I have to admit that when I first opened the box containing this book, I immediately yelled out, “Oh, so it might be like the movie Innerspace!”
It is not like the movie Innerspace. It’s like this:
Aliens came to Earth forty years ago. Their anatomy proved unfathomable and all attempts at communication failed. But through trade, humanity gained technology that allowed them to colonise the stars. The price: live humans for every alien faster-than-light drive. Kara’s sister was one of hundreds exchanged for this technology, and Kara has little love for aliens. So when she is drafted by GalDiv – the organisation that oversees alien trades – it is under duress. A group of colonists have been kidnapped by aliens and taken to an uncharted planet, and an unusual team is to be sent to negotiate. As an ex-army sniper, Kara’s role is clear. But artist Marc has no combat experience, although the team’s pre-cog Tse is adamant that he has a part to play. All three know that success is unlikely. For how will they negotiate with aliens when communication between the species is impossible? ~From Titan Books
Picture a world forty years after first known contact with aliens was made. Now, stop picturing it because it’s not going to be anything close to how Andrew Lane and Nigel Foster have imagined it to be. But, you fine people know that I don’t go into long details about the books I’ve reviewed and I won’t give spoilers. I will say that I quite enjoyed this story and I am really looking forward to there being more books in the series. Like, really looking forward to them.
The writing is nicely blended. I don’t know how author teams usually split authoring duties when two people work on one novel because I, personally, couldn’t do it. But, it appears that the duo has managed to bring out the best of abilities in each other and pour it into a wonderful, original story. Kudos, fellas. Characters in the story are believable, real, well-fleshed, and Sometimes just really easy to get to know. Descriptions of time and place are great, but not overwhelming or ridiculously long.
I would gladly recommend this novel to friends and family. If you would like to buy your own copy (because I’ll be keeping mine), here are the links you’ll need:
Buy NETHERSPACE from Amazon.com.
Buy NETHERSPAC from Titan Books.
“Mike Hammer is an icon for our culture.” – The New York Times
Every now and then I like to toss a crime fiction novel into my to-be-read pile and this one fell into my lap. Most people already know that there are already several Mike Hammer books available. I, however, was unaware because crime novels are actually not my meat and potatoes. Crime novels are more like a delicious foreign delicacy for me. I discover new crime authors about twenty years too late, but I’m okay with that as long as you, as my blog readers, understand that it’s not my everyday. Since I have read The Will To Kill, though, I have been checking into buying the others and I made it a point to buy and read some of the really old Mike Hammer books before I wrote this review. I can’t stand the idea of having just one book from a series, set, or group. It drives me mad. I also couldn’t see writing this review not knowing anything about Mike Hammer or Mickey Spillane’s vision of his character.
Taking a midnight stroll along the Hudson River, Mike Hammer gets more than he bargained for: a partial corpse on an ice floe. The body is that of a butler who spent the last years of his life working for a millionaire—also now deceased—and his notoriously privileged children.
Were both master and servant murdered? Captain Pat Chambers thinks so. But to prove it Hammer must travel to upstate New York to investigate the dead man’s family, all of whom have a motive for murder, and one of whom who has a taste for it.
I wasn’t disappointed with this book, but I wasn’t blown away, either. It was everything I enjoy in a crime novel. There was a murder mystery to solve, complex and believable characters, crisp, clear language, and someone even says, “Jeez Louise!” somewhere in the story. The real amazing feat within the pages, however, is not in the story itself, but in the writing. Somehow, Max Allan Collins was able to take Spillane’s Mike Hammer stories and create new ones to match seamlessly. He was able to mask his own writing style as Spillane’s, making the two authors of one voice.
I can’t think of one single thing to gripe about with this novel. And, if we’re being honest, I always look for something to gripe about because I want to be sure to give my own readers the honest truth about the books I read. THE WILL TO KILL is one case where what you see is truly what you get. You buy the book looking for a great Mike Hammer story and that’s what you will receive.
I was nine years old when I decided I wanted to be a writer. I didn’t really know what the job entailed, but I had wonderful examples available to me whenever I chose to have them.
My mom took me to the library often. We lived in Winchester, Indiana at the time and I remember those library trips well. Winchester had a great library, too, but it wasn’t cold like small town libraries often are. I was always happy to shed my coat to wander between shelves and decide on my reading material for the next two weeks. Somewhere, there would be a coffee smell wafting around, though I never discovered the source. Happily, I discovered a sincere love for books and the people who created them.
Particularly, I learned to enjoy Anne Rice. I was young, but I was always ahead in my Reading classes. I could comprehend far ahead of my level and that was in part due to boredom in my earliest years. The film adaptation of Anne Rice’s Interview With A Vampire came out that year and I got a VHS copy. I don’t remember who bought it for me or when I first watched it, but I do remember being completely enamored with the world of the undead, possibly because Brad Pitt was in the movie. And, in a move I now detest, I read the book after I watched the movie, rather than the other way around. I discovered thick and thorough description and how words can be beautiful if you string them together in certain ways.
From there, I learned of other vampires and monsters. Vivian Vande Velde became another favorite author quite quickly. The young adult section at the Winchester public library never knew what hit it. I was wide open and those characters were more than just intriguing. I couldn’t figure out why I, like so many other people out there, was so drawn to them. By the time I was eleven, I knew all of the folklore associated with the creatures of the night.
Of course, it was not just vampires. I also read werewolf stories. I read classic literature, beginning with some of Shakespeare’s very best tragedies. Before I knew it, the reading material at school bored me to no end and I had surpassed the expectations of my teachers. I still enjoyed reading the required novels in classes, but it wasn’t the same as reading the books I chose myself at the library. I began to wonder if there was ever going to be more to learn or if I was just going to flounder around in search of new books, new concepts.
Along with the reading material I spent hours with, I kept journals and notebooks full of words strung together that probably only made sense to myself. I looked at sentence structure only when doing homework. But, in the safety of my bedroom, the words I scrawled on notebook paper were written only to please me. They had meaning and were often thrown together in haste because I learned that writing when angry or upset was the best medicine for anything.
And, I was angry and upset an awful lot. There was little going on in my life that I didn’t take issue with. I wanted to ask why a lot. Every day. I questioned everything because I was stubborn–where most kids my age just accepted their lot for unchangeable, I wanted to know why.
Why do I have to live in a place with a shit economy? Why couldn’t I go see my dad when I wanted to? Why was everybody voting against Bill Clinton when he obviously knew what he was doing? Why are adults so grumpy all the time? Why can’t I live somewhere closer to town so that the library and stores to shop in would be just a skip away? And, most importantly, why doesn’t anyone ever listen to me? Do I even exist?
At some point at this period in my life I even wrote an entire short story about why I hated living in a house surrounded by corn fields.
Everything always came back to vampires, though. There was a young adult book by Annette Curtis Klaus called The Silver Kiss in which the hero doesn’t exactly get the girl. Most vampire books I had read up to that point had involved a vampire hero who always turned the girl of his dreams so she could be his mate forever. Or the head vampire was killed so that he could be human again and be with her. Or, maybe they just ran away together. But, not The Silver Kiss’s hero.
In the book, the main character’s mother is dying of cancer. The girl is at a very impressionable age, going through very real situations. The vampire in the story doesn’t whisk her away to a better life or make her forget her problems. Instead, his immortality forces her to face her mother’s impending death. She is shown what a life cycle really is. Everything that is born must die one day. It is the natural way of things. And, of course, the vampire’s day comes too. He doesn’t turn her into a vampire. He doesn’t tell her flowery, beautiful things about being undead. He is killed. He dies. And, the main character, Zoe, is forced to go on with her life without her mother and without Simon, the vampire she once knew.
Something about reading a story about a creature who obviously couldn’t exist and being able to pull a small, but immensely strong, sliver of truth out of it really hit me. Life isn’t pretty. Life is not about the hero impressing a girl or saving her from her own boredom. Life is messy and dirty and gut-wrenching. Truth is most certainly stranger than fiction, as they say. The feeling I got when I read about Louis and Lestat living as the undead or about Simon dying even though he’d been given immortality is one that I still, to this very day, cannot describe in a way which would be sufficient to another person. No matter which words I chose, it would not be enough to portray the twisting in my guts and stalling of my heart. Life is short and pain is inevitable, so I write as a buffer between the two.
I’ve never read anything by this author (probably because it’s her debut novel), but I gave this book a good, fair shot because all books deserve a fair shot and I don’t believe in sticking to the same authors all the time. It’s not good for the soul. Let’s move on to my thoughts, shall we?
There are a few big points to remember when reading this book.
It’s very fast paced.
There is a SHARK on the cover. Who doesn’t like sharks? Keep up!
Release date: 6/14/16
Shock Pao is not just any Haunt—he’s the best. There isn’t a system that he can’t crack into, no virtual lock he can’t pick, nothing he can’t steal for the right price. Outside virtual world the Slip, though, he’s a Fail—no degree, no job, no affiliations to protect him from angry ex-customers. Of which he has quite a few. So when his ex brings Shock a job which could help him escape his miserable existence, he accepts, little realizing that it will turn out to be his most impossible, illegal and insane assignment yet.
Amiga works for Twist Calhoun, one of the toughest crime lords in the Gung, as a Cleaner—assassin. Trapped in a world of kill-or-be-killed, she wants out. But when Shock’s war comes to her, she doesn’t have a choice: it’s her job to bring him to Twist, dead or alive—or it’ll be her head in a bag in Twist’s vault.
See? There’s a thing called the Slip (which is sort of described in the blurb above) and all of these people doing all of these crazy, great things. Very fast paced, as advertised.
The story is told through the points of view of a handful of characters, though I am partial to the story line of one in particular, Shock Pao. Shock is every bit the character I want to read about when I pick up a book to read. There is something deep and needed in a character who has been well fleshed out—let’s face it, we (as readers) don’t always get that. Shock, I think, is one of those figures we always want to read, but can’t find. One of the best things I can say about Shock Pao is that he is not perfect. He has problems that could stack up as high as the Eiffel Tower, but he keeps going, perhaps because he has little choice. In that way, I think a lot of readers can probably relate to him, if even on a smaller scale.
But, wait! There is another character from this very same novel I like even more and I am disappointed I didn’t get to read more from or about him. His name is Cassius Angel and he’s the captain of a land ship called Resurrection. Those blog readers who know me know I have a weakness for all things nautical. This particular captain needs his own book. I want to read about the life and times of Captain Cassius Angel and his ship, the Resurrection. The more I read about him inEscapology, the more I wanted to know. While reading the novel, my own unmet whim to hear more from Cassius Angel began to overshadow my need to give a hoot about the other characters. This actually became a big problem for me.
Amiga was the one character I couldn’t really relate to on any scale whatsoever and, more than that, I just didn’t want to read what she was doing. I couldn’t force myself to be interested in Amiga no matter how hard I tried and, believe me, I did try.
This book is great for some people. It wasn’t really my bag, though, because I’m not into cyberpunk at all. I didn’t choose this book, it chose me. Honestly, I’m glad it did. As I say often, it’s good to read something you wouldn’t normally read. The story is well written and the characters are well fleshed and well placed. I am disappointed that Cassius Angel doesn’t have his own book, but there is always time for that and here’s to hoping! Ultimately, I found it difficult to bounce from one character’s point of view to another to another. Some folks have no qualms with this, but I have a hard time with more than two POVs, especially toward the beginning of a story because the beginning is where the reader is supposed to be hooked.
I will not be including a star rating in my blog for this book because I don’t think it would be fair of me to do so as this story wasn’t for me. This does NOT mean Escapology isn’t worthy of any stars. I simply don’t want to be unfair to the author or the book and I feel that by rating a book that just wasn’t what I’m into, I’d be slighting a writer because though this story wasn’t something I’m interested in, the writing and storytelling abilities are very there and I’m just not Ren Warom’s audience for this title. Maybe the next one.
Every year I keep a log of books, short stories, and articles of note that I’ve read. In 2015, I logged an awful lot of books. Some were new releases, but more often than not, not. By this log, though, I figured that I read more how-to books, gardening books, and history books than anything else. I don’t know why it happened this way, but maybe because I’ve been sort of fighting a dark depression and anxiety with hobbies–gardening, sewing, and just about anything I can do which would keep my hands busy. I’m the kind of person who needs to be doing something, even if it’s something small, such as mending a buttonhole or planting a seed. And, once I’m focused, that’s it. I’m addicted to something new and you’ll soon find me in bookshops and online seeking out books regarding my new hobby, whatever it may be. I can’t just be a novice at anything. I will constantly strive to master it.
But, in 2010, for example, I logged mostly romance and horror novels. In 2011 and 2012, same. In 2013, by some strange tap of the reading fairy’s wand, I changed directions and returned to my science fiction and fantasy roots. You see, the firsts books I really loved–and I mean REALLY loved–were sci-fi novels, comics, fantasy tomes, and short stories in magazines involving elves, ghosts, goblins, werewolves, aliens, and vampires. I started reading time travel novels again. I started picking up newer novels by authors I’d forgotten I loved so much in high school. And, I began to change the way I think about things again. I think that’s just something that happens ever so often in life. Your life changes direction, so your reading lists change direction, too.
By 2014, I’d changed completely. I haven’t completely let go of reading romance, but I want to read everything about everything. Sometimes there just isn’t enough space on a year’s worth of bookshelf for all of the books a person would wish to read. I think that might be what happens to me. I am too ambitious. But, there are just so many books!
But, back to 2015.
Last year, my children grew. My fortunes changed (sort of) with the coming of a move which will take me from living in a small 3 bedroom house with a small yard to a small 4 bedroom house with a yard that reaches beyond what the eye can see (my husband’s family’s farm). In anticipation of this move, my family and I have discussed a lot of changes. We’re letting go of cable because it won’t be available. We’re going to have an internet connection to watch Netflix and Hulu and do internety things. But, we’ve also decided that we’re going to raise some chickens and continue growing beautiful herbs and Cherokee purple tomatoes (which are to die for, by the way, and can be found at Burpee’s online). On the farm, my father-in-law and brother-in-laws (and their wives and families) raise chickens, horses, cows, pigs, and sometimes goats. And, I think my niece has some rabbits somewhere. So, with all of this in mind, I’ve been reading about soil, about how to raise animals (because I’m absolutely terrified of horses and have no clue how to manage livestock, much less live with them), and about how to live a simpler life.
Now, hold on, people. Before you start thinking ahead, NO. No, we are not homesteaders. Absolutely, just no. I have mad amounts of respect for homesteaders, but that’s not what we’re doing at all. We’re just simplifying things and moving forward with raising our family in an area where I won’t have to worry about being so close to other people. Well, except for my husband’s family. Two of his brothers, their wives, their collective six children, and my mother-in-law and father-in-law all live on the same stretch of property, but it’s big enough that none of us have to look at each other if we don’t want to. Or unless I need to be saved from the horses (ha ha).
The beautiful part of how life changes your reading habits, though, is that when I move to my little farm shack in the middle of nowhere, I’ll have new places to read. Also, I have a niece and a sister-in-law who both love to read, too, so maybe we can exchange good books ever so often. Who knows–we might even start our own book club right on the edge of the mountain. I’m sure the new experiences I have there will absolutely reflect in the 2016 reading log. I have plans to pick up a Farmer’s Almanac and a Gardener’s Almanac next time I’m in the Dollar General store in town. And, beyond that, there’s a discount store in Beckley (about 35 minutes from me) where I can pick up as many books about flowers and plants as I want because they’re really cheap. I’d love a book about flowers so I can learn about which ones are the easiest to grow and which ones need what because I do have plans for a white rose bush and roses are not things I know a lot about, although I’ve always loved white roses (among other white flowers, I also love the white moonflowers/Datura).
There are a few crime fiction novels I plan to read this year, though, and they’re already sitting on my nightstand. AND, I do have some drama, history, and romance novels sitting in my shelf, waiting on me to give them some attention. First, though, I have a book filled with the love letters between Lucrezia Borgia and Pietro Bembo. The book is called “The Prettiest Love Letters In the World” because they truly are. I’ve already taken a peek at them.
And, of course, it’s January 3rd, which means I’ve already read a book this year. It’s was called “Treasury of Royal Scandals” and it was published some years back, but still such a great read. Books aren’t like food–they don’t ruin after a while. They stay great. I’ve learned that there is also a book out there called “A Treasury of Great American Scandals,” which I’d like to add to my collection, too. The author, Michael Farquhar, has many books out I’d like to snatch. Seriously, where has this guy been all my life as a reader? “Treasury of Royal Scandals” was brilliant. It was a great way to start the year, in my opinion.
I’m curious to know how everyone else feels on the subject of changing tastes in books. Is it just me? Do the rest of you change tastes every now and then? I can’t imagine I’m the only person on the face of the planet who sometimes switches from medieval kings and queens to cyborgs and werewolves.
*Disclaimer: No crack was consumed during the writing of this post, or ever, by the author, Rhiannon Mills.
Being a writer is nothing like I thought it would be when I was nine years old. At that age, I read, for the first time of many, Anne Rice’s “Interview With A Vampire” after watching the film (Nine year old me did everything bass ackwards). I was hooked on writing from that moment forward because, though I’d always loved reading, I realized I could turn the mush in my head into something beautiful, too. From then on, I was a writer.
It isn’t a glamorous lifestyle for the vast majority of us, either. Writers have struggles like everyone else. We have bills to pay, children to raise (and eventually send to college), and, for many, there isn’t enough time in the day to accomplish everything we want to. I’m up before the sun to get my kids ready for school. After that, it’s laundry, grocery shopping, meal planning, and caring for home and hearth while my husband sleeps. But, it doesn’t end there. At 3:30, my husband wakes, showers, and dresses for work while I pack his lunch and stack his paperwork on top of his lunch bag. Then, the afternoon circus begins! The minute I’ve packed his last sandwich and he leaves for a long night at work, the kids waltz through the door and it’s homework and dinner time, which often takes hours. By the time everyone is fed, educated, and bathed, my brain is mush.
And, heaven forbid someone have a doctor’s appointment! I need a coffee IV and crack to get through those days! *See disclaimer at the top of the page.*
See? Who says you can’t be artistic and make money from it! That is one beautiful cake and two dozen fantastic cupcakes, if I must say so myself.
Somehow, through the disaster that is my life, I manage. My husband, bless his brave soul, is a coal truck driver. To help make ends meet, we budget every penny. I clip coupons, plan weekly menus, look for sales, compare prices on everything we buy and, on occasion, take small sewing jobs for a few extra bucks. We paid our taxes last year with money I earned baking my cousin’s wedding cake.
But, not once have I ever begged other people for money so I could write full time! Sure, I have my husband’s income, whereas a single writer would be on their own, but I really feel like I’d have more time to write if that were the case. Maybe I’m wrong about that. If I am, please leave a comment and weigh in with your own struggles (and cheers to you, too).
I’m quite certain that there are a lot of crowdfunding pages throughout the internet for very good causes. Examples of what I feel are good causes are:
Families or individuals who lost everything to a natural disaster or housefire.
Families or individuals inflicted with a medical crisis.
Those trying to raise money for schools, nursing homes, or programs where the funds will go toward the greater good (example: new library books, walkers for the elderly, or new playground equipment to replace the faulty or unsafe).
Let me be clear.
Crowdfunding is not a means to survival! If an author cannot earn enough money through their books to live on, it’s time to evaluate needs versus wants. Example: You need to eat, but you want to sit on your butt and ponder the meaning of life.
It’s not enough to offer those who donate the prize of a few ebooks or audiobooks. Readers can just buy those from Amazon, lickity split, if they want them. Crowdfunding is not an unofficial welfare program! Your readers are not responsible for your Kibbles-N-Bits, YOU are! Your readers should be respected, not used as your personal ATM. If they enjoy your work, they’ll pay for it and you will earn a royalty check, not a handout from the magic social media fairy.
There’s a real meaning behind the phrase “starving artist.” If you’re ever going to make it to George RR Martin or Anne Rice status, you have to start somewhere else. Nobody starts at the top. Ask Stephen King about starting small. He talks all about his humble beginnings in “On Writing.” Before you make it, you might have to fold sweaters at GAP or stock shelves at Wal-Mart first. You might even have to serve umpteen Jager Bombs to jerks who like to call you “Sugar Tits” and “Princess Pretty Panties” at a bar that only plays country music (like I did). You might have to work long days, longer nights, and drive to work through snow storms, on icy roads, and work Thanksgiving and Christmas, completely missing out on Grandma’s baked ham and pumpkin pie. But, DAMMIT, those are life experiences and they are worth every miserable minute!
Every single time your boss tells you to work Saturday when you were supposed to have that day off or your paycheck is just ten dollars short of what you need it to be, you’ve added a dirty, scummy, gritty notch in the belt of your worthwhile life experiences. And, you can’t write without life experience.
I may only be a small fish in a big sea, but the water here is fine. I’m not saying I want to be here forever. All writers have goals and mine will one day take me into deeper waters if I’m lucky. Until then, I’m going to put the work in. I’m going to submit novels, novellas, short stories, and magazine articles until editors are tired of seeing my name in their slush piles. I’ll earn my stripes, thank you. The success will taste so much sweeter that way.
About Rhiannon Mills
Rhiannon Mills lives, loves, and writes in the mysterious mountains of West Virginia. When she isn’t writing, she’s sewing, baking, blogging, reading, or watching documentaries about any number of things.
In celebrating that THE DEMON KING’s long awaited sequel has been picked up by KnightWatch Press, I thought some of us could use a quick brushing up about our much loved and much hated king of the underworld…So, here you go. Ten whole factoids.
1. I was highly influenced by Jonathan Rheys Meyers portrayal of Henry VIII in The Tudors when I wrote The Demon King.
2. The first fact on this list will become quite evident in the sequel.
Am I hinting? Maybe. But, it may not hint at what you think.
3. I wrote many, many scenes of the first book as a way to work out my own nightmares and fears.
4. The king’s birds will play a bigger role in the second book.
5. The Demon King was originally written with the intention of the story being an erotica novel. But, it took on a life of its own.
6. There will be new characters in the second book.
7. The second book still has no title. I’m working on that. I’m not good with titles. I could write ten books before I could come up with a decent title. I usually have help titling stories.
8. One of my favorite characters from the first book, Thrack, was modeled to look like Michael Clark Duncan (RIP, MCD).
9. A character from my Immortal books will make an appearance in The Demon King’s sequel. In the Immortal books, Lilleth was my bad guy. In The Demon King’s sequel, she’s just the girl next door. Though she’s the same person, she is perceived as quite evil in the mortal realm, but once you put her in the Underworld, where she’s known Draken his entire life, she’s nothing out of the ordinary. Well, maybe a little out of the ordinary. As a matter of fact, the king will be giving her quite the honorable title. I won’t tell you what that title is, though. Spoilers!
10. The second Demon King book will be longer than the first. Yup. You asked, I’m delivering. You’re welcome.
Want to win a copy of my brand new novel, BONES OF WILLOW LAKE? It releases this very Valentine weekend. How exciting! Read the rules below:
RULES:
Leave a comment on this post telling about your most memorable Valentine’s Day or just the one that sticks out the most. Tell me what you like or do not like about this holiday. Write whatever comes to mind pertaining to Valentine’s Day. Lets keep this PG (we don’t need those kinds of details lol). The winner will be chosen and announced on the morning of Monday, February 17th, so please also give me an email address to contact you should you be the lucky winner. It’s that easy!
You can read an excerpt and blurb for the book, BONES OF WILLOW LAKE, here.
OTHER RHIANNON MILLS NEWS:
Not much info as of yet, but be looking for updates on an anthology called HER DARK VOICE. Filled with stories from many different female horror authors (including CYNDI AND THE DEMON ASMODEUS, which I wrote), this one’s going to be a must read!
Back cover, front cover. Both originally artwork by Mark Hogg. Link to his fanpage can be found at the bottom of this post.
Well, the day I’ve been waiting for since forever (no really…FOREVER! LOL) is finally upon us. My most recent novel, BONES OF WILLOW LAKE, has a release date! And, of course, the novel will be released on the very same day my awesome novella, THE DEMON KING, was released. FEBRUARY 14th! That’s Valentine’s Day, in case you didn’t know. Also, it’s my son’s 7th birthday, so Valentine’s Day is special to me for many reasons. Not just book releases, although I do believe I should probably just go ahead and reserve that day every year to release a new book because it looks like it’s just my day.
I promise I won’t just sit here and prattle on and on about how absolutely enamored with myself and my release date I am, though. I promise! Instead, how about I give you a blurb and an excerpt? Will that appease the masses? I sure hope so. We’ll start with the little blurb intended to be printed on the back cover.
BLURB:
Celia Burne bought a house in LaGrange, Georgia, thinking she’s found a place for herself and her dog, Barnibus, to find rest and solitude–a break from the heartbreak of her mother’s death and the resulting incarceration of her younger sister. What she finds in the beginning of her new life, however, isn’t what she bargained for. Celia discovers two of the house’s former residents still live there decades after their deaths.
Although artist Paul Gray only wants Celia’s friendship, and perhaps a little bit more, Celia begins to feel that finding Gray’s body would allow him to pass over into the light. In order to find the body, however, Celia has to solve a 1947 triple murder mystery, and the angry spirit of Ruth Wilkins doesn’t want this to happen. With help from an elderly neighbor and her cartoonist grandson, Celia wrestles with the mystery until she’s thrown into a tailspin and is forced to decide whether she is willing to let Gray go or if she would rather keep him for herself. All the while, the story begs the question of who is helping whom?
EXCERPT:
The fire is warm and I like to sit in front of it, but the sound of boxes shuffling around is still distracting me. “Gray!” I shout again. “What on earth are you doing up there?” Frustrated, I push the covers back off my legs and get up to wander to the attic. I stomp up the stairs, as though my noise is going to aggravate him enough to stop making his noise, and stop at the small opening to the attic at the top of the stairs.
To the left, there is a small broom closet where I keep my ladder. I pull it out and open it up. As I climb the few steps to the top, I push the attic opening back and poke my head inside. It’s dark, but I can see a blue glow from the window. “Gray?” I whisper as I push myself into the attic.
He doesn’t answer, but I knew that he wouldn’t—he can’t. “What are you doing up here?”
I walk to the window. Gray is sitting in the windowsill as still as a picture. In his hands, he holds a lady’s hatpin. It is a blue flower, but plain and ordinary.
“Ruth’s.” I say. It isn’t a question. There is no one else it could have belonged to.
Gray nods and shrugs before peering back out the window. He is lonely, I think to myself, feeling a bit discarded. Doesn’t my company mean anything to him—the way his does for me?
I want to shake him. Ruth is dead. Henry is dead. They’re obviously not here, but he is. What’s the connection?
I sigh and rest my hand on his shoulder for whatever comfort I can offer him. I don’t know what happened to my sweet Gray, but whatever it was, it scarred him for his entire afterlife.
I am going mad, I tell myself.
Gray turns from the window and looks up at me. There is hopefulness in his eyes and he rests his head against my chest. He raises a finger and sits up. He begins to trace a word in the dust that’s settled on the glass. I give this one hundred percent of my attention. His fingertip begins to curve around on the glass until he’s formed a perfect C. He traces the letters very slowly, as though it’s been a very long time for him—and I’m sure that it probably has been. Eventually, he’s written my name in the dust. When he’s finished, he looks up at me and goes back to tracing.
Next, he traces the word alone and looks to me for approval. I nod. “I am lonely.” I say.
He folds me into his arms and pulls me close. He is cool, but not cold. I allow him to do this because I feel no fear whatsoever in what the dead can do—it’s the living that scare me the most. Gray rests his cloth-stitched face against my cheek and I feel the weight of each horrible, likely painful stitch and wonder why the bits of dark blue material would be stitched over his entire face like that, but it’s not likely that he’ll tell me anytime soon and I’m too polite to ask. I smile at the awkward ridiculousness of the situation—I have no one alive on this earth save for Velma, but it seems I’ve made a really great best friend in this dead man.
I look up and realize that Gray’s hair is showing today. Typically, he keeps it back somehow and I can’t tell if he even has any. Gray, it seems, is/was a ginger. I reach up and roll my index finger around in an unbelievably soft lock of reddish-blond hair. It’s short, but neat, and combed out of his blue-gray eyes. His face tightens rom under the cloth and I realize that he’s probably smiling at me.
“I like your hair.” I tell him with a playful grin.
Slowly, he reaches around to teasingly pull at my long, dark ponytail. Then, he holds his finger over where his mouth should be to tell me to be quiet. Or to shut up. I’m not sure which one he means, but it makes me laugh and I am enjoying his company.
I wonder if, wherever they are, Ruth and Henry Wilkins can see what Gray and I are doing tonight in the attic—playfully enjoying the night. Then, another thought creeps into my head and I have to ask Gray another question. I’m positive that my questions are an annoyance, but I want to know anyhow. “Did you know Velma Beatty?”
He nods, but doesn’t look at me. Instead, he’s staring out the window again. I don’t push the questions further. Something I’ve said has made him sad. I wonder if maybe he might have been a lover of Velma’s so many years ago. I shake the idea from my head—she had a husband and he died in the seventies. Sometimes, he was all she ever talked about.
Gray releases me and I take that as my cue to leave him to himself. I back away, but as I reach the little crawl hole over my ladder, I see that the ladder is gone. It isn’t down there at all, so the possibility that my larger than life dog has knocked it over is out of the question and there isn’t anyone else in the house—or at least I thought there wasn’t up until now.
“Gray?” I breathe. He turns to face me and shifts his weight in the windowsill. “Gray, my ladder is gone. I can’t get down.”
It takes only a few seconds before he materializes at my side. He looks down the hole and then at me. He is just as puzzled as I am. He groans as he lifts me in his arms. He’s cradling me like a baby and, with his index finger and middle finger, closes my eyelids. He holds his fingers there for a moment and when he removes them, I open my lids and see that we are standing at the top of the stairs and he is no longer holding me. It’s as though time was temporarily erased.
I have no idea what to say, but manage a quick thanks and a nod. Gray disappears in a low flash of blue light and I look up to see the opening to the attic shut behind him. He’s up there again, all by himself, and I have no idea where my ladder is.
I go to the broom closet and open the door. Cold water flows out of the closet as though it’s been submerged. Some of it falls down the stairs like an indoor waterfall. My feet are freezing cold now and I see my ladder folded carefully inside the closet. I’m shaking as I step forward and inspect it. The top rung has a spot of dried blood on it and a discarded sewing needle with twine laced through it.
Of all the houses in LaGrange, I had to pick the one with dead folks, I think to myself. I pull my flannel pajama pants down and pick them up as I wander to the upstairs bathroom and push them into the hamper. I go to my bedroom and pick a clean pair of sweats from a drawer and put them on before going downstairs to the kitchen and reluctantly pull the mop out of the corner and grab my bucket. I take the mop and bucket back upstairs to clean up all the water, but when I reach the stairs, the water is gone.
I swallow hard and walk up the stairs to the closet to see that the ladder is back underneath the opening to the attic. There is no spot of blood or needle on the top rung. There is no water damage to my closet.
It’s as though the entire thing was a figment of my over worked imagination.
EXTRA STUFF:
As promised, here is the link to Mark Hogg’s fan page on Facebook,Mr. Markzilla Artist! Go give him a like and check out all of his artwork!
STAY TUNED FOR: Okay, so we’re going to have a contest called the HAUNTED VALENTINE GIVEAWAY. Yes, we’re giving away a free copy of BONES OF WILLOW LAKE! Stay tuned to this blog because this is where the contest will be posted FIRST.
I’m about twelve days late for this post, but ya know, procrastination had me by the hair as usual and I had some other writerly things going on, too. Like reviving an old manuscript and trying to see if it has any life left in it and making the painful decision to scrap yet another one, even though I love the story and the characters so much. I know, I know–we’re all only human and occasionally we all write something that sucks.
Unless you’re Stephen King or Danielle Steele or whatever. Wouldn’t it be nice to see what their resolutions for this new year were? I wonder…
But, here are mine. Sort of. Maybe.
1) I MIGHT write another novel. I don’t know that I definitely will. If I don’t, I may finish a few I’ve already started or maybe dig that vampire one out of the trash and dust it off. It may take me an entire bucket of red ink to get it ready to resemble anything reader worthy, but…well, there is no but. I don’t even know why I typed the but.
2) I might work on some short stories this year and maybe even some magazine things. I don’t want to limit myself to novels only and short stories are, well, short–I talk too much to write such short things. Which is why this would be a serious challenge for me. Wish me luck.
3) Lose a few pounds. No set amount, just a few. Why? Because heart disease and stuff. My dad and step mom had photos taken of my kids for me this year and had them all framed. That was what Santa brought me and it made me think. I really want to stick around long enough to warp my own grandkids someday, just like my dad warps MY kids now…It’s a heartwarming thing, ya know!
4) Make four baby quilts. One for my cousin’s cutie patootie little girl, Alma. Two for my other cousin’s twin boys, Ryan and Jacob. Oh, and one for my niece or nephew (coming to a maternity ward near my sister in July 2014). I’ve already got some blocks made. Just need to keep going.
5) Get organized and make a better writer/mother/crafter routine going. During my busy days, I’m a wife, mom, writer, crafter, and reader. Fitting all of those things into a daily schedule or routine is tough. And I’m not completely happy unless I can take care of these things daily in some way or another. Kids first, of course, and they take up most of my time as is. Wouldn’t have it any other way, but I do have hobbies.
6) Organize my garden a little better this year. Last year’s gardening was a test run. This year I know a little bit more about growing things and I can learn from mistakes made last year. It’s important to me. For what reason, I’m not sure. Gardening is therapeutic.
7) Fix broken relationships. I have a lot of friends I rarely speak to. It’s not because we don’t want to talk to each other, but because we’re all so busy in our own lives. That’s what happens when you get old (and somebody should really start warning kids about this before it’s too late for them, too!).
8) Move past the old and move forward with the new. This one is something I struggle with. I hold on to things and people far too long. I guess I could start in my bedroom because it’s a wee crowded. I have a tv stand, a dresser, a bed, a desk, a very large stereo, an old table style sewing machine with my new machine on top (though the old one inside the table still works perfectly), and a cedar chest. I also have clothes, two closets full of junk, lamps, shoes…All kinds of things in my room.
9) Reward myself for a job well done. Sometimes I forget to do this. We all do, I think, but it’s an important thing to remember.
10) Take more pictures. Of course, this will require the purchase of a new camera. I can do that.
d out, “Oh, so it might be like the movie Innerspace!”
There are a few crime fiction novels I plan to read this year, though, and they’re already sitting on my nightstand. AND, I do have some drama, history, and romance novels sitting in my shelf, waiting on me to give them some attention. First, though, I have a book filled with the love letters between Lucrezia Borgia and Pietro Bembo. The book is called “The Prettiest Love Letters In the World” because they truly are. I’ve already taken a peek at them.
And, of course, it’s January 3rd, which means I’ve already read a book this year. It’s was called “Treasury of Royal Scandals” and it was published some years back, but still such a great read. Books aren’t like food–they don’t ruin after a while. They stay great. I’ve learned that there is also a book out there called “A Treasury of Great American Scandals,” which I’d like to add to my collection, too. The author, Michael Farquhar, has many books out I’d like to snatch. Seriously, where has this guy been all my life as a reader? “Treasury of Royal Scandals” was brilliant. It was a great way to start the year, in my opinion.
Rhiannon Writes On 