A great new way to break down what you want to amend or edit in your manuscript by Brian Gatti!
Source: The Editing Process
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Elude Part One — Excerpt #4… — Derek Barton – 2017
4 – THE DREAD PARK
Vicente was out of breath. He leaned against a park bench, his mouth gaping open and closed like a goldfish. The heat made him feel as though he was being smothered under thick wool blankets.
The sun sank below the shapes of Camelback Mountain and disappeared from view, but Phoenix still baked in the twilight.
Shadows popped up everywhere, lengthening into jagged, rotted teeth.
There was no one in the park. He looked around him, paranoid and anxious. He couldn’t remember a time when Encanto Park had ever been empty. Even in the early AM hours, bums and addicts roamed the grounds begging for handouts or cigarettes.
Four parked cars were seemingly abandoned in the parking lot. Their owners were nowhere in sight.
An unlit, brick structure which served concessions and towels during the day to squealing-with-delight kids who lined up for the pool. Through its ebony glass front, he could see the interior, empty and soulless.
Pulling up his hoodie, he stood, swiveled away from the bench and glanced again at the surrounding area as he crossed the lot.
This ain’t right, Rory’s voice warned, the voice of his instinct.
His eyes couldn’t find anything wrong but there was something about the streetlights bordering the park. They were on but only emitted tiny cones of light. At this hour, Vic was sure the park’s own towering lights should have been on. Patches of pitch black swallowed entire sections of the park.
An iron fence surrounded the interior of the park. There were eight basketball courts, the hoops stood like forgotten soldiers in formation in front of the racquetball center. Behind the center, white lines marked the tennis courts which were barely visible.
No traffic came down 15th Ave on the west side of the park grounds. In fact, Vic could not hear a single noise — car, person or otherwise. It was as if the city as one held its breath.
Heavy night air wrapped its arms around him, pressing in on him. The only noise he heard was his own heartbeat. More of the buildings in the distance were swallowed in pitch black. The charcoal wave washed along the western horizon, snuffing out the dots of light one by one. They popped and twinkled away like shooting stars.
An energy radiated through him, pricking his skin. Fear lifted the hair on the back of his head. Involuntarily, he walked backward, away from the sight. After hours, the gates were closed, and the fences padlocked but that didn’t deter him. He heaved up and thrust his body up and over the top of the gate with a practiced precision.
He saw a set of cement dugouts above the dips of a skate park ahead. It wouldn’t be comfortable, but they would provide a little shelter and a place to sleep for the night. He tried to pretend all was safe and right.
“Park is closed.” A husky voice came out of nowhere behind him.
Vic spun on his heels.
No one was there.
He peered into the gloom, straining his eyes.
He blinked and blinked again. The high rises on the eastern horizon were darkening. Their lights weren’t turning off but were fading as if their energy sources were being drained to nothing.
All around the park, the city shut its bright eyes and slept inside the ebony blanket he saw earlier.
“Park is closed!” the voice rasped over his right shoulder, louder this time.
Vic spotted a lanky figure, hovering in the murky shadows of the racquetball center. No one had been there moments before.
He couldn’t make out the features, but he guessed by the stature, it was a man. Moonlight suddenly fell over the curls of a thick beard, but he didn’t make any movement or sound.
“Hello?” Vic called out. In spite of being on the run and knowing he shouldn’t be attracting attention to himself, he felt compelled to react.
No answer.
“I see you, you know!” Vic shouted.
The Beard started forward, his feet making no sound as they skimmed over the concrete. “I see you too.”
Enough of this!
Vic charged to the left, sprinting through the sands of the volleyball courts.
“Where are my hands, you bastard?” A high-pitched woman’s voice followed him, terse and angry.
He skidded to a stop and spun around, his eyes searching.
“Who’s there? Who said that?”
“You know who,” the feminine voice answered, but the words gurgled as they passed through her lips.
The voice came from a lump of shadows at the base of a park lighting pole. A woman struggled to her knees and bucked forward, then staggered to her feet. Above her, the lamp burst on. Light washed over her gaunt and bloody features. Dirt caked her cheeks and patches of white skull gleamed through her thinning blonde hair.
“Give them back to me. Give me my hands!”
What the hell is this?
“The park is closed! CCCCLLLLOOOOSSSSEEEDDD!” The Beard came from behind him and was only a few feet away. His features were still obscured in a smoky mist swirling around him.
Vic retrieved a serrated knife from his waistband and brandished it. “Get the fuck away from me!”
Trembling, he swung the blade back and forth in a semi-circle in front of him.
“That isn’t your knife. At least, not the one you used before.”
Another feminine voice came at him from below, down by his sneakers.
A naked body, missing arms and legs, thrashed in a pool of syrupy blood.
“Where is the knife you used on me before you stuffed me in the trunk?” she garbled, choking on ropes of blood oozing out with her words.
Vic shrieked and leaped backward.
“Why did you do this to us?” He snapped his head up to a woman hanging from another park light pole. Blood dripped in endless streams from dozens of cuts and lacerations. She was strung up with a white and blue-striped nylon rope.
“I DON’T KNOW WHO YOU ARE, BUT I DIDN’T DO THIS!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. “I DIDN’T DO ANY OF THIS!”
“We all saw you,” they chanted as one back at him. A hand clamped down on his leg above the ankle. He felt the cold of her skin through the material of his jeans.
He twisted to escape, but his leg remained locked in her icy grip.
Vic shrieked again when he felt another set of crawling fingers working up his right shoulder. A severed hand, pale with freshly done fingernails, grabbed at his face, covering his mouth. He lost his balance and fell with a loud splash into a puddle of blood.
Two new, bulky shadows crowded over him.
“Make this easy, buddy. Tell us where the others are and we’ll work out a deal with them,” the fat detective said as he chuckled and drank from his Circle K foam cup. Half of his face looked like he scratched it off with his own fingernails. Shining white teeth gleamed out as he gave Vic a wide smile and wink.
“We don’t have to hand you over,” Kemp, the skinny black detective said as he knelt next to Vic. He poked a thumb at the thrashing body that was rolling closer. “You left her teeth. She’s going to use them.”
NOO! his mind shrieked. Reality cracked and splintered into shards like a mirror. The world bucked up and down under him.
Pain exploded in his head and a lightning flash of agony blinded him. He rolled over onto his back groaning and clutching at his forehead. Rivulets of blood pumped between his fingers. Daylight pierced his vision and speared directly into his brain.
As his headache blossomed, morning had come after all. He was lying in the concrete dugout among spit out gum and dog piss under the stone bench he used as a bed. He’d cracked his head on a steel bar fence in his sleep.
The graphic nightmare replayed in his head. Not a single detail faded. No dream had ever come so close to reality before for him. His breath was ragged, and his body trembled from the terror.
Then a voice whispered inside his head. It spoke independent and on its own…
Park is closed.
Vic sat straight up.
I see you, the voice repeated. This time it was followed by a giggle.
There at eye-level, a serrated knife sat on the bench, shining in the sunlight. It hadn’t been there when he’d gone to sleep.
It was his knife though. The knife he left at the house he shared with Cat, packed away under his bed. Someone retrieved it, placed it by his head and left while he was tortured by the nightmare.
His lips pressed into a thin line and his jaw locked when he spotted two distinct and wet, bloody fingerprints on the handle.
WHO THE HELL IS DOING THIS TO ME?
Immerse or Die! — Derek Barton – 2017
Yes, I am stealing this title directly from a great writing website, Creativity Hacker created by the author Jefferson Smith.
Or… rather I am paying homage to it.
Why? Because one, that title is sure to catch your attention and it has a literal punch to it. And I want your attention with this blog. Two, this is one of the most important things you have to know as a writer in my opinion. If you are not pulling that reader in and capturing their complete attention, then you are not fulfilling your obligation to take them away from their lives and take them by the hand into your world, your story.
A break in immersion occurs at the point when a reader has to stop and analyze any sentence for any reason. If they are thinking about your words, they are not thinking about your characters.
The concept behind Jefferson Smith’s Immerse or Die is that he takes new submitted books and reviews them while doing a 40 minute walk on his treadmill. If his “immersion” is broken three times, he puts the book aside. Later he writes up his reviews and then posts the results. He highlights the stories that live through the test period so they get full glory and recognition.
I spent a lot of time there and learned a lot from his ideas and rules to keep readers immersed in the story.
Look at the following chart that shows you the outcome of his reviews in 2015:
Here is the Blog Link to his blog review.
Here are some of the most common errors to keep in mind especially when you are editing!
Clarity! Be careful when you are writing your prose. Keeping it simple and at the same time “poetic” is a very fine line that you have to tightrope walk.
The Hemingway App Editor is a great, free resource that will help your writing. It will identify and highlight sentences that are not in an easy to read format or structure. It will also detail what grade level the work is. The lower the grade the more relatable it will be to the readers.
Another way to keep the reader immersed is avoiding Echo Words, Echo Headers and Repeat Passages. This one was a huge problem for me and I was not even aware of it until I applied the rule during my own editing phase. I had repeat words and overused phrases everywhere!
An example of an Echo Word or Echo Header is when the writer uses the same word for several sentences in a row or within the same paragraph in the prose.
Example: The robot failed to stop the invaders. Henry saw the aliens slip past the machine. The robot raced behind the attackers as they bolted up the stairs. At the top, the aliens pounded upon the metal doors. The robot then sounded the alarm to alert the compound.
Yes, this is an obvious example, but it does happen often. Other examples include when you use the character’s name over and over on the same page. I try hard to limit it to three or four times. Also over using the pronouns instead of the name can be very distracting or repetitive to the reader. Repetition equates to lack of unique description or lack of originality in the work. Come up with synonyms like the man, the boy, the warrior or the teacher, etc.
Another problem I still wrestle with revolves around names. If you have too many names that sound similar or use the same starting letter (i.e. too many M or T names), readers may get confused on who is doing what. If you have too many complex names (which is my dilemma), then the readers are always pulled out of immersion as they are trying to pronounce the name. I felt at the time since I was establishing a fantasy world then they wouldn’t have the usual Bob or Mary names. Yet, my “style” overrode my “message” and I got a lot of feedback on reviews about the complexity of the names. It was obvious that it stuck with my readers and thus, they weren’t always immersed in the tale.
Plot or Story Continuity is also critical in immersion. If the characters are doing something in one scene based on knowledge of an event that has not happened, that will cause any reader to stop, shake their head and try to piece the puzzle together.
Or if the characters act out of character or do something for no reason, this also frustrates the reader. Be sure on a final read-through to take the time to write out your plot events on a timeline as they happened. You should do this even if you are a writer called a “pantser” (write-by-the-seat-of-your-pants style writer) and do not use outlines. You have to be sure that during your editing you didn’t move a crucial point or event out of its correct time. The timeline will keep you on track. And it is easier to spot any potential plot holes or inconsistencies.
Keeping immersion also means that the reader can feel, breathe, smell, hear or even taste the elements of the scene. They are living through the story and not being told a tale. One way to dull your prose or separate your reader from the character is using Filter Words. Filter Words are just that – words that appear when the reader’s experience has been filtered through a character’s point of view.
Filter examples (and any tense of the words): To Hear, To Know, To Decide, To See, To Notice, To Feel, To Think, To Assume, To Believe and To Note. There are a lot more out there, but this gives you an idea of what to look for.
Here are two paragraphs as an example:
Danny thought about tomorrow’s car race and he wondered how he would perform against all the other, more experienced drivers. He heard a car horn blare at him from the traffic waiting behind him. It was then that he decided that he had to put aside his worries and do the best he could.
Without filters…
A vision of roaring race cars flashed across Danny’s mind. The day of the race had almost arrived. How would he do against the other more experienced drivers? A car horn blared behind him from an impatient driver and interrupted his thoughts. He shook his head to clear away the doubts. “I have got this!” he said aloud to himself.
Not all uses of the words above are considered filtering. But, it is a tough trap to avoid and like I said before, one must walk a fine line. Restrict your Filter Words to when they are critical to the meaning of the sentence.
The last Immersion Alert I want to hit upon is Exposition — The “writer’s diarrhea of the mouth”. Do not fill your pages with tons of historical facts (real or imaginary) or with complex, scientific exposition. If you do not bore the reader, you will certainly confuse them. Yes, you can relay some, but everything has to be in moderation.
Also in step with this, don’t fill your pages with huge paragraphs or have exhaustive chapters. The reason for breaks in writing is just that: a mental and physical break for the reader.
The current readers today are conditioned to fast action or events happening at the same time or in rapid order. Producers have designed video games, television shows and movies to cater to short attention spans.
Fine-tuning your writing so that the reader lives through the character is a tall task, yet it is a very rewarding endeavor. Don’t water down your message or limit your story’s potential by ignoring the rules to immersion. After all, the very reason we spend hours pouring over our writing is to bring the reader inside, right?
In terms of jumping into a character’s skin, I try to immerse myself in the role as much as possible to bring me closer to them. All I do is what’s required to achieve what I want to achieve. – Dougray Scott
2017 INDIE FANTASY BOOK GIVEAWAY WINNERS!! — Derek Barton – 2017
THANK YOU TO ALL WHO PARTICIPATED!! HERE ARE THE WINNERS:
GRAND PRIZE — $100 Amazon Card and 8 Ebooks:
Sharon Haley!!
RUNNER UP — $25 Amazon Card and 6 Ebooks
Edi Cruz
BOOK WINNERS —
Alyssa Hollingsworth
RJ Shefler
Henry Walker
Carol Gowett
CONGRATS TO THE WINNERS!!!!
Winners will be getting an email to confirm their winnings. 
🙂
ONE YEAR BLOG-ANNIVERSARY!! — Derek Barton – 2017
The picture is to pay homage to one of the books that most inspired me to be a horror/epic fantasy writer: The Shining by Stephen King!
Jack and friends have come out to celebrate with me on MY ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY writing my blog!!
I am super thrilled to celebrate and mark this occasion. It certainly doesn’t feel like I have been doing this blog for a whole year! What an incredible journey it has been — in a good way filled with a lot of personal growth and accomplishments that I didn’t think were possible.
Just a few stats that I would like to point out. Since July 17th, 2016:
- Visitors to the site: 659
- Views on the different pages: 1603
- Visitor countries: 19 different nations (including Japan, Thailand, Australia, Indonesia, Czech Republic, United Kingdom, Romania and someplace called Guernsey!)
- Blogs posted: 37 (this will be 38th!)
- Stats for July 2016: 79 visitors, 219 views
- Stats for July 2017: 184 visitors, 244 views (and the month hasn’t finished!)
Been an unbelievable year and I am ecstatic to see what the next year will bring! Thank you for being with me this year and enjoying the ride with me. You are all my favorite passengers! ha!
Now back to work….
ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKE JACK A DULL BOY
ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKE JACK A DULL BOY
ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKE JACK A DULL BOY ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKE JACK A DULL BOY
ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKE JACK A DULL BOY
ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKE JACK A DULL BOY
ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKE JACK A DULL BOY ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKE JACK A DULL BOY
ALL
WORK
DULL BOY
Elude Part One – Excerpt #3… — Derek Barton – 2017
3 – COLLIDING WORLDS
Vic felt the stiff metal of the chair pressing against his back. The sweatshirt stuck to his skin and chafed around his neck. Inside the interrogation room, it was dead still with no AC blowing through the vents.
Just another old trick they play. Keep the suspect in the room, make him sit there worrying about what he’d been brought in for, what the police know… Literally to make him squirm and sweat. They were his thoughts, but the voice in his head mimicked Rory again.
Then they’ll enter all smooth and nonchalant, offer up a cold soda to get me to relax a bit. One of the cops, the Good Cop, will offer to take the can to throw it away. Secretly, they’re gathering evidence for fingerprinting and DNA for testing.
He frowned and adjusted his chair.
Stop that! They’re watching you right now. Remain cold, emotionless. Don’t give them anything to work with. When they come in, you have to be the investigator. You’ve gotta learn what they know.
His skin crawled, the feeling of their eyes on him, observing him through the two-way mirror. Judging him not only on his history, but on his race as well. He understood the reality of things. He hated it, but he wasn’t going to fool himself into thinking he wouldn’t be held accountable to a social stereotype either.
The last day and night were surreal. It was as if he drove to that wealthy neighborhood and parked his car in another parallel reality. Nothing had made sense since he stepped into Shari’s house.
If he was going to get through this and out of the elaborate steel trap he was in, he had to find answers
A soft knuckle rap at the door announced the entrance of the case detectives. The first was an older white cop with a scruffy, grey goatee, brown, unkempt hair above a set of sharp blue eyes. The detective following him stood a good five inches taller, a black, athletic man, close-cropped hair and a strong jawline. Although he seemed younger, more of a model-type, there was a sense of confidence surrounding him.
Each had a drink in one hand and several manila folders tucked under the other arm. They sat across Vic at the table and opened their file folders without a word.
I am this week’s guest star on Law & Order. Madre! Vic joked to himself. His nerves were ragged, but on the outside, he remained stone and stoic.
“Vicente Vargas, age 23,” said the black detective in a monotone announcer voice.
“Before we start, Champ, you want a drink or something?” the “Good Cop” offered with a shark grin.
There it is… And so we begin.
He shook his head with a tiny movement.
“You sure? Kind of hot in here, no?”
Vic averted his gaze, staring at a corner of the room above the “Good Cop’s head. He fixated on a gray-dusted cobweb that swung back and forth next to a ceiling vent. It helped him to focus on it and not acknowledge their presence. The longer he could drag this out, the better his chances were of getting the information he needed.
Good Cop stepped up. “I’m Detective Ellis. This is my partner on this case, Detective Kemp.”
He still gave them nothing, but he eventually dropped his gaze to meet theirs.
Detective Ellis continued to lead the conversation. “I see you’re a gentleman of few words. Okay… Well, let’s not start that way. The more open you are with us, the more we’ll be able to help you, Vincent.”
“No. It’s Vicente. Vee-sent-teh,” Detective Kemp corrected him.
“Uh, yeah, sorry.” Ellis coughed into his hand. “Why don’t we go over the facts, then you can fill in some details for us?”
His eyes remained locked on Vic’s, looking for any signs of cracks in the foundation. The stare was penetrating and precise. Those eyes were focused, experienced, yet somehow haunted.
Like Cory Tames, Vic mused. The kid had been a meth junkie since he was eleven years old and was serving his sixth drug sentence when Vic met him.
Cory’s mouth would say one thing, but his eyes told a different story. They were haunted; you could almost see the ghosts running around in his head.
The heavy-set detective had a similar look in his eyes. Something still hovered over him. Ellis hadn’t let go of it and as a result, it stained his soul.
Vic made a mental note – Could I use that somehow?
“Yesterday evening between 4:30 and 5:30 PM, at the residence of 1718 Lioness Estates Drive, Shari Renee Thomas was stabbed to death. She’d been butchered inside her parent’s house. At 6:40 PM, Vicente Anthony Vargas parked his 2007 Nissan Altima outside 2828 S Margo Drive. Inside the trunk, Officer Dan Reccard discovered Ms. Thomas’ body,” Kemp read aloud to the room, then sat back in his own steel chair. Both detectives waited, watching him intently.
Don’t give them anything. Shari Thomas, remember that name. Wait… They said she was killed between 4:30 and 5:30. I wasn’t there until after 6! I can use — No! They may be baiting me. Giving me invisible rope to hang myself. Dammit!
“Vicente, listen. You’re in a world of hurt here. I want to understand what happened. Help yourself and take my advice. Now is the time to tell us your side of things. Tell us what she did.”
Their game of pleading, threatening, bribing and pretending went on for another half hour. They kept at him like a stubborn dog with a bone.
He didn’t give them anything.
A knock at the door interrupted their little performance. Kemp answered it then rushed out of the room holding another manila folder. Five minutes later, he returned and whispered into his partner’s ear.
“Yeah? No shit?” He seemed genuinely surprised.
They both turned to Vicente.
Bullshit. All bullshit games, my main man, whispered Rory again in the dark recesses of his head.
Kemp sat again across from the young Hispanic.
“You aren’t giving us much choice here, bud. I know we asked you earlier if you wanted your lawyer and you refused, but maybe this is your ploy. Are you a gamer, Vicente?” Ellis asked.
Vic felt fresh sweat gather at the back of his neck. He averted his eyes, staring at the back of his hands in front of him. Something had changed and shifted in their favor.
Kemp jumped in with a mocking taunt. “I know you’re smart. You know a lot of the system from your juvie stint. Did you learn some legal magic in jail? A few good tricks that’ll work this all out?”
“Thinking if there’s no lawyer, maybe you can say we didn’t allow you counsel or didn’t advise you to get one?” Ellis pointed at a camera in the corner, a tiny red light blinking at them.
“It’s all on tape. Just like the recording of you leaving the Thomas residence. “He paused again, letting his words sink in.
“You need to start working this out with us, Vicente.”
Stone cold silence. No show of emotions.
Kemp turned in his chair and looked at Ellis. “Do you think… Samantha Troy is connected at all to this?
Ellis scrunched his face and shook his head slowly. “I hadn’t thought of that, but why?” Then, as if the question hadn’t been proposed, he shifted his attention back to Vic. He leaned away from the table and clasped his hands in front of him. “We have the body. Are you ready to admit to this? Perps like you have avoided the death penalty by being cooperative and leading us to the other bodies.” His tone was flat and matter-of-fact.
Yet, when he said “Perps like you,” an expression flickered across his face. A crack in his practiced foundation, a glimpse behind the detective mask to the disgusted and angry hero wanting justice. That look scared Vicente. It was an honest and deep emotion — brief but revealing. He exposed a truth. They have actual hard evidence.
Oh god, I’m in so deep!
Vic met the detective’s gaze for the first time. His top lip involuntarily trembled. “I didn’t hurt that girl. I didn’t know her.”
“Who is this then?” Kemp slid a headshot of a dead woman at him. A pretty, redhead with cloudy white eyes stared at the photographer, but Vic felt those dead eyes pierce into him.
I don’t know you!
“Whose hands are these?” Kemp slid another photo of the hands from the backpack.
The older detective slapped his hand down on the pair of pictures, startling Vicente. “Why do you have them if you had nothing to do with their murders?”
“WHAT?” Vic blurted. “MURDERS?”
“I’m going to run her DNA and find out her name soon enough. You’d save us all a lot of time, give her family closure and it’d go a long way to bettering your situation, IF YOU TELL ME WHO THIS WOMAN IS!” Ellis pointed at the cut hands.
Two dead girls. And they think there’s more.
“Is this Samantha? Did you kill Samantha Troy?” Kemp asked in a more even tone.
It was like a one-two punch followed up with an uppercut to his jaw. The detectives had him boxed in and on the ropes. He felt the room was spinning.
“I want a lawyer,” he rasped.
The detectives sighed in unison. A confession, a rant, a breakdown, something…had been close at hand. Whatever it was, it didn’t happen, and their window had passed.
Kemp spoke loud enough for Ellis and their prisoner to hear, “He’s scheduled to be brought downtown on the bus transfer at 9 AM. We can speak with him and his lawyer then after he’s been processed at Phoenix Jail. Give him time to rethink his story and be more willing to save himself from the needle!”
Vic lowered his face into his hands.
***
Bernice Baxter was a bitch.
She knew it. She embraced it. It normally made her job and her life simpler. Or at least, easier to get her way. People didn’t like conflict, and many would give way rather than stand up to you.
Once more and for the umpteenth time that morning, she looked at her watch. It was 8:12 AM.
From behind her, she heard the familiar jingle of The Price Is Right playing on the television in the front room. With her hands on her hips, she glanced over her shoulder. Anna Witherspoon, Bernice’s shut-in patient, sat on the couch with three pillows propping her up. She giggled and smiled through her oxygen mask at the TV as the show began.
The rotation of “Idiot TV” was starting — first The Price Is Right, then The Jerry Springer Show, then Judge Judy all before the lunch hour. In her opinion, not only were these shows dumbing down America, they were exactly what was wrong with this country.
Don Witherspoon, Anna’s oldest son, was overdue from his work shift. He should have been there by 7:30 AM.
On days like this, she wondered again how she’d fallen into this line of work and how she managed to stay trapped in it. Her late husband had kept them afloat with his antique shop and she’d become complacent. Any ambitions she had stalled early in her twenties. Now a widow and making do with her low wages, bitterness was her true obsession in life.
Bernice hated taking care of the elderly. The deterioration of the body at the end of life disgusted her. It required a lot of care and support which didn’t pair well with her lack of bedside manner. But desperate people would hire anyone in desperate times and it helped pay the bills.
“Can I have some cereal at least?” a petite, brunette girl whined from the upstairs hallway.
“Shut it!”
“But—”
“Shellie, I don’t get paid any extra for you to eat. I am not here to take care of you,” Bernice berated her in icy tones.
Don’s only child was a twelve-year-old oddball. Currently, she had the girl sequestered to her room.
Bernice hadn’t liked her from the start. If she were twelve years old, too she’d have gathered a group to jump the brat and beaten the snot out of her. In her day, it was what you did to the oddballs — the ones who didn’t fit in and didn’t get why.
The mousy girl’s face was always in a computer screen or her eyes glued to her smartphone. Bernice walked in on her that morning, watching YouTube videos on the basics of computer hacking. When she reached for the laptop, Shellie shouted at her and pulled away.
Bernice gave her a hard smack across the top of her thigh. The girl’s shorts would hide any resulting marks or bruises.
She smiled knowing the girl would be too modest to undress in front of her daddy so there was little chance of being discovered accidentally. Shellie was smart though. She wouldn’t say anything to Don and risk getting worse from Bernice. This wasn’t the first time one of her patients had a brat to deal with.
Bernice Baxter was a bitch.
“Next, we will have our winners Spin the Wheel after these messages from our sponsors!” Drew Carey bellowed in the background.
Don Witherspoon burst in out of breath through the kitchen door. The clock on the stove said 8:26 AM.
He was covered in sweat and his beige uniform had several patches of sweat.
“I am so so sorry, Ms. Baxter!” he apologized.
“No more.” She shook her head. “I am quitting. Not only are you late again, but your daughter kicked me this morning! And on top of that, I am going to be stuck on the 202 an extra hour due to the morning traffic! Too much. I am done!”
She’d practiced the speech in her head almost a dozen times while waiting. He had no one else to go to. Timing was critical and finally she had enough to threaten to quit… Unless he offered her more money. She had him by what her late husband, Eddie, would have called “the short hairs”.
Swiping her big green purse from the table, she brushed past him and out the door toward her rusting 2006 Chevy Impala parked on the street.
He raced after her, begging for another shot. She made him sweat until she reached for her car door handle. Finally turning to face him, she said, “The only way I can put up with Shellie and your mother will be if you pay me an extra $2 an hour. NO LESS!”
Don blanched then sagged in defeat, nodding his head in agreement. “I will have a talk with Shellie, I promise. Can you come by tomorrow? The register locked up today and I will have to go into the laundromat early tonight to balance out the drawer. Please?”
“Fine.” She didn’t care about the extra time tonight. Her victory elation overshadowed the inconvenience.
As she drove away she watched him in her rearview mirror. “Dumbass!” She laughed, heading for the freeway.
At 9:12 AM, Bernice pulled out from the onramp and merged into the rush hour crowd.
It was already hot. The radio stated it was nearing 96 degrees. She frowned and punched the button, looking for a country music station.
At 9:16 AM, the Impala lurched forward and sputtered as if it had a gas hiccup.
“What the hell?” she shrieked. However, the car continued to race along at 58 mph. There were no red engine lights or any other dashboard signals to account for it.
“I just got this damn thing an oil ch—” The wheel yanked to the right on its own and the car brakes plunged to the floor by themselves.
Car horns blared, and deafening tire screeches surrounded her. The Impala skewed to a parked position in the fast lane. Cars whizzed by, narrowly avoiding her.
Bernice screamed and smashed her foot on the gas to try to get the car moving again.
Nothing…
“Oh, dear lord!” She mouthed the words as she tried the door handle. Intense terror stole her breath away.
The door wouldn’t open. All the doors were locked.
The Impala growled and revved fiercely as if it had a mind of its own.
Bernice screamed again as the car ripped across the three lanes of oncoming traffic. It barreled through the cement barrier. Flung forward, she broke her sternum on the steering wheel at the same time the air bag deployed.
At 9:17 AM Bernice Baxter’s car nosedived through the air, plunging over eighty feet onto the traffic below.
The airbag prevented her from seeing the impact of her car as it plowed through the front cab of a grey transport bus. A bus headed for the downtown Phoenix Jail.
Bernice Baxter blinked for the last time as her eyes filled with blood. She hung against the bus’s hood, partially out of her shattered driver’s side window. The back door of the bus burst open and men clad in orange jumpsuits fled down the freeway ramp.
Flames flickered and scalded her pulped legs as engine oil and fluids flooded the ground. Her skin darkened, and her flesh sizzled like bacon.
She didn’t feel the heat or the pain.
Bernice Baxter would never see her extorted raise.
Bernice Baxter finally ceased being a bitch.
***
At 9:20 AM as Don Witherspoon scolded his daughter on how her abusive behavior had cost him, a miniature, green light on her laptop blinked three times in rapid succession.
A fire engine horn blast followed by the sounds of several wailing police cars could be heard somewhere north of their house. Neither of them noticed nor heard the emergency sirens. Nor did they notice the single bleep and soft hum of files downloading onto Shellie’s laptop.
2017 Bi-Monthly Goals for July & August — Derek Barton – 2017
July & August Bi-Monthly Goals
Recently, I came across an interesting video blog on Youtube from fantasy novelist, Kristen Martin. She outlined her “bi-monthly” goals for the months of January & February. I liked the process a lot and I could see how it would be a great motivator for me.
The main aim is to break down your “bigger picture” goals into easier, more obtainable goals. These can be both professional as well as personal. The other part of the process is to publicize them as this gives you a sense of accountability. If I can accomplish at least 12 of the 15 goals then that is 80% which is a “winning” and successful score!
I will be revamping these again in September. I will give you a rundown of how I did and then a new or revised list.
Here are my goals for the next two months:
1. Finalize my Chapter Outlines for The Bleeding Crown: I am a big time “plotter” as they say in the industry. I write faster and have better quality of work if I know where I am going in each chapter. You can think of it like a road map. Some authors write by the seat of their pants (“pantsers”), but when I did this, I found I would always get lost. Then I would lose enthusiasm for the story and not finish. For this story, I know exactly where I am heading and how I want it to end. The difficulty is to determine all the little steps along the way on that road getting to the finale!
2. Complete the First Rough Draft of Bleeding Crown: I have been putting a lot of effort into writing the first draft and have three quarters of the story down. Unfortunately, I am quickly coming up to the end of what I had written for the outline. Thus, goal #1 and goal #2 go hand in hand. If I don’t do #1, I won’t get near #2. Sighhhhhh
3. Complete 52,000 words written (52 days * 1000 words): This ties into the other goals, but even if I finish The Bleeding Crown, I have my Elude series. I want to accomplish this so I have even more on my site and Amazon for my readers to dig into. A 1,000 a day is actually not that hard for a lot of writers (Stephen King does over 3,000 every day), but that IS his only career… HA! Once I can comfortably do this on a daily basis, I will be increasing it.
4. Outline first two books of Elude Series: A lofty goal for me, but without the stretch goals I won’t know for sure what I can actually accomplish or not, right? I am enjoying this genre as much as I enjoy my fantasy work (both have my biggest love – horror). I was inspired to write the Elude story after reading Stephen King’s novel Mr. Mercedes which is a great “grim detective” series (he also added a lot of horror elements to this genre story too!). The novels are all going to be relatively short (under a 100 pages each) as I want them to be an on-going series and I want to build that anticipation element to it. Plus right now “short is in” on Amazon and writers are finding success with this approach.
5. Write out three more Elude Sections: I am including the first five sections of the first book for Elude on my blog. Would love to hear your thoughts, suggestions or if any of you have questions about the story. Another appeal to this work is that it takes place in my city Phoenix! I moved here when I was 26 and fell instantly in love with it. Now I can take you, my readers, on a whirlwind tour through Vicente’s eyes!
6. Compile and create an Ebook on the Writing Craft from my past blogs: I have kind of already done a part of this. I put my self-publishing and writing blogs together, but have not edited or refined them in any way. The idea is to put them in a non-fiction ebook. It will be my take on the writing craft and what has worked well for me and what has not gone according to plan.
7. Design bookmarks for my books: I do have a couple of bookmarks already that I can sell when I get back into the comic-con game. But I want more and will be coming up with some new ideas from the books. I want to sell these also from my site.
8. Get the character portraits from artist by August and start getting Poker Card and Calendars made: This is another lofty goal as there are a lot of characters from Consequences. Plus, he’s also got a busy schedule and life! This is my goal, but it does require some successful production from him as well.
9. Complete two Giveaways (one on Kindle Review and my own Indie Book Giveaway): I have signed on for another book giveaway on the site Kindle Review. It’s called A Midsummer’s Dream. A cool production that I am happy to be a part of. The other giveaway, of course, is my own, The Indie Fantasy Book Giveaway, which I have been heavily marketing. It has been slow growing, but I am seeing some success with it. This will also help me out on building up my email mailing list. I do love the website traffic I am seeing from the giveaways. This month has already broken my all-time records for most visitors in a month!
10. Complete one Newsletter a month: July’s was already sent out last week and I should have another one out in the first week of August.
11. Read one writing craft book a month: Reading about my writing to me is incredibly essential. It has raised the level of my writing in a short time. It has helped me learn what the current trends are and given me the tools to produce a more polished product than when I started writing again back in 2010.
12. Prepare for book convention in Tucson: I would like to go this convention, but not sure how financially set we will be for me to do so. We have had some setbacks lately and it has stalled my participation in the comic-cons or book shows. Not only do you have to pay to take part and reserve a table, but you also have to pay for the inventory to sell. There is also expenses for travel and any hotel accommodations to consider if you are not doing it locally.
13. Get booth banners: Again this is an investment I would like to make, IF I can get back into the comic-con circuit by the end of the year. I may have to stall on this one and let it go on future month goals coming up.
14. Strive to walk 3 miles a night, workout set at least once a day: The heat in Phoenix this year has been devastating. Last year we did have one or two days over 120 degrees. This year it has been over 120 degrees off and on for a week and a half. The days it hasn’t reached 120+ has still been very oppressive. When I try to walk at night, I have gotten severe headaches. This heatwave won’t last forever, but it sure does feel like it. I moved to get summer year round (lived in the Icy Hell of Indiana for 26 years) – I don’t regret the move, just cannot wait for our normal weather to come back. This fitness goal is to help me with my bigger goal of losing weight. I want to lose 40 by the end of the year!
15. Create a book trailer video: Another high bar goal, but I have been toying with the idea. I have a lot on my plate and with my day job, it doesn’t give me a lot of “free time” to experiment and toy with the technology out there. It may happen, especially since I now see it is not that hard or even expensive to do. The time to research and find all the images is the obstacle.
This is a lot of minor goals, but if I can accomplish this in two short months, then my overall success for the entire year will be very fulfilling indeed. I realize that there is a good chance that most of these will not get completed, but it still helps having them written out so that I see my targets and the road ahead that I need to take.
2017 INDIE FANTASY BOOK GIVEAWAY!!! — Derek Barton – 2017
Starting Saturday, JULY 1ST, you can enter into my INDIE FANTASY BOOK GIVEAWAY which will have 6 WINNERS!!
Top Winner will receive $100 Amazon Gift Card, 8 EBOOKS (2 Best Selling Fantasy Ebooks and an Ebook copy from each of the 6 above-listed authors.)
Runner up will get a $25 Amazon Gift Card and 1 Best Seller and an Ebook copy from the 6 above-listed authors.)
Four other winners receive Ebook Copies from the above-listed authors!!
CLICK HERE TO ENTER: FREE BOOK GIVEAWAY ENTRY
All you need for the contest entry is to subscribe with an email address to these authors’ mailing list.
AUTHORS & BOOKS:
KM WEILAND — Dreamlander
DEREK BARTON — Consequences Within Chaos
SUSANNE LAMBDIN — Seeker of Magic
NESA MILLER — Alamir
NATALIE WRIGHT — H.A.L.F: The Deep Beneath
LS O’DEA — Lake of Sins: Escape
(Click on their name to see their Amazon Profiles and Book Collections!)
Best Sellers:
EMILY R. KING — The Hundredth Queen
JOHNATHAN RENSHAW — Dawn of Wonder
Get extra giveaway entries when you Commenting on Facebook, Sharing this Ad on Facebook and Commenting on Twitter about the Giveaway!!!
PLUS IF YOU REFER YOUR FRIENDS, YOU GET UP TO 10 EXTRA ENTRIES INTO THE RAFFLE!
Drawings will be on Saturday, July 22nd.
D O N O T M I S S O U T !!
Elude Part One — Excerpt #2… — Derek Barton – 2017
2 – THE CHANGEUP
Like a bolt of lightning, Vic sprinted back into the house, knocking the screen door off one of its hinges.
He blazed through the living room, hopped over a laundry basket in the hallway and bulldozed open the back-porch door. The heavy footfalls of the police officer hadn’t left his ears. He heard the man chasing after him.
“OH MY GOD, VICENTE! WHAT DID YOU DO?” Cat screamed from somewhere in the front of the house, maybe she was even still in the front yard.
“Stop!” Reccard called out to him, already sounding winded.
Vic kept his pace, scrambling up and over the backyard gate. When his feet hit the gravel of the alleyway, he shot to the west. His best chance was to get closer to the campus, get into a crowd. But most of all, he needed time. Time to learn what happened and time to think of his next move.
Above all, Vic didn’t want to go back to jail or have to leave Cat again. Until today, he put faith in the idea that things were going to work out for them. Cat would get back into her schooling, find herself, and maybe even establish a career. He would be careful, avoid trouble and maybe even do something with photography to better himself.
But was that all dusted?
There was a struggling strip mall a few blocks west that was his first goal. The parking lot would be busy enough at this time of late afternoon. He could make for the Frye’s Grocery Store. Plenty of shoppers getting tonight’s dinner.
Sirens blared at the other end of the alley behind him. They must’ve thought he headed the other way. Now the police cruiser barreled down the alley trying to play catchup.
Not breaking stride, he cut right at the end and pumped his legs faster. He had to get to that parking lot first. He heard several dogs barking at the commotion.
His thoughts whirled around the image of blood dripping steadily from holes in his trunk. What the hell was in my car? I didn’t see anything in the house and no one came after me. How can this be happening?
Three blocks ahead, he saw the sign for the grocery store and the various oddity stores. Cars were streaming in and out of the lot. He weaved around them and made a straight line for the entrance.
Sweat poured down his neck and between his shoulders. His black curly hair matted at the sides around his ears. He crossed the entry, stopping to catch his breath. Vic knew he had out-run the first officer, but he only had seconds before more would arrive in the lot.
He briskly walked toward the back, trying not to attract more attention. Below the neon sign for the Produce, an arrow pointed toward the restrooms. A man in his late fifties guided a cart with stacks of open boxes through a set of double plastic doors.
“Excuse me, didn’t see you. Need a window in one of those swinging doors,” he complained.
Vic nodded and swung around him. In the back room, one of the fluorescents flickered and buzzed like an angry bee. A cloying rotted citrus smell bowled into him and nearly made him gag. More stacks of fruit boxes filled the majority of the room and lined two of the cement walls. A desk and a corkboard covered in Postit notes saddled the other wall.
An open doorway led to a dark back stockroom and docking port. He saw a glowing-red exit sign above a metal set of double-doors.
Without thinking, he pushed the door open and triggered a piercing alarm.
Damn! Damn damn damn, he cursed to himself. He knew better – he’d just blown his advantage.
“HEY KID!” the produce clerk called after him.
He dashed to the left, avoided the sloping dock ramp and went parallel to the back of the strip mall shops. Around the corner at the back end, he shot up and over a low, cinder block wall, and landed on a tree-clustered, dirt bank. Ahead of him, he spotted several two-story townhouses.
You ever in a race, change it up – find new clothes fast! It will give you another chance to confuse ’em.
Another pearl of jail-time wisdom from his former cellmate, Rory James Cole.
He froze in his tracks when an idea popped into his head. Rory’s younger brother, Durojaiye “DJ” Cole might be willing to help him. The two had been in the same grade in Brinton Middle School, but Vic had hung out more with Rory back then. The police wouldn’t have him as one of Vic’s known associates.
Looking through a window of the nearest townhouse, it appeared empty. He removed his shirt and wrapped his fist in it. Praying to himself that the owners didn’t have an alarm, he broke the backdoor’s windowpane.
Once inside he was quick with a decision and raced upstairs. There were three bedrooms. He chose the master bedroom.
The walk-in closet had exactly what he wanted: a pullover ASU sweatshirt, grey sweatpants and a baseball cap.
They won’t be looking for another college student. They’ll be looking for a Hispanic kid in a tee shirt and jeans. He grinned to himself.
Looking down to untie his sneakers, he discovered they were stained red with gore.
He rummaged through the dirty clothes on the floor and lucked upon some oversized sneakers. He also discovered a matching ASU backpack.
He stuffed a few more extra sets of clothes in the backpack.
Next to the bed was a black oak dresser with a lamp, several worn out paperbacks and framed photos. He picked up a photo of a young couple on a white sand beach. Seeing their smiling faces gave him a twinge of guilt. He reached for his wallet.
“Shit. No. Sorry, I may need this money. You aren’t on the run from the police.”
He spoke the words, but it was Rory, always the survivor, who was inside his head. Don’t be no damn fool!
He left by the front door and walked with faked confidence. He carried the sneakers in the crook of his arm, stuffing his shaking hands in his jeans pockets.
Several blocks over he made a beeline for the entrance to the Tempe Town Lake Park. More sirens were working their way through the neighborhoods and closing in. He lowered the brim of the baseball cap another inch.
The sun finally dipped below the horizon, but the park lights were stubborn to show themselves. He crossed over 1st Street, cutting through another pair of townhouse complexes.
In the shadows along the shore side, he threw his bloody jeans and sneakers into the flowing water of the man-made lake.
A police helicopter flew west of him, headed to the neighborhoods by the grocery store no doubt. Instinct still told him to take the extra steps and remain out of the light of the streetlamps.
Now that he’d accomplished goal number one, he rested at a metal picnic table. It was one of his unique strengths: calm under pressure. His mind was quick to compartmentalize most situations, or obstacles. Time after time, it walked him through situations in juvie or jail.
I can’t stay here long, he decided, working through his options. Light Rail! Yeah, that’s good. It’ll take me to DJ’s neighborhood and I can still mix in with the crowds.
***
“Yeah? That does sound just like Rory.”
The two young men were in the living room on beaten down leather couches. A haze of Mint-Madness vape smoke floated through the room. DJ pulled again on his brass vaporizer.
Unlike his brother who was a beanpole and looked like he missed too many meals, DJ was near 5’7”, stocky with short, tight dreads. He also had a never-ceasing grin on his lips.
“With just a few words, your brother could get a prison riot started in a convent!” Vic lamented and laughed.
“I know, right?”
“But he never failed me or left me out there to hang. I owe him a lot. When’s his trial date?”
DJ got up and crossed to a cluttered kitchen counter. The court summons was buried in mail and loose papers.
“Uh… here.” He snatched it up and read it. “Next May. May 9th.”
Rory was facing his third appearance in court for a Breaking and Entering charge. This conviction would garner him the designation “career criminal”.
The two went quiet and DJ plopped down on the couch with a bowl of cheese puffs.
“You sure it’s cool for me to stay on your couch tonight?”
“Sure. Sure.”
“I’ll be out before 5. They’ll never know I was here and you won’t get any heat for this.” Vic was grateful for the chance the kid was taking on his behalf. Harboring him for the night could get him in serious trouble.
“Gimme that beer, would ya?” DJ pointed at a Coors on the corner of a glass coffee table. “So… you didn’t even know this girl?”
Vic shook his head, rubbing at his nose with the back of his hand. “I went in the back door — there was a note telling me the front door was broken. And when no one answered I tried to find her.”
“Dude… You went inside?”
“I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. Too much sun baking my head today I guess.”
“What’s your plan for tomorrow?”
Vic took a long drink. “I don’t know, at least not yet. I freaked out. Panicked with that cop right there looking at that puddle under the car.”
DJ ate the last puff and stood up. Yawning, he said, “I’m going to check the news on the computer and see what they’re reporting. I can tell you in the morning before you leave. Get some rest. I’m sure this will work out. You didn’t do anything.”
He stated it as though it were a matter of fact, but his eyes asked the question.
Vic replied in a hushed tone, “Nothing.” Then he raised his empty bottle with his own inquiring eyes.
“You’ll want to take it easy on those. A clear head is going to save you in the morning. Here, give me that backpack. I’ll throw those clothes in the washer. You never know what might be on them… College students are walking STDs these days, you know?”
Five minutes later, DJ called out from the back of the apartment, “Oh, hey! Are you hungry? I got some free pizza in the fridge.”
“Free?”
He chuckled, “They delivered this pizza here when you were in the shower, but I didn’t order it. The driver said his shift was over anyway and he was going to report the owners as a ‘no show’. So, he let me just take it.”
“Glad my luck is rubbing off on you.” They laughed together, but it felt forced and awkward. He was beyond exhaustion. The day’s events were starting to hit home.
“JESUS, DUDE!” DJ cursed. There was sheer terror in his voice.
“WHAT’S WRONG?” Vic shouted back.
When there was no answer, he worked up his courage, afraid of what he might see and went to find his friend.
DJ stood next to the washing machine, the backpack spilled open on top of it. Nesting inside was a pair of pale white hands, butcher-cut at the wrists.
“You son-of-a-bitch!”
“I… No, this…” The beer lurched up in Vic’s stomach and he vomited into the corner of the room.
From over his shoulder, Vic heard DJ on his cell phone. “I’m at 1984 W Dunlap. I need a police officer NOW!”
He then put a hand over the phone and hissed through clenched teeth, “Do the right thing, man. Turn yourself in.”
Vic couldn’t look at him. His eyes were locked on the bloody stumps. The fingernails were painted in bright pinks and yellows with polka dots of blood.
INDIE FANTASY BOOK GIVEAWAY… — Derek Barton – 2017
Starting on Saturday, JULY 1ST, you can enter into my INDIE FANTASY BOOK GIVEAWAY which will have 6 WINNERS!!
Top Winner will receive $100 Amazon Gift Card, 8 EBOOKS (2 Best Selling Fantasy Novels and an Ebook copy from each of the 6 above-listed authors.)
All you need for the contest entry is to subscribe with an email to these authors’ mailing list.
PLUS IF YOU REFER A FRIEND, YOU GET AN EXTRA ENTRY INTO THE RAFFLE!
Drawings will be on Saturday, July 22nd.
The Official Website of Author Derek Barton 