Dave Skinner's Blog, page 4

Travellers, the sequel to My Father's Swords, is available on Amazon

The second book in the Warriors, Heroes, and Demons series is named Travellers. It is available today (May 11, 20170) on Amazon and Amazon Prime. The following is a sample:

Conversation between the men was minimal as they travelled the cave. Ramos led the way with Gerard behind him and Bray at the rear. Bray was listening carefully. He thought he had heard a sound ahead of them some time before, but he was not sure. Although Ramos and Gerard were not talking, their passage through the cave was noisy. They brushed against the walls in narrower places, and their swords scraped rocks and walls almost continually. If there was something ahead of them in the cave, it was doing a much better job of moving silently.Most parts of the cave they travelled were like narrow tunnels. In places they widened into galleries, branched off into other channels and, in two places, joined a stream that appeared from and disappeared back into the cave’s wall.After some time, Gerard pointed to a mark scratched on the wall. “Half way,” he told Bray. The mark was barely visible in the pale glow that emanated from the walls. Bray had expected to have to use torches for light, but the walls gave off a weak luminescence that made it possible to see without the use of fire. Bray had asked about it, but his companions had no answers.They had travelled perhaps half as far again from the half-way mark when Ramos stopped suddenly. Ahead of them, where the cave curved to the left they saw the back of a person stepping out of the gloomy light. It was a woman moving slowly and softly backwards towards them. Although her face was hidden from him, Bray could tell by her posture that she was terrified. He dropped his pack silently to the ground. He was going to string his bow, but time was against him as an echoing roar sounded. The young woman spun around and ran towards them, as a huge, wild-looking dog sprang into view. Its eyes were red rimmed and full of hate. There was blood on its chest. Saliva dripped from its jaws. The cave was too narrow for swords, so Bray grabbed his knives as he screamed “down!” to those in front of him. The dog sprang. The young woman, who Bray recognized as Adel, fell to the ground and curled into a ball. The beast’s leap carried it above her. Directly ahead of Bray, Gerard had dropped face down to the ground. Ramos tried to pull his sword, failed and, at the last moment, tried to turn away. The dog’s jaws clamped onto his shoulder. Bray heard the sound of bones breaking and flesh being torn away as he ran along Gerard’s back and slashed a knife downward across the beast’s face, barely missing Ramos’s head. The dog released his hold with a howl of pain. Ramos crumbled to the ground. Bray sprang forward; both knives flashed repeatedly. As the dog opened its mouth to scream its anger, Bray drove a knife up from under the jaw into its brain. The dog collapsed. Bray’s second knife went in through an eye, followed by a circular movement that maximized damage, habit more than necessity.Bray withdrew both knives, cleaned them on the beast’s shaggy coat, and returned them to their scabbard before he turned to Ramos. Gerard was already attending to him, so Bray turned his attention to Adel who remained curled in a ball on the cave floor. She flinched when he laid a hand on her shoulder.“It is alright, girl. The beast is dead. You are safe, but what are you doing here?”“I have to go with you,” Adel said as she climbed back to her feet.“You have to go, why?”
“There is a compulsion in me that I do not understand,” Adel admitted. “I feel I must go with you.”

My Father's Swords won the Editor's Pick award from Write...

My Father's Swords won the Editor's Pick award from Writer's Cramp Editing.

Eventually the effects of deregulation will be felt. Short story. 1085 words.

Eventually“We found three shells casings,” the technician reported. “First one was a driller used to penetrate the bullet proof aluminum of the window. The second was a boomer, a tiny high energy microwave emitter that disabled all the electronics in the house, and killed the two children who were using the VR headsets. The third was the death shot for the male victim in the study. All three were seeker enabled.”“Thanks, Billy,” Detective Rogers said. He made an entry on his device before returning to the safe room where the widow and her parents had taken refuge. He had no hope of getting a coherent answer from the widow. She was a wreck, so he addressed the parents.“Is there somewhere else you can stay while we complete our investigation? CSI will crawl all over the house, the yard, and the neighborhood for at least a week.”“Of course we do, the old woman answered. We will go to one of our other properties, but this was supposed to be the safest place we could be. There’s a shield around the whole property, and the best security money can buy at the gate. How did they get in?”“No one got in. The shots were fired when the shield gate opened. It only takes a moment. Your Son-in-Law was the target. The children are collateral damage, although I can tell you, based on the sophistication of the weapon used, that the rest of you are in extreme danger. Someone is targeting your family.”“Why? We’re in the clothing business. Is it because of our wealth?”“Partially, but I expect we’ll discover it’s related to your family. That is what we’re finding with these cases--anyone in your family ever in politics, or involved with the emperor’s business friends?”“My father was a senator,” the elderly woman answered, “when the first Emperor Trump was elected as president, but that happened ages ago. We are not involved aside from donating to the party. Why target us?” Detective Rogers tapped several times on his arm and a display appeared in the air between them.“Is your father’s name on this list?”He used the screen displayed on his forearm to make the air-display scroll until the woman made a strangled sound. Her face lost the little colour it had retained.“What is this list?” the old man asked angrily. “How is our family involved?”Detective Rogers removed the oxygen mask from his face before answering. The hole in the window and opening and closing of the front door was allowing the air from outside to seep into the house. Everyone was wearing their masks when they weren’t talking because the electronics were still knocked out and the air wasn’t being purified.“It is a list of the people responsible for the state of the country. The people who dismantled all the protections in place before 2017 and the business people who took advantage of it.”“We had nothing to do with that.” “But your father did.”“So we are being targeted for what my father did?” the old woman said.“Yes. The list tracks the people responsible for the state the country is in and their families. The killings started a few years ago when things got terrible. That is when we learned about the list. I understand it has been around since 2017. The perpetrators are out for revenge. They are intent on wiping out every extended family member, or at least that is what the ones who are caught admit.”“Who is funding them? The munitions needed to bypass our shields must be expensive and hopefully restricted.”“Hardly,” Rogers snorted. “The ammunition used here is readily available to everyone. Every attempt to restrict sales has been shot down. We love our right to carry arms and our assault rifles.”“Why kill the whole family? I don’t understand that.”“Most of the people responsible for this mess died years ago. It took a few decades for the adverse effects of their regulation busting to be apparent in the environment and financially. One perpetrator had watched his parents, his wife, and his children die because healthcare was unaffordable to them. Many people can’t even afford these masks. He felt it was only just to wipe out the whole family.”“I’m finding this hard to believe, Detective,” the man said. “How can this be happening and not be reported in the media?”“It is reported. ABC ran a special on it last night, and CNN had one two weeks ago.”“They’re false news sites. I only watch Fox, and they have reported nothing about it.”“Maybe you should call Fox and tell them about what happened here, but don’t hold your breath waiting to see it on their news. Others tried.”“Is no place safe?”“There are fewer incidents in states that have the death penalty. You could move to Texas.”“Texas! No one in their right mind would live in Texas. The wall is crumbling and Mexicans are everywhere.”“There are other states, but most have the same problems except for those not close to the wall. Water contaminated by methane gas, land contaminated by pesticides, that type of thing. Fox covers those stories doesn’t it?” “Why aren’t the authorities doing something about this?” The old woman must have had all she could take because she started to wail. “Our daughter needs to be protected.” The old man looked at her, but his expression remained stony.“How long before you capture the people who have done this?”“There is never any evidence to identify them. Some give themselves up, but not until everyone in their target family is dead. Personally, I believe prison gives them a better chance at life than being on the outside does. At least they get their two meals a day. Our department doesn’t have the manpower to hunt them down. Most police departments don’t—budget cuts you know, so I don’t expect to make any arrests right away unless the perp comes forward and surrenders.”“Which won’t happen until we are all dead, right?”“Correct.”“This is ridiculous,” the old woman said, as she stood up. “I’m calling the Governor.” She pulled the door to the safe room open and stepped out. Detective Rogers heard the buzz of the bullet as it passed. The widow’s crying stopped as she fell to the side.“Do you have any brothers or sisters we can warn,” he asked, but the old man wasn’t listening anymore.
End

The Of... stories

The Of... storiesThe Of… stories are a set of three shorts featuring the adventures of a thief/want-a-be wizard. In chronological order they are; Of thieves and wizards (Spring 2015), Of man, mouse, and monster (Summer 2015), and Of dungeons and demons (Summer 2016).After writing two science fiction novels that generated zero sales, I took some on-line advice and tried writing short stories in order to get more immediate feedback and something to add to the third paragraph of a query letter. While searching for sites to submit to, I came across a short story contest run by Buzz and Roar Publishing (http://www.buzzandroarpublishing.com/contests.html). Rules for the submissions included the restriction that the story had to contain one of a list of prompts. The prompt I liked stated that the line, there is always the mouse, had to be somewhere in the body of the story. I had wanted to write a fantasy story and somehow that and the prompt got me to, Of thieves and wizards. I didn’t win the contest, but I was chosen as one of two honourable mentions which meant the story was published in their next catalogue, and technically I had something for the third paragraph of a query letter.Of thieves and wizards is about revenge, love, and betrayal. It is written in the first person. I wanted to develop a flippant voice for the main character, but I had to remove most of the flippancy of the character because it detracted from the story. The story teller, who isn’t named until the second story, wants revenge on the wizard who killed his teacher. The story end with him leaving Ally, the woman who betrayed him, to her justly deserved fate with the line, “Goodbye, Miss Mousy,” I said as I slipped out the door.I wrote the second story, Of man, mouse, and monster, because there was more story to be told. I imagine other writer do the same thing. Once you have developed a world and populated it with characters, you find that those characters want more of their story told. They creep into your head—for me it’s mostly at night—and whisper questions to you. What happened after that, was he successful, did he become a wizard, and was Ally mad that he left her the way she was? Of course she was mad, mad enough to seek revenge, and therein lays the second story. I submitted, Of man, mouse, and monster to a contest at Writers of the Future. It received an honourable mention also. http://www.writersofthefuture.com/enter-writer-contest/. That is the extent of my success with short story submissions. As I write this, I am realizing that revenge is a central theme in all three stories. Betrayal and revenge where does that come from I wonder? I guess Stephen King is right when he suggests putting your story away for some time after the first draft is finished and then take it out and read it over to look for themes to develop. I finished reading Stephen King’s, On Writing, a couple of months ago. It is worth reading, but not worth the money I paid for it even considering I searched out a second hand copy. I think Stein on Writing is better if you are after writing help.I was involved with writing the first book and outlining the second in my Warriors, Heroes, and Demons(WHD) series after I wrote Of man, mouse, and monster, so it was a while before I started work on, Of dungeons and demons. I played with a few story ideas while I wrote My Father’s Swords. Forn—my want-a-be wizard/thief finally has a name—and Ally are rich and comfortable as they travel about searching for a wizard able to release Ally from her affliction. There are a few stories there, but nothing I wanted to write. Anything I came up with didn’t contain magic, humour, or excitement until, Of dungeons and demons came to mind. Maybe I was subconsciously looking to further the revenge and betrayal theme I seemed to have going, or maybe I was just looking for something that would work in a short format. Whatever it was, I wrote the story after I finished the first draft of my second novel for the WHD series, called Travellers. (Travellersis the working title although it fits the book nicely and I may keep it) I thought about submitting it, even looked at some current contests, but because it had been so long since I put anything on my blog, I figured I would just blog it. There is another Forn and the demon story flitting around my mind some nights, so if I write it I may have enough content to put out a $0.99 eBook. Considering that my blog is not followed by many people, I don’t think anyone would complain. So, there may be another, Of…, story in time. Until then, enjoy some of the other flash fiction and short stories found here, or pick up a copy of My Father’s Swords.
© Dave Skinner January 2017

Of dungeons and demons

Of dungeons and demons
Dungeons have never been places I like to spend time. Even as a magician’s apprentice they made shivers run along my backbone. My Master removed undesirable spirits, devils, and remnants from many while we toiled together. I ignored most of the instructions he gave during those visits. I wish I had listened more because being imprisoned in one proved worse than I had imagined, and it looked as if dealing with the undesirable spirits was the only way out.Time no longer had meaning. The days and nights flowed together in interminable darkness broken once a day by the delivery of the slop they called food. I tried to count those deliveries at first, but I stopped at one-hundred. When my self-pity wore off I vowed to escape.The undesirable spirits arrive a long time after the daily meal. The sounds they make precede them to the cell door. Their wispy movements are hard to make out, but the clicking and gnashing of their teeth gives them away. When my Master and I performed our dungeon cleanups—I am reluctant to call them purification, they never worked that well—my job involved keeping the spirits away. I had been using that spell on these spirits, but they can build up immunity, so I had to find something else to use. Unfortunately, the only other item in my cell was the skeleton of a former guest. For the longest time, I refused to associate with my skeletal cellmate, but desperation can lead to bravado. We are now on speaking terms. I am sad about having to sacrifice him, but I explained the plan to him, and he never said no. Perhaps he will like looking alive once more.I have been saving a bit of gruel each day. It being the only resource I had to bring the rats close enough. Now with twenty-five dead rats I have enough to create my illusion. If making my cellmate look fleshed was all I wanted, a glamour spell was the other choice, but it would have dissipated at the first touch. I needed something that resembled flesh enough to make the spirit break the chains and the door. The glamour spell I reserved for use on my body. To make me look like my friend the skeleton.I crawled as far away from my cellmate as the chain that bound us both to the wall allowed. A clicking and gnashing sound drew closer. I closed my eyes and pulled up my wizard’s vision. A glamour spell cannot hide the doorways to the soul, so I kept my eyes closed. Skeletons should not have eyes. It ruins the illusion.With my wizard’s sight I saw the spirit through the door. Without my protection spell to stop it the thing sent tendrils into the cell. When my cellmate failed to react to the first tentative tendril touch, the spirit wasted no time. It pulled the body towards the door until the chain grew taut. I steeled my body for what was coming; unsure if my leg and my illusion were strong enough to hold up. With a suddenness that startled me the spirit shattered the door and wrenched my cellmate away. The rat’s body I had used to reinforce the ankle ripped apart. A thin tendril snaked out and captured the errant foot. The body parts disappeared through the open doorway. The door’s destruction proved noisy, as I hoped it would. As the clicking teeth sound vanished down the corridor, the sound of the guards reacting reached me. They appeared at the doorway in moments.  My wizard’s vision showed them sticking their torches into the cell.“Spirit got him.” Eventuality coloured his tone. “How long did he last?”“I stopped checking last week when my number passed. I had one-fifty-eight, so adding five to that gives—?”“One-sixty-three,” the other guard answered. “That makes Ruke the winner. I’ll go tell the Sarge that the prisoner is dead, and then tell Ruke he won the raffle.”“What about me and the rest of our shift?”“You stay even if there is no one left to guard. Sarge will reassign us and aren’t I thankful for that.”“Not a fan of dungeon duty?” “Not a fan of dungeon spirits. They should hire a wizard to purify the place.”“That never works for long.” Their voices faded away.I gathered up the chain making as little noise as possible and followed them, my mind already planning my revenge on Miss Mousy and her wizard lover, but it would have to wait. The stairway out of the dungeon passed through the guard’s room, and with the one guard left behind my plan of escape that way had died. My only hope lay in the direction the spirit had taken.The corridor ended at another stairway that led downward into darkness. I crept along trying to keep the chain attached to my ankle from rattling. The stairs seemed long in the darkness, but I reached level ground again. Another corridor stretched out before me, lit by lanterns spaced about six or seven body lengths apart. They cast a red tinged glow. There were cells along this hallway, but unlike those above all the doors were missing. Pondering the mystery of the missing doors made me miss the clicking and gnashing sound until it was almost upon me. I backed along the corridor and ducked into the first doorway. No light penetrated here as I brushed my way along a wall to the first corner. I readied my protection spell. It was the only choice I had, but I would only use it if needed. Once the spirit knew I was here, my remaining life span would be a matter of days. I could hear the thing drawing closer to the door. It seemed to pause. Had it detected me? The sound started again. I could sense a quickening in its movements. Here it comes, I though. I raised my hand to fling forth my protection spell, but the sound moved away.“They do not enter here,” a disembodied voice announced. My head snapped towards the sound. Two points of blue ice regarded me from the blackness. Demon! One of the few lessons I remember was my Master’s discussion of demons. “The surest way to recognize a demon is the ice blue eyes, but if you are that close, you are dead,” he had said. I moved towards the doorway as a light oozed into existence.“The spirit is still out there. I can sense it. You should not hurry to leave.”The demon was tall, at least twice my normal height, and three times larger now as I crouched in abject fear. It stood against the wall on clawed feet. Muscular legs, muscular body, muscular neck, and a skull like head became clear as the light grew brighter. Then I saw the wings.They stretched out against the wall looking delicate, but large enough to carry its bulk. The light grew, pushing the shadows up towards the ceiling. It was then I noticed the spikes driven through the wings and into the wall. I looked back at the demons face. Pain, written in deep lines and furrows extended from the ice blue eyes back towards the bat like ears.“You will never bypass the spirits now. They know you are here, but they will not enter my cell. Your only chance is to help me escape. I will help you in return.”“You are a prisoner?”“What does it look like?” its voice rose.  “Do you think I stand here through choice? Just my luck,” it grumbled. “The first visitor in ages, and he is an idiot. I hope you have an aptitude for magic at least, or we are both doomed.”“I have a little training although I admit not much.” We looked at each other. “I will help if I can.” The thought of letting the demon loose with me in the same space gave me pause. “I help free you, and you help me escape. Is that the deal?”“Yes, and I promise not to kill you when I am free. Is that what worries you?”Can you trust a demon? There are differing views on that subject. Most, my Master included, believed no. There are stories of wizards who have tried to bind demons. Some have succeeded, but I only remember those who failed. Stories about shared trust did not come to mind, but what are my options? I rose from my cowering squat, took a calming breath—perhaps my last—and stepped forward.“Those nails are out of my reach,” I stated.“Can you elevate yourself?”“Levitation was never one of my stronger spells. I managed a walk-on-air spell once, but my reserve of magic is too low to manage it now.”“Mine also is low, but your fear has given me a boost, just enough I believe.”I felt myself engulfed in a pressure that made breathing a conscious effort. I was lifted. Soon I floated close to a metal stake driven through one wing. A dark crust had formed where it punctured the skin. I reached out and brushed the offending spike. No tingling occurred, so I grasped the thing. “Can you lift me a little higher?”“How is that?”“Perfect. Now hold me steady. I will try to loosen it.”The spike was level with my belly button. I grasped it with both hands and tried to wiggle it up and down, back and forth, but it refused to move. “This isn’t working,” I told the demon. “I can’t move it because I float around. If I hang from it, my weight might shift it some. Take the floating spell away,” I said as I threw one leg over the spike. Hanging upside down, I wiggle and heave as best I could, but it proved unmoveable.“Can your hand reach up here to support me instead of using the floater spell?”“I cannot reach the nails. They are too high. I have tried.”“But if you can hold me up with a hand, I might get more traction.”He held a hand up and I stood on it. Then I could use my weight to push and pull at the spike. The weight of the chain I still wore helped. “It is moving, but I have to take a break,” I panted. “I haven’t eaten for a long time.”“Yes, you look rather thin and emaciated. Not much meat on your bones. You would be less than a filling snack.”The demon thinking of me as a snack made me giggle. I don’t understand why, but this demon was smart. He understood right away. “Sorry. I also have been without nourishment for a long period, but we have a deal.”With a lot of pushing and pulling and many rest stops I pulled one spikes out. My hands were raw by the time I finished. I must have fallen asleep on the next rest period. Karack, that was his name, let me sleep. I woke refreshed, but still hungry. Before we started on the second spike, Karack taught me a healing spell which I used on the freed wing and my raw hands. The exercise drained all my energy.“If we had one of those lights from the hallway, I could teach you how to use its energy to regenerate. You should retrieve one.” Karack suggested.“What about the spirits?”“I detect none right now. If you are quick and quiet, you will be back before one comes.”“Let me think about this,” I said. I was weak. One little healing spell and I was faint from exhaustion, if I want to live, getting out as soon as possible made sense. “All right,” I told Karack. “I’ll try.”I stood and wrapped my chain around my shoulder. “Karack, could you remove this chain? I would be quieter and faster without it.”“Not possible. It is dungeon steel, made in a dungeon for use in a dungeon. My magic will not work on it. The spikes are of the same steel otherwise I would have freed myself.”“Just a thought,” I mumbled. I finished tucking the chain around me and tried a couple steps to test for noise. It clinked, but if I limited my speed to a crawl, silence was possible. I took a quick glance out the doorway in both directions. Nothing was visible. I listened, but only heard the scurry of rats, so with great care I crept out and down the hallway.My movements were painful slow, but I reminded myself that being consumed by an undesirable would be worse. I reached the torch only to realize it was too high to grasp. Not by much. My fingers just grazed it when I stood as tall as possible. What to do?I gathered my energy, took a few deep breaths and jumped for the torch. I miscalculated and fell short. The noise unnerved me. Not far to go on that scale. Desperation and fear helped me make it the second time. With light in hand I turned back towards Karack’s cell. The sound of gnashing teeth drifted down the corridor from ahead and behind. I ran. A spirit came towards the cell door from the other direction. I screamed, hoping to scare it away. No luck, and worse luck, the thing reached the door before me, but a bolt of magic burst from the cell and sent the thing reeling. I ducked into the cell and collapsed.“Why did you scream at it?” Karack asked.“I tried to scare it, make it falter.”“You are not that frightening.”I searched for an answer, but nothing sprang to mind.“Thanks for blasting it,” I said.“My pleasure,” Karack told me. “Now bring the light here.” I struggled to my feet, my legs were shaky, but I managed. “Now, this is how you draw off the energy, pay close attention, going out for a second one is not something you want to do.”“You should be a motivational speaker,” I mumbled, but he was right, I focused my attention on his words. My Master would have been proud of me because I got it almost right away. Karack let me take most of the energy. He took a little.“It has been a long time since I ate also,” he told me. I tried to return his smile, but his long, pointed teeth distracted me.He held me up once again, and I worked on the second spike. I pulled and pushed at it for what seemed like forever. It might have wiggled a little. I had to take a break every few minutes.“Are you ready to start again?” Karack asked.“Yes. Hold me up. It has to be looser now. I will try pulling it straight out this time.”Placing one foot against the wall, I took hold with both hands, and yanked on the thing. It gave. I went. Everything went black.I started awake.  I was an unconscious snack in a cell with a hungry demon. Not a situation paired with longevity, but I woke up. Karack was sitting on the floor beside me. I sat up and grabbed the back of my head. The movement did nothing for the pain and neither did my hands.“When you are ready we can leave,” Karack told me. “We should do it soon. The smell of your blood is hard to ignore.”“There you go with the motivational talk again,” I said as I struggled up. “Let’s go.”* * *One thing I am good at is detecting wards. There were several around the wizard’s keep we were trying to enter, but he had failed to refresh them for some time. Miss Mousy can distract you from things like that. I know, we had been together for over a year before she betrayed me and stole all our treasure. During my first few weeks in the dungeon I told myself the wizard made her do it, but I was wrong. It was her idea. Saving her life twice, finding riches, and finding someone to remove the mouse-face spell just wasn’t enough to make her love me. I never was the strong wizard of her dreams.The wards were the same as the last time I was here, the time they threw me in the dungeon; no new spells had been added. The door lock spell was the only one he was refreshing regularly, and I am too good a thief to let that one slow me down. With it bypassed and with what Karack had taught me the remaining wards were easy to defeat. I made a hole through them large enough for a demon to pass and he did. He was as eager for revenge as I. We found the bedroom on the top floor. It stunk of intimacy. I used oil on the door hinges and we slipped in. Karack cast a net spell which settled over the bed and snagged them both. I took time to open the entrance to the secret chamber, it had an excellent lock. Miss Mousy said nothing, but her glare said everything. With time the lock gave, and I pulled my treasure out. There was only one chest left, but I could survive on that, after all I was a wizard trained by a demon. I could always work.Karack and I had spent many hours discussing how we would take our revenge on Miss Mousy and the wizard who had imprisoned the both of us. Karack has a mean streak and a wild imagination. His ideas made me shudder just listening to them, but in time we came up with what we felt was a just action. When the secret chamber was empty Karack lifted the bed and moved it there. We had worked hard on the spell. I liked it. We left it hanging above the bed on a three minute timer while I resealed the door from our side. We were still packaging up the treasure when the spell fell. I could see it in my mind as it absorbed Karack’s net spell and then started the change. A cat and a mouse, in a sealed room, without food, I wondered how long their love would last.End
© Dave Skinner 2016

Using CreateSpace

I tried CreateSpace this week for the first time. I decided to put My Father’s Swords out in paperback instead of just leaving it as an eBook. Over all it was a straight forward process.
I already have the book out on Amazon as an eBook, so I wasn’t worried about the first step of uploading it, but I did read the documentation first. It helped to explain some finer points of Word that I was hazy on and clarified the specifications for page size and margins. With a little finessing I managed to get it sized properly. I think the biggest time consumer was figuring what size book I wanted. I chose 5.25” x 8” and I do mean chose, as all the possible sizes are presented to you for selection. I spent some time fiddling with top and bottom margin sizes in order to minimize the number of almost blank pages caused by new chapter breaks.
The next step was to generate a PDF fie in order to get the correct number of pages. You need that to do the spline size calculation which I thought I needed but really didn’t because I ended up using the Create your Cover option and it calculates the spline size for me from the page count. My version of Word doesn’t produce the PDF format they require, but you can now upload other file formats and have then converted. I uploaded a DOCX file. CreateSpace performs a check on the file to make sure everything is okay. I had one little format error that they corrected for me. I accepted their correction and moved on to the Cover step.
Although I had a cover that I used for my eBook, getting it sized properly was problematic until I found the cover template download. It gives a template for Photoshop, a program I have access to. Luckily, I also have access to someone who knows how to use Photoshop. Together we were able to get a finished product after about three hours work, not counting the time I spent trying it on my own.

We completed the cover file upload in the early afternoon yesterday and I received an email this morning telling me that everything was okay and I could order a proof. Now I have an email into the support people to find out how long the proofing process takes and what to expect because I am not at home and actually not even in the country. So, my timetable is going too slow things down, but I have to say that CreateSpace worked well for me. 

Walk on a country road by Laurie O'Reilly

Walk on a country road, by artist Laurie O’Reilly is one of her Earth series. This piece, like others in the series consists of three elements; a background, a half globe and an assemblage.
The background is an oil and raw pigment painting covered with poured wax. These background paintings resemble starscapes or galaxies. In this piece, mounted on the top-half of the 18” x 30” background is a three dimension half globe.
On the globe, which appears to burst out of the background, is an encaustic (wax) painting.  The upper section, an abstract image, suggests our world by the fall colours used, but an identifiable shape cannot be seen until your eye is drawn to the recognizable image of a small butterfly pinned in place like a science specimen. From the butterfly your eye is drawn into the scene beside it, as if you are meandering up a country road into the natural paradise pictured there.
In contrast, the lower section of the canvas destroys the ideal of a natural paradise. Items picked up on the side of the road, are used to construct an assemblage that represents the reality of our country roads. In this case, the structure evokes emotions in the viewers who participate in the art as they supply their personal explanation for the response felt.
Similar to Laurie’s figurative works, the painting contains a dual message, romantic idealism vs the discomfort of reality, or the hopeful vs the painful.
I like it, but I’m bias. I like all her works.

More of Laurie’s works can be viewed on her web site at http://www.laurieoreilly.ca/joomla/new-works.

My Father's Swords is selling well

I am amazed at how well my new fantasy novel, My Father’s Swords, is selling. It went live on Kindle, Kobo, and Google Books on August 20th, 2016. By the end of August (12 days) it had sold 167 copies of which 166 were sold through Amazon Kindle.
Today is September 6th and it has sold 217 copies on Amazon so far this month. Yesterday it sold over 50 books in the course of the day. It is wonderful to have people reading and enjoying something that I created, but the pressure is on. I have to get back to writing the next book in the series—about 55,000 words in so far.

Media Awareness

A short story I wrote a while ago. Enjoy.

2,090 wordsMedia AwarenessWhat could force a child into such a state?  Scrunchie in hand Stephanie pulled her long black hair into a ponytail as she pondered that thought. She watched the boy being wheeled through the hallway to her temporary office. The child looked shrivelled as if the world had enclosed him in a freezer bag and sucked out all the air. He travelled tucked up tight in the wheelchair, chin to chest, arms wrapped rigidly, helmet like, around his head. Protection or something else? Questions to be answered as part of the mystery the administration had called her in to solve. Doctor Stephanie Keel, MD, RCPSC, PhD, Psychiatrist, lecturer, the person to call when everyone else failed. The transporter wheeled the child into the office. She thanked him, closed the door, chose a chair across from the boy, and waited. Silence settled, disturbed only by their breathing. The child relax somewhat. Although his head remained covered, the muscles in his arms and shoulders grew less tense. In her best caring voice she intruded on the quiet."Hello, John, my name is Stephanie. I am your new doctor." The child did not respond, which was neither good, nor worrisome. He did not cringe or acknowledge her presence. She waited and observed. Nothing happened.  While she waited, Stephanie reviewed what she had read in the case notes.The police found the child with his mother’s body in a remote cabin. He did not respond to questions, appeared terrified of strangers, his name was unknown, and no record of birth existed. The mother frequented mental institutions on and off throughout her life, hallucinated, was aggressive, exhibited numerous neuroses, and anti-social behaviour, the whole ball of twine. One note suggested she would have remained institutionalized her whole life if funding practices hadn’t changed. The child, John Doe, appeared to be seven-years-old, if his physical development followed the chart. Mental development was not on the curve..A suggestion of catatonia by a caseworker from Children’s Aid, lead to a hospital admission for psychiatric evaluation, but diagnosis was difficult. Stephanie understood why. John’s posture and lack of response suggested a psychosis. But as he was travelling the hallway, Stephanie had noticed twitches, sudden tightening of John’s balled up posture, as if he was shying away from something. What caused the reaction was a mystery. Their second and third meetings were the same. The child relaxed ever so slightly when inside her office, but his arms still sheltered his head, and he still cringed, although maybe not as often. The fourth visit brought the revelation.Stephanie had an article due out and she expected reviews, was looking forward to them, and instead of switching her phone off she changed it to silent mode. Their meeting progressed in the normal way, that is to say nothing happened, until her phone vibrated. The boy twitched. She was sure he had responded when the phone activated, but the vibration had stolen her attention. Another message came in, and this time she noted his behaviour without being distracted. He twitched at the exact moment the text message arrived.She met with the Director of Psych Services a few days later. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get back to you yesterday,” he apologized. “My meeting ran longer than expected. Is there something to report?”“I have determined, as best I can with the evidence gathered, that the boy responds to wireless transmissions. I need to place him in a location where all transmissions are blocked to test the hypothesis. Do you know of such a place?”“Myself no, but our IT Director should. He mentioned a device that blocks wireless and cell transmissions yesterday at the meeting we attended. Let me get him up here.”He touched his telephone console, and a voice responded. “Betty, ask Mr. Rolla to come to my office, stat.” He didn’t wait for a reply.“A meeting about blocking wireless and cell reception,” Stephanie prompted. “My curiosity is peaked. Are you planning on limiting your staff’s communications while at work?”“The idea is being explored. We met with the Ministry and other healthcare staff yesterday to discuss the matter. Overall quality of care has been falling, and social media has been identified as the problem. People are unable to unplug. It is like a gambling addiction, or perhaps that analogy is not strong enough… a drug habit may be more accurate.” Stephanie’s phone vibrated in her pocket. She started to reach for it before she stopped herself.“I understand,” she admitted, as a knock sounded at the door.A quick glance at the young man who entered was all Stephanie intended, but she found herself unable to look away. His smile captured her. He wore a shirt open at the neck. Short sleeves showed muscular forearms. The open neck drew her attention. She hoped her dusky complexion hid her blush.“Jim, let me introduce Doctor Keel. Stephanie, meet Jim Rolla our IT director.  Doctor Keel wants to know if a place exists around the city where wireless and cell communications are blocked. I remembered that device you spoke of yesterday.”“A single room would suffice for the experiment I want to run,” Stephanie added.“We could set up a room here,” Jim answered, his exuberance obvious. “We have borrowed a device for evaluation. How big an area do you need blocked? Was there someplace you had in mind?”“I assumed it would be necessary to take the patient out of the institution, but if we can set it up anywhere, then my office, or better still his room.”“Then we should check out those locations, unless you want to inspect the device first.”“No, that is unnecessary, we can head upstairs.” She found Jim’s prompt action refreshing in the cautious atmosphere of the institutions Stephanie found herself in most of the time. She thanked the Director and followed Jim out.It turned out that neither her office nor the boy’s ward room were suitable locations. Jim directed her to an isolation room at the end of the hall. Stephanie agreed it appeared to be perfect, with an anteroom where the device could be located and a large observation window. Installing and calibrating the device took until days end. The boy moved in the next morning. Stephanie watched from the anteroom. A change occurred within a few hours.The boy cringed when the nurse opened the door to bring in his lunch, but only slightly, less when Stephanie entered, and less when dinner arrived. By end of day, Stephanie thought his chin had lifted from his chest an ever so small amount. She arrived earlier than normal the next morning and was glad she made the effort.The night nurse reported that he had slept well. She accompanied Stephanie to the anteroom.“That is the most relaxed I have ever seen him,” the nurse commented. “His normal sleeping posture is curled up with his arms wrapped around his head. You can see how unwound he is. He looks normal.”Stephanie agreed, and although his arms helmeted his head again when he awoke, he lowered them before dinner. They remained down the whole of the next day. When Stephanie entered his room that afternoon John greeted her with intelligent eyes shining out below his blond bangs. In a halting voice he thanked her for making the voices go away.The next morning when Stephanie arrived, she was surprised to find Jim Rolla in the anteroom.“I was just checking the device,” he told her. “Is it doing the job?”“It appears to be. John is much better. He was talking yesterday. That in itself is a vast improvement.”“So the child is sensitive to wireless transmissions?”“He appears to be. The literature contains a few cases of oversensitivity, but nothing on John’s scale. A portable Ultrasound unit is being used this afternoon. I hope it will help identify a reason. An MRI would be better, but we have no way of transporting him through the halls without chancing a relapse.”“I’ve never read about anything like this. We have wireless technology throughout the whole building and no one has complained. I suppose we should start planning for Wi-Li now.”“Wi-Li?” she asked.“Wireless communications over light,” Jim replied.“Don’t rush into it. I believe John’s degree of sensitivity is unique. Would you like to meet him?”“Sure,” Jim responded.They entered John’s room and Stephanie made introductions. Jim and John were a natural fit. Jim beguiled John with his ability to juggle, and it turned out that Jim had a comic book collection he didn’t mind sharing. He visited John at lunch time and after work. They formed a friendship in little time, and Stephanie loved to hear the boy laugh at Jim’s antics. The boy’s and the man’s comradery, among other things, led to Stephanie accepting Jim’s offer for dinner a few days later. Another friendship developed when her curiosity about what lay beyond Jim’s V-neck was satisfied.
Stephanie’s report during rounds a few weeks later raised disbelief in some and enthusiasm in others. “And you believe this cell cluster allows him to sense radio waves?” someone asked.“I believe it is more than just sensitivity and is not limited to radio alone. He appears to sense the data being carried although I am not sure what he comprehends. The first time he spoke he thanked me for making the voices go away. He is receiving something other than static.”“Doctor Keel, are you familiar with Kirkland’s research from John Hopkins,” someone asked.“Yes, I am.” Stephanie answered. She turned and addressed the assembly. “Kirkland is studying the same cell cluster. He has concluded that it has increased in size in the general population compared to the results from studies performed a few years ago before wireless devices became ubiquitous. Our scans show the size of the cluster in John’s head is significantly larger than what Kirkland is seeing.”“I’m afraid our time is almost up,” the moderator announced. “We have time for one final question.”“Doctor Keel, I believe we are all aware of the dangers posed by the radiation emitted by wireless devices. Are you suggesting that the radiation is causing a cancerous growth in the cell cluster Kirkland is studying?”“No, this is not a cancer; it is an increase in size and function. I believe there is sensitivity, similar to what we witness in the cells responsible for binocular vision in the visual cortex. Those cells fail to develop if an individual’s eyes are not capable of stimulating them. My conclusion is that Kirkland’s cells respond in the same way. They are genetically predisposed to develop when stimulated by wireless communications. We are witnessing a step in evolution.”
The ethics committee refused Stephanie’s request to verify her hypothesis by turning off the device for a few seconds. They approved the controlled reduction in the strength of the blocking field as an attempt to condition John gradually to normalcy. The manufacturer gifted the device to the hospital on condition their PR firm could use the story. Stephanie’s journal article prompted discussion by her peers and media even before she started her speaking tour. The news agencies picked up on the story. They concentrated on the device, its ability to block communications, and its proposed use.The debate about using the devices to limit connection to social media in the workplace raged over the internet before turning to group protests. Some businesses who tried the experiment lost half their workforce within days while others reported success and improved work quality. A Reddit argument went viral. The ‘no devices in the workplace’ faction grew to two-million followers on Facebook—then the incident occurred.Stephanie saw the story on the news. She stopped everything and called Jim. He answered on the fourth ring.“Steph, I’m sorry,” he said. “The protester who broke in destroyed the device. I tried to get a new one installed, but John deteriorated too quickly.” His voice broke. “It was terrible. He was screaming, and then he wasn’t. The doctors had talked about the cell cluster in his brain that allowed the reception. I guess they pointed out its location to him. I think that was what he was aiming for when he smashed his head down onto the table and drove the pencil into his temple.” She could hear Jim was crying now. “Damn Steph, he was such a great kid, and he was ready to choose his own name.”
End

Learning to Write

I have never approached learning in the way others do. A fact I gave little attention to until recently when I thought about how I am learning to write.
First, I should explain that writing is an avocation for me which I started in the last few years. It was never something I meant to make a living doing, so I didn’t take any writing courses while I attended school.
I wrote after I retired from the work-force and the first thing I wrote was a novel. Yes, I’m one of those; always wanted to write a novel, never got around to it until I was diagnosed with prostate cancer. That changes priorities. I started my first manuscript a short time before my radical prostatectomy and finished the novel while recovering. It is not a memoir although the book contains many references from my life.
In the introduction to Breakfast of Champions, Kurt Vonnegut wrote, “I think I am trying to clear my head of all the junk in there—the assholes, the flags, the underpants.” I would never compare my writing to Vonnegut’s, and I was not aware of this when I did it, but I believe that I was emptying myself of all the concepts (some would say baggage) I had accumulated over the previous sixty years—all the psychology, philosophy, religion, science, and technology that ended up being stored in my mind for future consideration; the stuff that made me who I am. I feel freer now.
I felt, mistakenly it turned out, that because I had read extensively for the past fifty years I could write a good science fiction novel just by putting my mind to it. The novel was completed, but it wasn’t good. It wasn’t crap, but it wasn’t good either. I had it edited professionally and submitted it to three agents. That experience made me appreciate what black holes are like. I published the novel myself, eventually, as an eBook on Kindle, Kobo, and Goggle. Some friends and family read it. No one said it was terrible, so I wrote another novel to add to the saga, and somewhere along the timeline I joined a writing group.
I realized that I am a person who doesn’t understand that I don’t know something until I begin to learn about the things I don’t know about. With two books self-published as eBooks I acknowledged that I knew nothing about good writing. It was time to learn, so I bought a book, but before I talk about that let me clarify something. I am not ashamed of the novels I wrote.
Hosting and Swords and Symmetry are poorly written when compared to some other works. They are not works of literature, but they were never intended to be. I made a lot of beginner’s mistakes. I liken the books to primitive art. They are primal. They are boring in parts, they are exciting in parts, and they are entertaining most of the time. They are also thought provoking. The concept of the Core that is introduced and explored is a marvelous creation as one of my friends put it. They are also a compilation of the ideas that influenced my life. They are in fact me.
The first book I bought to help my writing was the Chicago Manual of Style. It was used to help format my first eBook. It is a reference book worth having if you are self-publishing.
The first book I read on writing was one my son gave me called, How to Read Literature Like a Professor, by Thomas C. Foster. I think it was his way of saying, Dad your writing sucks. It helped me realize how little I knew and how much I was missing in what I read. I suppose the point I took away from it was that it isn’t enough to just read. You have to analyze as well. It is one way to improve your writing.  My son also gifted me another book by the same author called, How to Read Novels Like a Professor. It is on my list of books to read.
The second book I read on writing was, Self-Editing for Fiction Writers by Renni Browne and Dave King. It was depressing because I realized how many errors I had made in my first two novels, but it was also very informative. I used it like a textbook, highlighting sections and making notes for quick reference. Appendix 2 in this book is a list of, Top Books for Writers that directed me to other books to read. I have picked up three so far.
 On Writing the short story by Hallie Burnett was purchased as a used book on Amazon. It cost more to mail it than the book cost. Ms. Burnett is an experienced writer and editor. She was a partner/editor in the magazine, STORY. Her book is not a how-to manual. It covers the basic points which every book on the subject of writing covers; plot, character, and style. She covers the subjects by telling you what they are and giving examples of how other writers have done it well, and that is where she excels. She has experience through STORY with some of the biggest names in 20th century literature. I enjoyed her book, but I have read better. My primary take away was one example of short stories she included in the book. Address Unknown, by Kressmann Taylor (published by STORY in 1938) is one of the finest, most moving, short stories I have ever read. If you can find a copy, read it.
Of the books I have read so far, Stein on Writing by Sol Stein is the best. Mr. Stein is a writer, a famous editor, and an educator. His book is full of useful and interesting information and tips about writing. It will be my go to book for years to come. Stein also worked with some of the premier writers of his day and has written many well received novels and textbooks on the subject. I recommend this book as the best I have read so far.
While I was reading Stein, I was writing my third novel and some short stories. I prefer novels, but short works give you almost immediate feedback, and a better chance of being paid to write (I read that somewhere). The feedback cycle, the publication cycle, and possibility of payment or prize money is faster. My first published work was a short story I did for a contest by Buzz and Road Publishing. They publish the winners of their contests in their catalog which appears a few times a year (it might be a seasonal publication). My story, Of thieves and wizards, received an honourable mention (one of three in that contest). I also received an honourable mention for a story about the same characters which I submitted to a contest by Writers of the Future. My reading is paying off.There is one other book which was mentioned in Self-Editing for Fiction Writers, Steven King’s, On Writing. I have heard good things about it which must be true because it took me ages to find a copy in a used bookstore and when I did locate one, the price was exorbitant for a used book.
I entered a short story contest a short while ago run by The Write Practice and ended up receiving an eBook called, Lets Write a Short Story by Joe Bunting, as part of the deal. It is a short, little, easy read, and I got a few things from it.

I write, I read, I analyze, I submit, and I attend occasional courses and summits, so my message is do the work first. You can try it the other way, but that way only works for a few extraordinary people. We all hear their stories; video store clerk writes novel and succeeds beyond everyone wildest dreams. You might be one of those. I’m not.