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Thanks for requesting this month's copy of Eros Rust. If you like it (and I hope you LOVE it, of course!) you don't have to do anything else to keep getting it each month. It goes out on the 15th or 16th of each month. If you have a story to submit for consideration for the Original Fiction section just send it in. Same goes for articles on writing or the writing life. We are a paying market for fiction and poetry but not yet for articles. We pay $5 at the moment for fiction and poetry, but that should increase as we get sponsers. We also have contests each month, no entry fee, but there is a prize of $10. If you don't wish to continue getting the newsletter/ezine, just drop a note and I'll take you off the mailing list. Enjoy Eros - Cheers and Regards, Kenyon www.firegravity.com? (still in the process of being gotten up and running - if anyone knows how to set up the HTML for instant downloads PLEASE let me know! Editor of Eros Rust, original fiction and everything else the kitchen sink can hold in a newsletter/ezine by writers for writers! Author of Blood Kiss, Cri du Coeur 8 City Tales : Darkness Visible; the Higby nominated City Terminus; The Winter Mirror soon to be published in the anthology Adumbra from Magella Books EROS RUST Vol.. 1, No. 3 15 June, 2004 A Newsletter/Ezine of Good Fiction and Writing Resources www.firegravity.com M. Kenyon Charboneaux, Editor (? nomadagain2000@yahoo.com? ) This ezine is distributed by subscription only. To unsubscribe, check the details at the end of this email. If you were sent this ezine by a friend and wish to subscribe just send me an email at? nomadagain2000@yahoo.com I do this all by hand - no autoresponder, so shoot me over an email and I??ll add you to the list. IN THIS ISSUE ... SPECIAL FICTION EDITION * Editorial * Eros Rust??s July Contest * May??s Contest Winner - Devlin Aldread??s chilling "Protege?? * Author Showcase - British author, Geoff Nelder Interview 2 Stories : No Way Vampire Quid Pro Quo * Calls for Submission Market Listings * New Section - Workshops Retreats * Agents Contests * Articles Columns 3 Reasons Why Every Writer Needs A Marketing Plan by Jinger Jarrett * Info re Articles * Prompts * Classes Services * Advertisements * Info for Advertisers * The Legal Stuff * About Me * Subscribe/Unsubscribe information ********************************************************************************** Editorial - The Fiction Edition Hello again, folks! Welcome to all of my old friends and to all of the new subscribers. You wouldn??t believe the feedback Issue 2 got - just grand! And we picked up almost 100 new subscribers just from that issue! I guess I must be doing something right. Either that or there??s a lot of folks out there who??ll read anything! :) This month I??m trying something new. Since the zine is still so new, I figure a few experimental flights are in order, eh? So this month I??m starting the Author Showcases, which I??ll be having every two or three months and also publishing the contest winner for the previous month??s contest. So every couple of months when I have an Author Showcase, I??ll also have some extra fiction goodies for you. And I??m not going to restrict those goodies to short stories. Novel extracts and novellas will also be on the list. If you have something you??d like to see appear in a Fiction Edition of Eros, please send it along and I??ll see what I can do. This will be a free submission, not like submitting for the short stories or poetry where I pay $5 for anything I use in Eros. It will just be a fun thing, a Showcase thing. If you want to be a part of it, the next Author Showcase will be horror/comedic writer Jeff Strand in August. And now - on to Eros Rust! Cheers - Kenyon ********************************************************************************** CONTEST ANNOUNCEMENT: Every month we hold a contest here at Eros Rust. Submissions are taken between the 15th of the current month and the 15th of the following month. The winner is announced in the next moth??s issue and his or her story also appears in that issue. All stories must be original by the author submitting them and unpublished prior to the date of publication in Eros Rust, if they win the contest. Three outside judges will be doing the judging so that there can??t be any appearance or allegations of nepotism or favoritism. Virginia Woolf took a lot of heat for reviewing her friends books and for situations like this one - I don??t want to have to take the same heat. There is NO FEE for the contest and the PRIZE is $10. All stories should be 3000 to 5000 words and unless a topic is announced for the month, your subject can be anything you like EXCEPT PORNOGRAPHY or HATE LITERATURE OF ANY KIND THERE IS NO SET SUBJECT FOR JUNE??S CONTEST - You may write about any subject you wish - genre, mainstream and literary all are welcome. Send your submissions to nomadagain2000@yahoo.comGOOD LUCK! ********************************************************************************** MAY??S CONTEST WINNER And the envelope, please! And it??s ... Devlin Aldred??s Protege! This is a very scary, in fact, horrifying little tale by Devlin Aldread, a screenplay writer who decided to branch out and write some horror stories. This is his first attempt and I think you??ll agree - he??s good. The story is subtle, creeping up on you - just the way good horror should do and maybe it tells us something about our deepest selves as well .... Prot?©g?© Devlin Aldread I can feel it, smell it, almost taste it ?? this is bad, a ghastly idea. I??ve been writing my whole life, and have just invested five years of college in the hope of become a novelist. And now it??s about to pay off, why does a part of me want to run shrieking away and hide? It??s horror. I know that becoming a ???Prot?©g?©?? will propel me to unimagined success; book tours, Good Morning America, maybe even Oprah. All I have to do is make horror my genre, my future, and therein - my problem. I don??t like horror. It . . . horrifies me. I look out of the van window, but instead of screaming for them to stop and let me flee, I do nothing. I just sit back and escape into the music. ???Mars?? from Holtz??s Planets begins, transcending both time and space, carrying me with it to the dusty red soil where Bradbury and Burroughs had so often taken my young mind to roam. I was there, walking; searching for the long forgotten cities which my heart knew must exist. What is that! Someone calls me from a vast, unknowable distance. "Mr. Malone, Mr. Malone! Please join us." The voice is familiar, comforting yet oddly foreboding. "Mr. Malone!" It??s my professor, he??s here as well. Then the voice changes, it??s nearer, insistent, annoying. "Brady Seven to Mal One, Brady Seven to Mal One, please return to Earth Mal One." I force open my eyes to discover the leering countenance of Calvin Brady, inches from my own. That fucking douche bag Brady. I??d love to see someone beat his face into an unrecognizable mound of quivering pulp. My mind??s stumbling and tumbling as I wake and struggle to control my thoughts, to put my anger back in its cage. "That??s quite enough Mr. Brady and his name is Malone, not Mal One, assuming that??s not too complicated for you?" The bully smiles, salutes Professor Frost, and sits down behind me. To say he hates me is an exaggeration, but not much of one. I, however, despise him without equivocation. He??s a very talented writer, probably better than me, but I am the one Professor Frost chose as a possible "Prot?©g?©." That really pissed him off, and now he takes it out on me. I look to the right as the van enters a long serpentine drive, moving relentlessly toward Ravenhurst, and my future. I really shouldn??t complain, being mentored by the famous R. James Frost has already opened doors that a poor kid from Peoria could never even peek through on his own. I am here now, for example. Every year Professor Frost invites the best and the brightest of his students to Ravenhurst, home of the late Hendrik Kanski. The Professor claims that Kanski is the greatest horror writer since Poe; the fact that Kanski couldn??t get his later works published, much less read, doesn??t matter. An eternity passes and we finally stop before the massive wooden doors of Ravenhurst. Fear, coupled with a strange, almost wanton excitement besets me and I sit there in a paralysis of wild speculation, my hands refusing to reach for the handle to open the door. There??s a sting and the impact of a rolled up paper against the back of my head. "Hey Mal One, excuse me Mal-ooone, move your ass, some of us common folk gotta pee." I seize the door handle, my face burning with sudden rage. The door explodes open and I race to the back of the van panting, struggling to control the shivers of hatred that threaten to consume me. He just won't stop, won??t leave me alone! I??ll get that Son of a Bitch, I swear, I swear I will! My thoughts are resisting all control. I take a deep breath, then another, and finally one more. "Relax, don??t let him get to you. You are in control, don??t give in." Dr. Frost puts his hand on my shoulder. I breathe once more and look up and see his sarcastic little grin, as if he??s the possessor of some secret wisdom the rest of us can never attain. "Don??t worry Matthew; he??s jealous that I have taken a greater interest in your work than his." "Maybe you shouldn??t. I still don??t know if I can write horror." I turn tentatively to follow the others inside. He follows behind me; no, he is pushing me instead. I do not like horror. I have never even read a horror story, something Professor Frost refuses to believe. "Trust me; it??s there, in your soul, just waiting to be released," he says. We enter. The receiving area of Ravenhurst is beautiful, gothic, dark. There is no furniture, not even a coat rack, as if receiving guests is neither expected nor encouraged. Frost is unusually animated as we gather around him. "You won??t believe our good fortune; we have a special guest with us today. Jeremy Stade will be our guide. He was Kanski??s best friend and editor right up to his, ahem, tragic death." I remember the stories. Stade was not just Kanski??s best friend at the time he slipped into that mysterious coma, he was his only friend. In fact, there were two editors trying to make his disturbing work acceptable for public distribution, resulting in the author having twice as many editors as friends. The charge of being his editor was an arduous one as the writing of Hendrik Kanski, unfortunately, had moved beyond the genre of traditional horror to actual horror itself. Rumor has it that nobody had ever been able to finish one of his last three books. I knew Stade would be here; he was here to see me. He is also the professor??s editor and soon to be mine, a distinguished editor for a brilliant prot?©g?©. Professor Frost leaves nothing to chance, and nothing to negotiate. Professor Frost ushers us into a sitting room on our left. The appointments are Spartan, two wing back chairs with a table between them. We file in and begin to look around, the squeak of sneakers on polished hardwood fills the old, musty air. The walls are covered with pictures. It??s not really art, but the covers from Kanski??s books. I stop in front of one, "Bad Things From The Garden," showing several suffering children, planted to their knees in the ground. Vines were growing up around them, imprisoning them as they struggle. One girl has freed her arm and is ripping at the plants, a dark figure approaches with pruning shears. I continue looking and find the pictures to be disturbing and unsettling, but in some ways intoxicating. There is more than a hint at Kanski??s genius, or his madness, in each scene. How could he possibly think of these things? I think. And suddenly I feel light headed, my breath coming in short gasps and again I??m fighting to control my emotions. Am I having an anxiety attack, some kind of performance fear induced anxiety? Or is it just plain fear? At that moment, Jeremy Stade enters the room. He is not how I imagined him. I had envisioned a small, bookish man with balding hair and round, wire rimmed glasses. Instead, I see a whiter than lily-white wraith of a man with brilliant silver hair, deep brown eyes, and black rimmed glasses riding a nose any Toucan would envy. He wrinkles his remarkable nose, pushing up glasses with lenses suitable for a deep space telescope. The room goes instantly silent as we look him over, unsure if he??s a man or a character from one of Kanski??s books. "I am Jeremy Stade and very pleased to meet you all. James, Professor Frost, has asked me to give you a quick tour of Ravenhurst." His nose wrinkles again, rabbit like, and he nervously nudges the frames of his NASA approved glasses back to the bridge of his nose. "You already know that Ravenhurst was the home of Hendrik Kanski, the most talented, creative, and disturbed writer of dark fiction I have ever known. That the world has ever known, surely. He was a genius, but quite demented one." Stade walks over to one of the pictures; it is the cover from Kanski??s first book. "How many of you read Awakening Shadow?" Everyone but me raises their hands. "His first three books were best sellers. Kanski wrote with such depth and detail that horror junkies would read them over and over, each time finding some new thing to scare them shitless." He pauses as everyone laughs uncertainly. At the very mention of Kanski, the room seemed to grow dark and the air even heavier. "Kanski then moved past traditional ???written horror?? to what he called ???living horror??. He made the scenes he described come to life, almost literally. If he described a scene of rape, he wanted it to so affect you that you??d run from the room to buy a pregnancy test." He stops and it takes several seconds for the rest of us catch up; titters of embarrassed laughter again ripples through the group. Wrinkle, nudge, and he continues. "Who among you have read his later works?" Many raise their hands. "How many read two?" Only one hand is timidly lifted. "All the way through?" The hand instantly comes down. He turns to Brady. "What did you think of his work? Did you like it?" Brady hesitates, looks down and shuffles his feet nervously. "Yea, kind of, but it bothered me too. He sucked me so far into the story I forgot I was reading. Then, I started getting nightmares and stopped." "Yes. The nightmares. Nearly everyone gets them." Others nod their agreement. "Hendrik Kanski??s genius was such that his writing achieved a completely unique aspect. He knew how we feel fear, what causes it. There may be hundreds, thousands, millions of ways the body can recognize danger, and he knew and used them all." I close my eyes, trying to imagine what kind of gift that was. I try to think of what it is that makes me feel fear, and what it is that makes it impossible for me to watch or read horror. A new insight begins : maybe it isn??t actually fear that keeps me from it. I cling to that idea, as Stade??s voice drones on in the background. "Why don??t we move across the hall to the writing room?" I sense the others moving around me but hesitate, searching my feelings. An idea, an insight begins to coalesce in my mind; it is almost within my understanding, when a stabbing pain jars my back. Brady! "Look, he can??t even stay awake in here! If this is too much, we can probably get one of the girls to baby sit you back at the van." They all laugh and follow Stade. My epiphany has fled, replaced by something else, something dark, something beyond my capacity to understand or describe. I struggle to keep my mind from pursuing a sinister, long rejected path. It has taken me years to master my passions, and an oaf like Brady is not going to undo a lifetime of effort! I follow them into the next room and take up a place at the rear as Stade resumes. "This is where Kanski did his writing. He would come from the inspiration room, which we??ll visit next, and begin to record his thoughts. It was amazing, truly amazing, the rate at which he would dictate his stories. Hours on end he spent here reciting them into the recorder." Wrinkle, nudge, wrinkle. He continues. "Kanski??s writing reaches past our minds, touching the ancient genetic memory of human nature itself. Our instinct for self-preservation, for example, has not evolved with us; in fact it has been suppressed to the point of oblivion since it is society that now protects us. We blissfully scurry through our days, free from the dangers of more primitive times - and the instincts they required." He walks to the desk and picks up a stack of papers, holding them above his head. "This is the first draft of an early work; it??s quite tame when compared with what came later. Even here, though, we get a sense of his power over our senses. Like a snake charmer, coaxing our primal instincts from the basket of civility." He stops, gathering his thoughts. "Our primitive instincts are still there, dormant but not destroyed. Kanski would revive them, feed them gently, nurturing them back to life. Like rescuing a starving child, he began with simple things until our feral nature became strong enough for more. Step by step he would help it, buttress it, build it to its primordial primacy. "Then he strikes, dragging us helplessly into a shadowy abyss." Stade stares off, as if hearing some malevolent voice. He shudders, then looks at us with a forced normalcy. "Allow me to read a part of this." A nudge and wrinkle before he begins. I lay there in Mommy??s arms, feeling her chest move; short waking breaths have replaced the long, slow ones of deepest sleep. I held her hand to my cheek and cried. I tried not to cry, I always tried not to, but I did. I couldn??t stop myself, so I cried as quietly as I could. If she woke she would leave me. I??m seven now, and Mommy says I need to be a big girl. I??m trying to be a big, trying to be brave; why don??t they believe me? "Please, mommy, I don??t want to be alone. I don??t want him to come back," I whisper, whimper silently to myself. I can feel her move slightly, smack her lips and sigh with the first stirrings of wakefulness. A mumble of words I cannot understand is followed by a gentle hug. Yes, she is waking and I will be alone, with him. "Oh, indeed you will!?? came the cruel voice to my mind. ???I will be there soon, very soon." I shake and moan fearfully, more drops join the growing stain of my pillow tears. It??s happening again. I could feel the fine baby hairs of my arms begin to stand in growing fright. It was as if some invisible balloon had been rubbed against my hair, then passed ever so slowly over my arm. Not touching it, not quite, but starting at my wrist it moves hatefully toward my elbow, then beyond. All my fine white hairs bend to the will of the demon balloon, drawing them, demanding they reach for it in obedient helplessness, just as I will be drawn into the terrible darkness of the night creature if Mommy leaves me. "When your Mommy leaves you." The shudder of a silent sob ripples through my body and I become rigid with fear that she??ll awaken. "Don??t worry, she won??t wake up yet. That wouldn??t be any fun." The voice of my tormentor whispers with promised agony. "We have much to do before you are ready; I have some new things I want to teach you about fear before I start your lessons in pain. Even there in her arms you are mine, you know that, she cannot help you. No one can help you. Ever!" Stade wrinkles his nose and looks up. "And so on. That??s what I mean, he takes us on ever deepening, ever widening spirals into the little girl's fear. This is the start of Chapter 4, which goes on another 13 pages until her mother wakes. Chapter 5 deals with the helpless little girl trying to convince her mother to stay, struggling to control herself as the feeling of imminent evil looms. "Chapter 6 ends with the door closing as her mother leaves; this is how Chapter 7 begins." The sound of my Mommy quietly closing the door echoes through the room. "No Mommy, please no." My breath comes in sudden, frantic spasms. "I don??t want to be alone." I plead in silent desperation, but hear the bolt close on that horrible, wicked lock. I promised her I wouldn??t follow, wouldn??t try and sneak into their room, but she knew that I would. She said she didn??t want to do it, but she did it anyway. Why did that hateful lock keep me in and not keep him out? I jump out of bed and run to the door, struggling urgently, uselessly against the lock. The room grows cold and the baby hairs on my arm stand once more, forced to attention by the goose bumps erupting all over my body. I try to cry out but cannot. I slide to the floor and put my fingers into the sliver of lingering light from the hall, a pathetic glow barely forcing itself under the door to comfort me. I cling to the light in desperation, but hear the switch in the hall, and it also abandons me to the dark. "Hello, my dear, I see you??ve been waiting for me." "I??ll kill myself if you don??t leave, I??ll jump in front of the School Bus or off of the bridge. I??ll kill myself, I WILL!" "Of course you will, I??m counting on it. But for now you must be strong, for your Mommy. Who do you think I will visit next? When her heart breaks because she couldn??t save you, I??ll be there to whisper that it??s all her fault, I will make her suffer every single night of her life. So be strong, fight it, or your dear mother will suffer instead of you - because of you!" I taste the darkness closed around me like a smothering blanket. "Shall we get started?" Stade looks at us over his glasses, smiling slightly, admiring his work. "Shall we visit the room where these nightmares were conceived?" He opens a small door and we follow in hushed submission into a room unlike any I had seen. It??s bare, save for two pieces of furniture. The carpet is off white, thick and rich, almost bouncing us forward as we walk. The lighting is weak and the walls grey, the imagined color of twilight??s last fleeting rays. The sensation is unnerving, as if the room itself has no end, no crude boundaries such as those imposed on the corporeal world. We all are effected, struggling to establish some point of reality, some frame of reference on which to exist. "Over here please, gather round. That??s fine." Stade??s voice calls us back and we make our way to where he waits, leaning on the first of the room??s two monuments to reality. "This is the inspiration room, where Kanski created his unnatural visions. The process was quite simple; he would sit in this unadorned wooden chair and stare into this mirror here." He points to the mirror, standing mere feet from the chair. The mirror is glass only. It has no frame, no stand, and no adornments. The method of its continued vertical nature is indiscernible, but it stands there waiting none the less. "He would stare for hours, alone and unmoving, until he received the inspiration he needed. He would then go immediately into the writing room and begin to tell his story. As his writing moved deeper and deeper into an oblivion of spirit, most assumed he had gone mad. They said he had slipped into a world of frenzied fancy, unable to relate to, or write for, the normal reader." He pauses seriously, looking briefly at each of us. "They were wrong. He was not a madman. A tormented soul no doubt, but he knew perfectly well what he wrote, even if he had no idea or concern for the effect it had on others. As an example, let me read you a letter I received from Keenan P. Royals, a critic I asked to review Kanski??s final book." Jeremy, You will note that the manuscript of "One More Night with Amy" was not returned. I have destroyed it, and urge you to do the same with each and every copy. I love to read horror fiction, I embrace it, revel in it, seek it out in all its forms and permutations. It was, therefore, with the anticipation of a spoiled child on Christmas morn that I stood by the door as you brought me that copy. I began immediately to read. Moments later I was gasping with terror, fear??s chain binding my heart. What I read so disturbed me I had no recourse but to stop, then spent a sleepless night in a futile attempt to banish its vile images from my mind. Come morning I want to early mass, then sat in the church garden to finish the book. I could not, my heart and mind rebelled at the very thought of reading another page, another word from that abomination. Far from endorsing this book, I sincerely wish it had never been written. ? "Signed Keenan P. Royals Mr. Royals killed himself the day after posting this letter." He makes his rabbit nose, pleased with the disturbed looks his account has engendered. "I have an idea as to why all but the most sinister of spirit were repelled by his work; it??s the perversion of faith, the undoing of good over evil. With Kanski, good never endures and never overcomes. Evil is always the true, eternal power. Only a true enemy of life itself could be so utterly and uniquely depraved, and Kanski convinces us that evil is very real, that we live forever at its mercy and on its verge." A lift of the spectacles, a pause, then out a door only he knows is there. "Why don??t we go upstairs to his bedroom? Some of his most interesting art work hangs behind the bed, and you won??t believe what he put on the ceiling! I??ll give you a hint - it??s not a mirror." We jostle for the door, eager to forsake this oppressive chamber. As I cross the room I stagger, dizzy and disoriented. I reach to steady myself on the chair and manage to sit before falling helplessly to the ground. My breath comes again in gasps, my head spins and whirls. I close my eyes and manage to control my breathing. In slowly then out even slower. When my senses return I open my eyes to another disturbing sensation. The borderless mirror is gone, it has disappeared into the grey, uniform sameness of the walls; I am unable to distinguish wall from reflection. I observe only myself, seated in the endless gray of a room with no limit. I look into the mirror. At first I think my eyes are the victims of some cruel deception, but the dark figure in the mirror shakes his head in answer to my embryonic question. The shadowy form towering over my seated image is a vague shape, the opposite of a ???presence??, it is an ???emptiness??. Matter, space, even light itself enjoy no tenure in him. I don??t bother to look behind me; such a being could not exist on my side of the mirror. "Who are you, what do you want?" "What not who, and you know what I want." "I don??t know, I don??t want to know." The shadow grins; a cruel and chilling antithesis of a smile. "So, you are my new Prot?©g?©. I have been waiting." "Your Prot?©g?©?" Without warning I??m drawn into darkness, ensnared by the foul phantasm of a little girl??s nightmare. It is strangely warm and alarmingly intimate, and a darkness from within my soul reaches out to embrace it. I must have closed my eyes, or maybe I??m passing through a place where light has no power; all the same I am interred in darkness. When I finally return to the world of gray he, it, is gone. I relax; the mirror holds my reflection alone, staring back with a numbness I do not feel inside. "That??s not your reflection, Matthew." I jump from the chair and turn to find him waiting. His darkness and mystery of form remain, but the power of his presence is now beyond my ability to deny or ignore. "That is the real you, the physical, acceptable you. That portion of you in here is your darker nature, so long imprisoned and repressed." I look once more at my reflection not my reflection but myself - waiting in frozen silence. A bewildering mixture of thought and emotion overwhelm me, and one question demands a response. "What do you want with me?" "As I said, you are my Prot?©g?©. Kanski is gone, burnt out in soul and mind. You will continue my work." "This is madness," I say and I want to refuse, but I realize that option is no longer mine. In a certain sense, it never was mine. "It is much more than madness." He turns and walks into the gray expanse, I follow. As we move the world around us changes, acquiring color and substance, and we are now walking through the parking lot of my school. The dark presence points and I see a van, our van, returning from Ravenhurst. The entire group has emerged, Brady taunting me as we walk to our cars. "Do you remember your wish for him?" "Yes, I remember," but now, here, there is no guilt, no remorse, no effort to stifle or suppress it I am free! "Yes, this part of you is free. There is, however, a cost to your sovereignty of soul. You will tell my stories, starting with him." He points at my nemesis, who is trying ineffectually to start his car. "Let me show you what you will write." **** I look down and lift the hood of my car. (No, wait, this is not right!) I fumble with the battery cables, hoping to stumble across some trick to make it start. Submitting to the futility, I close the hood and start back to the driver??s side. (This isn??t me, this is Brady!) I, I/Brady, try to stop, turn, speak; but without effect. I/Matthew am an observer, being drawn along in powerless dread. "Hey, who are you, what do you want?" I/Brady speaks, three young men stand nervously in front of me, him, us. "Give us yo money, motha fucka." "I??m a student, I don??t have any money." The I/Matthew watches in horror as knives and clubs appear in front of us. "This can't be real," I think as my fear grows, my throat tightens and my breath falters. Is it his fear I??m feeling, or my own? I cannot tell. "They are the same, Matthew, his fear is now yours. You wanted him to pay, and he will. You however, will suffer this retribution in equal measure and then write it down for the world." I feel a new and sudden swelling of fright surge through my, our body. ???Yes! Feel the fear, smell it, taste it; it is yours now. Look at the eyes, Matthew, what are they telling you??? I find my existence was no longer bound by the limitations of time. Beyond conscious recognition, the I/Brady is observing with heightened instincts and primitive senses every detail of his attackers. My senses are elevated to the same level and beyond, and I watch each detail unfold with excruciating deliberation. I examine with leisure each movement of their eyes, the flare of the nose, the tilt of the head, the depth of their breath, everything and the reaction it incites in us. ???The eyes, start with the eyes.?? My dark Mentor begins his tutelage. I observe the foremost assailant, his pupils constrict, focusing. I understand that it means his attention is now full on me, satisfied that no threat to him can be found. Hope deserts us as I realize that I, we, are alone. There is nothing to save us, no one to come to our aid. My initiation into the world of fear begins. "And when the lesson on fear is complete, your lesson on pain will begin. But pay attention; look at the corners of the mouth. How does it make your feel, what does it tell you?" Another youth is now the object of our attention. The corner of his mouth twitches ever so slightly, and we know what it means. His body shouts its anticipated pleasure, telling of the joy he will receive by projecting the pain from his life of torment onto us. I, we panic, understanding that they want more than money. My apprenticeship has begun; I am becoming the voice of evil, its narrator. "How will I remember all this?" "Remember?" Its laugh carries a deeper menace than any I have known. "You will soon cry out to forget! It will remain a living part of you until written and preserved in every detail." Evil has its Prot?©g?©, and I realize this part of me belongs here, has always belonged here. The constraints of a civilized humanity and a conflicting nature could no longer deny it. There is a new voice of fear and pain, my voice. It will be their fear, their pain, their desperation, alive through me. And I through it. ********************************************************************************* AUTHOR SHOWCASE This month the Author Showcase is proud to present stories by Geoff Nelder, British author of horror, mystery, mainstream and thrillers. Some of his fiction can be seen on the BeWrite website, including his controversial Table Manners and more is for sale (with a free tester story) on HorrorMasters.com where one of the stories has been optioned by Hollywood just this week. He is also the writer for an experimental Internet sit/com. Despite his busy, busy writing life, he agreed to this interview for Eros. Two of his short horror stories directly follow the interview, along with a list of some his novels, novellas and stories. If you??re interested in reading any of them, please drop a line to me at nomadagain2000@yahoo.com? and I??ll get a note off to Geoff the same day. EROS : When did your passion for writing begin? GN : I made up stories as an infant and wrote them in an exercise book, however, I didn't realise people liked the way I threw words together until a teacher taking a group of us sailing said: Come on Geoff, tell us a good 'un. It's the only reason I bring you! E : WHAT TYPE OF BOOKS DO YOU WRITE? N : I'm a really wicked novelist. The scourge of many agents and publishers. Why? Because my thrillers are cross-genre, braided with humour. There again, are they really adventures? I ask because I don't know how many thrills a thriller is supposed to have per page. Some have so many your head is spinning by page ten with all the car-chasing, plane-falling, rocket-exploding, nuclear-detonating house collapses while my hero is still sipping his cup of tea. I call them thrillers because a proofreader once told me he was thrilled to see the next one. I am working on a science-fiction but it is more of a mystery set in the near future than weird monsters. E : Are your thrillers plot driven or character driven? N : They start off plot driven. I wake up with a head full of plots each morning but once the main characters are slotted in, they take over, grab hold of the plot and throw it back in my face. E : How do you get your ideas for your books? And how do you choose one over another to actually write? N : Even though I do not eat cheese, I have vivid dreams, some of which suggest a gripping tale. Other ideas come from overheard or misheard fragments of conversations on a bus, a newspaper account triggering synapses shouting: Hey, if they had done this instead... Then I go for long walks and cycle rides. Whether its the solitude or increased oxygenation of my rattling brain, whatever, ideas pop in and with luck don't pop out until I screech to a halt and scribble it down. E : When you write a book, do you follow a routine? Are you disciplined with a schedule or do you just write when the mood strikes? N : I try to write at least 800 new words a day in addition to revisions. I do more when it??s raining. I can't stick my face into the PC for hours on end. I must be hyperactive because I need to leap up now and then and do something completely different. E : How long does it take to write a book? N : Almost exactly two years each. I had a full-time career until last year but even now when I can spend more day time writing, I find I just take longer on research, writing short stories, critiquing other writers' work, so it still takes two years! E: Do you outline or no? N : I do kick-off with an outline and sometimes even a diagram but the novels have a mind of their own and push the outline around. (I nearly said push the envelope but I avoid cliches like the plague) E : Do you research and if so, how much? N : It must be the ex-school teaching geographer in me but I love the research. Like everyone I mine the web but it doesn't tell you what Mallorca smells like or how the locals sing, laugh and swear. So a cheap flight later there I am, on a bike, risking death on the roads, getting arrested for being too inquisitive - you know. E : What do you think is your greatest strength as a writer? N : Probably my zany plots and wicked humour. E : What??s the worst experience you??ve ever had as a writer? N : Being strongly advised to slash 20,000 words from a 126,000 first draft. Now it is down to 95,000 and the better for it but the wallpaper peeled from the cussing at the time. E : So then, what was your greatest experience as a writer? N : Holding a hard copy of my first published book - even though it was only a local information booklet on Huddersfield's changing climate published by the local university. E : What advice would you give a newbie? N : Give up! I can do without the competition. I suppose the PC advice is don't give up in spite of the knockbacks. Read a good how-to-write book. I recommend any of the Sol Stein's Solutions For Writers. E : How do you prepare for a writing idea for fiction? Do you outline the characters, setting, plot, etc. before you begin to write? N : Yes, I kick around a number of outline scenarios but the originally popped-in-my-head idea usually wins. We all have to have OTT characters but I like them to change : become more assertive or less manic as the story unfolds. The places are researched with maps spread out on the floor after inspiration from holidays, other fiction, TV travel programs and plundering webcams. E : How much time do you spend in marketing? N : Apart from a coffee-table book on Chester's Climate I self published, I haven't needed to market my own work. E : Do you have any marketing tips for writers? Can you give us one? N : Get to know prestigious reviewers and sleep with them. Either do something bizarre or make someone associated with you be newsworthy. Marry someone rich. Failing those and other foolproof methods get yourself about on writers' websites, enter short story competitions and attend writers' functions such as Lit Fests and conferences. Apart from the gradual exposure and "name familiarity" you generate for yourself, there is a heck of a lot to learn from other writers. E : Do you feel you have found your voice? Or do you think there is more than one voice? N : I didn't think I had a distinctive style until recently on an authors' chat. I made up different avatars and pretended to be odd characters but was found out in double-quick time by people who'd read my stuff and recognised my off-the-wall humour. I can't help it. E : What kept you writing early on when faced by rejection slips more often then acceptance letters? N : Mainly knowing about success stories in the face of adversity. Such as Catch-22, which was rejected by 21 publishers and another of my favourite books, Robert Persig's Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance was rejected 121 times! E : Have you ever suffered a serious case of Writer??s Block? Is so, how did you get yourself out of it? N : I don't recognise Block, never had it. Maybe it's because I always have four or more projects on the go simultaneously so I switch around. Having web friends to virtually bounce off each others keeps the motivation bubbling too. E : How many times do you rewrite before submitting to a publisher? N : I cringe at reading my early work even though they were revised three or four times. We all have dynamic styles changing as we improve and as the media requests it. Two years in writing means the beginning is written slightly different from the last few pages and so needs revising. I have to keep switching styles in my head too : fantasy requires the sort of descriptive phrases considered anathema to hard-nosed crime writing and I do a bit of both. E : Do you have an agent? Do you recommend agents and if you do, why? N : A good agent finds markets, is trusted by publishers and can be a worthy writer's friend. Many publishers will not consider a new author's submissions except through an agent. I had an agent years ago who was not so helpful and I??ve just taken on a new one. I am optimisitc. E : Is a lot of your material in the short stories autobiographical? I??m thinking particularly of the cycling stories because you??re quite the long distance cyclist, aren??t you? N : Umm I have to be careful answering this one in case my wife is watching. I suppose an element of the author's own life's experiences and emotions are in the protagonist and to an extent that is true of Escaping Reality. As for Hot Air, the protagonist is a feisty hot-blooded young woman! But you are right, when I get a real buzz out of something such as freewheeling down a steep hill on a falling-apart brakeless bike I have to let readers share it too. The same goes for when I find out how to break into houses, survive winter treks over moorland, fight muggers in Amsterdam and make love on bubble-wrap! E : Why haven??t you ever enter the Tour de France cycling race? N : I entered the whore de France and that's as close I got. I do longish distance cycling but slowly. If I started two weeks before Le Tour I'd finish in time to come in with the stragglers the following year. E : How would you characterize your writing? And where do you hope to be with it in 10 years time? N : I don't know how to characterize my own writing - it's not something I do to myself. Another writer describes my stuff: "What an amusing little wander through the subconscious, Geoff. Here I learn from you yet again." "Great suspense. And funny, too. perfect combination." "Bizarre yet all around us, how do you do it?" In ten years time I would like to have had at least six novels published, a film or two on the go from them, the Internet TV sitcom I'm working on to have been transmitted and ongoing. E : How has being a sitcom scriptwriter affected you? N : I can't watch sitcom TV the same. I count the seconds between change of view (about 5 seconds). I count the gags per minute and check they haven't pinched mine. Equally, I note down good gags and ideas to use myself! I've been told some of my short stories behave as if the reader has a shoulder cam. In Camera Shy - http://www.bewrite.net/free_fiction/humour/camera_shy.htm - there is a chase in central Paris and into the Metro just as if it was a fast action movie. I had no idea! The wonders of the subconscious. E : What else do you love besides writing and cycling N : OK, I really get a huge buzz scrambling over mountains and hills. Not the swinging by my fingertips under overhangs but just being in a wild scape out-of-sight of the trappings of civilization. Even on this overcrowded island it is quite easy to get away from people - most don't like moving more than a few minutes walk from their cars. Having said that, the experience is enhanced if you can share it with someone. I also like painting in watercolours or acrylic though I have had little time for that for a few years. E : Can you kind of describe this first short story, Vampire Quid Pro Quo for us? N : It shows some lateral thinking, originality and the sort of idiocy of which I am capable. And it was my lovely, wonderful daughter, Eleanor Claire Nelder, who was the inspiration and co-idea generator of the story! ******************************************************************** Vampire Quid Pro Quo By Geoff Nelder Claire felt her eyes dropping. It could have been the heavy text on probability theory sliding down her lap, or the rhythmic swaying of the subway train. Her daily commute between north and south London allowed her to make some headway towards her insurance career qualifications. Plunging into a tunnel raised the ambient clackety-clack and dimmed the lights. Suddenly the carriage lost its illumination completely accompanied by a communal groan. Not a rare event but sufficiently uncommon for Claire to have the jitters especially when her elbow was roughly nudged by someone filling the seat next to her, trapping her coat. As she pulled, the overwhelming aroma of liver and onions made her nose pinch forcing her to turn her head away. She felt a beard brush her stretched neck, stopped pulling at her coat and pushed him away. Flickering as if they couldn't make up their mind, the carriage lights reactivated in time for Claire to catch the black-coated tall silver-haired man leave for the next carriage. He appeared to be spitting into his handkerchief while pulling a pained expression. ** Marinated tofu stir-fry with Arborio rice made up Claire's dinner. Although her favourite meal and cooked to succulent perfection ?? accompanied with a fine Spanish Rioja ?? her palate felt distinctly odd. While preparing coffee Claire felt an itch on her neck and her fingers found two punctures with slightly raised edges. An avid reader and cinema goer, she knew the symptoms. Her body temperature fluctuated wildly but her brain shut down giving her an easier sleep than she should have had. In the morning, before catching her tube train, she allowed her chestnut hair to escape their usual formal style to flow around her shoulders, hiding her neck. She felt nervous but not surprised when a tall man wearing an oversized black coat sat next to her and simultaneously opened his Daily Telegraph, as if he was to read it, while emanating hostility to nearby passengers who abruptly felt the urge to leave. The deep voice resonated: "You are my latest recruit." "I don't think so." "Last night, didn't you have a sanguineous thirst?" "I don't think I should be talking to you and I've no idea what you are talking about." "I think you do, Claire." "How do you know my name?" "There are few secrets from me. Now, back to your culinary intake. Did you notice how you licked your lips more when you ate your meat last night?" "Hardly, I'm a veggie." She looked at his face. It was white yet suddenly became paler. "But you can't be!" "Why not? There are millions of us, you know." "I'm able to tell. I was able to tell. It could explain why something tasted odd yesterday..." "So, does that mean my metabolism has rejected your disgusting germs?" "I'm not sure. It's never happened before. I'd better go." ** After a few days the prevalence of the incident faded. Claire's job involved her day time and her attempt at extra qualifications occupied her evenings. Her boyfriend, Adam, was in Cyprus on a programming contract job but due to fly home for a dinner party at his parents at the end of the week. She was assured by Tim's mother it would not go like the last time. Tim's mother had said: "Hello Claire, sit here sweetie." She suspected they had forgotten her non-carnivorous diet when the meal arrived in tureens rather than on plates. "I'm sorry, I have a bit of an upset tummy. Please excuse me." Bad move. "Well, I'm not surprised," said Tim's father. "It must be because you never eat anything that hasn't looked over a hedge." He had laughed so much. Tim's mother looked pained. Claire could feel the poor woman's anguish as her memory cells clicked. At least it wouldn't happen this time. A green salad. Not even any nuts to add protein and essential oils. Adam sat on her right preparing to wolf down steamed Italian beef-tomatoes surrounding a braised lamb's liver casserole. Claire couldn't help herself. Her fork quivered then darted out, jabbed and withdrew, loaded. Adam and his family, their own forks hovering in front of their open mouths were transfixed. Claire, her mouth dripping red, looked round at them, not in the least embarrassed. "What? I love tomatoes." The next day, Adam took Claire to the Speedy Gloop to stoke up on energy levels before an evening of bowling. Not a big fan of fast food, Claire made exceptions where the salad bar offered a huge array of brightly coloured fresh succulence. Her dish already pyramided and overflowing, she couldn't pull away. "Excuse me, miss," said a red-faced woman who'd followed Claire round the salad-bar a few revolutions. "Would you mind if I went in front of you? I don't like second-hand food." "What??s she on about, Adam?" He pointed out a red-pepper with two teeth marks and three deflated tomatoes before dragging her over to their table. She poked around at her food. Puncture marks? Pretending to wipe her nose with a large handkerchief, she confirmed her canine teeth seemed longer and more pointed than she remembered. "Interesting colour combination, Claire." Adam pointed at her meal. She followed his gaze. Tomatoes, radish, red-cabbage, rouge- capsicum, beetroot, kidney and aduki beans with pink potatoes. Strawberries and cherries made up dessert. Her tongue licked the lips of a veggie vamp. "You think you might have an iron-deficiency?" Adam always looked for the logical solution even in plainly emotional issues. "Could be." *** "I need to talk to you." "I thought you might," she said, as they swayed the tight curve out of Paddington Green. His ashen face displayed worry. Claire smiled at the carriage emptying then at him. "I shouldn't have chosen you," his bass voice quivered more this time. "Guess not." "Has it affected you?" "Not as you might expect. How about you?" "That is why I need this conversation. I have feelings of revulsion..." "I thought that was what you did." "I've lost the taste." "That's good isn't it? At least for your victims." "Without fresh blood I'll ??" "Change?" "I'll d ??" "Don't say it. Anyway, I thought you were immortal." "Only if I keep out of the daylight, avoid certain destructive elements and ingest fresh blood now and then." "You could accept the kind of immortality the rest of us get: through our children, our art." "No. My time has come. It is a phase change, a transmogrification, a ?? " "You're talking gobbledygook again." "Claire, I've fed on two since I've been poisoned by your blood. They both now abhor meat and cannot take blood." "Excellent." "Your facetiousness is misplaced. My powers dwindle. I am the last of my kind I know of in Britain, maybe Europe." "You must have thousands of um ?? prot?©g?©es." "Few survive more than a month, fewer travelled abroad but most were weak and died. You seem strong." "I feel absolutely great, never better." "As I thought. Like I said, you may represent a new branch, a blend of bloods. Not something I wanted to witness but better than extinction." Claire laughed softly, then energetically. Carriages on both sides, emptied hurriedly. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ This second story is a delight of a ghost story that will put you in mind of M.R. James. Softly now, lovely, O! nobody but the English can write ghost stories quite like these! No Way by Geoff Nelder He hated walking around the next bend. No footpath alongside the hedge; not even an escape grass verge in case white-van-man lunged at him again. A coincidence, surely, that twice before a white van, coming straight at him, had given him the opportunity to experience the hawthorn from the inside. He still had the scars and was loathe to collect more. In any case, the bend endangered him for only another hundred yards. What did his colleagues say at the bank? ???Walk? All that way? Derek, you??re mad.?? ???Sandra, it??s only three miles ???? ???Nonsense. Chester to Dodleston must be five. What??s wrong with the bus??? ???I prefer to walk.?? ???You just delaying getting home to Margarine??? said Angie, sniggering over Sandra??s shoulder. ???Marjorie. I prefer to walk.?? Sandra teased further. ???Do you remember Margarine??s pre-Derek loony boyfriend, Butter??? ???Yes,?? said Angie. ???Marge and Butter.?? They both laughed. ???Butterworth,?? Derek said. He??d heard his wife??s previous was a cornet short of an ice-cream. Such ruminations and worry over approaching traffic caused Derek to be careless of how close he walked to the hawthorn snagging his sleeve. ???Hello Derek.?? The voice came through the hedge. ???Who??s there??? He hadn??t noticed the gap in the hedge. Enough to let a thin person through. The stranger towered a foot taller than Derek. His clean-shaven face beamed though his all-black clothes. ???Step in here, Derek, away from danger. You never know, a white van might ???? ???What do you know about that??? Derek was helped through the gap by a strong hand just as a white van screamed by brushing the fence. He would??ve been hit... ???That??s better. I??m Tipris. You don??t remember me, do you??? ???Tipris? What sort of name??s that??? Derek was shaking but remarkably calm considering he just escaped annihilation. ???You don't remember bumping into me, Derek??? ???You??re not ???? ???No. Can??t say I??ve ever driven a white van, Derek.?? ???I didn??t mean that,?? Derek said, leaning forward to examine Tipris, who??d just slipped on dark glasses. ???You were cycling home along Lache Lane. I cycled too, only I got too close. Daydreaming as usual. You slammed on your brakes ?? that??ll teach me to slipstream.?? ???I remember. I??m sorry, I didn??t realise there was a van coming. I just thought ???? ???Hey, no worries and no apologies needed, Derek. A long ten years ago. My fault, remember? Didn??t look me up in hospital, though, did you? No matter. You don??t ride your bike now, then??? ???I had an accident five years ago.?? ???Not a white van??? ???How did you know? He was messing with the radio. Admitted liability.?? ???You??re all right??? ???Yes, I survived ?? thrown into ???? ???This hedge??? ???There you go again.?? ???Lucky guess, Derek, and your eyes gave it away. It put you off cycling??? ???It??s one of the reasons I walk, yes.?? ???You could walk a much safer way. Let me show you.?? ???What do you mean? There??s no footpath to Dodleston.?? ???Actually, there is. The entrance is obscure.?? ???This gap in the hedge? I admit I hadn??t notice it bef-?? ???No, Derek, it??s back a couple of hundred yards. Come with me.?? ???What? It??s all private houses. I??m not sure about this, Tipris.?? ???Trust me, Derek. It??ll change your journey ?? maybe your life.?? They stopped by a large detached house, protected by a gravel drive and shadowy vegetation. ???You see,?? said Derek, ???I walk past here twice a day. There??s no path.?? ???Oh yes, there is. And it starts here.?? ???But it??s a private drive, surely??? ???Mostly, but see how it winds round to the garage on the side of the house? Come with me. It??s all right, Derek, come along.?? And he did. ???Tipris, there??s no sign. Are you sure we??re not trespassing? Oh, I see there's a brick path alongside the garage is that ???? ???You are a worrier, Derek. This path pre-dates the house. I doubt it ever had a signpost and the householder here wouldn??t thank me for telling the masses about it.?? More brambles grabbed them as they single-filed until the path opened up into a field. ???I guessed there were a few small fields back here,?? said Derek, relaxing with increasing distance from the house. ???Notice the drop in traffic noise and yet we are deafened by birdsong.?? The air dripped with pollen, colour and insects from the wild-flower meadow. Several small fields later, the overgrown hedges, crumbling stone walls and fallen gates prompted a question. ???Tipris, how many other people know about this route??? ???Not sure.?? ???Have you seen anyone else using it??? ???Not recently.?? Derek stopped admiring the scenery and looked hard at Tipris. ???Hey, Derek. There??s no need to look at me like that. I like this route because no-one else uses it.?? ???Then why tell me about it??? ???I??m not after you, Derek. Is that what you think? Ha! No, I??ve seen you doing your dangerous daily trek along a horrendous commuter route and felt obliged to tell you about it.?? ???I don??t need people feeling sorry for me.?? ???What? Oh, all right, I suppose I do feel a tad sorry for anyone who is potential road-kill. And to do it unnecessarily ?? when there??s this wonderful pastoral path. Wouldn??t you do the same??? ???I suppose so. But you??re taking a chance aren??t you??? ???How do you mean, Derek? You might attack me??? ???Oh no, God no. I mean I might tell lots of people and ???? ???It might not actually lead to where you want to go although I assure you it reaches Dodleston. Anyway, I??ll be leaving the district soon so it??s up to you whether you publicise this route.?? ???Ah, you??re bequeathing this footpath to me.?? ???Hey, sounds as if you want me to die!?? ???No. Sorry, it sounds awful??¦?? Tipris laughed. ???It??s all right, Derek, Now, although it??s been only me trampling the veg around here for a while, you can see the route, can??t you??? ???Yes, a sort of overgrown path,?? said Derek, stooping to feel the sandstone cobbles. ???I believe it might be Roman,?? said Tipris. ???They crawled all over here to subdue the wild Celts.?? ???Amazing. To think we??re strolling along the same pathway as people centuries ago.?? ???Indeed. Let??s keep on going, Derek. It??s a bit gloomy in the next bit.?? The oaks and sycamore draped over their path. Ankle-deep in last year??s discarded leaves, they nattered and walked until they came to a common. ???Tipris, I??d expect to see more signs of civilisation.?? ???It??s easy to hide roads and the odd farmhouse with trees and tall hedges.' ???Come on, Tipris brought his hand out of his coat. 'Here put this in your pocket. A foil-wrapped choccy biscuit to have later.?? They followed the footpath over ridges of low hills, dusty tracks through fields of flowing long rye grass clutching at ankles as they waded through. ???Lucky with the weather,?? gasped Derek, struggling to keep up. ???They predicted showers.?? ???I have never known it to rain on this route. Never.?? Tipris suddenly turned and strode on. Derek followed but wondered he should??ve carried walking against the traffic on Lache Lane. ???Perhaps I should call Marjorie, in case she??s wondering where I am.?? ???No signal here, Derek. Nearly there. Just round the corner.?? ???But we can??t be,?? said Derek, stabbing at his useless mobile phone. ???We haven??t crossed any roads between Chester and Dodleston.?? ???Yes we have.?? Derek stopped abruptly. ???When have we crossed Rowcliffe Avenue??? ???Right near the start. Remember the shaded valley? We passed beneath it ?? an old bridge.?? ???What? Well, what about the by-pass ?? the A55 and ???? ???Look, Derek, you can just see the top of Dodleston Church spire. Can you see it??? ???You must??ve led us to the wrong place, Dodleston doesn??t have a spire.?? ???Look more carefully, Derek, it's a tower with one of those silly little spires, and look, it has a traditional cockerel weather-cock. How twee.?? ???Nobody asked you to like it. Anyway, we can??t be here already. We haven??t crossed ???? ???Listen.?? Tipris held up a finger. ???What? I can??t hear??¦is that a train? Of course, we need to get over the railway before we reach the village.?? They stood, listening to the intermittent clicks and clacks. Derek??s puzzlement turned to confusion as the rhythmic sounds dopplered away from them. ???What happened??? ???We??re on top of the line just here,?? said Tipris. ???Notice we??re on a ridge??? ???But there??s no railway tunnel around here!?? ???More of a longish bridge, Derek. See, the footpath changes over here.?? ???I??ve never noticed a bridge here when I??m on the train.?? ???People are so unobservant. No more remains of Roman road ?? more like trodden earth.?? ???You??re changing the subject again, Tipris. But it does seem to be Dodleston in front. I think those houses are in Penfold Way.?? ???Just round the corner from you, Derek.?? ???Yes. Just a minute, how do you know my address??? ???You must??ve mentioned it. Now, you need to be a bit careful here, Derek.?? ???Careful? I must??ve been out of my mind to agree to come.?? ???See the path disappears in places. Now come alongside me so I can point the way.?? ???Why don??t you just lead??? ???You won??t remember it so well next time. Now, you go through an arbour of dog-roses, which lead to the new tarmac path near the church. You first.?? ???I always go to the shop to buy a paper before going home. I see what you mean about this bit of the path, the undergrowth is overgrown. Ha, do you get my joke, Tipris??? Finally, Derek had his feet on black tarmac. ???Where are you??? Derek assumed Tipris had gone to his house or returned along the path. He couldn??t give it much thought since his tea would??ve gone cold by now and he still had to get a paper. Outside the shop stood two of the village gossips. ??? Hello Edith, Rose. Nice day. Excuse me, please.?? They ignored him, making him stand there for precious seconds finishing their annihilation of the publican??s reputation before wandering off. He pushed the tinkling door open grabbed an Evening Leader and offered a fifty pence piece. ???Hi George,?? he said to the shop-keeper ?? busy at the till. ???Evening Leader??? Strange to have no reaction but Derek put the coin on the counter and, foregoing the change, left to face his wife. He stopped outside the shop. Ignored by the gossips and now by George after his strange journey home. Suppose he had died! That??s why they couldn??t see or hear him. That odd chap, Tipris. An angel, guide or whatever? He felt his chest for a heartbeat. Yes, a little fast but real. Unless it just seemed real and he existed in another dimension, plane or something ethereal. Nonsense. He could find the path again. He ran back to the new tarmac near the church and looked for the gap in the hedge he??d scrambled through not ten minutes before. He couldn??t find it. Of course not. He??d day-dreamed it all, walked along the road after all. Put it down to work-stress ?? the turbulence of the equity market. But ignored at the shop and, there, in his pocket, lingered the biscuit Tipris had given him. He speed-walked to his house and let himself in, pumped up to make excuses. ???Oh, hi Derek, you??re early,?? Marjorie said, a bag of frozen chips in her hand. ???What??? He looked at his watch but it wasn??t on his wrist ?? that??s right he??d forgotten to put it on after his morning shower. The kitchen clock showed he??d taken only fifteen minutes to get home! ???You came home on the bus today??? ???Well??¦?? ???I??m glad. That road??s so dangerous. Get changed and I??ll have tea ready.?? ???Thanks.?? He stumbled up the stairs, his head buzzing. He sat on the bed slowly pulling at his tie. Marjorie called up the stairs. ???Did you see anything of that awful accident on Lache Lane? It??s been on Radio Deva.?? Her voice faded as she returned to the kitchen. Derek sat stunned. He staggered back downstairs, unchanged. ???A white van??? ???Yes, you saw it from the bus then??? Marjorie said. ???Anyone killed??? ???They think so but it??ll be on again in a few minutes,?? she said, turning. ???Oh, look at you, Derek, I thought you??d gone up to change. Go on.?? He stared at her image, which seemed to be fading. Definitely stress. He mounted the stairs, faster this time, to put the bedroom radio. ??? More information about the accident in Lache Lane,?? said the news reader. Derek lay on the bed. ???Tailbacks stretch to the Overleigh Roundabout and south as far as Rough Hill Road. Police recommend using the A55 and A483 by-pass to ???? ???Oh get on with it!?? shouted Derek. ???- are puzzled over his identity. Get this, folks, he died ten years ago to the day at the same spot! Talk about a cock up.?? Derek sat bolt upright. ???That??s it, Tipris must have died today on the road just where he saved me from being hit by a white van. Somehow, Tipris??s spirit wanted to communicate.?? His brain tried to resist the anagram connection but once made, it couldn??t be denied. ???Tipris is Spirit. I??ve been talking to a ghost. Someone who died ten years ago. After colliding with me ?? he must have died.?? He broke down, crying. ???The fear of losing my job at the bank ?? I didn??t stop. The driver seemed too shocked to take notice of me. Me, a hit and run cyclist even though he cycled too close and ran into me. I shouldn??t have braked suddenly.?? Somehow, he??d been able to block the incident from his conscience, salved by the lack of news of the incident in the press. He assumed no news meant good news when it really meant hidden tragedy. But why did Tipris show him the secret route and why today? Could it be an allegory for his life? He never discovered the identity of the other cyclist ?? too frightened to go to the police because of the previous accident. Suppose they were linked. Suppose Tipris drove that white van??¦revenge. The radio continued. ???Police revealed that the driver has not been found. A witness describes him as being very tall, clean-shaven and dressed in black. He was last seen crossing Lache Lane and walking up a private drive.?? Just a moment. So Tipris wasn??t the victim, he did drive the van. And the victim??¦? Once again, Derek felt for his heart beat. Still thumping. Anyway, his wife ?? downstairs. He shook his head as if events would make sense after a good agitation, dressed and went downstairs for a cup of tea. No one there. No cup, no sign of Marjorie. A commotion prompted him to look out of the kitchen window to see his crying wife being led across the road to a police- car. He rushed the door to tell them he survived, it wasn??t him in the accident but the door knob wouldn??t turn. Either double-locked from the outside or his strength... He laughed. ?????¦Police aren??t releasing the name of the accident victim. It is believed he worked at the Chester Branch of UK Holdings Bank. Apparently he had an accident at the same spot exactly five years ago, to the day??¦?? ???Hour even,?? muttered Derek. ???And exactly five years to the day before that I had probably killed Tipris when his bike collision with me threw him into the path of a vehicle. And I thought he??d just have a few days in hospital.?? He sat at the table wishing for a cup of tea but realising that his diminishing mortality would probably not enable him to lift it. Why would Tipris want him dead? The answer must lie in his identity. It must have been Butterworth. Suppose the insanely jealous Tipris - Butterworth tried to kill him in the first accident and had another go exactly five years later. The biscuit Tipris gave him lay on the table. He slowly unwrapped it thinking it represented reality ?? but wasn??t he already dead even then? The spirit Tipris taking a dead man for a walk??¦ The dark chocolate coating had a word in white icing. ???3rd time lucky?? +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Some of Geoff??s other works are : * Escaping Reality * Hot Air - a nifty little thriller that begins in a hot air balloon * Horror Stories : Last Words; Table Manners, No Parada Solicitada, The Secret of Spectres * Short Stories : Camera Shy; Hidden Agenda; Night Chancer In The Woods; Unfair Game, Video Nasty ********************************************************************************** Agents, Contests Markets Each month this newsletter and the website page will list 3 markets or submission calls for your work and will state if the market is a paying one or not. We??ll also have at least 2 agent listings. And it??s here you??ll find contests and writing competitions run by others besides A Fire At Zero Gravity. There will be at least 2 of these listed and they will be listed according to deadline date for your entry and run 2 months in advance of that date. Remember! These are obtained from various places on the Web and although I try to check (especially in the case of POD publishers) that the contest and the publishers and markets and agents are reputable, I can??t be held responsible if any of them turn out to be bad dudes or scams. ALWAYS check with Whispers and Warnings or Writer??s Beware! and if, after you contact them, ANYTHING about any of these people sounds off to you, don't have a thing to do with them! Even if there's nothing against them in W W or Writer's Beware! don't pay any money to anyone who doesn't feel right to you! If you are a publisher or agent or have a market, submission call or contest, you??d like to see listed here, just send it to me at charboneaux@fastmail.fm. This Month??s Listings : 1) MARKETS, SUBMISSIONS, PUBLISHERS CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS : Paying Markets Traditional Publisher Seeking Manuscripts JoNa Book Publishing http://www.kiva.net/~jonabook/ Editorial Guidelines General Information: Submit an introductory letter, two sample chapters and synopsis for the rest of the book. Please send manuscripts on CD or floppy disk. Please allow two months for a reply. Queries/book proposals, please allow two weeks for a reply. Simultaneous submissions are acceptable. We publish 12-18 months after acceptance. Nonfiction Areas of Interest: Biography Native American History Old West True Crime Military History Fiction Areas of Interest: Alternate History Science Fiction Military Science Fiction Humor We are willing to review well-written manuscripts. Payment: Negotiated on an individual basis with writer. ******************************************************************* MYSTERY WRITERS WANTED (540) 463-3830 Email: rocellyfrm@aol.com Need short/mini mysteries and feature mysteries. Mini mysteries no longer than one typewritten page. Feature mysteries no longer than 30 pages. Solutions separated from main text. Feature mysteries: $250 each. Mini mysteries: $75 each. Call or E-mail Cecily. ******************************************************************* Writer??s Ezine Seeking Articles AbsoluteWrite.com Article Submissions Absolute Write is seeking "how-to" type articles about any branch of writing-- screenwriting, freelance writing, technical writing, greeting cards, novels, nonfiction, playwriting, comic writing, and so on. If you have never been published, please don't submit an article about how to get published. If you've never sold a screenplay, please don't submit an article about how to sell a screenplay. (You'd think this would be obvious, right?) We are ALSO looking for the following things: Interviews with working writers or those connected to the publishing or film industries-- we particularly need interviews with agents, editors, and producers.News stories or trends related to writing.Perspectives from working writers. Can cover any aspect of a writer's life-- business, craft, or "life" (balancing work and family, overcoming writer's block, increasing creativity, etc.).Departments Debate Desk: be controversial. Tackle a subject like writing on spec, writing for free, plagiarism, etc. Don't be afraid to be opinionated! See here for examples. First Person: first-person essays about writing. See here for examples. Just for Fun: humor columns and funny poetry about writing. See here for examples. Articles should be approximately 800-2000 words in length. Feel free to query first if you're considering writing an original article for us. For reprints, just send the complete manuscript with original publication name and date in the BODY of the e-mail message (please, no attachments, except for photos. We delete them unread, as we've gotten far too many viruses-- even from writers who didn't know they had them). We particularly like informational and humorous articles... the best are the ones that manage to combine those two qualities. You are welcome to write from a first-person perspective and editorialize, as long as your subject matter is relevant to other writers. Articles must be the work of the original author. We accept simultaneous submissions. Absolute Write retains non-exclusive electronic publishing rights with the right to archive the material indefinitely on the website-- thought the writer can ask me to pull it down at any time, and I'm happy to comply. All other rights remain with the author. Bios It'll save time if you include the bio that you'd like us to include along with the article. Of course, you can always send it after we accept an article, but if you have it ready, please send it along when you submit. (Just paste it below the article.) All submissions should be sent to managing editor Amy Brozio-Andrews at amy@absolutewrite.com. Payment Did you skip right to this section? (Yeah, can't blame you.) I don't want to let you down, but we probably won't make you rich. There are two payment options: - We pay $5 per article, interview, essay, or column-- originals or reprints. We do not pay for book reviews (but, of course, you keep any book we send you). We also do not pay for syndicated columns (those that are published widely on the 'net). That said, it's very unlikely for us to accept a column that's been widely published on the 'net. Payments can be made by PayPal or check. - Or you can have a free 1-year subscription to the Absolute Markets Premium Edition (a $15 value-- see www.absolutemarkets.com). We are happy to run your bio (with any links you like), your photo, ordering info if you've got books published. We have more than 72,000 subscribers and hope it brings you great publicity! Product and Book Submissions If you would like to submit your product or book for review by Absolute Write staff, or for use as a prize in our writing contests, please e-mail amy@absolutewrite.com to let us know. I'm sorry, but we do NOT review self-published/vanity-published/subsidy-published books anymore. ********************************************************************************** NEW Section - Workshops Retreats "Why It's Great" Workshop and Retreat July 19 - 22, 2004 The second annual "Why It's Great" Workshop and Retreat will be held from July 19 to July 22 at the World Fellowship Center, a nonprofit recreational resort in Conway, New Hampshire. The focus of the workshop is on fiction, but poets are welcome. Group sessions are led by poet and novelist David Vigoda, and individual meetings are available with poet and novelist Jill Dawson. The cost is $115. Meals, lodging, and facilities at the World Fellowship Center range from $40 to $77 per night. Weekly rates are also available. Call, e-mail, or visit the Website for more information. workshop@whyitsgreat.comwww.whyitsgreat.com ********************************************************************************** AGENTS Acacia House PublishingServices 51 Acacia Rd. Toronto, Ontario M4S 2K6 Canada Tel: (416) 484-8356 Contact: Query with Outline Seeking Most Fiction Except Children's, Juvenile, Young Adult Alive Communications Inc. 7680 Goddard Street, Suite 200 Colorado Springs, CO 80920 Query with SASE Seeking Most Fiction AAR Listed ********************************************************************************** CONTESTS DEADLINES IN August 2004 Dark Tales Summer 2004 Competition DeadlineAugust 6, 2004 TypeShort Story. sci-fi, horror, dark fantasy and anything in between. 2500 words or less. EligibilityOpen. International. PrizesFirst prize ??100, second ??30, third ??20. All winning stories plus best shortlisted will be printed in Dark Tales magazine. ***Note: ??100 is approximately $180USDEntry Fee Entry fee ??3 (??1.50 to subscribers) or $4.75 US. Optional tick-sheet critique ??2, total $7.45 US. You can pay at the site using PayPal. DescriptionEach entry must be no longer than 2500 words. Each entry must be the original, unpublished work of the stated author. 2004 NORUMBEGA FICTION AWARDS DeadlineAugust 31, 2004 TypeShort Story, Novel, Novella Short Story Collection EligibilityUnpublished / self-published American and Canadian writers. PrizesCash prizes total $500 in four categories. Entry Fee $10 for Short Story; $15 for Novellas/Collections; $20 for Novels DescriptionThe Norumbega Fiction Awards were started by students at the University of Maine to recognize the work of unpublished and self-published writers.. In The Midnight Hour Halloween Fiction Contest DeadlineAugust 31, 2004 TypeShort Stories (maximum 4000 words). EligibilityOpen. International. PrizesGrand Prize Winner: $500; publication on website. First Place Winner: $100; publication on website. Other stand-out entries may also be published on the website and these works will also be paid a $100 publication fee. Entry Fee $10 per story. DescriptionDo you have a really great ghost tale to tell? Are horror stories your specialty? Maybe you've written a Halloween story that you can't wait to share with the world? Perhaps midnight is just a time of reflection for you and your characters. Scare us, depress us, inspire us, we don't care, but tell us a great story about what happens in The Midnight Hour. ********************************************************************************** ARTICLES COLUMNS Article --- 3 Reasons Every Writer Needs a Marketing Plan by Jinger Jarrett Writers are creative types. It's a given. What most writersdon't understand, is that once you get published, this is onlythe beginning of your journey to "fame and fortune". There are many reasons why a writer needs a marketing plan. Here are three: 1. Ultimately, publishers have to make money. You've written the Great American Novel, or at least your own masterpiece. The publisher has accepted it, and you are now a published writer. You know it's a great book and so does the publisher, but did you also know that the vast majority of books published in America don't make any money? 2. Eventually you want to get an agent. Many of my friends who are published writers have told me that when you are first starting out, it's difficult to get an agent. Agents, like publishers, are in the business to make money. This doesn't mean that you can't get an agent; what it means is that you are untested. Agents want properties they can bank on. For now, you are an unknown quantity. Once you get established, you'll find it easier to find an agent. Then your agent will take over some of the tasks you're doing now. 3. You are serious about your writing. If you just want to see your name in print, fine. There is nothing wrong with that. However, if you're serious about your writing, you will definitely need a marketing plan. Your marketing plan is your key to sales of your book or whatever writing project you are marketing. Now I know you don't like to think about the business part of writing. Neither do I. Even though I do this for a living, my favorite part will always be writing. However, if you're serious about your writing, consider a marketing plan. It's your key to sales and living the life of a paid writer. *********************************************************************** Jinger Jarrett is a former military journalist and newspaper reporter. These days she spends her time writing and teaching others how to market, including writers. You can get her free newsletter, "Marketing for Writers, when you visit her site: http://www.marketingforwriters.com *********************************************************************** INFO RE : Articles Every month we??ll have articles pertaining to writing, the writing life, marketing your work and dealing with the frustrations of marketing and rejections. Some of these will be written by myself, some by guest writers, some perhaps by you! This is not a paying gig, I??m afraid, but if you??ve got an article you want published, pay or not, this is the place to send it. The article will not only appear here in the newsletter, it will also appear on the Articles page of A Fire At Zero Gravity, for the month it is submitted. ALL RIGHTS ON ARTICLES ARE ONE TIME USE ONLY - after they have appeared for the month in the newsletter and on the website, all rights revert to you, the author. I will be archiving the articles, though, in the newsletter archives. If you have an objection to this, then please state that you wish the article to appear on the website ONLY and not in the newsletter. Contact me at : nomadagain2000@yahoo.com? if you??ve an article you??d like to submit for publication with either the website or the website and newsletter. ********************************************************************************** PROMPTS Prompts from Writer??s Digest - One for each day of the month 1. Read an article about something in which you have little interest. See if the article might make you rethink your position on the subject. Write about whether it succeeded. 2. You have 24 hours to come up with an idea for a new movie. Using only three lines, describe what it's all about. 3. "If someone had wanted me dead, he missed a good chance when ??¦" 4. Write a paragraph describing your favorite color as if you're seeing it for the first time. 5. Imagine you're invited to brunch with Stephen King, Danielle Steel and J.K. Rowling. What writing questions would you ask them? 6. Take the words "peace," "hope" and "joy," and assign each word a persona: your lover, your neighbor, someone you've secretly admired, etc. 7. If you could attend your own funeral, what would you overhear? 8. How did you get that scar? If you don't have one, pretend. 9. Write a story in the style of a tabloid (outrageous, untrue and interesting). 10. Research a recent, local trial. Then write a version of the story where the verdict is reversed. 11. You're at an elaborate costume party. What are you wearing? What things are you saying and doing that you normally wouldn't? 12. Create a dialogue between yourself and your former boss. Say what you've always wanted to say. Then twist the scenario. Write a conversation where you're now the boss and he's your employee. 13. Imagine you're a guest star on your favorite sitcom. Write your dialogue for the episode. 14. Open the White Pages. From any column, count down to the 10th name. Create a character based on that name and address. 15. Imagine you're a painter standing at your easel. What are you painting? Are you alone or with an audience? Using paints or pencil? 16. Choose a favorite fictional character, and write a poem about her. 17. Your significant other just got a job at your office. How does this make you feel? 18. Take a decorative calendar, and pick an image from one of the months. Create a setting based on the image you select. Choose randomly, or do this exercise for each month. 19. List five musicians. Select your most and least favorite, and create an imaginary interview with both. What questions do you pose? What are their responses? How do their remarks differ? 20. Write a five-word sentence. Now use each as the beginning word in five consecutive paragraphs of a story. Repeat as many times as needed to tell the tale. 21. You've been granted three writing-related wishes. What are they, and why? 22. If you were king of the forest, what would be your daily routine? 23. If the moon were made of cheese, how would the rest of the universe be affected? 24. Remember someone you knew in high school. Write a character sketch focusing on how you imagine that person has changed over the years. 25. Throughout the day, notice people's hands. Then start a personal essay that describes your own. 26. Interview a local librarian. Submit the article to your town or city newspaper. 27. Create a new holiday, such as National Editor's Day. Write a greeting card for it. 28. Create a family tree for your favorite fictional character. Was Rapunzel the great-grandmother of Cinderella? 29. Coincidence? Describe a chance encounter that changed your life. Start with, "If I hadn't met ??¦ I wouldn't have ??¦" 30. You've won a shopping spree to your favorite store. What would you buy? ********************************************************************************** CLASSES SERVICES All the classes at the present time are offered through and in partnership with Rob Parnell of The Easy Way To Write website ( www.easywaytowrite.com? ). The current class is The Easy Way To Write? - Making A? Novel. an 8 week, interactive course on writing novels. The special introductory fee for this class is $27. This is a class for serious writers only. And you??ll need to hurry, the first lesson starts now, as soon as you enroll! Reserve your place in the class now by clicking here: http://easywaytowrite.com/novel_writing_course.html Other services available through A Fire At Zero Gravity are : Editing of your manuscript Proofreading of your manuscript (we use the Chicago Manual) Ghost Writing Reviews of products or books A price list is available on request - just email me at nomadagain2000@yahoo.com- but I guarantee our prices are the lowest on the web! ********************************************************************************** Advertisements : "Writer to Writer" ?? a FRE*E monthly ezine for writers of fiction and non-fiction. Featuring tips on writing, marketing, techniques, finding ideas, submitting, selling and more. To subscribe, send a blank email to writertowriter-subscribe@yahoogroups.com.au? **Check out our new website: www.writer2writer.com? ?? Regular contests for writers ?? No entry fees ********* Collections - Leave your contact info at accelerateyourcashflow@hotmail.com ********************************************************************************** INFO For Advertisers If you would like to advertise in this ezine, please visit our website at www.firegravity.com and leave an email for? nomadagain2000@yahoo.com? . Promo spots for Authors will be listed on the site and in the newsletter for a mere $10 per 6 months. Classified ads are also available at $5 per spot per month Again - email me at nomadagain2000@yahoo.comto order either of these paid advertising spots or if you have any questions concerning them. ********************************************************************************** The Legal Stuff : You are receiving this newsletter because you subscribed - it is never sent unsolicited. I WILL NEVER - UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES - give-away, sell or divulge your details. All portions of this newsletter are copyrighted, but should you wish to reproduce any article/s, please contact the appropriate author/s through M. Kenyon Charboneaux at nomadagain2000@yahoo.com . About Me : Contact details: The owner/publisher of this newsletter is M. Kenyon Charboneaux, fiction writer and teacher of online classes in writing through The Easy Way To Write website. If you are interested in finding out about these classes you may contact Rob Parnell, owner of EWTW, at rob@easywaytowrite.com Kenyon??s books are for sale on her site, www.firegravity.com . She can be contacted at charboneaux@fastmail.fm? , Charboneaux@boxmail.biz? writevamp@hotmail.comornomadagain2000@yahoo.com? PLEASE NOTE : All of Kenyon??s current books were pirated in July of last year - there is no legal, non-pirate outlet for her work other than her website or DigitalbooksEtc.com. If you buy them from anyone else, you??re putting money in the pockets of pirates, not in the pocket of the writer. ********************************************************************************** Subscribe/Unsubscribe : If you would like to subscribe to this newsletter/ezine, just drop me a line at? nomadagain2000@yahoo.com? and I'll add you to the list. If you wish to unsubscribe, all you have to do is drop me anotherline and you??re unsubscribed! Easy, yes? Subscriptions to this ezine are free. Eros Rust is published monthly. Do you Yahoo!? Yahoo! Mail - 50x more storage than other providers! |
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