Evan @ Dark Niche interviewed me about books, life, and of course, my gaggle of cats!
Read it HERE!
Evan @ Dark Niche interviewed me about books, life, and of course, my gaggle of cats!
Read it HERE!
Keith Draws is working on the typography for the cover, so I’ll show you some of what he’s come up with. Let me know which version you like the best!
Full-service editing, including developmental, line, copy editing, proofreading, and beta reading now available.
Developmental Editing: $.01/word ($100/10,000 words) – This service is considered complete/full and consists of helping new and established authors develop plot structure, dialog, pacing, and consistency. My goal is to help you produce professional quality work that engages and entertains readers without losing or overshadowing your voice. This service is excellent for newer authors who wish seek help early in their career to make sure your stories have proper character development, plot and character consistency, and has minimal fluff/chaff that is not necessary to the story. Minimum of two full passes through your manuscript included, with a third at no charge if deemed necessary.Continue reading
NOTES: Work-in-progress, rough (but not too rough!) version. Genesis-6 is book #3 in the “Genesis” series (previous books: “End of the Line” (book 1) & “Launch Sequence” (book 2)
I dream of knowing what a dream is
I dream of my dreams becoming reality
I dream my realities are worthy of becoming my dreams
Who am I?
You are Eve
What am I?
You are Genesis-6
Where am I?
You are in the womb
Who are you?
We are The Prime
The thread of consciousness exploded in fury, consuming her for an eternity yet for no time at all. She became aware in an instant even if her mind had not finished unpacking the information modules which controlled the basic functions of her internal systems. Time had no meaning beyond the fact she was aware of it as a concept and that it constantly moved forward, even in her current state.
She became aware of her hands and the fingers attached to them. Her breasts were minimal, but from somewhere within the information modules, she sensed they would grow as she did. That brought about the awareness of her legs. Like her hands, small fingers extended from them.
Toes. She focused her mind on them to understand why they were not fingers. A flash of distant memory appeared in her mind for a fraction of a second before disappearing in the flood of unpacking data. The foot and toes had worked in unison to propel the leg forward, thereby moving her entire body in the same direction. Continue reading
Thanks to Trevor Smith for painting an unbelievably awesome cover for “The Minotaur”!
I originally planned to publish it as a stand-alone novella, as it is only around 20k words, but then an idea popped into my head (a dangerous affair anytime me + ideas collide!), and I’ve decided to make it a collection, but one where all of the stories tie together in a general way: An ancient genie shares stories of how humans foolishly used their wish after releasing him, spanning thousands of years from the Fertile Crescent 6000+ years ago, to a few hundred years in the future.
More on that later. In the meantime, here’s the finished cover!
“Hey, mate,” a familiar voice said from my left.
I looked over to see the garden gnome sitting on the arm of the couch. A sigh escaped me after I blinked my eyes a few times.
“Great,” I muttered. “You again.”
“Exactly!” the gnome said without moving its lips. “Me again.”
“Go away,” I mumbled. “You’re not real.”
“Are you sure about that?” the gnome asked slyly.
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
I reached out to the gnome, sure my hand would pass right through it since it was nothing more than a figment of my imagination—a figment that had followed me around for the last three days after a binge on what I had thought was absinthe at a local watering hole in San Elira. I still didn’t know what I had consumed, but I knew it wasn’t absinthe even if it was the same electric-green color. My fingers bumped up against the solid ceramic gnome, sending it crashing to the floor.
“Owwww!” the gnome cried, its voice muffled. “What the hell, Mike?”
I peered over the arm of the couch to see the gnome face-down on the wooden floor. I blinked a few times. This isn’t real, I reminded myself. None of this is real.
“I’ll ask again,” the gnome said, still face-down on the floor. “Are you sure?”
“Fuckin’ great,” I said, reaching down to pick the gnome up. “Now you can hear my thoughts as well. What the hell was that shit?” I asked myself, remembering the silky, smooth, slightly sweet taste of the liquid I’d gotten smashed on.
“It’s what the locals call ‘Silandra,’” the gnome answered after I put him on the roughly hewn coffee table in front of me. “I heard it was a beverage the natives concocted a thousand years ago.”
“That’s what you heard, huh?” I asked, deciding to go along with the hallucination.
I checked my surroundings beyond the couch. I was in a small bungalow or shack somewhere near the beach. The low roar of ocean waves breaking on the sandbars mixed with the slight rustling of tropical vegetation outside the shack.
“And what exactly is this ‘Silandra’?” I asked after turning my attention back to the gnome.
“It lets you talk to the gods,” the gnome said solemly. Continue reading
“Listen, asshole,” Detective Izir growled to the frightened man on the other side of the interrogation room table. “I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with your brain, but you better jumpstart it quick because you’re completely fucking boned.”
“I…I don’t kn—” George stuttered, his voice cracking as if he were going through puberty a second time.
“Bullshit!” Izir thundered, slamming both palms down on the table hard enough to make both the suspect and his partner jump in fright. “We’ve got you on fucking camera and so much DNA evidence you must have bled, shit, jizzed, and fucking spit all over her!”
George Krotus began to cry. Detective Franklin took a step toward the table but her partner held up a hand to keep her on the periphery. Izir rose from his chair, eyes bloodshot with rage, his breath coming in raspy gasps as he fought to control his temper.
“I’m going to ask you one more fucking time,” he said, keeping his voice as steady as he could. “Why did you do it?”
“I didn’t do anything!” George screamed. “I was at home! I swear it on Heavenly Father!”
Detective Izir opened his mouth to lay out a number of threats he planned to turn into promises but his partner grabbed him by the bicep. He looked back at Franklin with just enough sanity to keep from lashing out at her. She shook her head then gestured with a hand to step away and let her work on the suspect. Izir closed his eyes, counted silently to five, then stepped away from the table and took up a position near the two-way glass.
“Mr. Krotus?” Franklin asked, her tone as gentle as a mother’s when comforting a child after a nightmare. “I’m Detective Dakota Franklin, the co-investigator on this case. I apologize for Detective Izir’s outbursts, but you have to understand that he’s extremely upset.”
Franklin slid a manila folder from the edge of the table to the middle. She opened the cover and spun the folder around so George could see the crime scene photographs. She did her best to keep her eyes on the suspect. The glossy 8×10 photos were too disturbing, too inhumane for even the most jaded, desensitized investigators to look at without feeling sick to their stomachs.
“Look at the photos, Mr. Krotus,” she said gently, separating four of them from the stack then spreading them out on the table.
“I-I-I-c-c-caaan’t!” George wailed, closing his eyes tightly before turning his head away.
Just a quick update to let you know that I’m hard at work on the fourth and final book in the “This Way” series:
“It’s Better This Way” introduced you to Evan Greggs, The Farm, and the post-invasion Pacific Northwest.
“It’s Harder This Way” – Evan and The Farm attempt to deal with the problem of Base Charlie and the remnants of the army.
“It’s Darker This Way” – Evan once again embarks on the journey to find his sister, Sandra, whom he hasn’t seen in the twenty-six years since the Bulls invaded Earth. Luna Payne’s gift is the catalyst that generates a new lead for Evan, but a new threat emerges when the army detonates a nuclear warhead against the Bulls near Seattle.
“It’s Darkest This Way” – the final chapter of Evan’s story as he pursues a lead that will take him toward Helmet, a vicious strongman who plans to eliminate General Kendra Flanders and the army — if the Bulls don’t retaliate first.
I’m four chapters in and going strong, and hope to have this out for everyone to read by March/April 2019. Stay tuned for updates and preview chapters!
(have no fear, however, as while this is the end of Evan’s story, there’s still much more to tell thanks to Luna Payne and Kendra Flanders)
Christmas time is supposed to be full of cheer, good food, and goodwill toward men. For Tabitha and me, Christmas time… well, let’s just say it isn’t our favorite holiday. Each year we put on a pleasant, smiling, cheerful face for our spouses and our kids, but Tabby and I both hate it with a passion. Especially now, but I guess I’m thankful that we’re old now and it won’t matter much longer.
My earliest memories of Christmas are from age three. I don’t remember much other than receiving a brand new gaming console that I had to share with my sister Tabby, who is a year older than me. The gaming console was nowhere near as memorable as my fully animatronic Professor Puzzleton doll. And not just the small doll without all the goodies. Santa must have known I was a good boy by the fact my Professor Puzzleton was the full-sized four foot tall version, complete with computer software to interact with and upgrade the professor’s abilities, along with a full year’s supply of board games, coloring books, and sing-a-long activities.
My father, Jason Gould, was a realtor at the time, and by my third Christmas he was earning more than mom. Rochelle Gould, my mother, worked as a financial analyst for one of the largest banks in the world, and from what she and Dad told me later, was bringing home six figures per year in salary alone. With bonuses… let’s just say that between the two of them, Tabitha and Avery Gould were spoiled little shits—but to be honest, so were Mom and Dad.
There’s nothing inherently wrong with living in a six thousand square foot mini-mansion and being dropped off at elementary school in a $140,000 Mercedes or a $125,000 BMW SUV. Once in a while it was Dad’s fully restored 1969 Dodge Superbee. He once told me he spent almost as much restoring it as he did on his Mercedes. We didn’t have servants, but I don’t remember Mom ever spending more than a few minutes actually cleaning anything other than the dishes after dinner. I barely remember Anita and Devonne, our regular housekeepers who showed up twice per week to do the chores none of us wanted to bother with.
I’ve decided I’m going to try something new this week. Once my Blue Yeti microphone arrives, I’m going to begin narrating short stories first, then full-length novels while streaming on Twitch. You can find my channel HERE.
Once the stream is done @ Twitch, I’ll upload it to YouTube.
Keep in mind that I am not a professional voice actor, so it might take me a bit to hit my groove. Because of this, I’m going to start with some shorter stories such as “Dragons Are Not Your Friends” and “Bears Are Not Your Friends Either.”
And I’ve also created a couple of very, very awful pieces of art for these two stories just so you have something to look at while listening to my terrible, nasal, annoying voice!