Shedding Tears for Aurora

I’m not a very emotional person. Compassionate? Always. Teary-eyed? Not really. Those who know me well can probably count on one hand the times they’ve seen me cry. I don’t know why, I’ve just always been that way. It’s almost like I stockpile it inside myself until something so devastating happens, the flood gates open and years of repressed tears spill out like a fire hose on full blast.

On Friday at about eight in the morning I turned on the television. It was one of those moments where everything was so surreal, I felt like I was experiencing some kind of horrid nightmare. Heaven knows, I’ve had enough of them. What I was seeing wasn’t real, right? It couldn’t be.

But it was.

A female reporter announced a man had waltzed into a movie theater, armed, and with a single goal in mind: kill as many people as possible. At first I was stunned like everyone else. But as the day unfolded and they released more information about the victims, it became harder for me to listen. I didn’t want to hear it anymore. Sure, I could have turned the TV off, but I couldn’t undo what had already been done.

A photo was released of one of the victims and I thought: that could have been my sister. And then it hit me; she was someone’s sister, daughter, mother, wife, and friend.

And the flood gates opened.

Because I write thriller novels, I do a lot of research into the mind of different types of killers, knowing in the end, what I put on the page is nothing more than a work of fiction. I like it that way. Clean, not messy. But that’s not always real life, is it?

I’ve thought about what compelled “he who shall not be named” to commit such a heinous crime, but it doesn’t matter. Because he did, and I find myself devoid of compassion for him right now while I witness the aftermath of what he’s done. Part of me wishes he could be transported to another era where criminals suffered severely before their heads rolled off the chopping block Henry VIII style. Is it wrong to want that? The answer is yes. It is for me. Why? Because it feeds into the negative energy of what’s already happened and puts my focus on him, and not where it should be: with the victims and their families. I want to stretch my arms out so far they’ll wrap around every family member, every friend who lost someone they loved.

Over the past few days, a song has played in my head over and over again, “One Love” by Bob Marley. Maybe it’s because all I want is for everyone to feel alright, even though those closest to the victims probably won’t feel that way for a very long time. Ever since I was little I’ve always felt the need to help others. I remember a bee landing in my swimming pool. I wanted to save it before it drowned so I scooped it up in my tiny hand, and you all know what followed. It bit me, thus ending its own life.

I’ve learned a lot about people over the years, and one thing I know for certain is that it’s okay to be there for someone in their time of need, to listen, comfort, whatever is needed to help them through the hard times. But then we have to take a step back and allow them to process what’s happening in their own way, and in their own time, and that’s different for all of us.

This horrible tragedy has reminded me to hold my loved ones a little tighter and not to take anything for granted. How about you?

Chapter One Submissions: July

***WE ARE NOW CLOSED FOR JULY SUBMISSIONS. 
CHECK BACK THE FIRST FEW DAYS OF AUGUST TO SIGN UP FOR NEXT MONTH***

What is it?

A contest for authors.

Each month I will be looking for the BEST first chapter of a novel. The winner will receive a $20 Amazon Gift Card AND will be interviewed on both my reader and writer blogs which have had over 30,000 page views in the past year. In addition, I will tweet about your book to my 13,000 followers and do a write up about why I chose your novel as my "chapter one" pick of the month.

For the first month, I will be accepting 50 entries. I might change this later...I need time to write after all ;) but I will do what I can to maintain this number.  Once I receive 50, I will announce at the top of this post that submissions are closed for the month, so if you don't see that above, there's still an opening.  Last month it was only open for two days, so don't wait around ;)

TO ENTER...

Comment on this blog post below. If you are one of the first fifty to comment, send the first chapter of your novel to my EMAIL ADDRESS.

In the subject line of your email put: CHAPTER ONE
And then please paste your chapter in the body of the email, and NOT as an attachment.

The winner will be emailed by the last week of the month, and look for their interview (and hopefully YOUR interview) the first week of the following month. If you were not chosen, you may submit the first chapter of a different novel the next month. Short stories are also eligible.

Why am I doing this? Those who know me already know, but if you don't, one of my favorite things to do is promote up-and-coming authors. I received a lot of help in the early days of my journey from some amazing authors, and it's important to me to give back.

Best of luck to everyone!

June Chapter One Winner: William Simon

If you are a writer and would like to sign up for the Chapter One contest in July, click HERE.

Of the fifty entries received, I was pleasantly surprised at how many were really good.  I narrowed the list down to twelve, and then went back and forth from there until I made my final decision.  I'm a picky reader so I thought it would be easy to choose one winner--it wasn't.  

For June the winner is: Spider's Dance by William Simon (writing as Will Graham). 

These other submissions were also excellent:

M. Edward McNally - The Sable City

Jessica Meigs - The Becoming

Christine DeMaio-Rice - Dead is the New Black

Red Tash - Troll or Derby

Anne R. Allen - The Gatsby Game

And now back to our winner.  Here's a bit of the first chapter of Spider's Dance:

Rinnce Fada
Initial moves, the dance begins

Anglo Exploration Corporate HQ

Houston, Texas

December, 2004
Until the screaming started, it was just another Monday morning….

I’d come in early to review the weekend network traffic logs. I did that, sometimes, when the place was quiet and before the workweek began. I hung up my suit jacket, closed the door, and settled in with the stack of printouts. As I read the first page, I took out my cufflinks and put them in a trouser pocket, rolling up my sleeves until the air conditioner kicked in. In a silent protest against ‘business casual’, I kept my tie knotted, but unbuttoned my vest.

Besides, I wanted to see how long it would take someone to notice the abstract-looking pattern on my tie was really Wile E. Coyote chasing the Roadrunner.

An hour later, people came into the offices at Anglo Exploration, “AngEx” for short, one of those huge energy conglomerates that keeps the world moving.

Those of us who were there that early ran down the hallway toward the shrieks, wondering what in the world had happened. The intern in charge of delivering the morning mail was leaning against the wall next to a small private office, trembling.

I stopped.

“Nicholas,” a voice near me whispered. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

I turned my head just enough to see Natalie Wong had come up behind me. “I don’t know,” I said softly back. 

“Something bad, I’d guess.”

She craned her head forward, trying to peer in. The people behind pushed us forward. Natalie saw him first, gave a little cry like a tiny kitten, and hurried down the hallway, both hands clamped over her mouth.

I could see just enough of his face to recognize it was Roland Carlyle. Blood and brains were on the desk. The eye turned upward bulged with terror or agony. Both hands were stretched out, as if trying to pull himself across the desk and out of range of whatever hurt him.

It didn’t look like it worked.

To purchase Spider's Dance click HERE.

***

I loved the opening of this novel.  It thrusts the reader into the center of the action.  Death occurs right away, raising several questions as to what happened and why.  This is a great way to pull the reader in and pique their interest. 

The writer's usage of power verbs adds strength to the structure of his sentences, as does the usage of a simile when describing Natalie's reaction when she glances at the deceased.  The first chapter is easy to follow and understand and held my interest all the way through. 

***

Want to know more about William Simon?  Read his Q&A:

Tell me about yourself: Where are you from and how long have you been writing?

I’ve been living in Houston, Texas, for going on 30 years now.  I’ve been writing since I was a child; I taught myself to type at a very young age, and could make the words do what  wanted them to!

Tell me about the novel—what inspired it?

SPIDER’S DANCE was originally conceived of back in 2001, at a writers’ conference.  The idea kind of simmered in the back of my mind for a while, and came together finally!

What genre do you write in and why?

Mainly mystery and thrillers, because that’s what I like to read!

What’s the next project for you?  Tell the readers about it.

I’m currently working on a novel set in 1959 Las Vegas, just before the big explosion in the city in terms of tourism, entertainers, etc.  I grew up there, and consider Vegas home, but it was a little later on in the 1960’s.  This particular era is fascinating.

Let’s put the novel aside and talk about YOU for a minute—what are your hobbies and what can’t you live without that’s non-book related?  What do you do when you are not writing?  If you could live anywhere in the world, where would that be?

I have a slight obsession with drive-in/’grindhouse’ type movies, and old TV series from Britain in the 1960’s:  THE SAINT, THE PERSUADERS, DEPARTMENT S, etc.  I’ve got most of the old favorites on DVD and watch them far more than regular television.

If a reader asked you to recommend the three BEST books to read, aside from your own, what would they be?

Wow, tough question!  I’ll go with authors instead.  Anything by Ian Fleming.  Anything by William Shakespeare.  Anything by Agatha Christie.  The Fleming and Christie are kind of an obvious choice for me, but for the poetry of English, how beautiful it can really be, I have to go with Shakespeare.

If you could have dinner with one author, who would it be and why?

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.  Anyone who knows me can answer that one….:)

Post where you can be found—website, blog, twitter, facebook, etc.

Website is:  www.wmsimon.com

Blog is: www.wmsimon.blogspot.com although I’ve not updated it in a while.

Facebook is:  wmsimon

Twitter is: wmsimon

Not very original, but easy to find me!  Thank you, Cheryl, for hosting me today!

Stranger In Town - Chapter One

Stranger in Town 

Sloane Monroe Series #4

(2014 Shamus Award Finalist) 

Chapter One Sneak Peek

Pinedale, Wyoming

July 27, 2010

Six-year-old Olivia Hathaway tiptoed down the center aisle of Arbuckle’s Market, stopping once to glance over her shoulder and make sure her mother wasn’t watching.  But Mrs. Hathaway was too engrossed in selecting the right card for her sister’s birthday to notice her daughter had slipped away. 

Olivia looked left and then right before scooting one aisle over.  She peered at the products lining the shelves and then shook her head.  “Nope, not this one.” 

She frowned and moved on. 

The colors from the paint samples on the next aisle were like bright strips of candy, beckoning her to come closer.  So she did.  She loved plucking the cardstock strips from their slots and adding them to her collection at home.  She’d collected so many over the past few months, her mother had bought her a notebook to glue them all in. 

The star-shaped colors were Olivia’s favorite because they weren’t plain and ordinary like the rectangle ones, and they had fun names like “Summer Sparkle” and “Twinkle, Twinkle.”  She tapped her pointer finger on the top of each card like she was playing a game of “eeny meeny miny moe” and then selected her favorite color: green.  She’d always wanted a green room, but her mother said green was for boys and had painted Olivia’s room pink instead.  

Olivia held the green star out in front of her and twirled around and around until she collided with something hard.  

“Hello, Olivia.”

A man in a black cowboy hat and mirrored sunglasses smiled and pointed at the ground.  “You dropped something.”

Olivia froze.

“Here, let me get it for you,” he said.  

The man scooped up the star and held it out in front of her.  “Go on, take it,” he said.  “Don’t be afraid.”

Olivia didn’t know why her stomach felt like a bunch of ants were crawling around inside, but she did know the way it made her feel: scared.  She wanted to cry out for her mother, but when her mouth fell open, nothing came out. 

“Come here, sweet thing,” the man said.   

When Olivia didn’t move, the man lifted her up and set her down on his knee.  “Do you want me to take you back to your mommy?”

Olivia squeezed her eyes shut, but when she opened them, the man’s hands still wound around her tiny arms like a boa constrictor.  If he wants to help me find my mommy, why is he holding me so tight?

“How about this—give me a hug, just a little one, and we’ll look together.”  He held a finger out in front of her.  “Pinky promise.”

Olivia wanted nothing more than to be back with her mother again.  She leaned in just enough but jerked back when the mountain of stubble on the man’s chin scratched her face.  She knew her cheek wasn’t on fire, but it felt like the metal from a seat belt on a hot day. 

The man patted Olivia on the back and stood up.  “There now, take my hand.”

Olivia looked down.  Her fingers were clenched in a tight ball, the edges of her untrimmed nails digging into her soft skin.  She stuck out her tiny hand, and the man wrapped it in his.  But when they got to the end of the aisle, he didn’t turn, he kept going. 

A faint whisper echoed in the distance.  “Olivia honey, where are you?”

She wanted to cry out, “Mother, I am here!”  But the man clasped her hand so tight, she kept quiet.

Hand in hand, they walked through the front door.  The sun had just started to go down when they stepped outside, but it was just light enough for Olivia to see someone walking toward them. 

“Olivia, is that you?” the woman said. 

It was her white-haired, wrinkly-faced neighbor, Mrs. Schroeder. 

“Excuse me,” Mrs. Schroeder said to the man, “I don’t believe we’ve met.  I’m Helen Schroeder.  Are you a relative of the Hathaway family?”

The man looked down and kept walking.  He stopped next to a grey car and turned to Olivia.  “Get in.”

She did.

He shut her inside and turned around to find Mrs. Schroeder glaring up at him.     

“I really must insist you answer my question,” Mrs. Schroeder said.  “Or I’ll have no choice but to call Olivia’s parents right now.”

“Very well,” the man said.  He glanced around.  Seeing no one, he pulled a knife from his front pocket and pushed a button on the side.  The knife sprung to life. 

Before the old woman had the chance to scream, the man thrust the knife into her side.  “I’m sorry, but I must insist you stop asking questions,” he said. 

The woman collapsed.     

Olivia shielded her eyes and thrashed her head from side to side.  “It’s okay, everything’s okay.  Mommy will find me,” she whispered to herself.          

The man flung open the driver’s-side door, started the car, and backed out.  The car bounced up and down for a moment.  It reminded Olivia of the time her dad ran over the neighbor’s cat by accident.  Olivia gathered up enough courage to move one of her fingers just enough to see her neighbor through the car window.  She was on the ground, motionless.  

The man turned around and smiled.  “Mrs. Schroeder will be okay, Olivia.  She fell down, that’s all.”

Inside the store, a frantic Mrs. Hathaway ran up and down the aisles begging anyone she came in contact with to help find her missing daughter.  A few minutes later the store was locked down.  But it was too late.  Olivia was gone.    

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The Promise...A Message for Father's Day

A few months back I was asked to take part in an anthology for Father's Day called Memories of Dad written by authors from the Indie Chicks Cafe. 

For my part, I decided to write about my grandfather.  He's been gone for about seventeen years now, and on this holiday, my thoughts always turn to him. 

Here's my part in the anthology...

The Promise

My grandfather lived on ten acres, and for a time, I was lucky enough to live on the property with him.  He was the kind of man who didn’t shy away from a good deal.  He frequented the local auctions, and sometimes even brought me back some unique finds.  Once he gave me an entire box of purple eye shadow, which was cool, except for the fact it was one hundred containers of the same color.  Another time he returned home with a box of Rubik Cube key chains.  I was very popular in school the next day.

In junior high and high school, I was in choir and my sister was in dance.  My grandfather always attended our concerts even though some of them were about as interesting as a documentary on sliced bread.  It didn’t matter.  He still came. 

My grandfather had a voice like Louis Armstrong and sang songs about three little fishes while beating me at a game of Crazy Eights.  There was something about him that was special.  Maybe it was the fact he could skate backward at the roller skating rink when the other grandpa’s couldn’t even move forward without falling down and breaking something.  Or maybe it was that he believed I could do anything, be anything.  Whatever it was, I was in total awe of him. 

When I had my daughter, I called my grandfather to share the news and he made a plan to come see his first great-granddaughter.  But one night I arrived home to find my father sitting in my living room.  I looked into his eyes and knew something wasn’t right.  My grandfather had died.

My entire family made plans to travel to the funeral, but then something strange happened: my grandmother had him cremated, almost immediately.  There would be no funeral, no chance for closure, no time to say goodbye.  In a moment he was whisked away forever.

Not long after his death, my sister had a dance concert.  I remember sitting in a metal chair in a school auditorium waiting for the program to begin.  As I looked down at the baby girl I held in my arms, I realized my grandfather would never attend another dance concert or ever hear me sing again.  And he'd never meet my daughter.

At that moment a cool breeze brushed across my face like I was outside and a gust of wind had just kicked up, only we were inside and the room was still.  No doors had been opened, and the air conditioner hadn’t kicked on.  And then I felt it again—this time more powerful, like someone had reached out and touched me, but no one was there.  Were they?

Some time later I was alone in my car listening to Tracy Chapman’s The Promise.  As soon as the song began, a cool wind drifted by my face.  I’d never really taken the time to learn the lyrics of the song, so I played it back and listened and then I did it again, and again.  For me the song was about a person making a promise; if they waited, the other person would come for them and they would be together again.  

On Father’s Day I not only think of my own father, I think of my grandfather, too.  Days like this remind me that just because we can’t see our loved ones after they’ve passed on, doesn’t mean they aren’t around in one way or another, waiting, watching and cheering us on. 

Introducing "CHAPTER ONE"

***SUBMISSIONS ARE NOW CLOSED FOR THIS MONTH.  CHECK BACK ON JULY 1ST TO FIND OUT ABOUT THE WINNER AND SIGN UP FOR NEXT MONTH***

In July I will be starting something called:

What is it?

A contest for authors.

Each month I will be looking for the BEST first chapter of a novel.  The winner will receive a $20 Amazon Gift Card AND will be interviewed on both my reader and writer blogs which have had over 30,000 page views in the past year.  In addition, I will tweet about your book to my 12,000 followers and do a write up about why I chose your novel as my "chapter one" pick of the month.

For the first month, I will be accepting 50 entries.  I might change this later...I need time to write after all ;) but I will do what I can to maintain this number.

TO ENTER...

Comment on this blog post below.  If you are one of the first fifty to comment, send the first chapter of your novel to my EMAIL ADDRESS. 

In the subject line of your email put: CHAPTER ONE
And then please paste your chapter in the body of the email, and NOT as an attachment.

The winner will be emailed by the last week of the month, and look for their interview (and hopefully YOUR interview) the first week of the following month.  If you were not chosen, you may submit the first chapter of a different novel the next month.  Short stories are also eligible.

Why am I doing this? Those who know me already know, but if you don't, one of my favorite things to do is promote up-and-coming authors.  I received a lot of help in the early days of my journey from some amazing authors, and it's important to me to give back. 

Best of luck to everyone!

   

I Have a Secret Giveaway Winners!

Thanks to everyone for participating in the giveaway for the launch of my new book, I Have a Secret.  I had lots of entries and it was a great success. 

WINNERS:

Signed copy of I Have a Secret: Nora-Adrienne Deret

Kindle Cover: Nancy Gillespie

Amazon Gift Card: Sarah Roberts

Don't forget to stop by eBook Swag this week and enter all their fun giveaways.  They have some amazing prizes this week, and I am just one of the authors participating.

Have a great week everyone!