Just finished watching The Dawn Treader. I honestly love the Chronicles of Narnia stories, I know it is supposed to be for kids, but, the thing is adults can learn a great deal from these stories if they pay attention, or better yet read the books. They really are great reads, and can help people better understand the lessons the bible tries to teach us. Any way that's just a thought on that and if anyone is interested in picking up a copy here is a quick link. http://www.abebooks.com/Chronicles-Narnia--an-OMNIBUS-Volume-Lion/3354215099/bd         Ok, on a more personal note. I have had a few stories rattling around in my head lately, nothing concrete yet, but I am slowly fleshing some things out. I'm going to try to fill you guys in a little more as I work on them.
  The thing is, unlike most of authors, I don't really plan out my stories. There are a certain number of ways to do this of course. Thought trees, notes things like that, but I have personally never found them to be of any use. I just start writing and the story seems to shape itself, even when I do try to take it down a certain path.
   Infact, when I do try to consciously shape the stories that part usually seems forced to me. the reading of it loses cohesion, well in short it never works out well for my story or my characters. I know alot of Authors would truly love to crucify me for saying these things, but that's just simply how the process works for me. Write the story, correct the story, add, remove, do whatever it takes to make it sound better, the re-write it.
       The whole process takes an eternity, and by the time I am ready to publish im so sick of the whole story that I cant stand the thought of writing for a while, but it's pretty much inevitable that I will start writing again, I love the stories, I love watching them unfold, seeing what each character does, and how they handle the situations they find themselves in. In short  I am telling myself the story, I just write it down so others can enjoy it too.
  Well, thats enough for now, I need to get to doing some things, and I really need to at least open my word processor. It might actually prompt me to get to work.
  And don't forget to check out my  other book The Secret of the Sword.

Anchorage is Beautiful in Winter

  Again I realize its been a very long while since I last posted but things have been crazy for me lately so please be forgiving for my tardiness. Now, with that said I want to tell you that I am now out of my island prison for at least a month, and I am now in Anchorage. 
  I want to tell you Anchorage is a beautiful city any time of year, no matter where you look you have a great view of something. Personally my favorite is the mountains, every time I have been here they are snow covered, thats my fault due to timing of my visits, But I can assure having actually walked a few trails here if you prefer greener mountains you wont be disappointed in the summer.
  Others prefer more of a beach feel, so they stay a bit closer to Cook Inlet. And then of course this is the city of parks. I havent had that much time to explore the parks here but I will this time around, and Im going to get some pictures. I promise to post them. Ok ladies and gentlemen thats enough for now. Oh, one more thing I am going to take advantage of this time to start writing again, I will keep you posted on whats happening with that.
  Ok, seriously thats enough. Have a good day and I will post again soon

BOOK COVER

Like the picture? I do too, in fact I love it. And I thank my cover illustrator Katrina Joyner for the great job she did with it. If your a writer and looking for a cover illustrator I highly recommend Katrina She can be contacted at death@apocalypsewriters.com

It's been a while hasn't it?

Sorry its been so long since the last post. My computer died and I'm having trouble getting on at the moment. But, I have managed it today so that's good. I've been going nuts trying to advertise my book. It's difficult to advertise stuff when you have no funds.  However Smashwords is kind enough to give some tips and they also have an affiliate program. This is something I personally love, it gives people a chance to help their favorite indi writer "that would be me" and make a little cash in the process. Now, I'm not going to lie your not gonna get rich, well unless you have a lot of really popular blogs and a lot of people purchase the books you advertise.Tell ya what check out the link, this is for real it isn't a scam. Check the link and read the info. https://www.smashwords.com/about/smashwords_affiliate_documentation

 As far as the book goes, well not a great deal happening there. I've had a few downloads, and a few likes on  face book. Im looking for some feed back though. I would like to know how much the public loves it. So, with that in mind Ive generated a coupon. All I am asking is read the book and leave a review. if you love it tell everyone, if you hate it, tell me why so I can improve it. Oh, btw there is a short excerpt earlier in my blog, feel free to read it to get a taste of my writing style, oh also I will be posting some short stories as quickly as possible. Bare in mind that I still dont have my computer back so it could be a few weeks before I can even begin  this project.

 Okay thats enough for now, the coupon code is NT37J this is only good until the 8th, the link is http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/93494 check it out and leave a review

Say what you want.... as long as you dont hurt my feelingss

Okay so myself and some friends were talking and one of them mentioned the comment Hank Jr. made about Obama. Now, I don't know exactly what was said because I don't follow things like that closely, in fact I really don't care. But here is my question, what happened to freedom of speech? Seriously, isn't the whole point in freedom of speech that you can say really messed up stuff, even if your a public figure, without fearing losing your job and other types of  retribution. Personally if I were Obama, I would go on T.V. With Hank Jr. and make a commercial that criticizes ESPN's decision to pull Hank Jr. from Monday night football. If anyone should press for the right of freedom of speech it should be the president of the United States

 Hi people working on a new short story, Its coming together rather nicely I'm going to post it on smashwords as soon as it's finished. This one will be completely free so don't worry about coupon codes and stuff like that.  I havent had any new or insightful thoughts today because something is wrong with my back. I'm not sure why but it hurts like the devil, that makes concentrating pretty difficult.
I did have an idea the other day though that might interest the ladies.
 It seems to me that no matter what we do men and women cant seem to get together on any subject. Mainly its because our minds work so differently, so if you cant quite seem to understand the men in your life ladies ask me questions and I will do my best to answer them.
for example
 When I come home from work my girlfriend say Hi, how was your day?
Answer:  It was okay
Or
Hi what did you do today
Answer: Went to work, same old same old.
   Now, in retrospect I understand that she was actually inviting me to give a full account of everything I did that day, including if I used regular or light mayo on my BLT but that is not the way a mans mind work's, at least usually. We are simply short and to the point. You ask a question you get an answer, you normally aren't going to get a long drawn out account of our activities unless something really exciting happened or we are really mad. If you want that sort of conversation try this.
  Hi (add the name of your favorite man) how was your day
Answer: It was ok
 Oh? That's good. Well today I ...
fill him in on your day, but keep it short and sweet, remember men=short attention span for conversation
if you hit on something that interests him, or reminds him of some event in his day he will start talking. Don't interrupt him, pay attention and let him know your really interested. Eventually he will start talking more often

short excerpt from my book

Mother!” the young man called into the empty sleeping chambers. She had left his birthday party only moments ago, he had watched her as she slipped through the door. She’d looked very tired. This wasn’t surprising. The festivities had gone on all night, and custom dictated that they went on till the following morning. All of the party goers were supposed to stay until party’s end, but few actually held to that particular custom. The way the beer and wine flowed; few, if any ever could.

He glanced quickly around the rooms. Seeing that they truly were empty, he left them behind and began walking through the castle corridors, glancing into each room as he passed by, looking for his mother’s distinct red hair. It stood out like a fire in the night against all the dark brown and black hair that was more common to the southern lands. In fact, other than her own fiery shade he’d never seen a person with light colored hair. His own was dark, like his fathers. He’d taken most traits back after his father; a tall man, lean and muscular. Even at fourteen, the young man had the lean hard muscles of a sword fighter. Which he was, he had trained from the time he could walk to handle a sword, and many other weapons. Even his hands, quick and skilled at many things, were deadly weapons in the right situation.

But these things were not present in his mind as his long legs propelled him through the castle corridors; instead he focused on the source less dread that filled him. Something in her eyes, as she slipped through the door beckoned to him. He’d have followed immediately, had a very drunken friend of his father’s not had him by the arm, regaling him with stories of adventure past.

After what seemed an eternity though the man slipped into drunken mutters and the young man managed to break away without giving offense. He now regretted those few moments. Something inside him said that such a short time, in the wrong circumstances, had brought about more than one disaster. His leg’s sped up; he was running now, and no longer pausing to look into rooms, just a quick glance as he passed by.

There were so many rooms, why did the damned castle have to be so big? Room after room, corridor after corridor, he ran.  He Pushed his body for more speed, coaxing his muscles for just a little more.  The dread he had been feeling had increased to panic. Something, he didn’t know what, but something was horribly wrong. 

Finally after what seemed days, he realized that his mother was not on any of the main floor, and the castle had hundreds of rooms, spread across its four floors, not to mention the four towers one on each point of the compass. 

Suddenly he knew exactly where she would be.  Every morning, just before sunrise, she traversed the long staircase of the east tower to stare into the still pre-dawn.  

He knew this was her routine because it was also where he trained in weaponry. “Why,” he had asked her one morning as he passed her by on the stairs, “do you come here every morning?”

“Because” she said as she knelt down to look into his eyes, “The time, just before the sunrise, is when all the night animals are going to bed, and all the day animals are still in bed, the world is always at peace then and always beautiful. The next morning, he woke up extra early, and walked the long tower stairs with his mother. He stood quietly looking across the familiar landscape and holding his mother hand.

“Do you understand now? She asked him, as she turned away from the window. He smiled and shrugged embarrassedly, its ok I guess. But if you like it, I’m sure it’s very pretty.

Her laughter filled the room, like falling flower blossoms.  “Sometimes, old women forget, that young boys don’t see things the way they do. But yes my love, it is very pretty for me.” “Well, if you like it, then I do too.” She kissed him gently on the cheek, and made her way down the stairs.

He’d made a point from then on to spend one morning a week standing in the tower with his mother. She shared many thoughts with him there, and taught him many things, that only a mother could teach her son.  Ideas like kindness, compassion, and understanding. Which, she seemed to feel was most important to teach in a room dedicated to war and death. He mulled these things over as he ascended the stairs. His long strides taking two at a time, but with two- hundred and fifty steps, he had counted once, it was still a long way. By the time he stood in front of the huge oak doors, he was completely out of breath and panting.

He stood for a moment and allowed his breathing, and heart rate to slow. When the pounding in his ears cleared, he realized that he could hear voices.  This should have been impossible, the door was three inches thick, and enchanted against eves droppers.

He could only hear a low distinct mummer, but that meant someone was being very loud.       

He opened the door a crack, the enchantment still held unless the door was thrown open wide, but he could understand a little better. He heard his mother’s voice, the words were still low and indistinct, but it was obvious she was pleading with someone, and she seemed to be kneeling. He could see her feet and legs sticking out behind her. He could also hear another voice, it seemed to be singing, and the voice seemed familiar to him. But he could not place it “Mother?” he said as he opened the door wider.

“What are you...” the words fell dead in his mouth, as she turned to him. The fear in her eyes left him dumb struck. She reached a plaintive hand out to him, “Joseph, no, you must....” her words fell silent, as a sword came into view.  Then, her head disappeared, and the lifeless body slumped over and fell to the floor. Joseph heard a double thump as her body struck the wooden planks, and something heavy rolled against his foot. He looked down, into his mother’s lifeless eyes, the lids still blinking, the lips still moving. Still trying to tell him what it is that he must do. What was it, run, get help? He did not know, and it no longer mattered. All that mattered now was the deadly rage that he felt burning in side of him.

His mother, the woman who had guided him gently through life, was gone from him, ripped from his life for all of eternity. He knelt slowly and took a lock of her red hair between his fingers. The fire seemed to fade from it immediately. He stared for what seemed an eternity at the hair he would never again feel touch his shoulder when she kissed him good night. When a sudden movement broke him free of the spell he looked up into the face of a man he’d known his whole life, a man he had trusted and loved. It was now the face of a stranger, a murderer, a monster. “You,” he whispered, hatred seething in the word. “How could you do this?”  He slowly stood, feeling the rage surge forward. How could you?” He screamed as he raced into the room on the balls of his feet, his fists landing blows to the monsters short ribs as soon as he was in reach.

The grunts of pain only increased Joseph’s blood lust.  The feeling of a rib cracking drove him mad with desire, he wanted to feel more, to see the life blood drain from this creature.

         

In the midst of the fury, he brought his open palm up, towards the creature’s nose. He could already feel the cartilage cracking as it broke away, and the sharp bone piercing the creature’s brain. This was a killing blow. He could see the creatures death throws in his mind’s eye. But at the moment of impact, his hand simply whistled through air. No one stood there.

             Suddenly the world was a blur. He looked around, he was still in the tower, and seemed to be setting against the single wall that enclosed the circular room.  “What happened?” then the pain in his head hit. He then remember the feeling of flying through the air, and hitting his head. “Was I knocked out?” As he raised himself to his knees, he looked around the room apparently only a few seconds had passed. 

“A weapon, I need a weapon.” He looked around the room, the walls were lined with weapons, but all were under lock and key. Given time he could break the locks, but time was the one thing he didn’t have. He began to cast around for something else, anything, when he felt the sudden pressure on the boundaries around his mind. He fought to reinforce them, but it was too late and the defenses on his mind too weak at the moment to put up a struggle.

    “So boy” raged the familiar voice in his mind. “You would kill me?  Are you so eager to become a man? Joseph fought to ignore the invasive presence.  His mind felt as if it were tearing itself apart in the process.

“ANSWER ME!” The sheer intensity of the last sending sent Joseph reeling across the floor. For a moment the fog returned to the world, when it cleared, he found himself staring at the ceiling, flat on his back. He still felt the alien presence in his mind. The rage was cooled somewhat now though “when I ask a question you must answer, or expect to be punished.”

He managed to ignore the words completely now, with very little effort, because he had just felt something very familiar. Soft worn leather, like that used to wrap the hilts of swords. He’d felt such leather many times in his life. He grasped the hilt tightly and felt a surge of strength through his body. Immediately the presence left his mind. “Joseph,” the creature whispered cautiously, “put that down. It doesn’t belong to you; you aren’t ready for it yet.”  He reached his hand hesitantly towards Joseph, as if trying to calm a wild animal.      

  Joseph picked the sword up, and brought it before his eyes. It was very familiar to him. He’d seen this sword many time strapped to his father’s waist. “But why is it lying on the floor?” Then he remembered the metallic clang during his brief attack. The creature had used it to kill his mother. “Your right,” he whispered “it isn’t mine. But, it’s not yours either. This is my father’s sword, and my father is dead.”  At the utterance of these words a peculiar thing happened, the singing voice returned.

It filled the room, and a new strength surged through Joseph. Suddenly the creature looked stricken; Joseph stood slowly, and looked into the creature’s eyes. He was stronger now, much stronger, and had a weapon.

He could kill this unholy beast, he knew he could. But a voice, much like the singing voice that filled the room, cautioned him to wait, and now was not the time. He listened to the voice.  He had new strength, but was unsure how to use it. Slowly he edged around the room, keeping the creature at sword point. Which seemed pointless, the creature looked confused, unable to move anything but his head. Which tracked Joseph, or more likely the sword, around the room?

When Joseph’s back was to the door he began to slowly back through it. “I will come for you some day.” he said as he slammed the door and quickly barricaded it.

Running again, Joseph made his way quickly down the stairs and through the castle. He heard many voices calling after him to stop. Asking what was the matter; he simply ignored them and continued running. After a series of turns and short hallways he burst into the main room filled with party goers, In front of him stood the drunken story teller. His abrupt entrance had snapped the man to a semblance of sobriety.

      “Joseph, my boy, what’s got you in such a huff?” Instead of answering he ran to the door across the room and burst through it. But as the door slammed open he heard a question that brought him to a pause, “Where are you running to?” the drunken man called to his retreating back. “Where am I running to?” Joseph whispered.

        Turning he took stock of exactly where he stood, and compared it to the mental map of the castle in his head. Then an idea occurred to him. He began running again.  After a labyrinthine series of turns, twists, and stair cases he burst through yet another door. This one leading to an exterior square, across the small cobbled square stood the castle stables.

He quickly crossed the open space and into the building. The smell of horse flesh and clean hay hit him like a wall.

The stables had always been a place of joy for him, he loved the horses, and the old stable master was always patient with him whenever he asked questions, such as the time he’d told a hand to clean up some droppings, and after an hour, when the job wasn’t done, he immediately fired the man.

Joseph witnessed the dismissal, and when the hand left the premises asked about the dismissal. It seemed an overreaction to Joseph as the stables were always immaculately clean, far cleaner than those in the town which always held an underlying stench of manure and urine. 

The old man smiled wisely and said “Well, the fact is, clean stables means healthy animals, and you father owns the best horse flesh in the region. So I have to keep them extra healthy. So, when I tell a man to clean something, I mean now. If he can’t do that then what use do I have for him? Do you understand now?” Joseph nodded, thinking that he really did understand. “Good then,” the man said with a nod, “Now off with you, I’m a busy man.”

As Joseph entered, thinking of this, it reminded him to look around and make sure all was clear, it was.

He quickly made his way to his little pony, Krace, he was already saddled for his morning ride. “Quietly now Krace,” Joseph whispered in the horse’s ear. He had seemed to pick up on his master’s nervousness, when Joseph mounted him he began whinny and prance. Though, with a few soothing words he settled quickly.

Joseph rode the horse through the tall stable doors. As he exited an old servant opened the door across the court yard. “Master Joseph, what is going on? People are searching the entire castle for you. They say there was some kind of up roar. He squinted and the roll behind Joseph’s saddle, where he had tucked away the sword.

When the old man realized what it was he was looking at his face turned pale, “Oh my, oh Joseph, what are you doing with that? You get down off that horse this instant and put that where it belongs!” Sounding far too much like a mother hen, even for his own taste by the sour look on his face, the old man reached for Joseph.

Quickly, before the old man could touch him Joseph heeled the horse into full gallop. Krace’s withers brushed the elderly servant and knocked him to the cobblestones with a cry of pain.      

Guilt surged through Joseph but was easily overpowered by his sense of panic as he aimed Krace at the small service gate that opened to the road that led to the town below.

Marl, stood at one of the many windows in the east tower watching as Joseph dust trail slowly faded. He still felt in shock over what he had just seen. The sword, or rather the sword’s magic, had accepted the boy, however provisionally. The sword was not fully his yet but still, he never should have been able to hold it more than a few seconds. Much less wield its power. Marl felt a twinge of fear as he tried to understand what this might mean. There was little he could think of that did not lead to disaster.

want more? go to http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/93494  and if you email me and promise to leave a review ill send you a promo code for a free download