Tag Archives: Writing

One Shot

(This story came in second in a writing contest. 

The topic of the contest was:

It was supposed to be the summer job of a lifetime, working as a chef at an upscale “summer camp” for adults. But, the air conditioner was broken again. After closing, the stale outdoor air brought little relief. The path to the cabins housing seasonal employees was dark but short. She stopped in her tracks when she came across one of the windows. With her pupils dilating, she couldn’t look away… 

Tell me what you think?)

One Shot by Croyus

The bottle and the gun lay on the bedside table under the lamp, lighting them both. Sean tossed the keys to his small cabin next to them and sighed. “Was tonight the night?” he asked himself as he sat on the bottom bunk. The front of his dark black pants was wet from the remnants of the food he had sprayed from the dishes. Gourmet food still particulated just like the crappy food. He remembered back to when he was young and had started washing dishes, small restaurant with no automatic washer and grade-D meat. Just him and a concentrated water sprayer. He was wet then. He was wet now. But the skill he had learned was for a lifetime.

But that memory was decades old, and he had lived another life. A life of minivans and children and a woman who loved him. He had had money. He had had success. But that was all gone.

He reached for the bottle and broke the paper seal. He strained to twist the cap. It released, and he lifted the cap off. This habit was one of his favorites when he was drinking. Take the cap off. Drink a deep draft. Twist the cap back on. In a few minutes, repeat.

He replaced the cap and reached for the gun. It was an IL-X30 Centerfire Pistol with a polygon rifled barrel. He had adjusted the grip so it felt like an extension of his hand. Very natural. His father had helped him become appreciative of weaponry. But it was also his father who had introduced Sean to alcohol. His mouth filled with saliva as he thought of that first beer. Warm and bitter. He took the clip out of the gun and checked it. Full. He only needed one.

The back door of the restaurant opened and closed. It had to be the chef leaving for the night. She was cute. He thought all women were cute. He saw his daughters in them.

He put the clip back in the gun and pointed it at the window, the reflection of the lamp darkened the campground outside. For now, the world was only Sean, a gun, and a bottle of whiskey he had stolen from the bar.

He rubbed the barrel against his head. It was cool. Maybe he should just take a taste of the whiskey to make sure he remembered how it tasted? Reinforce why he swore that if he ever took another drink, he would take his own life. He put the gun down and grabbed the bottle. It was warm and welcoming. He twisted the cap again and held it between his index finger and thumb.

Do it, he thought. Do it and get it over with. He lowered his head and put the cap back on. This job was the first step in starting over. If he could show his family that he had changed. Show them that daddy was sober and. “And what?” he asked himself. He had drunk so much that he had missed most of his children growing up. Sure his body was there, but his brain was in a fog, his attention far away in the mystic land of inebriation. And even when he was sober, his focus was not on his daughters’ dance recital, but on when daddy could get his drunk-on.

He replaced the cap and rested his hand on the gun.

Sean shook his head. He knew he was too weak to take his own life. But if he took a drink. Or maybe finished the bottle. A little bit of courage is all he needed to place the working end of the gun against his temple and let the girls know that they never had to worry about their daddy showing up drunk to their graduations or weddings.

He hadn’t made it that far in their lives. They were too young when he left to understand why daddy slept in so late, why he didn’t remember the promises he made, why mommy asked him to leave.

With his free hand, he turned the cap and placed it next to the bottle. The smell of whiskey and damp clothes mixed with decaying food in the stagnant air. His hand went around the base of the bottle. It felt natural. Smooth glass with the slight distortion of the label.

Maybe he could take a drink and go out into the camp and start shooting anyone he saw. Maybe he could take several drinks and he wouldn’t remember the horror he brought. Would it be better if dad was remembered as a mass-murderer rather than a drunk? Perhaps focusing on the pain he had caused in others would make his wife forget the pain he caused in her.

He lifted the gun to his mouth and put the tip between his lips. It tasted like it always did. Was this his new glass dick he would eternally suckle? Not glass, but metal. The bottle was the glass dick. And he so wanted it. One drink. One shot.

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I edited and then I edited some more

First off, I completed my 24-hour writing contest story and got it edited and sent it off. It started at 1100 words and I got it down to 870 by slashing the fat and getting rid of some of my really good details (Sorry crappy Jeep heater. You got cut).

But then I thought of trying to look at a story I wrote in 2014, ‘The Lives of Jonathon Gray.’ I actually made the decision in 2016 to have it professionally edited. I sent it to Dona McCormack (@DonaWrites) and she sent me back the edits.

Awesome.

Well, today, January 21, 2018 I read her edits and updated my story. What the hell? Why didn’t I do this earlier?

Fear?

Probably, but guess what. I did it. I got it done and I loved reading the feedback from someone who read and consumed my story.

I want to do it some more. I’ve written several more stories for a collection named ‘Dissonic Voices’ and I want to get it out by the end of March.

And so it begins. This is the easy part. Continuing, that is the challenge. It always is.

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I’m Not Writing

I’m not writing.

It’s been like 5 months since I last since I last tried to write my collection of short stories.

I’ve tried to write… ok, not really.

I’ve wanted to write. That’s true, but the desire never really overcame whatever was stopping me. I’m still not sure what it was, other than the fear of actually being good at it.

You see I wrote a story in July for the 24-hour short story writing contest and I thought it was pretty good and so I waited to see what others thought.

And so I stopped writing. I wanted to write more but I couldn’t. I thought the story I had written for the contest was so awesome that  I was afraid I didn’t know if I had actually written something good. I needed someone else’s opinion.

The answer came in September, two months after the last time I wrote something. I came in second.

VINDICATION!

I entered the next 24-hour contest.

Nothing. I couldn’t write. What if I couldn’t replicate what I had done? What if coming in second was as good as I could ever get? What if I wrote something that sucked?

And so I wrote nothing. The rest of 2017, I wrote nothing. Ok, I tweeted. I wrote facebook posts. But nothing long.

I did have ideas. I have lots of ideas. But I couldn’t decide which idea to start. So many ideas. So little time. So many excuses to not start.

And then December happened. I did not write anything. I was still paralyzed by my inability to start. But I sold books. I sold 33 books.

Huh? No marketing, no tweets, nothing. And I sold 33 books. I’m not quitting my day job anytime soon, but still. Thirty-three books… How the hell did that happen?

And now it is 2018. A new year. A new chance to start. I walked three and a half miles today but while I was walking I was telling myself, today is the easy day to do this. First day of the year. First day for the motivation to be there. First day for me not to develop my excuses. Today was easy.

What of tomorrow? Or a Tuesday in March? Will I be walking then? Will I be writing?

I dunno. But today I walked. And today I wrote.

What’s next? Let’s find out? See you tomorrow. Hopefully…

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All Books FREE at Smashwords – March 5th to 11th

In honor of Read an Ebook Week

ALL of my books are FREE at Smashwords.

Get the amazing first book of the Collector Series FREE!!To Find the Collector

To Find the Collector


Get the awesome second book of the Collector Series FREE!!

To Become the Collector

To Become the Collector


The other books are intense. Relax with some crappy poetry FREE!27 Crappy Poems and other things to read on the Toilet

 

 

 

Get them all this week only FREE!!!

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First Radio Interview

So while most people were out drinking and having a hard time determining the actual mileage on their starship, I was getting interviewed by the Power of Perception Radio Network. Earlier in December, Scott Golden contacted me on Twitter to see if I would like to be on his program.

Obviously, I said yes and sent him a quick bio and planned to do it on New Year’s Eve. And thus, last night we talked.

Below is the link to the interview where you can find some interesting background on all my books. Also, you can hear about the exciting things I have planned for my cat and llama’s Instagram accounts in 2016. Enjoy!

Power of Perception

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“To Become the Collector” Available NOW!!

To Become the Collector
Book 2 of the Collector Series

“To Become the Collector” continues the story from last year’s hit, “To Find the Collector.” In book two of the Collector series, Cyris meets new humans, all with special powers. None are as mysterious, and gruff, as the one they call Boss. The Boss holds a power which Cyris has never dreamed of having. But the Boss has other plans than just giving his special gift to the Mover. The request the Boss puts forth to Cyris would cure him of the pain he feels due to the loss of the love of his life, Tabytha. Cyris dreams of their moments together, the love they shared, the horror of her death. His pain fuels his alcoholic spells when he makes rash decisions, like bestowing the ability to speak on a dog.

And it all leads to an ending that opens more possibilities than he ever knew.

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Warming Up

So I’m going to try something. I want to write. I have lots of ideas wallowing around in my brain which I think would be cool to get down on paper… er, in 1’s and 0’s.

Anyway, when you play soccer, it’s always good to warm up. Whether it is stretching in a circle like my team did when I was a kid, to the Brazilian warm up where you sing and dance like X’s team does.

So when I write, I need to warm up. Thus, I am hopeful to use this blog to warm up. See, I just did it. Now to write. Or revise. Or something other than staring at stupid people on the web.

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