddin
Jean Marie Bauhaus
August 28, 2011
Streak begins and read new short story Fossilization
Started one story every work day streak
On Monday, Aug 22, 2011 I decided to see how many days in a row I could write at least one new short story each working day. I'm seven days in now and have written seven brand new short stories. All have been flash fiction pieces under 300 words (some call this microfiction), but I have been working on longer works at the same time. The longer works hopefully will be completed and appear at some point in the future during the streak. Keep reading for explanation how that might happen.
No idea how long this streak will continue and I've decided to use Major League Baseball consecutive games rules. The same rules applied to Joltin' Joe DiMaggio from May 15, 1941 - July 16, 1941 when he set the record for consecutive games with at least one hit. Nobody has beaten his record since 1941. If you check the game records DiMaggio's team didn't play games on the dates listed below.
Days off during DiMaggio hit streak
May 26, 1941 - 11 consecutive games
May 31, 1941 - 5 games (16 total games)
June 4, 1941 - 3 games (19)
June 6, 1941 - 2 games (21)
June 9, 1941 - 3 games (24)
June 11, 1941 - 1 games (25)
June 13, 1941 - 1 games (26)
June 23, 1941 - 9 games (35)
June 30, 1941 - 7 games (42) Note: June 31, 1941 an invalid date
(2) July 3-4, 1941 - 3 games (45)
(3) July 7-9, 1941 - 3 games (48)
streak ended July 17, 1941 - 8 games (56)
Even for non baseball fans, DiMaggio's streak is impressive. He had 14 non-working days to rest during his streak of 56 consecutive games with a hit. He had 91 total hits with an overall batting average of .408.
All this baseball stuff means that, yes, I will take days off here and there along the way.
The streak will end when I do not write a complete new fiction story (can be any length, any genre, but must be fiction) on a working day.
Multiple day stories may count
This got me thinking: what if I write a story that takes say 3 days to complete? Yes, I could include that story on day 3 as a valid completed new story, assuming I had completed other stories the other two days. So not all of my stories must be started, written and completed on the same day, as long as I have completed stories the other days in the streak.
No stories started before 8-22-2011 will count
Here's the no sandbagging rule.
EXAMPLE. I can't count my debut novel Fresh Flesh that comes out 9-29-2011 on 9-29-2011 if that's a working day, even though I'm still tweaking the work and adding a few new words as feedback continues to roll in during the final proofing stage because I started working on this book a long, long time ago.
What does my typical work year look like?
My typical work year schedule involves working six days a week on average and taking two 1-2 week long vacations a year. So if we factor in four weeks vacation (30 days) + 48 single days off (one day off per work week, vacation weeks already counted) and subtract that from 365 days in a year, I should have at least 287 working days per year (365 - 78 = 287). That's a very low number of days worked and my actual working days are more like 310-330+ days per year. Depending on how long this streak goes, we'll learn the actual numbers together in time.
List of stories in streak so far
"Pine of the Indians" - A man collides with history in this flash fiction story. (#1, Monday Aug 22, 2011)
"Fossilization" - Caught in a fire of unknown origin, the strength of a couple's love is exhibited. (#2, Tuesday Aug 23, 2011)
"Pyracantha Eyes" - A well-trained man encounters unexpected witnesses. (#3, Wednesday Aug 24, 2011)
"Texting Triangle" - A woman's friend dies in a suspicious car accident and sends text messages from the grave. (#4, Thursday Aug 25, 2011)
"Dead Lead" - Exploring life and death in the easel tray. (#5, Friday Aug 26, 2011)
"The Loser Winner" - A swimmer tries to beat her best time against faceless creatures with curled tails. (#6, Saturday Aug 27, 2011)
"Another Day" - A chess match in a strange diner between a recluse and a violent criminal (#7, August 28, 2011)
Where can the streak stories be read?
As a means of third party independent verification and to share with readers who want to follow along, I am sharing non-permanent links in my fan area: http://toddrwrite.com/fans/ and sometimes I might mention some stories on Twitter and my Facebook page.
Many of these stories will only be available online for a brief period of time (at least 66 hours, no guarantees beyond that), so those who are interested in reading each and every story will need to bookmark my fan page and check daily (my work days, anyway) for updates. Some stories I may post permanently here in the blog or perhaps combine in a book or other projects of interest down the road. Anything posted in this blog, like the story "Fossilization" below is permanent, so please if you like the story feel free in linking from your sites/blogs/social networks.
The reason I'm not keeping the stories up permanently is that I might be reworking some of the stories into longer stories or scenes. Again, I have no plans to take any stories down that are posted in this blog, so readers are encouraged always to link to anything in this blog.
Enough story streak talk, where's the story "Fossilization"?
On August 23, I took first place in a flash fiction online prompt contest with the story "Fossilization" below. The contest had a maximum word limit of 300 words and required that the story included the words: orange, fire and fossil. I hope you enjoy the story as much as others that left reviews. Please use the comments and give me your feedback.
Fossilization
by Todd Russell
How and why the fire started, who started it, Donner and Maria would never know. Everywhere they turned in the forest the orange-red, flickering tongues cut off their escape.
"We're not gonna make it!" Maria said, coughing.
Donner hugged his wife of thirty-two years. "Remember that bear cave we saw late yesterday? Over there, beyond the smoky ridge."
Donner led his wife through the gray haze. He could feel the smoke burning through his lungs. Maria coughed harder. If they didn't get to safety soon, smoke inhalation would claim their lives long before the flames.
As they passed the bridge, Maria collapsed. Donner picked her up and carried her into the cave.
"Stay with me, honey. We made it."
The cave air was cool and musty. Donner walked toward the back, holding Maria. "I love you and will never let you go."
"I--" (COUGH) "love...you, too."
And then Donner, with Maria still in his arms, fell into the hole. Falling, colder, colder, black.
* * *
Axmar's FF-129D detection light blinked and projected light against the cave wall showing a detailed projection of what was buried deep beneath the surface. He found something unique and rare that he could take back to his home world.
"Request fossil date projection."
The FF-129D responded with a red digital counter incrementing on the wall and stopping on a year.
2011.
"Humans were so primitive," Axmar said aloud, recalling from his studies that this year had been plagued by widespread economic conflict and raging terrorist factions.
The orientation of the skeletal remains, preserved in rock for over 12,000 years, appeared as if they died holding hands.
Never-ending love, Axmar thought. That's what I'll call this earth World War III exhibit.
Copyright 2011 Todd Russell All Rights Reserved
What Scares Author Sarah Woodbury
When I was a little girl, I had an army of stuffed animals to protect me at night. Cuddly the bear, because he was the biggest, would nestle next to my right shoulder. Yellow-hopper (the yellow bunny) would buttress my left shoulder, and Mr. Octopus and Raggedy Andy would sit sentry on the pillow. I stationed all the rest--bears, bunnies, horses--facing the window.
I had a big bed too--a double--with a wooden headboard and a gaping foot-high empty space underneath it.
That's where the monsters hung out.
Every night, I lay flat on my back, perfectly still, so that I wouldn't make any noise and my movements wouldn't bring them out. I also had a big closet that loomed along the inner wall. I always kept the doors closed, lest the monsters in there sneak out through the cracks.
My Mary-had-a-little-lamb night light did its best to cut through the darkness and I would stare at it, narrowing my eyes against the light, praying its little light bulb would last another night.I don't remember when I grew out of those fears (though I slept with Cuddly through college). But I think part of the reason stories with monsters and demons, vampires, zombies, and undead of every stripe and hue have stuck with us through the millennia is that they call upon these deeper fears--of the unknown, of powers that are beyond us--that manifest in children as fear of monsters.
As adults, our fears are far more specific: unemployment, thieves, death and taxes. Loss in all the ways we fear to lose.
And what counters that? Stories that make us forget these prosaic, every-day fears, in favor of ones that make us shiver.
My book, The Last Pendragon, tells a story about a King of Wales who becomes a sidhe and has to face down other gods and demons--and a Saxon menace that threatens the very existence of his people. But really, it's about standing up to fears that threaten to bring you to your knees.
Really, it's about finding the courage to turn off that night light.
About The Last Pendragon
He is a king, a warrior, the last hope of his people--and the chosen one of the sidhe . . .
Set in 7th century Wales, The Last Pendragon is the story of Cadwaladr ap Cadwallon (Cade), heir to the throne of Arthur, and his love, Rhiann, the daughter of the man who killed Cade's father and usurped his throne.
Born to rule, yet without a kingdom, Cade must grasp the reins of his own destiny to become both Christian king and pagan hero. And Rhiann must decide how much she is willing to risk to follow her heart.
About the Author
With two historian parents, Sarah couldn't help but develop an interest in the past. She went on to get more than enough education herself (in anthropology) and began writing fiction when the stories in her head overflowed and demanded she let them out. Her interest in Wales stems from her own ancestry and the year she lived in England when she fell in love with the country, language, and people. She even convinced her husband to give all four of their children Welsh names.
She makes her home in Oregon.
Where to buy The Last Pendragon
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/dp/1460926846/
Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/25340
Thanks Sarah for being #12 in the ongoing What Scares Authors series. Hey neighbor, I'm geographically located due north of you :) The Pacific Northwest is scenic, beautiful country. -- Todd
Read what scares the last 10 authors in the series:
Athanasios, Steven R. Drennon, Heather Marie Adkins, Sue Owen, Laura Yirak, Arshad Ahsanuddin, Jean Marie Bauhaus
August 27, 2011
What Scares Author Jeannie Walker
I thought I sensed movement at the end of my bed. It felt as if something was tugging at the sheet covering my feet. I promptly dismissed the notion, thinking my foot was shaking from nervous energy of the hectic day's activities. At that very moment, I felt something touching my foot and tugging on it. I sat upright, looking at the foot of the bed. The outside street lamp shed a faint light into the room enabling me to catch a glimpse of what it was, if anything. I gasped when I saw tiny creatures crawling on my bed covers. Low mumbling sounds were coming from ugly dwarfish creatures dressed in black, as they furiously tugged on the sheet. I quickly kicked the cover off the bed sending the miniature beings tumbling to the floor. But the things quickly regained their balance, climbed back up onto the bed, and started tugging furiously at my foot. It was then that I heard rumbling noises coming from the floor of the bedroom. I looked toward the sound. I became immensely frightened by what I saw. There was a black hole in the middle of the floor with scores of the little ugly creatures crawling out of the dark underground. The tiny creatures on my bed gathered together and started tugging on both of my feet. I realized the little devil-like creatures were trying to pull me off the bed and toward the ominous hole.
More and more tiny elf-like demons crawled out of the black opening and ran toward the bed. The menacing sight struck terror into me. Instinctively, I began praying, "Lord Jesus, please help me." As I prayed, the little devil creatures thrust their arms into the air, mumbled something, and began running and jumping off my bed into the black hole. I watched as all of the little devils descended back inside the black hole, and the opening immediately closed up and disappeared. I sat on the bed trembling with fear. Although I was wide awake, I wasn't sure if what I had seen was real or unreal. Was I hallucinating? And if I was hallucinating, then what was causing it? I never took any drugs. I was averse to even taking an aspirin.
What had happened was like something coming from an unreal world of monsters and fairies. But the tiny demons I had witnessed were not fairies. They looked as if they were creatures from hell. I was afraid to go to sleep. I felt if I dozed off, the tiny devilish monsters would come back. I got up from the bed and tiptoed to the middle of the room where I had seen the black hole in the floor. There was no evidence of it. I breathed a sigh of relief and walked into the living room. I sat down on the couch. I was exhausted but stayed awake all night. It was a blessing when the sun finally dawned.
I was scared then and I am still scared at night when I go to bed. I never know if and when the little devil creatures might appear again. You should be scared too, it could happen to you.
Jeannie Walker Author of Fighting the Devil
A True Story of Consuming Passion, Deadly Poison, and Murder
Book Description:
In the midst of Texas ranch country, on a quiet and peaceful spring day, a 49-year-old millionaire rancher sat down to lunch with his wife and bookkeeper, as he often did. Less than half an hour later, he was deathly ill, with stomach pains, severe vomiting and intense intestinal distress. Three weeks later, he was dead from a mysterious illness. His wife seemed to show no emotion when she learned of his death. However, his bookkeeper became very nervous and upset upon hearing the news, and ran through the hospital corridor to the nearest elevator.
The Texas millionaire rancher discovered his wife and bookkeeper had stolen thousands of dollars from him. After he demanded the money back, he started getting sick. While in the hospital, doctors were mystified as to how an otherwise healthy, energetic man could become so deathly ill. The dying man told everyone within earshot that his wife and bookkeeper were killing him. The man's wife said her husband was hallucinating from drugs the doctors were giving him. The millionaire rancher succumbed in the hospital while strapped down to his bed with restraints on his hands and feet and tubes in every orifice. After the rancher died, an anonymous caller tipped off the police. The widow was the sole beneficiary of the estate and a $350,000 life insurance policy. A week before the man's death, a teenager visited the rancher's home and became deathly ill after he drank juice that was in the rancher's refrigerator. Two years after the millionaire's death, a bottle of arsenic was found in a storage locker rented by a woman under an assumed name. The millionaire's ex-wife, the mother of his children, became a sleuth to help solve the murder. No one could have predicted the aftermath with its strange twists and unexpected results.
Where to buy Fighting The Devil
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/dp/1450213030/
Amazon UK Kindle: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B004OL2JH8/
Barnes & Noble: NOOK or paperback
Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/46357
Autographed Softcover or Hardcover: jeanniewalkerbooks.com
About the AuthorJeannie Walker is an Award Winning Author and Award Winning Songwriter. She studied creative writing in New York and is a member of the International Association of Writers. She is an avid reader of mystery novels and the ex-wife of a murdered millionaire.
Walker's debut book, Fighting the Devil is a 2010 ForeWord Magazine BOOK OF THE YEAR SILVER AWARDS WINNER and 2011 NATIONAL INDIE EXCELLENCE AWARDS FINALIST in True Crime.
Author Website: jeanniewalkerbooks.com
Author Blog: http://jeannie-walker.blogspot.com
Twitter: @JeannieWalker1
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000972026719
Thanks Jeannie Walker for being #11 in the ongoing What Scares Authors series. I read Jeannie's book and gave it 4 stars at Goodreads. It's a recommended read, especially for those who dig true crime -- Todd.
Read what scares the last 10 authors in the series:
Athanasios, Steven R. Drennon, Heather Marie Adkins, Sue Owen, Laura Yirak, Arshad Ahsanuddin, Jean Marie Bauhaus, Gayle Carline
August 22, 2011
What Scares Author Joshua Mays
What scares me? Well that's simple. I'm afraid of the slithering horror that moves just outside of your vision. It's that same thing that disappears, changing its shape and taking on a new visage as you try and focus on it. You look, so sure of what you saw, but each time, it's gone. I'm afraid of the shadowy tendrils that flair out, coming closer, conquering everything they touch as the sun goes down. Or when a light goes out, and darkness consumes the comfort and solace that you cling to in order to alleviate your fear.
It's the intentions of the leering man that scare me, the one who rubs you the wrong way, or gives you a strange vibe. The actions of a person you care about when they aren't around. You think you can trust them, but can you really? It's the power that hides in our hearts, turning us into monsters on a whim. Taking away our humanity, reverting us back to the animals we were meant to be. It's the mass murderers, and terrorists who could show up at any minute. It's the serve weather warning, or the melting ice caps.It's the long drive to work each day, or that seven hour flight that has too much turbulence. It's the complications during pregnancy, or the people out for your children. It's the first step on a new journey, or that decision that could change your life. It's the people and places that are different, and all the dangers that come with them. It's the virus that floats in the air, or rests in our bed, waiting to infect us and bring sickness.
It's the power behind religion, and the reason we all stay in line, doing our best to be good people. It's the ancient beings that come from beyond the stars, sleeping beneath our seas. It's the reason, why people are afraid of death, and the afterlife. No, it's not the fear itself, but rather the greatest fear of them all. It's the fear of the unknown.
About the Author
Joshua Mays: a simple writer.
Author blog
http://terraincognita9.blogspot.com/
Facebook page
http://www.facebook.com/TheTerraIncognita
About Terra Incognita: The Abyss
A young man finds his way into a dark world that has been sealed off from ours for thousands of years. After crossing the threshold, Benjamin Harking is forced on a journey to recover four magical items that will help him stop a coming evil that is older than man itself.
Buy Terra Incognita: The Abyss
Amazon paperback | Kindle | NOOK |
Smashwords (sample)
Thanks Joshua Mays for being #10 in the ongoing What Scares Authors series. Read what scares other authors:
Athanasios, Steven R. Drennon, Heather Marie Adkins, Sue Owen, Laura Yirak, Arshad Ahsanuddin, Jean Marie Bauhaus, Gayle Carline, David Gaughran.
August 21, 2011
Fresh Flesh excerpt The Rescuer
The man took the coconut away again. He broke off a piece of it and offered it to her. "Hungry?" he repeated, as if she didn't understand English.
She shook her head.
"Okay." He put the coconut on the ground beside her. "But I must know how you feel? Please, if you feel feverish or sick or cold--I must know. How do you feel?"
Her first sentence came, along with a loud discordant cough. "You...are a--" COUGH! "--doctor?"
"No," the man replied, lowering his head. "No, wish I was. You wouldn't have scared me like you did if I was."
"How?" she coughed again, rubbing her throat raw.
"For now, let me ask the questions. I don't think you should talk too much right away. You had a terribly high temperature, it might have been pneumonia. That's why I need to know how you feel?"
"Alive." she answered, for the moment not so gratified by that fact.
"Do you feel nauseated?"
"No--" COUGH!
"Hot? Cold?"
"Shitty," she replied.
He grinned. "Humor, that's a good sign."
A moment passed where she could no longer keep her eyelids open. She pressed on, needing to learn more about her surroundings.
"Who...are...you?"
"I thought I was the one asking the questions?" He took a piece of coconut and started munching on it.
"If you aren't a doc--" COUGH! "--tor, who are you?"
"A friend," he touched her chin, a loving gesture which made her cringe. "That found you three days ago."
She looked around, trying to remember what happened to her, what had brought her to this unfamiliar place. Everything was unclear at the moment. She had a sense that it would come back to her in time. Right now she cared more about where she was than how she'd arrived there.
"Where am I?"
He looked around, gesturing to a blurry, fish-reeking cave. "My home, of course."
"A...cave?"
"On an island, yes."
"Island? What--" COUGH! "--island?"
Strangely, he avoided the question. "You aren't going to get well unless you bundle up and get some sleep. We'll talk again when you wake up."
She started to protest, but he put a fish-stinking finger to her lips. "And I'll leave this coconut for you when you can stomach it. You do want to get well, don't you?"
He removed his finger when she nodded.
"Now, sleep." He smiled, showing ebony rotting teeth, and stroked her ash blond hair, "And pleasant dreams."
She closed her eyes and shuddered. She told herself it wasn't the man who frightened her. It was his grotesque debilitating body.
She drifted and slept once again.
Fresh Flesh is coming September 29, 2011. You can read the first two chapters of Fresh Flesh as bonus content at the end of the ebook version of Mental Shrillness available at Amazon US UK DE and Smashwords.
