Brendan Carroll's Blog: Working my way back, page 2
November 3, 2012
Six Sentence Sunday
The following six sentences is from
The Knight of Death is available from Amazon for Kindle in several countries. Base price $3.99, currently only $2.99 @ Amazon. It is the first of a thirty-book series of Templar Fantasy set in modern, future and fantasy time.
When she smiled, he thought she was an angel come to welcome him to Paradise, but the pain in his shoulders and the pain in his wrists and all the other pains he felt indicated quite plainly he had not crossed over just yet.
“Won’t you talk to me?” she asked and then knelt beside him and brushed his hair from his face before leaning close, looking into his eyes. He could smell her perfume and see the tiny golden hairs on her cheek in the dappled sunlight. She held a bottle of water to his lips and he drank it without thinking, spilling it over his chest. The water was cold and sweet, and he nodded his approval without taking his eyes off her face. Short golden curls framed cherubic cheeks, clear blue eyes and sensuous lips.
“The company of women is a dangerous thing, and the devil has turned many men from the path to Paradise by providing female company,” he said without knowing why.
The Knight of Death is available from Amazon for Kindle in several countries. Base price $3.99, currently only $2.99 @ Amazon. It is the first of a thirty-book series of Templar Fantasy set in modern, future and fantasy time.
When she smiled, he thought she was an angel come to welcome him to Paradise, but the pain in his shoulders and the pain in his wrists and all the other pains he felt indicated quite plainly he had not crossed over just yet.
“Won’t you talk to me?” she asked and then knelt beside him and brushed his hair from his face before leaning close, looking into his eyes. He could smell her perfume and see the tiny golden hairs on her cheek in the dappled sunlight. She held a bottle of water to his lips and he drank it without thinking, spilling it over his chest. The water was cold and sweet, and he nodded his approval without taking his eyes off her face. Short golden curls framed cherubic cheeks, clear blue eyes and sensuous lips.
“The company of women is a dangerous thing, and the devil has turned many men from the path to Paradise by providing female company,” he said without knowing why.
October 18, 2012
Spookaganza Giveaway Coming Soon
An October Spookaganza Giveaway will boast 33 prizes to be given to 3 winners. All the reads are in the horror; occult; supernatural; scary-type book genres.
Take a look at what's up for grabs at:
http://brendancarroll.wordpress.com/
Or at:
http://tinyurl.com/9xkfmns
Good Luck!
Take a look at what's up for grabs at:
http://brendancarroll.wordpress.com/
Or at:
http://tinyurl.com/9xkfmns
Good Luck!
April 14, 2012
Do you believe?
I've been watching Ghost Hunters, one of my favorite shows even though some of the stuff they say and do is pretty dumb, I like most of it. The EVP's are creepy as hell when they are plain. Some of them, I don't know.
Right now, something is throwing rocks at them in this wild west ghost town. Very interesting.
I love this kind of thing though I can't say I'm brave enough to do what they do... go inside creepy places, turn off all the lights and antagonize ghosts. Not me. I like watching from my den or living room in Hi-Def.
I believe there are a helluva lot of unexplained things out there and it makes me wonder when I run into to someone who categorically denies anything and everything outside of what he/she considers normal as just someone's imagination or perfectly explicable by modern science. Apparently, these persons haven't heard of Einstein's "spooky action at a distance" AKA Quantum Entanglement.
The more I read about Quantum Physics, the more I am convinced the Universe is not an accident and just because it can't be seen, does not not mean that it doesn't exist. Even the most basic of things may have no physical manifestation other than a perception of motion, such as the wind and gravity and atomic particles and so on and so forth and recently, these same scientists that skeptics swear by, have admitted that over 90% of the Universe is not only invisible, it is undetectable and right in front of our noses. An eerie thought, much scarier than poltergeists and ghostly voices, I think.
Right now, something is throwing rocks at them in this wild west ghost town. Very interesting.
I love this kind of thing though I can't say I'm brave enough to do what they do... go inside creepy places, turn off all the lights and antagonize ghosts. Not me. I like watching from my den or living room in Hi-Def.
I believe there are a helluva lot of unexplained things out there and it makes me wonder when I run into to someone who categorically denies anything and everything outside of what he/she considers normal as just someone's imagination or perfectly explicable by modern science. Apparently, these persons haven't heard of Einstein's "spooky action at a distance" AKA Quantum Entanglement.
The more I read about Quantum Physics, the more I am convinced the Universe is not an accident and just because it can't be seen, does not not mean that it doesn't exist. Even the most basic of things may have no physical manifestation other than a perception of motion, such as the wind and gravity and atomic particles and so on and so forth and recently, these same scientists that skeptics swear by, have admitted that over 90% of the Universe is not only invisible, it is undetectable and right in front of our noses. An eerie thought, much scarier than poltergeists and ghostly voices, I think.
April 9, 2012
Templar Enthusiasts
A long time ago (I won't say how long because it disturbs me), when I first started writing about Templars, no one in the mainstream was interested in them. There were a few books out there about them, mostly non-fiction, historical accounts, very little historical fiction about them and there was very little to no speculative fiction about the subject. I started out writing just one, stand-alone novel about an errant Knight Templar who was semi-immortal and ridden with personal problems as an exercise in purgative writing. In other words, I wanted to write out some serious personal problems I had in story form, fictionalizing and dramatizing and romanticizing my own troubles in a larger than life plot.
I succeeded in doing this and felt much better when I wrote the final word: Finished at the end of the Knight of Death.
After much re-writing, editing, cutting, grumbling and rumbling, I final settled on a final edition of the thing and then decided that it was not finished after all. Since then, I have written 26 more novels for the Knight of Death to star in and have another four to go before I can even hope to say Fine. Fine. Fine.
Since those days after I first wrote the Knight of Death, a great deal of interest has been generated in the Templars and what happened to them, what happened to their vast treasure trove, their fleet of ships and their ranks. There are many, many speculations now about what happened to them. Fortunately, I have my own ideas about what happened to them. I say fortunately because it is fortunate that I have my own ideas or else the readers of the Assassin Chronicles might become very bored in short order.
I succeeded in doing this and felt much better when I wrote the final word: Finished at the end of the Knight of Death.
After much re-writing, editing, cutting, grumbling and rumbling, I final settled on a final edition of the thing and then decided that it was not finished after all. Since then, I have written 26 more novels for the Knight of Death to star in and have another four to go before I can even hope to say Fine. Fine. Fine.
Since those days after I first wrote the Knight of Death, a great deal of interest has been generated in the Templars and what happened to them, what happened to their vast treasure trove, their fleet of ships and their ranks. There are many, many speculations now about what happened to them. Fortunately, I have my own ideas about what happened to them. I say fortunately because it is fortunate that I have my own ideas or else the readers of the Assassin Chronicles might become very bored in short order.
April 2, 2012
My Troubled Hero: Mark Andrew
I've had more than a few questions from fans about why I would make my hero, Mark Andrew Ramsay, suffer so many pains and sorrows in the Assassin Chronicles and I've given the question a lot of thought.
At first, I thought maybe I was just being cruel and vindictive and wondered why I would take it out on him, but then I realized that Mark Andrew, the indomitable Knight of Death, would not be nearly as interesting or compelling, if he did not suffer the same slings and arrows as the rest of us.
Mark's past is dark, lost in shadows and things he would just as soon forget. Is this not the way with most of us? Everyone I know, at least, those willing to admit it, have things in their past that is better left under the floorboards, in the attic or behind the woodshed. Mark has an abundance of these shadowy things simply due to a few facts about him that we do NOT share with him. Namely, his age 800+/- years and his occupations: Assassin/Alchemist. Of course, his membership in the clandestine Order of the Red Cross of Gold doesn't really ease his pain, since the Order requires him to leave his comfortable seclusion in Scotland (none of us like to step outside our comfort zones, do we?) and they also have a set of archaic rules set up during the middle of the Dark Ages. These facts almost certainly lend themselves to a required measure of unhappiness.
I have assuredly shared his pains on many occasions, some mentally, others physically, but enough to be able to sympathize with him on several levels.
But not only is Mark's past darker than most,his future is pretty grim as well. He has worked for the Order, making gold in his creepy lab to support their efforts for almost a millennium and he has killed so many deserving and sometimes, undeserving, people, a career change at this late date is probably out of the question. Again, I found myself in the very same position as far as career changes only a few years ago. I wanted to be a full-time writer, but I had worked too hard, for too long at my job with the State of Texas to just throw it all away and take a chance on making a writing career pay off. At least I never had to assassinate anyone, even though the thought crossed my mind a number of times; but, on the other hand, neither could I ever figure out how to make gold from base metals in my cellar.
I think that Mark endears himself to us at some sub-conscious level when he falls hopelessly in love and then realizes that his dream of a simple life was always an illusion and would always be an illusion. It was as if his one and only dream of a simple life was suddenly shattered, leaving him adrift in a confusing and uncaring world, without the comfort of his hearth and home waiting to soothe his terrors away like the arms of the mother he never knew.
Mark Andrew is the epitome of the troubled bad boy that only wants to be left alone. I think we (young and old, rich and poor, male and female) can all relate to his struggle on more than one level, and I believe I have constructed his character, perhaps sub-consciously, based on the failings and short-comings of myself and everyone I've ever known intimately.
If the reader can find him or herself somewhere in his character, then I feel I have succeeded in creating an enduring characterization that most everyone can relate to this year, next year and for years to come.
At first, I thought maybe I was just being cruel and vindictive and wondered why I would take it out on him, but then I realized that Mark Andrew, the indomitable Knight of Death, would not be nearly as interesting or compelling, if he did not suffer the same slings and arrows as the rest of us.
Mark's past is dark, lost in shadows and things he would just as soon forget. Is this not the way with most of us? Everyone I know, at least, those willing to admit it, have things in their past that is better left under the floorboards, in the attic or behind the woodshed. Mark has an abundance of these shadowy things simply due to a few facts about him that we do NOT share with him. Namely, his age 800+/- years and his occupations: Assassin/Alchemist. Of course, his membership in the clandestine Order of the Red Cross of Gold doesn't really ease his pain, since the Order requires him to leave his comfortable seclusion in Scotland (none of us like to step outside our comfort zones, do we?) and they also have a set of archaic rules set up during the middle of the Dark Ages. These facts almost certainly lend themselves to a required measure of unhappiness.
I have assuredly shared his pains on many occasions, some mentally, others physically, but enough to be able to sympathize with him on several levels.
But not only is Mark's past darker than most,his future is pretty grim as well. He has worked for the Order, making gold in his creepy lab to support their efforts for almost a millennium and he has killed so many deserving and sometimes, undeserving, people, a career change at this late date is probably out of the question. Again, I found myself in the very same position as far as career changes only a few years ago. I wanted to be a full-time writer, but I had worked too hard, for too long at my job with the State of Texas to just throw it all away and take a chance on making a writing career pay off. At least I never had to assassinate anyone, even though the thought crossed my mind a number of times; but, on the other hand, neither could I ever figure out how to make gold from base metals in my cellar.
I think that Mark endears himself to us at some sub-conscious level when he falls hopelessly in love and then realizes that his dream of a simple life was always an illusion and would always be an illusion. It was as if his one and only dream of a simple life was suddenly shattered, leaving him adrift in a confusing and uncaring world, without the comfort of his hearth and home waiting to soothe his terrors away like the arms of the mother he never knew.
Mark Andrew is the epitome of the troubled bad boy that only wants to be left alone. I think we (young and old, rich and poor, male and female) can all relate to his struggle on more than one level, and I believe I have constructed his character, perhaps sub-consciously, based on the failings and short-comings of myself and everyone I've ever known intimately.
If the reader can find him or herself somewhere in his character, then I feel I have succeeded in creating an enduring characterization that most everyone can relate to this year, next year and for years to come.
April 1, 2012
A-Z Blog Challenge 2012
March 31, 2012
Wynne Huddleston's Poetry:::::::::::::: Finding Small Beauty: Tuesday’s Small Beauty, March 20, 2012
Looking for something good to read? Here you go: Wynne Huddleston's Poetry:::::::::::::: Finding Small Beauty: Tuesday’s Small Beauty, March 20, 2012
Sample Sunday ~ April Fools
This should be an auspicious day for me. Starting a new month, a new sample and a day that matches my new avatar. I've decided to include an excerpt or sample of the YA/Companion book for the Red Cross of Gold, The Journey Begins, which is the first collaborative effort with D'Lani Elliott and also the first book in the Apprentice Diaries series.
"Ay! DJ!" Armand de Bleu called after the Spaniard who was rapidly walking toward the mess hall. "Save some for us!"
"Yeah! Don't let the wolves eat it all," Christopher chimed in the ribbing.
Baldemar or DJ as they called him, short for de Jesus among other less friendly names, was really going to catch it now since the Ramsay/wolf question in Sir Dambretti's class and his overt love of food and drink did little to help his cause. His stomach roiled and growled all day in class every day as if it were full of wolves indeed. The Academy was not treating de Jesus too kindly. Sir Barry of Sussex had him on a strict vegetarian diet, supplemented with fish and dairy, but without sugar, without fried foods and NO fast food. No fish and chips. No burgers. No pizza! The older boys made him run more laps at gym/rec and never cut him any slack for excess baggage. But one thing about DJ, he had money. Money of his own from a trust fund. The young student received a monthly stipend that kept him supplied with a trickle of crème filled snacks, which he hid in the springs under his mattress.
His fellow students actually liked him because he was not stingy with his reserves, but they could not pass up a chance to give him the blues for his mistakes and his appetite.
Baldemar glanced over his shoulder at them and made the sign of the cross, letting them know that he forgave them.
Armand used a new curse word that Christopher had taught him.
"I hate it when he does that," Armand said.
"Why? You have a guilty conscience?" Chris poked him in between his shoulder blades, making him bow up his shoulders.
"Please stop touching me, mon chere," Armand said and grinned back at him. "The others are starting to talk about you."
"Really?" Christopher ran ahead of him and took down a lanky boy with short brown hair. They rolled on the plush lawn until one of the lay brothers shouted for them to get off the grass. The two boys scrambled to their feet and were soon chasing each other down the walk toward supper and evening prayers.
Lucio Dambretti turned away from the window in the Grand Master's office.
"Boys will be boys," he muttered.
"That is as old as you are," d'Brouchart said. "And it does not excuse du Morte for bringing an undisciplined street urchin into our midst. What was he thinking?" He rubbed his temples.
"The Chevalier du Morte does not like to think, Sir," Dambretti said as he suppressed a smile.
"Yes, yes, I've heard that before as well. How much do they know? Does Angelo know about it?"
"That is hard to tell. Who can say what Angelo knows or does not know? Rumors abound in the academic setting. You know that. Boys need diversions. I was thinking of a field trip with your permission, Sir." The Italian turned his dark eyes on the Master.
"You are evading the subject, Golden Eagle. We have a security leak in this camp and I want to know who it is. How did the boys find out that du Morte was going after Anthony? I want to know who told them."
"You are not giving them any credit, Your Grace."
"How so?"
"Primo: Your apprentice disappears. He is not dead or ill or anywhere to be found. Secondo: The entire Villa is in an uproar for thirty-six hours and then all is gloomy. Tertio: Without warning, Chevalier Ramsay shows up and no Council meeting is in the offing? What do you think? The Knight of Death never comes from his den unless poked with a stick. It is pretty obvious that you summoned him. He mopes around the Villa for a day and then leaves."
"Well, I don't know," the Master said quietly. "It could be as you say, but I want these rumors quelled. I don't want to hear anything more about… about… Anthony." The big man leaned back in his chair and the springs squeaked in protest.
"Shall I take it down, Sir?" Dambretti asked and reached for a picture of Anthony Scalia hanging on the wall above the credenza.
"What? No!" The Grand Master stood up and then sat back down, waving one hand wearily at the Italian Knight. "Yes, please get it out of my sight."
"What about the field trip? I think a trip to the farmer's market in Naples would be a good exercise for the Survival Cooking class."
"I don't want anyone going anywhere, Golden Eagle. Not until du Morte returns."
Dambretti nodded curtly and turned to leave the office. He knew very well that the Grand Master had become very attached to Anthony, treating him more like a son than an apprentice. The Old Man was not taking the loss of the young man very well.
"Oh, and by the way," the Grand Master stopped him short of the door. "Have you heard from Ramsay perchance?"
Dambretti shook his head thoughtfully. Ramsay hated checking in, hated using phones, hated using computers. Even hated escalators and trains. Ramsay hated everything. He was grumpy and anti-social, but he was the Italian's best and first friend.
“He’s only been gone a few hours, Sir,” Dambretti shrugged. “Probably still on the plane.”
"Do you think Angelo knows?" d'Brouchart asked again after a moment, as he watched the old gardener pulling out weeds in one of the annual beds, and frowned at the sight of Angelo's huge gray cat lying in the sun atop the three-wheeled cart, preening himself. The cat had been around forever! Just how long do cats live anyway?
Dambretti shrugged again and wondered why the Grand Master kept asking about Angelo. He had often wondered about Angelo Gamelli himself. It seemed that the old fellow had always been the gardener. He had to be over 90 years old by now. One thing for sure, as ornery as he could be sometimes, Angelo loved to talk. Lucio had seen him talking to the old padre one moment, laughing and smiling and the next moment, he had seen him deep in conversation with Mark Ramsay with one arm wrapped around the Knight's shoulders and the venerable Knight of Death never allowed anyone to get that close to him.
Dambretti left the office with the picture of Anthony under his arm and tossed it in the passenger seat of his car. A huge ball of iridescent soap bubbles drifted up over the Admin Building and floated on the breeze past his Audi. He turned and watched it disappear into the olive grove. Someone had put soap in the fountain… again.
"Boys will be boys," he muttered, smiled and started up the white Audi sedan. Amelia would be waiting for him in Naples and he did not want to be late.
http://www.amazon.com/The-Knights-Chr...
"Ay! DJ!" Armand de Bleu called after the Spaniard who was rapidly walking toward the mess hall. "Save some for us!"
"Yeah! Don't let the wolves eat it all," Christopher chimed in the ribbing.
Baldemar or DJ as they called him, short for de Jesus among other less friendly names, was really going to catch it now since the Ramsay/wolf question in Sir Dambretti's class and his overt love of food and drink did little to help his cause. His stomach roiled and growled all day in class every day as if it were full of wolves indeed. The Academy was not treating de Jesus too kindly. Sir Barry of Sussex had him on a strict vegetarian diet, supplemented with fish and dairy, but without sugar, without fried foods and NO fast food. No fish and chips. No burgers. No pizza! The older boys made him run more laps at gym/rec and never cut him any slack for excess baggage. But one thing about DJ, he had money. Money of his own from a trust fund. The young student received a monthly stipend that kept him supplied with a trickle of crème filled snacks, which he hid in the springs under his mattress.
His fellow students actually liked him because he was not stingy with his reserves, but they could not pass up a chance to give him the blues for his mistakes and his appetite.
Baldemar glanced over his shoulder at them and made the sign of the cross, letting them know that he forgave them.
Armand used a new curse word that Christopher had taught him.
"I hate it when he does that," Armand said.
"Why? You have a guilty conscience?" Chris poked him in between his shoulder blades, making him bow up his shoulders.
"Please stop touching me, mon chere," Armand said and grinned back at him. "The others are starting to talk about you."
"Really?" Christopher ran ahead of him and took down a lanky boy with short brown hair. They rolled on the plush lawn until one of the lay brothers shouted for them to get off the grass. The two boys scrambled to their feet and were soon chasing each other down the walk toward supper and evening prayers.
Lucio Dambretti turned away from the window in the Grand Master's office.
"Boys will be boys," he muttered.
"That is as old as you are," d'Brouchart said. "And it does not excuse du Morte for bringing an undisciplined street urchin into our midst. What was he thinking?" He rubbed his temples.
"The Chevalier du Morte does not like to think, Sir," Dambretti said as he suppressed a smile.
"Yes, yes, I've heard that before as well. How much do they know? Does Angelo know about it?"
"That is hard to tell. Who can say what Angelo knows or does not know? Rumors abound in the academic setting. You know that. Boys need diversions. I was thinking of a field trip with your permission, Sir." The Italian turned his dark eyes on the Master.
"You are evading the subject, Golden Eagle. We have a security leak in this camp and I want to know who it is. How did the boys find out that du Morte was going after Anthony? I want to know who told them."
"You are not giving them any credit, Your Grace."
"How so?"
"Primo: Your apprentice disappears. He is not dead or ill or anywhere to be found. Secondo: The entire Villa is in an uproar for thirty-six hours and then all is gloomy. Tertio: Without warning, Chevalier Ramsay shows up and no Council meeting is in the offing? What do you think? The Knight of Death never comes from his den unless poked with a stick. It is pretty obvious that you summoned him. He mopes around the Villa for a day and then leaves."
"Well, I don't know," the Master said quietly. "It could be as you say, but I want these rumors quelled. I don't want to hear anything more about… about… Anthony." The big man leaned back in his chair and the springs squeaked in protest.
"Shall I take it down, Sir?" Dambretti asked and reached for a picture of Anthony Scalia hanging on the wall above the credenza.
"What? No!" The Grand Master stood up and then sat back down, waving one hand wearily at the Italian Knight. "Yes, please get it out of my sight."
"What about the field trip? I think a trip to the farmer's market in Naples would be a good exercise for the Survival Cooking class."
"I don't want anyone going anywhere, Golden Eagle. Not until du Morte returns."
Dambretti nodded curtly and turned to leave the office. He knew very well that the Grand Master had become very attached to Anthony, treating him more like a son than an apprentice. The Old Man was not taking the loss of the young man very well.
"Oh, and by the way," the Grand Master stopped him short of the door. "Have you heard from Ramsay perchance?"
Dambretti shook his head thoughtfully. Ramsay hated checking in, hated using phones, hated using computers. Even hated escalators and trains. Ramsay hated everything. He was grumpy and anti-social, but he was the Italian's best and first friend.
“He’s only been gone a few hours, Sir,” Dambretti shrugged. “Probably still on the plane.”
"Do you think Angelo knows?" d'Brouchart asked again after a moment, as he watched the old gardener pulling out weeds in one of the annual beds, and frowned at the sight of Angelo's huge gray cat lying in the sun atop the three-wheeled cart, preening himself. The cat had been around forever! Just how long do cats live anyway?
Dambretti shrugged again and wondered why the Grand Master kept asking about Angelo. He had often wondered about Angelo Gamelli himself. It seemed that the old fellow had always been the gardener. He had to be over 90 years old by now. One thing for sure, as ornery as he could be sometimes, Angelo loved to talk. Lucio had seen him talking to the old padre one moment, laughing and smiling and the next moment, he had seen him deep in conversation with Mark Ramsay with one arm wrapped around the Knight's shoulders and the venerable Knight of Death never allowed anyone to get that close to him.
Dambretti left the office with the picture of Anthony under his arm and tossed it in the passenger seat of his car. A huge ball of iridescent soap bubbles drifted up over the Admin Building and floated on the breeze past his Audi. He turned and watched it disappear into the olive grove. Someone had put soap in the fountain… again.
"Boys will be boys," he muttered, smiled and started up the white Audi sedan. Amelia would be waiting for him in Naples and he did not want to be late.
http://www.amazon.com/The-Knights-Chr...
Working my way back
Fighting off depression and writer's block is tragic.
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