R.W. Krpoun's Blog, page 29

Second Edit of The Master’s Compass is complete

And the final review and edit will begin tomorrow.

The October release is firming up nicely.

It is still hanging in at 100,000 words, and will run between $1.99 and $2.99, so budget accordingly.

You can’t make this stuff up

I currently have fourteen books in print, one in editing, and one at 65,000 words that is heading to completion. All feature graphic violence and persons of evil intent, even the use of torture.

But nothing I can write can touch the malignancy of a person who methodically prepares over a period of time to sit in a hotel room and fire into a mass of complete strangers five hundred yards away.

I can’t imagine a motivation for that. As a retiree I can’t grasp how a man could get up one day and decide ‘I’m going to devote my last days to seeing how many complete strangers I can kill‘.

I’ve worked on murder cases and violent deaths. Mostly they were high passion/immediate rage, substance-fueled excess, or illegal transactions gone wrong, with the occasional utter (known) lunatic tossed in. They all had a motivation, however illogical.

But this tragedy in Las Vegas escapes my understanding. Why a man who, as of this posting, had no criminal or mental heath history, who appears to have negotiated the trials and travails of modern life successfully, to have pursued a non-violent career to a comfortable retirement, would undertake such a mission of malignancy is beyond my ability to explain, either factually or in fiction.

I have considered the possibility of a brain tumor, but you do not normally see such an affliction resolve itself in such a specific manner; aberrations in behavior and personality resulting from such brain events normally manifest themselves in a broader spectrum of noticeable behavior.

The world is a unsettling place.

My prayers go out for the victims and their families.

 

An Excerpt from The Master’s Compass

Keep in mind this is not fully polished and reviewed yet, but the second edit is ahead of schedule and an October release date is still viable.

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The Master was dying.

The Circle were claiming that he was merely gravely ill but few believed them;  the Master’s impending death was now accepted as fact and because of that fact the narrow, illogical world the People knew was changing fast and not for the better.

Everyone was talking about crews; it was all the rage, and topics raged hard on the Anvil in these troubled days. Usually they raged and then faded like a summer storm rolling in off the sea, but this one wasn’t going away. This wasn’t who was sleeping with whom, or who was pushing the rules, or even how close to a cult Bricktorian was taking his adoration of Dolph Lundgren. This was becoming very important.

Romero bounded up the steel stairs, which Mohabin insisted were to be called a ladder, just like he wanted the floors to be called decks, the ceilings overheads, and all the other titles he said applied to ships. Romero tried to get along with everyone but he just couldn’t get all the nautical stuff locked in as a habit. The Anvil hadn’t sailed or even moved with the waves in generations, so the terminology seemed moot.

Emerging on the top deck, he spotted Oracle taking the morning sun and paused to catch his breath as Oracle preferred a bit of dignity when she was consulted. She was leaning against the rusting rail, he saw, bundled in a heavy canvas cloak, her long white hair blowing freely in the cool winter breeze. He knew that she bleached her hair to add the wisdom of age to her pronouncements. Given that she was a year younger than his twenty-four-odd years and everyone had known her all their lives he thought it was a pretty crazy affection, but what was even crazier was that others were starting to show her deference.

“Oracle,” he said respectfully as he drew near.

“Approach, my child.”

Romero rolled his eyes at the ‘my child’, but had a suitably serious look on his face when he stepped up to the rail. Life had been much easier when she had just been Becky, the first girl he had ever kissed. “I need to seek your council.”

“Speak.” He had to admit that the white hair did complement her pale blue eyes, and went well with the slight gauntness of her fine-boned face.

“Bricktorian has officially created a Crew, and several others have as well, Gunnitt and Cristor for certain, Mohabin probably. Bricktorian has offered me a position, but I am uncertain of whether I should take it.”

Oracle continued to stare straight forward. Five years ago she had found a cache of soft over-sized books in a recess of the Anvil, books (she called them ‘magazines’) which dealt with nothing but the royalty of the Old World and their dealings with the masses, each other, and accounts of their lives. Somehow Oracle (then Becky) had parlayed these books into a position of some influence within the People. She had devised a theory that which member of the Royalty (she always pronounced it so the capitalization could be heard) a person most resembled had a significant impact on their life.

The Master had curtailed her theory when Bricktorian started edging his resemblance to (and adoration of) Dolph Lundgren into a cult status. Nevertheless Oracle was willing to advise people of what portents their affiliation to Royalty, cross-referenced to the phase of the moon, held for them, and what was amazing was that a lot of people listened to her. If nothing else she was a virtual clearinghouse of gossip.

“Bricktorian wants war,” Oracle observed somberly. “He wants you for your healing abilities. He seeks out warriors, healers, and inventors.”

“War with whom?”

“There is an entire world out there. He’ll find someone.”

“With the Master…well, soon there may be a new Master, and I think Bricktorian means to assume that role. If he does not have men of faith to advise him things could be very poorly run.”

“Bricktorian listens only to the spirit of Dolph Lundgren.”

“Well, Dolph Lundgren was a great hero who fought always on the side of the right…”

Oracle sighed. “Bricktorian is Bricktorian. He thinks with his fists and listens to his penis.”

Romero was startled, as Oracle normally couched her advice in obscure terms. “All right. I was thinking…well, I could form a crew. There are needs that need to be met, the People are facing desperate times. A crew dedicated to solving the problems we face as a group will be necessary. Those forming crews now have…strong but limited ideas.”

Oracle turned and laid her hand against his cheek. “Romero, don’t leave the Anvil. Those that are joining crews do not understand what is coming, and those who are forming crews lack your nobility of spirit. You will find yourself caught between crushing stones.”

He tried to smile. “I have to try, Oracle. It is my duty.”

She looked long and hard into his eyes before turning back to the rail. “You are a Johnny Lee Miller of the second degree, strong in appearance but with a far kinder heart.” She sighed. “Get Alfred and his brother, and Jerryknot as well. They will bolster your chances. Ragman, too, as you will need an Inventor.”

“Alfred is my cousin, but he is a hard man, not much different than Bricktorian; I expect he will be joining Bricktorian soon. Ragman already serves Bricktorian.”

“Alfred is nothing like Bricktorian save in their capacity for violence. He is a Walton Goggins of the first degree, strong in appearance and true to the heart. Like Lord Goggins he is crafty and sly, and prone to reckless impulses. He can think, however, and thus will not prosper under Bricktorian. I will advise Ragman of his new affiliation, and he will follow my instructions.”

“Bricktorian will not take that well,” Romero noted uneasily.

“Bricktorian owes me far too much to so much as frown at what I do or whom I advise. Go, be about your foolishness.” She flipped a dismissive hand.

 

The Master had brought all two hundred and eight of the People to the Anvil twenty years ago; back then the oldest was around six and the majority were three. They had no families as such, but there was a need for family amongst them, and over the years the terms ‘brother’, ‘sister’, and ‘cousin’ had taken on the meaning of a deep friendship without romantic influences. It had grown in strength as it was learned that the People seemed to be largely barren; only three children had been born on the Anvil, which did not even replace the four who had died since their arrival.

Romero found Alfred and his brother Uncas on the sports deck on Deck Twelve; most of the People liked to live near the main deck (Three) for the convenience, but the two brothers lived on Deck Eleven and held court on Deck Twelve. Romero had to admit that Alfred resembled the pictures Oracle had shown him of Lord Goggins: tall, rangy, with wild spiky dark hair, and grim of visage unless he smiled.

Uncas, on the other hand, was of average height, powerful of build, and very proud of his strength. He was dark-skinned and wore his inky black hair long; Uncas had originally been Bob, but eight years ago he had read a particularly difficult book on a dare, and had changed his name to Uncas after a character in the book. Uncas said the book was about Indians, great warriors and landsmen who were dark-skinned and black-haired, and thus likely his ancestors. None of the People were especially clear on what ‘Indians’ were, but none of the other dark-skinned people looked like Uncas, so they accepted his interpretation. It helped that Uncas talked very little; the People found it easiest to accept simple deviations from the norm.

“What’s up, cousin?” Alfred drawled, idly flipping his large Bowie knife and catching it by the point. Ragman had made that knife, and it was Alfred’s pride.

“I want to form a Crew,” Romero burst out.

Alfred gave a true Lord Goggins grin and even Uncas crossed his arms and smiled a bit. “You want to form a Crew? I thought you were planning on becoming a priest?”

“Well, I still hope to achieve my calling,” Romero rubbed his neck. “But that is a long-term goal. I believe that in the current crisis there needs to be crews who are steadying influences, men who will put the good of the People ahead of…narrow interests.”

“And you figure we are the three to do it?” Alfred was still amused.

“Us, Ragman, and Jerryknot, if Jerryknot will join.”

“The Ragman signed on with Bricktorian.” The smile was gone, and Romero realized with a shock that his cousin did not care for the devotee of Dolph Lundgren. How had Oracle known?

“I spoke with Oracle, and she said she will tell Ragman that he is to serve with us.”

Alfred glanced at Uncas; that was something that Romero always found strange: Alfred liked to talk, Uncas never talked, and they often just looked at each other and somehow communicated. “That will do it for Ragman. How many people do you need for a crew, anyway?”

Romero had been giving that some thought as he had made his way here. “They say crews will be going outside the Anvil to seek solutions. Ragman has a bad leg, so he can stay here and work on equipment. You two are trained to fight, and Uncas knows the ways of the wild by his nature and study,” Romero didn’t really believe that, but he was confident Uncas did. “Jerryknot is sneaky and he gets into everything, and I am a fully trained healer. I think that should cover everything to start with.”

Alfred nodded thoughtfully. “Find Jerryknot and tell him he is part of our crew,” he said to Uncas, who nodded shortly. “Romero, tell Ragman he can set up here, on the sports deck. You guys can bunk with us on Deck Eleven, there’s plenty of empty cabins. We’ll want the entire crew together.”

“What if Jerryknot doesn’t want to join?” Romero asked, a bit taken back at Alfred’s taking charge.

“Then Uncas will hit him until he changes his mind,” Alfred shrugged.

Retirement is great!

So, ten days in and I haven’t given the job a thought except when old comrades pass on the latest gossip. I still carry a handgun when I go out, having both a concealed handgun license and as a retired peace officer, so nothing feels different.

The money is fine, I had planned to retire in 2009 but events changed my mind and the extra time only helped.

Best of all is the time. I walk around my acreage (I live on ten acres in the country, on a lakeside) and let my mind wander. A project that had hit a wall at 56,000 words is moving again, with 59,000 words and a live plot line; another project that had stalled at 53,000 words acquired a couple thousand words and just needs detail work on the plot to resume.

So a second book hitting print before the end of the year is very possible, and with some luck two besides The Master’s Compass will be in print within the next four to five months. The plot log-jam that had held up the third book of the YGAT series is shifting, but that have to wait for a bit.

I will post the opening to The Master”s Compass in the next few days.

First Review of The Master’s Compass is done

Just finished the first review of The Master’s Compass; there was a lot of clean-up, added description, and adjustment of plot elements, but in the end the word count only grew by a few hundred words.

I’ll get it printed up tomorrow and the second review (editing by my wife) will begin. When that is done the third review will follow, and then publishing. I hope to have it out by October, although as usual I make no promises.  Although being retired will certainly speed the process.

I’ll post a few pages of the first chapter in a day or two, and will welcome any input.

The rough draft of The Master’s Compass is done!

I started this work on 4-2-17, and 101,000 words later it is done!

The first review will begin immediately.

TMC is the first book in a trilogy sent in a post-apocalyptic world in which an isolated community must seek out the answers to their own situation.  They will have to explore the world around them and confront the illogical nature of their own history to ensure their own survival.

I will post a sample from the first chapter in a few days.

The end of an era.

I first put on a badge in 1980, as part of the US Army’s Military Police. Now in 2017, 37 years later I am retiring. 28 years in the retirement system means that there is little financial reason to continue to work, and being desk-bound has turned law enforcement into just a job.

Most importantly, I am ready. I will never regret my career, but I dislike these days of administration instead of leadership, of department heads more worried about the media than their own troops’ safety.

My last date isn’t for some weeks, but the withdrawal has begun. I have shifted most of my stuff from work, and am burning excess vacation and holiday leave. I have devoted a lot of time to putting my man-cave into order, as my writing time will open up drastically soon.

It all passed by so quickly; it seems like just yesterday I was a slick-sleeve Patrolman with a full head of hair campaigning for assignment to permanent nights, patrolling my district with all the subtlety of a Hind gunship hunting Afghan rebels, hunting arrests like a miner panning for gold.

Those were extremely good days.

And what awaits me will be very good as well; I’ve numerous writing projects planned and the creative juices are flowing well. I hope to see my fifteenth book published in October, and to have the time to go back and hunt typos in my older work.

Things are moving briskly

As the Dream trilogy continues to draw interest I forage forth on other projects. On my drives to and from work I ponder plot issues and developments; when I get home I read, do research, seek inspiration on TV, and above all sit in my man cave tapping on my keyboard, trying to turn concepts into prose and rough drafts into something worth reading.

The third book of the Yard Gnomes weighs heavily upon me: the grunt work is done but I lack the spark that ignites a plot concept and lifts the project to a finished state. I attack the issue from several angles, and have made progress. Another project languishes at 60,000 words, hung up in a plot hole which I have yet to resolve.

Compass chugs along, closing in on 90,000 with nothing but time standing between it and completion, and other projects live on notepaper, swirling in my mind like exotic dancers.

I am in the groove, writing-wise, and am planning to take a week off to hammer on the keyboard and embrace platform gaming.

If all goes well 2017 will see a second book from me and a dedicated effort at a third.

85,000 words and no title

So having blissfully left the horrors of the edit and publication process of a book, and the gratifying glow of it doing well (thanks once again to all my readers) I most move on to my next project.

Which, as the title notes, has 85k of rough draft with a clear and solid plot arc and a solid creative drive; I’m cranking out the words on the steady basis.

The problem is that I still don’t have a title. Completely dead in the water. I plan for a trilogy, and have the concepts for the three books, but none of that matters if I have no book title or trilogy/series name.

I’m far enough along so that I am casting about for a cover image, but without a title.

I never had this problem before. Some, like Sunstone, took half a book before I had the title; City of the Way had a title before I had more than a one-sentence concept of the plot. The Phantom Badger series has a fairly easy naming sequence.

But I am stalled on this project.

I will keep posting ideas and some of the opening pages soon. The story takes place in the aftermath of a civilization-breaking event of unclear origins; the protagonists are unsure how long it has been since the Fall, but they guess 70 years.

The story focuses on a small community raised on the beached hulk of a pre-Fall ship, and their growing realization of the illogical nature of their situation.

I am considering calling the trilogy the Ark Series (the Ark is why they call their ship), and perhaps the individual books The Compass, The Map, and ????. Something navigational for the third one?

Hard to say. However, I am working steadily.

Sunstone 70% off starting Thursday 7-13

Starting tomorrow and lasting for a week Sunstone, my favorite novel, will be on sale for $0.99.

Set in 1912’s revolution-torn Mexico, Sunstone follows three Pinkerton agents who ride into the maelstrom of war to recover an embezzler, only to encounter a dark legacy of a nearly-forgotten era.

A historical novel, a zombie novel, and a horror novel wrapped up in one work, and now available for just a buck! With the cost of adverbs and adjectives these days, that’s cheaper than wholesale!