We’ve all heard of the ‘well traveled author’, but this is a story about a secret global quest undertaken by a couple of books.
It all started about six months ago, two copies of the book PARANORMAL ANTHOLOGY WITH A TWIST began a journey that would take them around the World, where the books would be signed by each of the eleven authors.
Visiting three continents, the books began their journey in Washington D.C. Then they traveled to Sydney, Australia and then on to Germany. From Germany they were sent back to mainland America were they visited Colorado, Idaho, Florida Wisconsin, Pennsylvania, Maryland and Hollywood California.
During their travels the books disappeared in the postal system of a German military base for a short time, and were even lost in the back of one of the author’s father’s van for a month or so.
A little travel worn on the spine, last week the books finally found a sweet home in Alabama with Cynthia Shepp, the books editor.
The antagonist in the book that I’m currently writing is a fashion designer who owns a fashion label called Karloff. I’ve written a chapter where the character creates a new range of men’s linen business shirts with lace sleeves. Here’s one of the Super-site billboards that he produced. Now, I wouldn’t be seen dead in them, but I don’t hate them. I’ve also never seen guys shirts with lace sleeves, has anyone else?
50,000 words in and I think that I have solved the structural problems (WHAT A MESS) of my new novel. At least for the time being. I have about thirteen chapters still to write. Then a complete re-read, filling in any holes. I’ll then ask my brother and my sister to read it , after which I’ll tidy it up and that will be the first draft.
The problem is however, I have a teeny weeny cold. Barely a sniffle. But this cold is all the reason I needed to put the hard part of my novel off for a few days.
I don’t like to do nothing, so I thought that I’d try to ‘flesh out’ the ZOMBEE KIDS BOOK I spoke about in a recent post. So instead of working tirelessly, I’ve been being very silly indeed.
Since most of my procrastination comes from indecision, I thought that I’d design the I SPIDER procrastiNATION National flag.
I have a question for anyone with a spare second or who is avoiding their own TO-DO list. Is PLOP a good word for a bee flying up someone’s nose?
One of the characters in the book I’m working on was born in the Bronx and has worked there much of his life. I’m thinking that given his management role and his age (over 50), his natural Bronx accent (not Hispanic) might have diluted; mostly being replaced by a general New York accent. I know that there are many variables. My question to you is, should I write the accent into his dialogue, or point out that he has an accent and leave the dialogue clean?
“Hey Jake.” It was Lucas. “Hey Jake, come here.” Whispered Lucas. “What does he want me to do this time for f#@k sake?” Jake thought. Jake waited for a second or two for Lucas to come to him but it became clear that wasn’t going to happen. He walked over to Lucas and was lead around the corner where Ox was waiting with a cheeky grin on his face. Lucas opened his hands and there was a small paper package with the words STINK BOMB in red lightning bolt type and a drawing of a kid holding his nose as stink lines rose up from a small explosion on the ground. Here were two big tough burley grown men standing holding a stink bomb and giggling like little children. It was brilliant. Jake had been walking around with the weight of the world on his shoulders for months; immersed in death. The smile spread across his face like a mid summer bush fire. “We’re going to let it off in the toilets.” Lucas said with a glint in his eye. This was the first time he had seen Lucas like this. He was like a big kid and Jake liked him, no loved him for it. “It’s gunna be brilliant.” Ox said. “You can also get FART SPRAY and LIQUID ASS.” Ox said snickering like a ten year old. Jake had never seen a fart bomb before, even as a child. It was like he was getting a second chance to relive some small piece of his childhood. The three men giggled their way upstairs trying not to laugh when they passed other police officers. The captain gave them a look from his small office and Lucas gave him a little wave. This was obviously out of the ordinary and made the captain uncomfortable because he returned to his paperwork as fast as he could.
Jake held the door of the toilet block open while Ox and Lucas read the instructions. Lucas did something to the yellow paper satchel, Jake didn’t see, and then using only the tips of his fingers he threw in gingerly onto the floor of the bathroom and closed the door quickly. The three men stood snickering under their breath waiting for something to happen. It didn’t take long for their curiosity to get the better of them. Ox opened the door and peeped in. He opened the door a little wider so the other two men could look inside. They all watched as the paper package slowly inflated with hydrogen sulphide, or rotten egg gas. But nothing was happening. The bag was now swollen like a ball but nothing was happening. A uniformed constable walked by to see the three detectives standing at the toilet door peering in. She barely raised an eyebrow; it was as if this sort of thing happened every day.
Ox eventually broke the stalemate and tiptoes into the toilets. Jake’s snickering had now turned to chuckling if not outright laughing. This was the funniest thing he had seen in years. Here was this giant of a man, OX, tiptoeing like a ballerina over to a kids stink bomb. He gently touched it with his foot. The stink bomb wobbled a bit but nothing. Getting braver he kicked it perhaps two inches, again it wobbled. Lucas and Jake were bent over laughing. It was so ridiculous. They could all be fired for this one stupid act. But it so didn’t matter to Jake; this was the most fun he had experienced since joining the force.
Ox kicked it again, a little further this time. The stink bomb was now completely round and it rolled around the floor of the toilet from the kick. Ox had to give it one last kick. “POP” the bomb made a sad almost pathetic sound as it exploded but wet brown liquid spurted all over the walls of the toilet block and all over Ox. Jake fell to the ground he was laughing so much and Lucas was having difficulty breathing. The only one who wasn’t laughing was Ox who had a disgusted look on his face that made the other men laugh even harder. By now a couple of the uniformed police had walked over but soon left when they saw it was just a couple of detectives being assholes. Ox quickly washed off the splatters he had on his face while Lucas picked the broken bomb up and put it into the bin. The toilets stunk really fowl and so did Ox, but he had started to see the funny side and had joined in laughing with the other two.
Jake began to gag from the rancid smell so he never really saw how much damage they had done to the toilet. The brown liquid had splattered all the way up to the ceiling. The three men walked away innocently as though nothing had happened. Ox took the rest of the day off to go home and change and Lucas and Jake sat innocently at their respective desks waiting for someone to say something about the mess they had created. But no one ever did. The splatters on the roof were still there six months after the boys had let the fart bomb off. The only thing that had changed was that Jake’s contempt for Lucas disappeared overnight and a new friendship was born. They were now a team and a good team at that. They would join together with Lucas’s experience and Jake’s tireless youth to catch one of the most notorious serial killers of all time.
So one of these fellows wrote about interesting ways of killing people. The other killed a person.
One was a creative powerhouse who penned the freshest horror stories to ever be written. The other is partly to blame for the assassination attempts on Martin Luther King, JFK and Ronald Reagan.
What is the difference between an author of evil doing and an author of evil doing?
As I did with my last book I’ve once again found myself asking the question, “Does this book need to be written?”
My first book was about a kind man who, suffering from mental illness committed murderer.
The book I’m writing at the moment is completely different, the murderer is emotionless, manipulative and evil. The book is as much about the effects of his hideous actions on other people as it is about the lack of effect they have on him.
Do you think that books like this should be written?
One man is Edgar Allen Poe, the other is John Wilkes Booth.
I’m about half way through my next book and my antagonist (my bad guy) is a New York Fashion Designer, a former student of the famous Parson’s School of Design. His name is Karl, and in primary school he was tormented with the nicknames ‘Karloff’, ‘Boris Karloff’ and eventually ‘Boris’. Karl calls his Fashion label KARLOFF and with a “Beauty and the Beast”, theme he does well.
I like to have photographs in my novels, in the same way they appear in biography’s and autobiography’s. It gives the story a new layer of credibility.
Here’s a rough mock-up I put together for Karl’s office. I might have to change the name of his fashion label to BORIS or KARL-OFF, but I like KARLOFF more, and as far as I can tell there isn’t a fashion label called KARLOFF. (There is a Vodka). I love the idea of the Perfume bottle that looks like a monster, I’ll probably need to change that too.
The fashion was inspired by the great Oleg Cassini, who had a lot to do with dressing Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis and Marilyn Monroe. Heda Hopper commented on his pencil mustache so he sent her a telegram, “…I’ll shave mine if you shave yours.”
I wrote my first sex scene yesterday, and I don’t mind admitting that it was difficult. Being a gentleman, it’s not a subject that you spend a lot of time talking about. Is it a ‘penis’, is it an ‘erection’ or is it ‘his throbbing manhood’. So the Karloff office design was really just a distraction from giving a knob a name.