tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59073154763572746262024-03-14T01:13:27.671-07:00Raising Hell by Bryan L DekkerThis blog is hosted by author Bryan L Dekker. Look for my work on podiobooks and iTunes!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333152338997905368noreply@blogger.comBlogger42125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5907315476357274626.post-28526446735011613952012-11-11T06:20:00.001-08:002012-11-11T06:20:12.484-08:00Typing AwayWell I am finally back at it. The loss of my mom this spring and having to settle her estate slowed me considerably, as did the loss of my job and going to third shift. In the last week I have gone back to writing and editing, picking up with the sequel to Raising Hell.<br />
<br />
I feel<br />
Like I created some solid characters in the first book and I want to add to them, and my own skills,by working on setting and mood. So far the action sequences are better,and I am trying to really get into the heads of the characters.<br />
<br />
I still need an editor, or an ebook publishing company that provides editing services. Any ideas?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333152338997905368noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5907315476357274626.post-75887413512183921962012-10-07T14:56:00.001-07:002012-10-07T14:56:42.408-07:00Back at ItWell, no one can say that 2012 hasn't been eventful. It has been a year of ups and downs for me. On the plus side I was able to get my first book out. On the negative I lost my mom and my job within weeks of each other.<br />
<br />
At present I am back to work, in more ways than one. I am working at a factory that cans tomatoes. It is extremely busy this time of year,and I am working seven days a week on third shift. The frost we had this weekend means that things will slow down a bit.<br />
<br />
I am re-recording the podiobook. The first recording was of the second draft and not of the finished product. I decided to aim higher instead of releasing a sub standard version. My goal is to release the free podiobook at the same time I release the second ebook and to do some cross promotion. <br />
<br />
The first drafts of the second and third books in the arcana series are each over half done. I will be rotating writing and recording until done.<br />
<br />
One more note. I need and editor, badly. If anyone out there has editing skills I am willing to pay to have my final drafts gone through. <br />
<br />
B.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333152338997905368noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5907315476357274626.post-8656737177478083272012-08-06T07:53:00.001-07:002012-08-06T07:53:09.868-07:00Hard TimesI am plugging away on the sequel to Raising Hell, titled Hard Time. <br />
<br />
The premise is that gang members imprisoned at the Michigan City Prison are being murdered, and their decapitated corpses are found kneeling worshipfully. The line witness is described as the angel of death, Uriel, Nate's friend. <br />
Nate has to go undercover, in prison to stop the murders, and prevent a gang war.<br />
<br />
That's a very basic premise, but I wanted to fill everyone in ASAP.<br />
<br />
Will be posting excerpts etc as soon as I can.<br />
<br />
BAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333152338997905368noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5907315476357274626.post-26574895921836288382012-07-31T08:13:00.001-07:002012-07-31T08:13:58.266-07:00Shaking Up The OrderI am making some changes to the Arcana series.<br />
<br />
Book two will be called Hard Time and I am about half done with the first draft. Nate will be trying to solve a series of murders in prison in which prisoners are found kneeling in worship, decapitated, before a gang war breaks out.<br />
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Book three, formerly named Hell to Pay has been renamed Devil's Due. Nate will be trying to save his niece, who has been kidnapped by Queen Mab to pay the hell tithe and keep the peace between her kingdom and the prince of darkness. <br />
<br />
Please let me know what you think of the premise' of these books!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333152338997905368noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5907315476357274626.post-23525624728760737532012-07-17T10:06:00.001-07:002012-07-17T10:06:43.160-07:00Raise Hell For FreeTomorrow, 7/18/12, you can get the Raising Hell free in Amazon. This is a one day, one time promotion, so don't be late!<br />
<br />
http://t.co/AyDzbwuiAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333152338997905368noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5907315476357274626.post-79023567825431876242012-07-11T04:26:00.001-07:002012-07-11T04:26:44.550-07:00Pricing and Availability May VaryWell the ebook is out and plugging along. I decided to lower the price to .99 just to kick it off.<br />
<br />
I am really torn on the paperback. It is out on Amazon, but the lowest pricing I could get it down to was 7.99. It's a shame that publishing has come to the point that the same ebook can be less than a dollar but a paperback is eight.<br />
<br />
I am plugging away at a sequel, so wish me luck. Hopefully I can take what I have learned on Raising Hell and speed the sequel along.<br />
<br />
BryanAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333152338997905368noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5907315476357274626.post-67860733536684303922012-07-08T14:29:00.001-07:002012-07-08T14:29:53.178-07:00Raising Hell is OutThe Raising Hell ebook is out. The paperback will be soon, but I am trying to get the price down. <br />
<br />
If you want to check the ebook out the link is below. Whether you purchase or not I would really appreciate a positive review.-B<br />
<br />
http://www.amazon.com/gp/aw/d/B008I4R83W/ref=mp_s_a_11?qid=1341718973&sr=1-11<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333152338997905368noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5907315476357274626.post-55346587964879503612012-07-06T19:34:00.001-07:002012-07-06T19:34:40.136-07:00Are You Ready to Raise Hell?The Raising Hell ebook is now copyrighted and uploaded to the Kindle Store. If you prefer good old paper books it will be available as a 300+ page 6x9 paperback soon on Amazon also.
Both versions have a lot of extra content, including two short stories and the first chapter of the sequel, Hell to Pay.
The ebook will be priced at $2.99 and the paperback $9.99.
I will be doing a social media campaign at the launch of each version, so please look for it. Every retweet and repost helps me as an Indy author.
Thanks,
BAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333152338997905368noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5907315476357274626.post-28151572483374921902012-07-04T08:43:00.001-07:002012-07-04T08:43:26.684-07:00July ReleaseRaising Hell is finally complete. It's been edited to death and after putting it down for a few weeks and then rereading it I think it's as good as it is likely to get. <br />
<br />
All that remains is applying for a standard copyright instead of the existing creative commons, and uploading it to the various ebook stores.<br />
<br />
I will keep everybody posted both here and through other social media. I would really appreciate all the retweets and reports that I can get when the book is released.<br />
<br />
Thanks for Following,<br />
<br />
B.<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333152338997905368noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5907315476357274626.post-58304610572666135892012-06-19T09:36:00.000-07:002012-06-19T09:36:01.364-07:00LTRRTLLTRRTL. Six letters that define the biker culture. Live to ride, ride to live. You see it patched onto leather and inked into skin.<br />
<br />
This weekend I reached my limit. I flipped the pressures of marriage and fatherhood the bird and took off. I rode south 400 miles before I stopped to consider where I was. There was no destination, no goal. I road for the sheer joy of riding. I rode because if I didn't, I might not like the things I would do, or the person I might become.<br />
<br />
I live to ride. It's a passion that most people just don't get. I don't keep a shiny bike, a bike that is meant to be ridden around for show. My bike is designed to ride, day and night, night and day. It's designed to live one and out of for days at a time. I live to sit my ass on that leather seat and go.<br />
<br />
But...<br />
<br />
ride to live. It makes me feel alive in a way that I can't express. I know that I am one drunk driver or blind curve away from meeting my maker. I know that there is no room for error, no cage around me to protect me. If I make a mistake, or if the other guy does, and I fail to anticipate it, I die. Is it worth it? Absolutely.<br />
<br />
I ride 1100 miles in 50 hours this weekend. I saw the places my father grew up, and rode by the places my family had been most happy. I remembered better times, and created a memory to be cherished a lifetime. I rode to live.<br />
<br />
Until next time , LTRRTL.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333152338997905368noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5907315476357274626.post-14077546836886912082012-06-15T07:07:00.000-07:002012-06-15T07:07:37.978-07:00Hell to Pay 2About 80% done with the first draft. All but the ending is complete. Really needs fleshed out, but I like the framework.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333152338997905368noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5907315476357274626.post-16939275916877014932012-06-13T06:52:00.001-07:002012-06-13T06:52:41.880-07:00Finally BackHi everyone. First I want to apologize for taking so long between posts. First my mother became gravely ill and passed away. Then I had to deal with the estate. Then, for some reason, my iPhone blogger app kept switching to an eastern european language, making it pretty useless. I put some serious time into the book and got it to the editor...and waited...and waited some more. I shared excerpts with a writers group. Finally I said fuck it, and went on vacation. We took the bike up the coast of Michigan, and it was just what I needed.<br />
<br />
I have been really evaluating the Raising Hell project. The podiobook quality just wasn't good enough. I was done off of the first draft, and frankly, the story evolved. When I finished it and listened I wasn't happy. I wouldn't be giving you guys the same story that I will be selling on Amazon. I scrapped it, and soon I will be starting over, with the complete story. First I want to get the ebook up and selling. I have the final product in my hot little hands, and I have given it to my harshest critic to read, my wife. She's brutal. Then I want to re read it for the first time in months.<br />
<br />
When I was younger I did some songwriting. I found that sometimes something you originally thought was cool just wasn't when you revisited it. I wanna do that. I want to put out an ebook and podiobook that I am satisfied with, and not some half assed junk that I thought was good on the first reading. I made the character of God in the sequel look a lot like Steve Jobs. Steve had one mantra, <i>the product first. </i>My product wasn't good enough, even for a first offering. I had to retool and improve it, to refine characters and dialog. I had to make it something...more professional. It's finally something that I can release in good conscience. I would say the Raising Hell ebook is about 95% of the way there, with minor corrections and ebook formatting being the last steps. Now I have to buckle down and get it over the hump.<br />
<br />
Now the good news. While I was waiting on the editor I spent some time on the sequel. The first draft is about half done. In my own opinion...it rocks. It's action from beginning to end. If Raising Hell is Batman Begins the the sequel,Hell to Pay, would be The Dark Knight. We start dealing with a supernatural war, that our hero accidentally starts in Raising Hell. It has epic battles and introspective into characters. So, while my wife tears my work apart, I am working on this. I hope to post some excerpts soon.<br />
<br />
Thanks for being so patient guys and gals, I really do appreciate it, and I will be posting more info on the ebook soon. I want to average at least a post a week, but I also want to share things that matter. If you are going to give me your time, I don't want to waste it.<br />
<br />
It will be a while before the podiobook is done, but when it is, it will be a much better product. Sorry. The ebook will be out soon, and it will be pretty inexpensive. I, hope you enjoy it.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333152338997905368noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5907315476357274626.post-11877064220634465402012-04-23T14:39:00.001-07:002012-04-23T14:39:51.954-07:00New Raising Hell Cover<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjbs00NVFFKWHpVpV6gAUTTAEVSVxMtHG7fb5YY_783UBjqUnfoPxc4KI2PrPgjTNLSDHsGdNN0pU2WYIiSNfEEpE14cT8Qhoxpn__QxkcHFe6tYMumpxJzZL64fD3yBvS1NFrR-jACKs/s1600/Cover+final-page-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjbs00NVFFKWHpVpV6gAUTTAEVSVxMtHG7fb5YY_783UBjqUnfoPxc4KI2PrPgjTNLSDHsGdNN0pU2WYIiSNfEEpE14cT8Qhoxpn__QxkcHFe6tYMumpxJzZL64fD3yBvS1NFrR-jACKs/s320/Cover+final-page-001.jpg" width="247" /></a></div>
Consulted with a graphic artist who gave me some tips on the book cover. Here is the new and improved version. What do you think?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333152338997905368noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5907315476357274626.post-73092369799596088692012-04-19T03:42:00.001-07:002012-04-21T12:14:47.783-07:00Raising Hell-prologueI am finally wrapping up the Raising Hell ebook and podiobook. The death of my mother and dealing with the estate really took a toll on me. This is the final draft, unedited.<br />
<br />
I am still looking for editors and proof readers. Anyone interested?<br />
<br />
Anyway, I will post the prologue now and the first three chapters will be following on a weekly basis. Shooting for an ebook launch date of June 1.<br />
<br />
As always I have to reminded everyone that the material below is protected by a creative commons, non attribution, no derivative, imported 3.0 copyright. The author reserves all rights.<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Prologue<br />
<br />
August 2002<br />
<br />
"Razor base this is razor one over."<br />
<br />
"Copy razor one, this is razor actual. Report."<br />
<br />
"Razor actual we have secured the package. Need immediate extraction. Over.”<br />
<br />
"Copy razor one, Fatback is hovering at 18,000 feet. ETA four minutes.” <br />
<br />
<br />
Razor actual let out a sigh. He was damned glad that this mission was going off without a hitch. Razor One was a career black ops operator and in his experience this was a unnecessary mission. Someone somewhere decided to send troops into Iraq to recover an archeological artifact. Black ops boots had been on the ground since six weeks before the Iraq war started, doing the jobs no one wanted to do, and now that the war was allegedly over they were tasked to cleanup the mess the politicians had made. <br />
<br />
He and his team couldn't discuss the missions that they accomplished with friends or family, living life that could be turned upside down with a 3AM telephone call. They were the anonymous operators that changed the lines on the map. They kept their triumphsand tragedies inside the small, tight, black-ops fraternity. His team specialized at securing high value targets and gathering intel. This was mission accomplished neither, and it concerned him that blood might be spilled for no good reason.<br />
<br />
This team had been dispatched to southern Iraq, near the Saudi border. They were in old Babylon, of all places. There was no strategic reason to be there, or to recover this particular package. No ground could be gained or tactical advantage achieved. He had no idea why Razor One’s team had to hike their sorry asses all over hells half acre to get the thing, but he suspected that there was a political reason behind it. <br />
<br />
They were after stolen artifacts. The fall of Bagdad included the sacking of its museums and antiquities, and intel had been intercepted that indicated some artifacts had been secreted to a cave. A cave in southern Iraq. There were no artifacts. There was one lone artifact found in the cave, and it had to be hauled to the surface and flown out as quietly as possible. <br />
<br />
It was a half mile hike underground to retract the it, “it” being a sealed vase. Seven troops, a chinook helicopter and the chopper's crew were put at risk, and tens of thousands of taxpayers dollars were spent for a fucking vase.<br />
<br />
One of the team members, Pete "Sal" Salazar laughingly called the vase Aunt Ethyl because it reminded him of the cremation urn his aunts ashes rested in. Charlie “Razor One” Jefferson did not appreciate the humor, and promptly told the team member to shut up and quit screwing around or he might be the one going home in an urn. There was a fine line between being too tight and too loose on a mission. Too tight made a soldier edgy, ready to shoot first, and ask questions later, which was frowned on by a political apparatus that saw the military as a necessary evil more then a cherished institution. Too loose and you got sloppy, a deadly state of being for any soldier. <br />
<br />
The shooting war had been over for months, and Razor One didn't want his men to be complacent, even on a glorified smash and grab mission. Jefferson was all business when it was go time. It might be a simple mission, but It was still a mission, and one fuck up on a simple mission can undo a lot of careful planning and leave women and children with nothing but tears and a flag on the mantle to remember you by. <br />
<br />
The lone vase was covered in symbols and ancient script and the team protected it as they would a flesh and blood asset as they moved back out of the depths of the cave. They carefully, quietly, retraced their steps upward. There was only one way in and one way out. If they had been followed or spotted they would have to fight their way out of the cave, hoping their enemy wasn't resourceful enough to plant C4 at the entrance and turn it into a tomb.<br />
<br />
The depths of the cave kept them out of radio contact with the chopper, and they wouldn't know what awaited them until they were topside. They reached the entrance and initiated radio contact to receive the all clear from the chinook. They were almost home.<br />
<br />
A mission was a lot like flying a plane, the landing and takeoffs were the most dangerous moments. The insertion had been easy enough, and Razor One didn’t want anything to go wrong at the extraction. He wanted to get his troops, and Aunt Ethyl, home safe and sound. He wanted to drink a beer and spend some quality time between the sheets with Mrs Razor One. Alcohol was severely frowned on in Muslim countries and Mrs Razor One was home in lovely North Carolina. He would settle for getting he and his men home without any trouble. <br />
<br />
The team fanned out at the mouth of the cave, each taking a sector and covering their extraction. Razor one advanced from the cave and popped glow sticks to mark the LZ . Within moments the chopper landed 40 yards from the entrance, and the team moved fast, entering the big Chinook chopper , trying desperately to get in the air, denying the enemy an easy target. A stinger missile would definitely ruin Charlie Johnson's whole day. The Chinook was airborne in seconds and Razor one was glad to be boots up and in one piece. <br />
<br />
They landed near Rijad, and handed to vase over to the intelligence boys. It was catalogued by them in careful reports and put on a transport, to be flown stateside in a diplomatic package, carried by a cultural attaché, who was a green as the come agency man. It took a connecting flight the get it to Washington, where it was to be studied at the Smithsonian. <br />
<br />
It never arrived. <br />
<br />
The cultural attaché was found dead in a Washington bar. The state of his body confounded investigators, and sent a quiet scare of a new bioweapon through Washington. His bare bones, which were pot marked with buckshot were all that was left for the authorities to sort through. The other patrons of the bar were also found stripped to their bones, laying face down on the floor. <br />
<br />
The attaché had foolishly stopped for a beer at a seedy little bar he had hung out at as a student at George Washington University. Normally he would have ferried sensitive information from stop A to stop B, but this was not sensitive info, it was an archeological specimen, and no one would suffer if he was a few minutes late. His bladder was calling, and the thought of emptying it was all the incentive he needed to decide on the stop. No one would miss him for the extra few minutes it would take to stop, empty his bladder and drink a quick beer in familiar surroundings. It was lazy, and lazy was as good as dead in the intelligence business. <br />
<br />
The bar that was robbed by a tweeker who needed cash to fuel his habit, and when the bathroom door slammed behind the junky the sound was more than enough to set him off. He was jonesing for a hit, and edgy beyond belief. The blast from the shotgun sent the greenhorn flying backward, his hands reaching for the package, his chest riddled with lead pellets. The vase fell with a crash.<br />
<br />
In a matter of moments the bar filled with flies. Millions of flies. They blackened the room, their buzzing deafening the patrons. The junky’s shotgun began firing wildly into the blackness, each blast making an obscene strobe against the black mass of insects. The flies joined together slowly at first, then more rapidly, until they took the shape of a large man. Samyaza of the Grigori welcomed his reanimation. It had been a very long time since he had seen tasted and smelled. <br />
<br />
He smelled fear from those surrounding him. He turned to the gun,man who was out of shells and twitching like a mad man, and then surveyed the bar, seeing the people laying face down, eyes wide in fear. The last thing they heard was the buzzing of flies as the flesh was stripped from their bones.<br />
<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333152338997905368noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5907315476357274626.post-26492069426186350272012-04-16T14:33:00.004-07:002012-04-16T14:33:30.882-07:00Finally....The final draft of Raising Hell is done! It has been delayed, along with the podiobook, by the death of my mother and the responsibilities of being the executor of her estate. I am hoping to get it off o the editor tonight and have it up on amazon ebooks within the next month or so.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333152338997905368noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5907315476357274626.post-91085170438120052232012-03-22T08:56:00.002-07:002012-03-22T08:56:29.001-07:00Back to Work!My mom passed Saturday March 17th and was burried yesterday the 21st. Production to the podiobook will resume this evening in her memory.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333152338997905368noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5907315476357274626.post-81503167979026665732012-03-12T20:24:00.001-07:002012-03-12T20:24:17.513-07:00Taking a BreakMy mom is in the last days/hours of a terminal illness. Naturally, I am with her and not pouring energy into the podiobook or sequel. <br />
<br />
Production will resume in her memory at a later date.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333152338997905368noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5907315476357274626.post-87216689971815474962012-03-10T08:30:00.001-08:002012-03-10T09:18:51.000-08:00Hell to Payhere are the first two chapters of Hell to Pay, the sequel to Raising Hell. This is first draft material, so grade on the curve. The story takes place about six months after Raising Hell. Maeve, the queen of the Winter Court of Faerie, had helped Nate in Raising Hell but warned him not to interfere with her if she hunted in his territory. Maeve shows up to remind Nate of their bargain.....<br />
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<br />
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Chapter 1</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">It was Friday night at Billy Wang's Wing Emporium and a reggae band was droning in the background. Nate LaCroux, a regular customer, had suggested to Billy that he should bring in a band on the weekends to drum up business and Billy had liked the idea. He booked the first band he could, Pillar if Zion, a reggae quartet from Indy. The reggae didn't really go with the of the Chinese restaurant that Billy owned, but it was a start. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Nate was on a date. Not a real date, a practice date. He had stopped by to see his sister in-law Donna and his niece and nephew. Donna was the sister of his deceased wife , and he thought it might be a good idea to get her blessing before actually asking someone out. The kids overheard, and decided it was a good idea to take Nate on a practice date to hone his skills before the real thing. He didn't have any prospects, and after a dozen years he didn't know where to start. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">He had struggled a long time with the decision. His life had changed a lot since the following spring. He kept an innocent man from a date with the executioner and captures his wife's killer, who was presumably suffering under the hand of Uriel, archangel or repentance and judgement. It was a milestone, a chance for Nate to turn the page on that part of his life and actually start living again.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">"Sit up straight uncle Nate, good posture makes you look confident." His niece chastised. The twins were fourteen. Quint, the boy was all skateboards and scars, while Allie, the girl was pompoms and bows. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">"You don't think I look confident?" Nate asked, flashing a nervous grin.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">"Dude, chicks dig a guy that's confident. You've got that string silent thing going on, and scars! Chicks dig scars." His nephew replied, with great sagacity. Nate was taking dating advice from a pair of fourteen year olds. He was screwed.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">It was a cool fall evening and the chirping of crickets filled the air. The summer had been long, and the fall warm, but it was finally relenting, and soon the season would begin its relentless march toward winter. Nate had enjoyed the summer, and rode hard throughout the season. It helped him clear his mind, and he was trying to get his life back on track. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">"So, do you always eat with your elbows on the table?" Allie asked, condescension dripping from every word. The bitch, who was sitting outside watching the trio closely, chugged in amusement. Nate heard it from their window seat and glared at the dog. She answered him with a doggie smile, he tongue sagging from her maw and her tall wagging innocently. "Keep it up and I'll quit sharing my beer with you." Nate spje through the glass. The dog's tail quit wagging, a d she looked crestfallen.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Nate turned to the twins. "Uh, yeah I guess, why would I want to go out with a woman who cared about where my elbows are?" Allie buried her face in her palms while Quint knuckle bumped his uncle, and have an affirming, "Word dude!" Nate thought that was a good thing, but he wasn't sure. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">A long mournful howl filled the night. The crickets quit chirping. The bitch stood. Normally she looked harmless enough, but when she stood, ears back, hackles raised and teeth bared in an snarl her jaws looked like a collection of box cutters. She growled loudly and then returned the howl as if to say, "Here I am, come and get me." </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The reggae band quit playing as Maeve, queen of the Winter Court of the Fae, walked into Billy Wang's Wing Emporium. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Chapter 2</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">"Hello Nathan" Maeve spoke, her words dripping with false civility. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">"Kids, get behind me." Nate said, as he stood and grasped his staff from the wall it leaned upon. The twins looked at each other in confusion, and hesitated. Maeve sniffed the air deeply, a d smiled, stepping forward. "Now, now Nathan, there is no reason to behave like that, she said, stepping forward and running a long pale finger over Allies cheek.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Maeve looked resplendent in a long white gown. She was carrying her hunting spear, which told Nate that she hadn't come for the chow mien. There was a crowd of twenty or so in the restaurant, and they were gaping at the scene. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Nate drew his SOG seal pup knife from a sheath that was inverted on his belt. He stepped in quickly, and help the knife a hairbreadth from her throat. Maeve had the power of a goddess, but she, and all Faeries, react to cold iron like superman does to kryptonite. "Maeve, Queen of the Fae, I offer you respect, but I warn you, if you ever touch anyone in my family again, I will slit your fucking throat with cold iron!" The very touch of steel to a faerie's skin was painful, a wound made with steel might never heal. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">A slit throat surely wouldn't. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Maeve let go a laugh that dripped with contempt. "Put that toy away mageling, before you hurt yourself." </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">"Walk away Maeve." Nate warned. He knew he had over reacted by threatening the queen. He owed her a favor, but the queen of the Winter Court was unpredictable and she was as likely to kill everyone in the restaurant as she was to sit down and drink a beer. Nate pulled the knife away from her throat slowly.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">"What do you want Maeve?"</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">"Courtesy, to start. I gave you passage through my lands, and yet when I visit yours you attack me." She said, wounded. "I came to give you fair warning. I will be hunting in this plane a few days hence. Do not interfere."</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">"That depends on what you are hunting." Nate answered. "Or who."</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Maeve smiled wickedly. "Who and what we hunt is our own business. I have merely come as a courtesy. Fare thee well wizard." and with that she turned to leave, then paused, looking back at Allie. "And fare the well little mageling. We shall see you soon."</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">With that Maeve walked out of Billy Wang's. The bitch was straining at her leash, which was tied to a bike rack. Nate had only seen her like this once before, when she met the hell hound the year before. Her teeth were bared into a nasty snarl and foam was building around her mouth. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The great black hound padded up next to Maeve, red eyes glaring at the bitch, looking back at Maeve for permission to attack. The bitch was a 75 pound Doberman, and the hound made her look small. Nate walked out, standing next to the bitch and lowering his staff at the beast. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">"Better run along Maeve, or I'm going to neuter your pooch." </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Maeve turned away, the dog following at her side. They walked through a doorway of quicksilver, disappearing from view and into her own realm.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Billy Wang's was abuzz with excitement. Pendleton Indiana hadn't seen this much activity in years, and Nate who was a hermit to the townsfolk, had just become a legend. Nate payed his bill and ushered the twins out, and into the old pickup truck that he picked up over the summer. The bitch rode in the bed, her mood improving after the hound disappeared. The kids were quiet at first, and he wanted to get them out of town and off to someplace safe. Allie broke the silence with a question. "Uncle Nate, what's a mageling?" It was going to be a long drive home.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><br />
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Hell to Pay is protected by a commercial, non derivative, creative commons 3.0 copyright. The author reserves all rights.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333152338997905368noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5907315476357274626.post-66821490930502003442012-03-06T18:41:00.002-08:002012-03-06T18:41:53.927-08:00The Confession<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The Confession</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">"I didn't mean to kill her...." I blurted. The priest held up his hand to me, stopping me mid sentence. "We need to do this as a confession. Anything you say outside the sacrament can be used against you. You know the drill." The priest reached into his pocket and brought out the special rosary, The one without the crucifix, and placed the stole over his neck. He took a long drink of beer and nodded at me to begin. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Most confessions don't take place in a bar; they take place in a church. Unfortunately, I can't step foot in a church. It's holy ground. "Bless me father for I have sinned. It's been a year since my last confession." </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">A year. A whole year without feeding on a human being. I was doing so good this time. The priest took another drink. I've known him my whole life. He's aged. I haven't aged a day since i was twenty four. That was nineteen years ago, and for nineteen years the priest and I have kept this ritual alive.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">"Go on Vincent." He still calls me Vincent. He and my mom. At least she would if she you I was alive, or at least that I'm not entirely dead. Everyone else called me Vinny. But not my mom, or Father Andy O'Riley. He's not Italian, but he's still ok in my book.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">"I have committed murder father. I didn't mean to. It just happened."</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He wasn't buying it. "Things don't just happen. People don't just commit murder and girls don't just get pregnant. What happened?"</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I told him the truth. "I got lonely." </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He buried his face in his hands in frustration. I hate disappointing O'Riley. He's the only one who believes in me. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">"I got lonely. I went out for a night. Mingling in public, just hanging out in a pub. I wasn't hunting or looking for trouble. I was just sitting at a bar when I saw her, when she saw me. Well, we saw each other I guess. That's when it happened."</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">"She smiled at me." </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Going out was my downfall. I usually keep to myself, trying to protect anyone I could come in contact with. It's so hard to avoid contact, to be solitary. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">"Do you always kill people that smile at you?" The priest asked.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He knew I didn't. He knew I didn't like killing. He knew that I don't line being what I am.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> I'm a vampire. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I didn't ask to become one, and I still hate what I am after all these years. I've tried everything, but I cant find a cure. Nothing short of a stake or a sunrise can cure me, and the church frowns on suicide.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I started with only feeding on those that deserved it. I am a predator, with all the tools of the trade. I can hear a man beating his wife, smell the sweat on his body, from hundreds of yards. I can hear a child crying after they have been molested. I preyed on those that were preying on others. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The priest would have none of it. I got the old two wrongs don't make a right lecture. He was right, as usual. I fed on bottled blood. The stuff has no life, no vitality. It can sustain me, like bread and water can a convict.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">"What happened when she smiled at you Vincent?"</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">"Honestly?" I asked. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">"Yes, unless you want to lie to a priest."</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It was time to lay it all out. "It felt good. She noticed me. She liked what she saw and smiled. It made me feel human, and I decided to buy her a drink. I didn't mean to kill her. I didn't want to."</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">"What did you mean to do Vincent?"</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">"I meant to feel human! I did feel human. We laughed and talked. We talked about life and family. We talked about the weather and the other people in the bar. It felt good! It felt so good to actually connect with a someone. It made me feel human for the first time in a long time."</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">"But you aren't human Vincent, at least not entirely human, I don't think. How did she die?"</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This was going to be hard. I hate this part of confession. "She asked me what I do. I knew what she meant. She wanted to know what I did for a living. That meant she was interested. I caught myself, tried to stop it. It was like taking a shot to the gut father. I know what I do for a living. I know what I am."</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">"What did you tell her?"</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">"I told her the truth.i told her I kill people. I wanted to scare her away. But...."</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">"But?"</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">"She looked up. That's what killed her, she in surprise and her gaze met mine. I really didn't mean for that to happen. Once he eyes met mine she was in my power, my thrall. Her life was in my hands, and I took it. She was defenseless. We walked outside hand in hand; her hand was so warm. I killed her behind the pub. I drank her blood, and she didn't even know to be afraid."</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">"What do you want from me Vincent?"</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">"I'm not sure any more. When it started I came to you because that when catholic kids do when they screw up. I knew you couldn't turn me in, and I needed to square what I was with God."</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">"And now?" The priest asked. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">"Because you listen, and don't judge me. You give me hope."</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">"There is still hope Vincent."</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">"How do you know?" I asked. The priest caught me off guard with his answer. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The priest took my hand in his "Because you feel guilt. That means you have humanity. You may be a vampire Vincent, you may not be human, but you have humanity. As long as that spark of the old Vincent is still there I can't give up on you. If you ever lose it, I'll hunt you down myself. Until then, I believe you can be redeemed."</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He finished his beer and gave me absolution. There was no penance. No penance could make up for what I do. No punishment could be worse than the hell I feel every day. The priest gave me absolution, and then he finished his beer and stood to leave.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">"See you next time Vincent." He said in parting, and headed for the door.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Yeah father, next time.</span></div><div><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br />
</span></div><div><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><span href="http://purl.org/dc/dcmitype/Text" property="dct:title" rel="dct:type" xmlns:dct="http://purl.org/dc/terms/">The Confession</span> by <a href="http://bryanldekker.blogspot.com/" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; color: #4374b7; font-family: inherit; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">Bryan L Dekker,</a>is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" rel="license" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; color: #4374b7; font-family: inherit; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License</a>.<br />
Based on a work at <a href="http://bryanldekker.blogspot.com/" rel="dct:source" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; color: #4374b7; font-family: inherit; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;" xmlns:dct="http://purl.org/dc/terms/">bryanldekker.blogspot.com</a>.</span></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333152338997905368noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5907315476357274626.post-36169436926515037502012-02-27T07:38:00.000-08:002012-02-27T07:38:09.489-08:00Almost there...All episodes have been recorded and I am currently editing them. At present I am finishing about 3 a week. At that rate I can submit everything to podiobooks in 2-3 weeks. As soon as I'm finished I will be polishing it he book up a bit and sending it to te proof readers that volunteered. Once it comes back from them I will reesit and submitt it to the Amazon, Apple, Barnes and Noble and Smashwords. <br />
<br />
Quick question. What do you usually pay for an ebook? I will price it somewhere between .99 cents and $2.99 . What dobyounthink is fair?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333152338997905368noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5907315476357274626.post-70737139892297847982012-02-19T18:53:00.001-08:002012-02-19T18:53:02.304-08:00Location- Pendleton IndianaIn the book our hero, Nate LaCroux, lives in a creekside cabin that is secluded in a wooded setting. I based this on the beautiful Falls Park in Pendleton Indiana. <br />
<br />
The park hosts the Pendleton Historical Museum, a cabin on the creek. It's a beautiful setting in a quaint little Indiana town. Here are a few pics from the location that inspired Mate's dwelling.<div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxCPvBr3gEjc-CVa7lChgxtsw9BM13K-9ADBsqkPa0pts9ft2YckIIaoIdeiqX-RboTYZWok85rBDD0uaqNdzJ2qEEyHQJQpYaphTCSUjarjGjGisUhPfUEfFb_gSObgExqnAVjVuHqv0/s640/blogger-image--1437444893.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxCPvBr3gEjc-CVa7lChgxtsw9BM13K-9ADBsqkPa0pts9ft2YckIIaoIdeiqX-RboTYZWok85rBDD0uaqNdzJ2qEEyHQJQpYaphTCSUjarjGjGisUhPfUEfFb_gSObgExqnAVjVuHqv0/s640/blogger-image--1437444893.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWg5oiIq-U8lVtv0BAXrweIlAzsuzKyqhxuIf4VidUKOuVd8b4F5rljSCOfmJ4mid97T-ASghWw7_bhY6Xgstdx_7FT5SJ3A3cFCSJorVyls-p7R2VZbdQqtM_NGcRLyP5NOqKLg7tee8/s640/blogger-image--947687160.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWg5oiIq-U8lVtv0BAXrweIlAzsuzKyqhxuIf4VidUKOuVd8b4F5rljSCOfmJ4mid97T-ASghWw7_bhY6Xgstdx_7FT5SJ3A3cFCSJorVyls-p7R2VZbdQqtM_NGcRLyP5NOqKLg7tee8/s640/blogger-image--947687160.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJGZfPadPDAUPg_nvjsm5FMj1RgWTWH201anr3fYePqSAiu6_I30hJk2iHtDHjIj1KbdK55lXqGqOxhkSaiAkf4s39MrXqytIm775Sz_r2vicTGqfQkW2mnK0HHQOgNolWQXWjK_h8jPw/s640/blogger-image--85830704.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJGZfPadPDAUPg_nvjsm5FMj1RgWTWH201anr3fYePqSAiu6_I30hJk2iHtDHjIj1KbdK55lXqGqOxhkSaiAkf4s39MrXqytIm775Sz_r2vicTGqfQkW2mnK0HHQOgNolWQXWjK_h8jPw/s640/blogger-image--85830704.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbuAKNBnAYOStVrL9JAvvtMOgAfG3_PE9MVRswKqbB7Zu1c1kORjQld4AyD5HPoxdr5JwS-xT65K5byMyhwZtszeFTBHWQIPlQCMPrt_ul4uWCov0DNwJoJZHEBCKxVfeqbWFRxO3E5j0/s640/blogger-image-1815664745.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbuAKNBnAYOStVrL9JAvvtMOgAfG3_PE9MVRswKqbB7Zu1c1kORjQld4AyD5HPoxdr5JwS-xT65K5byMyhwZtszeFTBHWQIPlQCMPrt_ul4uWCov0DNwJoJZHEBCKxVfeqbWFRxO3E5j0/s640/blogger-image-1815664745.jpg" /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333152338997905368noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5907315476357274626.post-92082872864549336582012-02-15T13:03:00.000-08:002012-02-17T10:33:48.203-08:00Roses of WinterHave you ever read a book that really caught you by surprise? Normally I read action or paranormal thrillers, but recently I stumbled across Roses of Winter by Murdo Morrison on www.podiobooks.com. It's a drama set near Glasgow Scotland during WWII. Like I said, this isn't my usual fare, but it was so well written that the story pulled me in. <br />
<br />
The books follows a group of families that live in the tenements if Glasgow. The mean work in shipyards or are merchant marines during the war, and the women struggle to survive. There is triumph and tragedy, action and drama throughout the book. Like I said before, it is wonderfully written, and if it can pull me, an action, paranormal, horror loving biker, I am sure some of you would really enjoy it too.<br />
<br />
I strongly recommend the podiobook to anyone who will give it a listen. You can find a link to the ebook and paperback below.<br />
<br />
Ebook Link:<br />
<b><a href="http://tinyurl.com/bryanrecommends1">Roses of War Ebook</a></b><br />
Paperback Link:<br />
<b><a href="http://tinyurl.com/bryanrecommends2">Roses of Winter Paperback</a></b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333152338997905368noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5907315476357274626.post-5623450499363235282012-02-13T06:30:00.001-08:002012-02-13T06:30:46.373-08:00UpdateThe production of Raising Hell is wrapping up. I have almost 80% recorded and. 2/3 edited. <br />
<br />
Unfortunately my mother's health is declining, and we are in the process of calling in family and making her as comfortable as possible. Please be patient if production is slow the next few days and weeks. Thank you.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333152338997905368noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5907315476357274626.post-67738688687669292902012-02-11T08:04:00.000-08:002012-02-11T08:04:26.283-08:00Raising Hell Episode 7<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxTTzFbOuctmMarjXN1vmDx2BSARsepzH3xsmGw6V3Y3TwJPh4yPEzcR72_dMt64k8uPIECAHH5z4niHVHKDA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Ok folks, here's the scoop. I don't like this episode. I don't like the writing or the audio quality. I have rewritten it and I will rerecord it before submitting the final product to podiobooks.com and iTunes. For not it is what it is. Please grade on the curve.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333152338997905368noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5907315476357274626.post-29890415258737829142012-02-05T11:25:00.000-08:002012-02-05T11:25:40.671-08:00The Wrong Place At The Wrong TimeHi everyone. I would like to introduce you to a new author, Dave Perlmutter. Dave is posting chapters of his true life story on his blog a chapter at a time. He is a talented writer and a really great guy. His story is interesting and fun in a tragic events kind of way. I hope that you take time to check out his story at his site. It's quite cool!<br />
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Daves site is: http://thewrongplaceatthewrongtime.blogspot.com/Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333152338997905368noreply@blogger.com0