Steven Ramirez's Blog: Glass Highway, page 23

2016 Top Ten Posts

Photo courtesy of Evan Long via Creative Commons

Personally, I won’t be sorry to see 2016 go. Good riddance, I say. Rather than dwell on all the bad news from the past year, though, I thought I would list my top ten articles instead. Here’s to a better 2017!

 

 

 

Damn You, Netflix—Another Distracted Writer

Fiction and Profanity—F-Bombs Away!

Free Fiction—Something to Hold

Free Fiction—The Traveler’s Tale

Getting Away with Murder

How to Write Better Dialogue ‘Schitt’s Creek’ Style

I Used to Write Poetry

Pulp or Poet?

What in the World Is “Family Fiction”?

Writers, Your Cell Phone Is out to Get You!

And if these aren’t enough to put you in a better mood, check out this Bruce Willis mashup. Seriously, the man just won’t die!

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Christmas 2016

Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Now holy Peace may smile from heaven,

And heavenly Truth from earth shall spring:

The captive’s galling bonds are riven,

For our Redeemer is our king;

And He that gave his blood for men

Will lead us home to God again.

—Anne Bronte

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Free Fiction—The Traveler’s Tale

Photo courtesy of Andrey Samsonov via Creative Commons

You’ve probably noticed that my work is somewhat different. There’s always something, well, off. And the Nativity story I am presenting today is no exception. There are no little drummer boys or Wise Men, but there is an unexpected visitor. I hope you like it.

 

The Traveler’s Tale

He had been standing on the distant hill in the blackness of the night, observing the bright star that seemed to hover just above the small, unremarkable town located south of the holy city. Below, he could see hundreds of shepherds moving toward a modest house accompanied by their animals—sheep and goats baaing and bleating, driven forward by wooden staffs. These are devout men, he observed. Men who, even though they didn’t have a clue what they would find, nevertheless were compelled to approach the dwelling and pay homage. Because the angels had told them to.

The wind cut across the rocky hill like a gatherer’s scythe, but he wasn’t cold. Having taken on the appearance of a traveler, he looked old, with leathery, sun-baked skin and gray, watery eyes that had gazed upon the world for so long with feelings of mirth, envy, and promise. Scratching his scraggly white beard with curved black fingernails, he wished he could join the others and pay homage himself. But that was impossible. Other angels with flaming swords guarded the entrance to that house. No one but he could see them, and despite his immense power, he feared them.

Below, someone shouted. The men were close now and quickened their pace as a door was flung open. A bright light shone from inside—brighter than any lantern—bathing the congregation in its divineness. He knew the light was coming from the child—the one Herod was looking for. If he had been permitted, the traveler would have transported the arrogant swine and his men to this place so he could slaughter the defenseless baby and its family. Over the millennia he had pictured that exquisite moment—a dream that filled him with longing. And joy. But joy would be hard to come by, now that the infant had entered the world as prophesied.

Music broke the still night—a kinnor perhaps. And men’s voices singing a hymn. The crowd was so large now and the animals so numerous, he could no longer see the entrance. People chanted, repeating what the angels had said. “Glory to God in the highest!” The words made him sick, and he wished he could smite them all. Even the animals appeared to show respect, kneeling on the ground—none making a sound.

“Let them rejoice,” he said to the rocks and the dead grass. Thirty years was a blink of an eye, after all. He would get his chance—God had promised him. The child, now a man, would be hungry, tired, and thirsty out there in the unforgiving desert. Prayer couldn’t possibly sustain him. Being partly human, he would be wonderfully open to suggestion. I will offer him all the riches of the world, the tempter thought. And he laughed at the irony—he giving that lonely prophet the very things God would deny him. As he turned to leave, he noticed a line of torches moving toward the town. More of the faithful coming to worship…what? A baby in a manger.

Shaking the dust from his feet, the traveler departed for a time.

 

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How to Write Better Dialogue ‘Schitt’s Creek’ Style

Photo courtesy of IMDb

I’ve read a lot over the years—not as much as some of those insane speed readers who seem to devour a book a day, but a lot. In fiction, my tastes vary between pulp and literary. And I have to say, a lot of literary writers write dialogue that is wooden and boring. I mean, I know this stuff is supposed to be highbrow and all, but honestly! Sometimes, I want to reach in between the pages and strangle the writer with his typewriter ribbon while screaming, “Nobody talks like that in real life!”

If you are, like me, a modern writer, and you suspect your characters’ speech is less than scintillating, then I have a tip for you: watch more movies and television—especially TV. And I’m not talking about network sitcoms. There’s nothing worse than trying to pass off bad writing by adding a laugh track. ‘Schitt’s Creek’ is a Canadian show I had the pleasure of watching on Amazon Prime recently. At least two of the stars—Eugene Levy and Catherine O’Hara—you will recognize from their work in many of Christopher Guest’s mockumentaries like ‘Best in Show’ and ‘A Mighty Wind.’ This outing, if you check the credits, seems to have required the entire Levy clan. Nevertheless…

It’s Not What You Say

Let me start by saying that the show is hilarious. Not so much the situation, though. Essentially, this production is a reimagining of the old fish-out-of-water series ‘Green Acres.’ You know, cultured, affluent people finding themselves in the middle of Armpit, USA. What’s funny is the dialogue, which is very well written and real. And it’s different from what you’d find in a David Mamet script (think ‘Glengarry Glen Ross’) where words are more weapons than communication, or in an Aaron Sorkin show (think ‘News Room’) where everyone is super-smart and acts accordingly. (Both are outstanding, BTW.)

In ‘Schitt’s Creek,’ the way people speak is authentic. I mean, I’ve heard people in the street who carry on like this. I’m not going to go into the plot; you can watch the show for yourself. I want to focus on the dialogue. Now, I’ve identified four qualities I think writers will find useful:

Everyone is passive-aggressive.
People speak past each other.
Characters lie their ass off.
There’s a boatload of upspeak.

I Love You—I Hate You

Practically every time someone attempts to give a compliment, what comes out is laced with venom. But in a nice way! Here’s an example. Johnny, Moira, and their son, David, arrive at the Mayor’s house for dinner—a meal none of them are not looking forward to sharing with their hosts Roland and Jocelyn.

DAVID

You have a really lovely home. It’s really, um,

understated.

JOCELYN

Thank you. I get a lot of my ideas from magazines.

MOIRA

Don’t be modest. This is one hundred percent you

and only you.

In lesser hands, this scene would have been written broadly, with someone making a tasteless wisecrack about an ugly table lamp. (Cue laugh track.) In this scene, however, everyone knows what’s being said, and no one is fooled. But each character still manages to maintain a razor-thin veneer of social grace. Think about adding this layer of subtlety to one or more of your characters and see what happens to your scenes.

Hello? Is Anyone Listening?

There’s a wonderful exchange when the motel manager, Stevie, lets David know she’s going to a “sketchy” bar later. David immediately invites himself, but it’s clear she’s not comfortable with that.

DAVID

We’re going to be each other’s wing people tonight.

Um… Now, how diverse is the clientele at this local

drinkery?

STEVIE

I would say, very diverse.

DAVID

Do you remember what life was like before dating

apps? Both excited and terrified for tonight.

STEVIE

I don’t think I ever said you could come.

DAVID

Okay, so what time, though? Um… And is there a

dress code? ’Cause I want to come prepared.

For me, this scene illustrates so well that each character is determined to further their own agenda. So, even though these two are having a conversation, they are actually talking past each other toward the outcome they desire. Stevie doesn’t want David to go, and he wants to.

I Can See Why You Would Think That

Lying is a staple in television comedy, but these guys do it with elegance and grace. So much of it is used to cover something up, but sometimes, it’s to shield the other person from reality because, well, it’s just too much trouble being honest. In this exchange, David has reluctantly decided to find a job, and he’s asking for Stevie’s help:

STEVIE

Do you have any other skills or areas of expertise?

DAVID

Uh, I’ve been told I have really good taste?

STEVIE

Uh, well, that’s good. Um, let’s see… Oh! Bag boy at

the grocery store.

DAVID

I don’t know what that is.

STEVIE

You put groceries in bags so that people can carry

their groceries out of the grocery store.

DAVID

Okay. And how much do you think that would pay?

STEVIE

Mm… I’m gonna say minimum wage.

DAVID

Which is what, forty, forty-five something an hour?

STEVIE

Exactly.

This Is a Statement of Fact?

I’m not really sure where upspeak (or uptalk) came from. I want to say it all started with the movie ‘Valley Girl.’ But today, everyone does it—even me, sometimes. And if you don’t have at least one or two characters speaking that way in your book, you’re probably not trying hard enough to get some variety in your dialogue.

In ‘Schitt’s Creek,’ David and his sister, Alexis, do it a lot. In fact, most of the townies don’t speak that way, so there’s a nice contrast. I won’t provide any dialogue examples here because there are too many. But here’s a clip to get you started:

Wrapping Up

So, there you have it. For me, a big part of writing great dialogue is introducing variety. A good test is to switch the names of characters speaking and see if the scene still makes sense. If it does, you’ve got a problem. Getting back to literary fiction, as far as I’m concerned, many characters are interchangeable regarding speech. Some great authors have an incredible ear, though. Whether or not you like Charles Dickens, the man knew how to make each of his characters shine through dialogue. (I’m thinking in particular of Inspector Bucket in Bleak House.)

As writers, we spend so much time figuring out the plot and writing about a character’s inner life. But don’t forget, when someone reads your book, they are saying the words aloud in their head. And when they get to the dialogue, they hear your character’s voice. Make sure they can distinguish one person from another. Now, enjoy the trailer from Season 1, available for free at Amazon Prime.

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Free Fiction—Something to Hold

Photo courtesy of Jonathan Emmanuel Flores Tarello via Creative Commons

It’s my birthday today, and there’s nothing I like better than giving a gift. Here’s a short story that’s a little dark—you know me. I hope you like it.

Something to Hold

There are cops everywhere, Brooke reminded herself as the intruder tried again to force the front door open. Jeffrey had just gone out for the wine he wanted with dinner. Dinner! She hadn’t even started yet. It was dark out. Their house was at the end of the cul-de-sac somewhere in Coto de Caza, and it was dark. She had wanted a streetlight installed in front of their house, but Jeffrey had never contacted the association, she was sure of it. It was so dark.

What to do? They didn’t keep guns in the house. That left kitchen knives and—

There was a crash as a metal trash can flew through the large front windows, spraying glass everywhere. Not looking back, Brooke ran to the kitchen to see what she could find.

Knives, knives but which one? This!

As she reached for the Henckels 10-inch chef’s knife, someone grabbed her from behind and pulled her around.

She saw him clearly—a man who looked to be in his sixties with salt-and-pepper hair wearing blue jeans, a black turtleneck sweater, and running shoes. He could have come from dinner at Basilic. She remembered the knife and swiped at him, cutting off half his left ear. He let go, and covered in his blood, she scrambled past him toward the narrow door that led to the garage.

As she ran down the three steps, the lunatic grabbed her by the hair. Screaming, she swung the knife crazily behind her, hoping to catch his arms or throat.

He had her firmly by the hair now. With a fury she could feel in her bones, he ripped the knife from her hand and threw it away. Now he was trying to lead her back into the house. Frantic, she scanned the garage and saw the pegboard. They had just put it up, and Jeffrey hadn’t yet mounted his tools. As her attacker pulled her backward toward the door to the kitchen, she accelerated, pushing him past the door and toward the pegboard.

She knew she would only get one chance.

He grunted hard as he tried to pull her toward the house. Then, with all her strength she charged backward toward the pegboard. She felt the man shudder. Then he released her.

She pulled away quickly and turned to face him. He looked serene. She was sure now that one of the naked peg hooks had gone through the base of his skull, holding him there. She could hear him breathing. Every so often he would tremble from an involuntary muscle spasm.

Brooke didn’t have her cell phone. She wanted to call 911 but was afraid to leave the intruder out here—in case he extricated himself and came after her again. Where was Jeffrey?

Gritting her teeth, she felt around his front pockets and extracted an iPhone. When she pressed the Home button, she saw the photo. It was a lovely woman. She looks lost, Brooke thought.

She slid to unlock the phone so she could call 911, but a hand touched her hand. She looked up and saw the man’s face. He seemed ancient. His sad eyes stayed on her while pressing on an app. A video started playing.

Taking the phone back, Brooke watched the video. This man—the intruder—was sitting in what looked like a den, dressed exactly the same. He was speaking directly to the camera. This is what he said.

#

This is the story of a collector—a tyrant—who was married to a beautiful woman. They didn’t have children, and he treated her as just another of his possessions. His most prized possession was an eighteen-inch vase made by the famous nineteenth-century Venetian glassblower Di Piazza.

Over the years, many fakes were sold to gullible collectors. Ironically, the only way you would know the glass was authentic was if it broke. It wouldn’t shatter into dangerous shards like ordinary glass but would disintegrate into a pile of smooth beads you could hold in your hands.

No one ever discovered Di Piazza’s secret; he took it to the grave.

All these years the collector treasured this vase, convinced it was authentic. He was a jealous man who was never sure of his wife’s love, so he always tested her by being mean to her—nothing physical, though. What he did could be called emotional violence.

One night, he invited an acquaintance—another collector—over for dinner. Over an extravagant meal, they talked about art and life, and the acquaintance saw immediately how the wife acted in her husband’s presence. After dinner, the collector could not resist showing off his vase. The other man carefully examined it and declared it a fake.

The man was incensed and insisted it was real. But his guest confidently stated that he knew what he was talking about. He claimed to have lived in Venice for some years, and during that time he had acquired many rare glass objects. He had even studied with a famous glassblower. He studied every important work there—including everything Di Piazza ever made—and he was certain this vase was a fake.

“But the only way to actually know,” the collector said, “is to break the glass.”

“Then why don’t you break it?”

“Get out!” the collector said.

“What are you afraid of?”

The acquaintance spoke of the power of Faith in things authentic. He used Love as an example, then mentioned religion. The collector became sullen and started drinking.

After the dinner guest had left, the collector sat dejectedly in front of his vase. It was then that his wife, wearing her coat and carrying a bag, announced that she was leaving him forever. She said he was incapable of true love and that after all these years he even doubted the vase he was so protective of. Then she laughed in his face and called him a fool.

In a drunken rage, the collector threw the vase to the ground. It disintegrated into a pile of sparkling glass beads he could easily hold in his hand.

“I don’t understand,” he said, looking at the beads. “That man was a liar—he couldn’t even tell genuine from fake.”

“That’s because he’s not an art collector,” she said. “He’s my friend and knows nothing about Venetian glass. I asked him to come here tonight. I wanted to make sure you were left with nothing—not even the vase. I wanted you to feel what I’ve felt for twelve years.”

“But I love you,” he said.

Then she went away.

#

As the video ended, Brooke looked at the man who was barely alive and put down the phone.

“Why did you tell me that story?” she said. “Are you that man?”

“Jeffrey won’t be coming back,” he said, barely able to breathe now.

“What?”

“He won’t because I can’t give him the signal. The signal that it’s safe to return.”

The man was silent now as Brooke stared at him in horror. They’d been married five years—a long time in Coto de Caza. How could Jeffrey want her dead?

She started to ask him. He sighed, looked up, and smiled at her. Then he was dead.

As she dialed 911, the garage door opened suddenly, almost causing her to drop the phone.

It was Jeffrey.

The man had lied. Jeffrey had come back. Instead of pulling into the garage, he turned off the engine and got out, forgetting to switch off the headlights. He stood in front of the car, looking first at the dead man, then at Brooke.

She wanted to say something but couldn’t. The voice of the 911 operator came on.

“A man is dead.” She gave the address. “I’m okay. Yes, send an ambulance. He didn’t have a weapon. Yes, he’s still here in the garage. I don’t know his name. He’s in his sixties. No, I don’t think he was high on anything. No, no children. I’m the victim.”

As she answered the questions, she kept staring at Jeffrey who made no move to come inside. After a few minutes, she disconnected. But she didn’t put the phone down. She kept it because she needed something to hold.

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Movie Review—‘The Keeper of Lost Causes’

Photo courtesy of IMDb

‘The Keeper of Lost Causes’ (2013)

Director: Mikkel Nørgaard

Writers: Jussi Adler-Olsen (novel), Nikolaj Arcel

Stars: Nikolaj Lie Kaas, Per Scheel Krüger, Troels Lyby

Crime | Mystery | Thriller

Denmark-Germany-Sweden

Not Rated

Log Line: Chief detective Carl Mørck and his assistant Assad become involved in a five-year-old case concerning the mystery of politician Merete Lynggaard’s disappearance—a journey that takes them deep into the undercurrent of abuse and malice that lurks beneath the polished surface of Scandinavia.

Okay, so I’m late to the game. I had no idea Nordic Noir was a thing. I’ve been enjoying dark Scandinavian movies like the Millenium Trilogy (‘The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo,’ etc.) for years and am thrilled someone decided to actually categorize them. Yeah, thrilled. Anyway, I caught another one on Netflix the other night—a Danish film with what is probably the worst title ever—‘The Keeper of Lost Causes.’ I don’t know, maybe it sounds better in Danish.

Don’t let the crappy title fool you, though. This is an outstanding film. And like a Nordic winter, it’s cold and spare, with a protagonist who is as dysfunctional and people-averse as they come. I’m not prepared to reveal any spoilers here. Let me just say that, as police procedurals go, this one really stands out. The main character, Carl, is himself dark and unapproachable. But in the best tradition of antiheroes, he is driven to seek out Truth—no matter what that may mean for his languishing career as a homicide detective.

This film features the usual cast of Scandinavian loonies—especially the blonde and creepy Lasse—with a wonderfully empathetic performance by Carl’s sidekick, Assad who, when asked why he isn’t following orders, claims his Danish isn’t that good. Nice touch!

I can highly recommend this film. Though there’s little on-screen violence, it’s creepy as hell as sucks you in like a Scottish peat bog. And here’s the best part: Netflix also has the two ‘Department Q’ sequels, ‘The Absent One’ and ‘A Conspiracy of Faith,’ both which I plan to catch very soon.

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TELL ME WHEN I’M DEAD—Stumbling into Hell

Hey, I wanted to let you know that I had the privilege of doing a guest post at Horror Made, a site run by the amazing and charming artist Jeanette Andromeda. You can read an excerpt below, and when you’re finished be sure to check out some of Jeanette’s art here. In fact, take a look at what she did with my boring old headshot—wow! This girl has a real gift, and I am thrilled to have made her acquaintance! Okay, here we go…

In 2013, I published what I thought would be a single novel about a regular guy fending off zombies in the fictional Northern California town of Tres Marias. Though I’m a pantser by trade, I had the whole thing figured out in my head. I would take the recovering alcoholic Dave Pulaski on a soul-bending journey of sorrow that would cause him to inadvertently put his wife, Holly, at risk while he struggled to stay sober, even as the body count was going up. But when I finished the book, something happened.

“Dave’s not done,” I said.

And so began the long, hard road to the Tell Me When I’m Dead trilogy. In 2014, I published Book Two, Dead Is All You Get. And in 2015, I brought Dave to the end of his trials with Book Three, Even The Dead Will Bleed.

Pantsers and Plotters

I mentioned earlier that I’m a pantser—as opposed to a plotter, who carefully outlines their book the way a draftsman creates a blueprint. I tried doing that a few times with other stories. But the same thing always happened. Fifty pages into the outline, I would get fed up and start writing the damn novel. Want to know another thing about outlines? You don’t always end up going where you thought you would, once you actually begin writing. Plotters will tell you they love being surprised. Well, in my defense, I am surprised every moment I write.

Don’t get me wrong. I’ve got nothing against plotters. In fact, some of my best friends… Okay, never mind. The point is, both types of writers turn out brilliant fiction. How you get there is more a function of how your brain is wired. Moving on…

You can read the rest of this post over at HorrorMade.com.

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Book Review—CLOCKWISE

I love stories involving time travel. If I were writing one, it would probably take on a more dystopian tone—not unlike the television show ‘12 Monkeys’ on Syfy. But that’s me. Clockwise is different, though. Thanks to the talented author, Elle Strauss, it’s funny, girly, and inventive. Also, it feels historically accurate, which is always a good thing for the discerning reader.

Teens have enough going on in their lives without adding sudden, awkward trips to the past. And when you add a little danger and a series of escalating romantic complications, you end up with a fun, satisfying read. The protagonist, Casey Donovan, is very self-aware. She goes on endlessly about her height, her hair, and her perceived lack of personality. And like most teens, she’s not really sure where she fits in, though her best friend Lucinda is mostly supportive. The fact that Casey is smitten with a jock doesn’t help matters.

In less skilled hands, this story would have seemed trite. One thing I noticed is that Nate, the object of Casey’s endless fascination, is written with real heart. I mean, come on. Good-looking high school athletes have a reputation that precedes them in movies and television. Allowing him to mature along with Casey was absolutely the right move. Clockwise is socially relevant and charming. A genuine pleasure.

You can find this review at Amazon US.

Synopsis

A dance. A dare. An accidental tumble through time. Awkward.

Casey Donovan has issues: hair, height and uncontrollable trips to the 19th century! And now this –she’s accidentally taken Nate Mackenzie, the cutest boy in the school, back in time.

Protocol pressures her to tell their 1860 hosts that he is her brother, and when Casey finds she has a handsome, wealthy (and unwanted) suitor, something changes in Nate. Are those romantic sparks or is it just “brotherly” protectiveness?

When they return to the present, things go back to the way they were before: Casey parked on the bottom of the rung of the social ladder and Nate perched high on the very top. Except this time her heart is broken. Plus, her best friend is mad, her parents are split up, and her younger brother gets escorted home by the police. The only thing that could make life worse is if, by some strange twist of fate, she took Nate back to the past again.

Which of course, she does.

Buy Links

Amazon US

Amazon UK

Amazon CA

More Reviews

Did you enjoy this review? Check out my other Amazon reviews here.

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SORROW’S EDGE TOUR—Interview with Danielle DeVor

If you’re a fan of all things strange and horror-ific, you’re going to enjoy this interview with the talented Danielle DeVor. A few days ago, I wrote a review of Sorrow’s Edge (The Marker Chronicles Book 2), which you can find here. So, let’s get started!

First, let me say I’m thrilled you decided to spend a little time over at Glass Highway, Danielle. You know what a huge fan of your work I am. Okay, enough with the gushing. Can you talk about some of the things that drove you to pair up a former Catholic priest with a witch? I mean, seriously, that’s pretty inventive.

I wanted to make Jimmy a well-rounded character and to do that he needed some sort of love interest. It had popped into my head early that he’d been forced to leave the priesthood, but I needed a reason that did not make him out to be a bad guy—so thus, plausible to be able to fight the demonic. (You have to have a certain purity of heart to perform exorcisms.)

So, when the idea of a situation with a girl was misconstrued popped into my head, Tabby started taking shape. She’s based on a friend of mine who happens to be a witch. And, I figured, it would be interesting to have a man of God be open minded because the church and its proclamations aren’t perfect. And, of course, having been forced to leave, he would have a more unique view of Christianity and God as a whole.

Like most Catholics, Jimmy is a pretty tortured soul—not as tortured as the possessed, but… When all is said and done, what would you like him to have learned at the end of the journey?

That sometimes things happen, and there isn’t anything you can do about it, and the only person you can truly blame is yourself.

Tabby is an interesting character. I think she plays off Jimmy very well—mainly because she never lets him get away with anything. Do you find a bit of yourself in her?

There’s a lot of me in Jimmy—mostly the getting frustrated and cussing at the creepy things. I am sure there is some of me in Tabby too, but I also try to get inside her head. I wanted a strong female character that wouldn’t be overpowered by Jimmy.

So, what was it like researching the witchy stuff?

Fun. Though, I didn’t do the research specifically for this book. I am a religion nerd. By that, I mean that I find religions, all religions, fascinating. So, I study whatever perks my interest. Witchcraft and Voodoo have been one of my subjects for a long time.

After that hair-raising first book in the series, I thought it was interesting that you decided to take the show on the road. What was your main motivation for doing that?

It is extremely rare to have a bunch of exorcisms in the same close area. Rome is probably the oddball in that respect. Here in the US, they are spread out a lot more. So, having Jimmy and Tabby have to go somewhere clear across the country was a natural thing.

I noticed that you give the reader a little taste of what’s to come in Book Three. Any other tidbits you’d care to share?

Animated dead bodies. Old Latin books. Candy. ;)

Can’t wait for Book Three! Best of luck, and thanks again for stopping by, Danielle.

Book 2 in the fascinating series The Marker Chronicles!

Sorrow’s Edge (The Marker Chronicles, Book 2)
Uncovering the truth will take an exorcist.
 
Jimmy Holiday, defrocked priest turned exorcist, is trying to get his life in order. With his on-again off-again witchy girlfriend moving in, the spirit of the little girl from his last exorcism hanging around, and a secret organization of exorcists hounding him, Jimmy equals stressed.

When a stranger calls in the middle of the night asking for help with a possession, Jimmy is about to land in a mess of trouble. Especially since the man on the phone claims to have gotten his number from Jimmy’s old mentor. Too bad his mentor has been dead for years.

After a mysterious silver flask arrives at his doorstep, Jimmy is left with two options: either ignore the newest enigma the universe has tossed him, or listen to Lucy and travel to Arizona to solve the mystery before all hell breaks loose…again.

You can buy SORROW’S EDGE at these retailers:
 Amazon     |     Barnes & Noble

Danielle DeVor

Named one of the Examiner’s 2014 Women in Horror: 93 Horror Authors you Need to Read Right Now, Danielle DeVor has been spinning the spider webs, or rather, the keyboard for more frights and oddities. She spent her early years fantasizing about vampires and watching “Salem’s Lot” way too many times. When not writing and reading about weird things, you will find her hanging out at the nearest coffee shop, enjoying a mocha frappuccino.

You can follow Danielle at these links:

Blog   |   Twitter   |   Facebook   |   Instagram

Excerpt
I got the phone call at three. Just as Lucy said I would. I was really starting to hate the true “witching hour.” I needed sleep, dammit.
I let the phone ring a few times, hoping that whoever was on the other end would just hang up. I wasn’t that lucky. I dragged my tired-ass body up, grabbed my phone off the nightstand, and swiped the screen.
“Mr. Holiday?” the man asked when I grunted into the phone.
“You realize it’s 3:00 AM, right?” My head hit the pillow. I did not want to be doing this right now.
The man sighed. “It couldn’t be helped. We need you.”
I twitched. Who the hell was this guy anyway? Kind of presumptuous to call somebody at random this late at night when you’d never met the person on the other end. Apparently, manners weren’t his strong point.
I glanced around the room. The lamp in the corner was on. The light glowed just enough to keep my mind at ease. I’d gotten into the habit of sleeping with a light on ever since Sorrow’s Point. Yeah, it was irrational, but hey, I was trying to keep the beasties at bay. From the dim light, I could see Lucy sitting on the floor in front of the TV. I, just barely, made out the program through her. Her hair was as pale as usual and so blond it seemed almost white. She wore the same white nightgown she always did.
“How did you get my number?” I had to know. I mean, I doubted Will would suggest me to someone else. Things hadn’t exactly ended on a positive note.
“You came highly recommended.”
That was news to me. A very small group of people even knew I did something besides graphic design. “By who?”
“That’s not important right now. You’re needed. That’s what should matter.”
I sat up. Not important to him, maybe, but it sure as shit was important to me. I squeezed the phone so hard my knuckles began to ache. If I broke it, this asshole was going to owe me another phone. “Listen. I’m not about to traipse around and do whatever the hell it is you want me to when you won’t tell me who you are or who told you about me.”
“O’Malley said you’d be difficult.”
I froze. Father O’Malley had been the one who allowed me to see the church as a vocation when I was a kid. But there was one problem. He’d been dead since before I left the church. I didn’t care where he got the information. That was a low blow. I clenched my teeth.
“I’m going to hang up now. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call here again—”
“No, wait!”
The desperation in his voice was the only thing that kept me from hanging up the phone. “All right. I’m listening.”
“O’Malley told me about you in a dream. When I woke up, your phone number was scrawled on my hand.”
Yeah, I knew that kind of weird. I had firsthand experience with it. Having a dead person talk to him in a dream wasn’t that different from a disembodied soul speaking to me in a nightmare. Yeah, my life was really interesting. Though I’d never drawn on myself in my sleep. That was a new one. “Who is it who needs an exorcism?”
The guy hung up. I literally heard the phone hitting the cradle. Who used an old phone like that anymore? I almost threw my cell phone against the wall. I mean, what the hell? Wake me up in the middle of the night for what?
I scratched the sleep out of my eyes and glanced over at Lucy. “Don’t you ever sleep?”
She stared at me and grinned. Her blue eyes almost sparkled. “I don’t have to.”
I shook my head. Of course a kid would think it great to not sleep. I, on the other hand needed my rest—strange phone calls or not. And if someone else called, I’d probably be facing a murder charge.
“Do you think Tabby will like me?” Lucy asked. She stayed dressed in this little white frilly nightgown. I wasn’t sure if it was her favorite or if there was something else at work keeping her dressed that way. When I’d done her exorcism, she sure wasn’t in frills.
Now that was the question, wasn’t it? I’d been toying with the idea of not telling Tabby about my ghostly child, but it appeared that was no longer an option. And with my luck, Tabby would eventually see her, freak out, and the whole thing would be blown out of proportion.
“I’m sure she will…” I hoped that was true. “After she gets used to the idea.”
Lucy stared at me for a bit. I could tell she wasn’t buying it. Best I start remembering there was more to her than to a regular six-year-old.
“It will all work out,” I told her. “Eventually.” Part of that was me trying to convince myself. There was only so much oddness a normal person could take, and I figured I was probably getting close to the threshold.
“Uh-huh,” Lucy said, back to watching the TV. How she could just sit in front of the TV for hours on end, I didn’t know. It was almost like she became somehow hypnotized by it.
I laid my head back on the pillow. Hopefully, I could go back to sleep. Hopefully, I could stop worrying about that odd phone call. Hopefully…who was I kidding? I was seriously screwed. Again.
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Book Review—AN EXORCIST EXPLAINS THE DEMONIC

As an author of horror, I am fascinated by demons—especially as portrayed in movies like ‘The Exorcist,’ ‘The Conjuring,’ ‘The Conjuring 2,’ and the more comic ‘Supernatural’ television series. But as a Catholic, I am in truth terrified of the demonic. I believe they not only exist but are striving every day to win over our souls. Strong words? Well, we’re talking about the ultimate battle between Good and Evil, after all.

Fr. Gabriele Amorth, who died in Rome this past September, was an exorcist and author. An Exorcist Explains the Demonic is the first book of his I have read, and I intend to read more. I found his words to be both direct and comforting. Direct, because he doesn’t mince words when it comes to Satan. And comforting because, in the end, he offers hope for those suffering from ailments such as Possession, Vexation, Obsession, and Infestation.

For authors interested in true stories of the paranormal, I can highly recommend this work. Movies and television may exaggerate some of what happens during an exorcism, but apparently, they get a lot of it right. And I believe that if you’re going to write about something unfamiliar, you should research the hell out of it. For believers, Fr. Amorth offers advice on how to keep yourself safe from the forces of Evil. And for nonbelievers, the book is a fascinating read.

You can find this review at Amazon US.

Synopsis

From Fr. Gabriel Amorth, the renowned exorcist in Rome, comes this powerful, eye-opening book on the deadly antics of Satan and his fallen angels, as well as spiritual remedies for each.  

These pages provide a basic orientation in the dark phenomenology, succinctly explaining Catholic doctrine on the fallen angels and the innumerable manifestations. Among the many questions Fr. Amorth answers in this book are:

Where does the Evil One dwell in the human body?

How does the Devil appear and what does he look like?

What are the powers that comes from Satan?

Do the sins of ancestors influence our life?

How are spiritual evils contracted?

What is the state of souls in purgatory?

What is the role of sacramentals in fighting off temptation?

When should exorcisms and prayers of healing be performed?

What happens during an exorcism?

What you should do when a family is being attacked by a demon?

Buy Links

Amazon US

Amazon UK

Amazon Canada

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