Beyond the Mask
First blog entry, so I guess I should let you all know what to expect.
These blogs will consist of two kinds of topics:
1. Updates on works in progress and information and soon-to-be released titles
2. My thoughts on the publishing industry and the craft of writing.
This first blog will be about the former.
Progress on Beyond the Mask (the sequel to Beneath the Mask of Sanity) has been rapid to say the least. I anticipate that the book will be finished in about four days, which will be twenty days after I began the manuscript.
I usually work quickly, but this has been unprecedented even for me. Especially when you consider that I have three children running about the house-ages: 8, 3 and 12 weeks.
For those of you who have read Beneath the Mask of Sanity, this release will seem very quick (There is a tentative July release date, but it may be moved up by a couple weeks) but the truth is, I've lived with Beyond the Mask of Sanity for quite awhile.
The first draft of the book was completed in 2008. Since that time I've written three more novels before returning to the world of Bentley Grimes and Frank Miles.
I have decided to post an excerpt of the beginning of the story here to sort of wet your beaks.
Keep in mind, if you have not yet read Beneath the Mask of Sanity there are spoilers below. So why don't you go out and get a copy today!
Also this is the roughest of drafts. I have no looked at this in any way since I first typed it.
Beyond the Mask:
Frank Miles stood in the center of the room. He supposed it was some sort of conference room. Something that the doctors used to inform family members when their loved-ones had died. Died in the mental hospital, never getting out.
That was supposed to be Bentley, Frank thought.
Besides Frank, there was a long table covered with a black sheet at one end of the room. Five doctors sat behind the table, but the only one that mattered was Jenkins. He was the one sitting in the middle; he was the one in charge.
A bar of light had found its way through the blinds and shone on the carpeted floor. It lay right in front of Frank, almost like the tape they put down on a stage during a play so the actors know their marks.
“We understand your objections,” Jenkins said. There was a large smile on his face, but it never touched his eyes. Those remained cold and gray, assessing Frank.
“You don’t understand shit,” Frank said. His voice was slurred, he sounded like someone who had just suffered from a stroke.
The metal box was gone (and with it the mechanical voice) and that was good, but his speech therapy could only go so far and Frank would never sound like a normal human being again.
“If you understood things, you wouldn’t be doing this,” Frank said.
“With all due respect,” Jenkins said. “We know what you went through at the hands of Mr. Grimes and we understand that you’re upset, but you are not a doctor.”
“What about Abrams?” Frank asked. “He was a doctor. Did he understand? Oh, I forgot, he’s gone isn’t he?”
Jenkins’s eyes slitted to a thin bar of gray and his mouth tightened. “Dr. Abrams is none of our concern.”
Frank knew what Abrams was up to. For personal reasons, he had followed the man’s career. Bestselling book, lecture tour, private practice. He had it all; everything that he ever could of wanted. That’s why it was such a shock to the world when he put the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
Frank hadn’t been surprised. Your conscious had a way of catching up to you. If you had one that was.
One of the younger doctors spoke up. He was a small man with what looked like about two pounds of kinky red hair on top of his head.
“We have been treating Mr. Grimes for the past ten years and our decision was not arrived at lightly.”
Frank turned his attention to the young doctor. “Mr. Grimes (because of his speech impediment Grimes came out sounding like rhymes) is a violent murderer. You are putting people’s lives at risk.” Frank stabbed his finger at the doctor. “And after he kills his next victim I will be back here to shove my foot so far up your ass you’ll taste shoe polish.”
The color fell from the young doctor’s face and he opened his mouth to speak, but Jenkins overrode him.
“It is the decision of this hospital that Mr. Grimes was not suffering from psychosis as was originally thought.”
“As was originally lied about,” Frank said.
Jenkins took no notice of this and continued. “He was suffering from violent sociopathy. Now it’s a rare occurance, but sometimes with the proper therapy and medication an individual can overcome this disorder.”
“So he’s cured?” Frank asked. It was not a serious question, but Jenkins answered it anyway.
“Of course not,” Jenkins said. “He is never going to experience the world the way you or I do. What has happened is that he’s begun to acknowledge the need to respect other people and the rule of law. He understands that what he did was wrong. He has started to develop a moral compass for lack of a better word.”
Jenkins gave another one of his shitty little smiles and all of a sudden Frank no longer wanted to be there. Driving down had been a mistake. The whole thing had been a mistake. They had made up their mind and there was nothing he was going to do to change it.
What would have been better is if he had found a way to smuggle his gun inside the hospital the one time he had visited Bentley. Smuggled it in and used it to blow the mother fucker’s brains out. But that hadn’t happened and this was the reality that Frank was left to deal with.
“I’m sorry to have wasted your time,” Frank said. “I see now that listening to reason is not something you’re willing to do.”
Frank turned and headed for the door, but before he got there he turned around and assessed the group sitting behind their table.
“I meant what I said though; when Bentley kills again, and he will kill again, I’ll be back and I will hold all of you personally responsible.”
These blogs will consist of two kinds of topics:
1. Updates on works in progress and information and soon-to-be released titles
2. My thoughts on the publishing industry and the craft of writing.
This first blog will be about the former.
Progress on Beyond the Mask (the sequel to Beneath the Mask of Sanity) has been rapid to say the least. I anticipate that the book will be finished in about four days, which will be twenty days after I began the manuscript.
I usually work quickly, but this has been unprecedented even for me. Especially when you consider that I have three children running about the house-ages: 8, 3 and 12 weeks.
For those of you who have read Beneath the Mask of Sanity, this release will seem very quick (There is a tentative July release date, but it may be moved up by a couple weeks) but the truth is, I've lived with Beyond the Mask of Sanity for quite awhile.
The first draft of the book was completed in 2008. Since that time I've written three more novels before returning to the world of Bentley Grimes and Frank Miles.
I have decided to post an excerpt of the beginning of the story here to sort of wet your beaks.
Keep in mind, if you have not yet read Beneath the Mask of Sanity there are spoilers below. So why don't you go out and get a copy today!
Also this is the roughest of drafts. I have no looked at this in any way since I first typed it.
Beyond the Mask:
Frank Miles stood in the center of the room. He supposed it was some sort of conference room. Something that the doctors used to inform family members when their loved-ones had died. Died in the mental hospital, never getting out.
That was supposed to be Bentley, Frank thought.
Besides Frank, there was a long table covered with a black sheet at one end of the room. Five doctors sat behind the table, but the only one that mattered was Jenkins. He was the one sitting in the middle; he was the one in charge.
A bar of light had found its way through the blinds and shone on the carpeted floor. It lay right in front of Frank, almost like the tape they put down on a stage during a play so the actors know their marks.
“We understand your objections,” Jenkins said. There was a large smile on his face, but it never touched his eyes. Those remained cold and gray, assessing Frank.
“You don’t understand shit,” Frank said. His voice was slurred, he sounded like someone who had just suffered from a stroke.
The metal box was gone (and with it the mechanical voice) and that was good, but his speech therapy could only go so far and Frank would never sound like a normal human being again.
“If you understood things, you wouldn’t be doing this,” Frank said.
“With all due respect,” Jenkins said. “We know what you went through at the hands of Mr. Grimes and we understand that you’re upset, but you are not a doctor.”
“What about Abrams?” Frank asked. “He was a doctor. Did he understand? Oh, I forgot, he’s gone isn’t he?”
Jenkins’s eyes slitted to a thin bar of gray and his mouth tightened. “Dr. Abrams is none of our concern.”
Frank knew what Abrams was up to. For personal reasons, he had followed the man’s career. Bestselling book, lecture tour, private practice. He had it all; everything that he ever could of wanted. That’s why it was such a shock to the world when he put the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
Frank hadn’t been surprised. Your conscious had a way of catching up to you. If you had one that was.
One of the younger doctors spoke up. He was a small man with what looked like about two pounds of kinky red hair on top of his head.
“We have been treating Mr. Grimes for the past ten years and our decision was not arrived at lightly.”
Frank turned his attention to the young doctor. “Mr. Grimes (because of his speech impediment Grimes came out sounding like rhymes) is a violent murderer. You are putting people’s lives at risk.” Frank stabbed his finger at the doctor. “And after he kills his next victim I will be back here to shove my foot so far up your ass you’ll taste shoe polish.”
The color fell from the young doctor’s face and he opened his mouth to speak, but Jenkins overrode him.
“It is the decision of this hospital that Mr. Grimes was not suffering from psychosis as was originally thought.”
“As was originally lied about,” Frank said.
Jenkins took no notice of this and continued. “He was suffering from violent sociopathy. Now it’s a rare occurance, but sometimes with the proper therapy and medication an individual can overcome this disorder.”
“So he’s cured?” Frank asked. It was not a serious question, but Jenkins answered it anyway.
“Of course not,” Jenkins said. “He is never going to experience the world the way you or I do. What has happened is that he’s begun to acknowledge the need to respect other people and the rule of law. He understands that what he did was wrong. He has started to develop a moral compass for lack of a better word.”
Jenkins gave another one of his shitty little smiles and all of a sudden Frank no longer wanted to be there. Driving down had been a mistake. The whole thing had been a mistake. They had made up their mind and there was nothing he was going to do to change it.
What would have been better is if he had found a way to smuggle his gun inside the hospital the one time he had visited Bentley. Smuggled it in and used it to blow the mother fucker’s brains out. But that hadn’t happened and this was the reality that Frank was left to deal with.
“I’m sorry to have wasted your time,” Frank said. “I see now that listening to reason is not something you’re willing to do.”
Frank turned and headed for the door, but before he got there he turned around and assessed the group sitting behind their table.
“I meant what I said though; when Bentley kills again, and he will kill again, I’ll be back and I will hold all of you personally responsible.”
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