Friday, March 20, 2009

As you may or may not be aware, I am currently working on my second book. This time, it isn't quite as autobiographical as my first, Not Only Am I With The Band... I should hope not considering the fact that it deals with a serial killer. Yep, and we aren't talking Dexter here folks. Cold, calculating, quite insane... fun stuff, nes't pas?

Which isn't to say that there isn't some of me and my experiences in this new novel; how could that ever be. Authors of fiction that say there is not some semblance of themselves, their experiences in their novels is lying. It is all just a matter of degrees. Sometimes there is alot of the author in the work, sometimes not so much so.

In the case of Dire Tides (catchy title, eh?) there are a number of elements from past experiences included. Rhonda and I met and honeymooned on Cape Cod the locale for most of this book. We spent a goodly number of hours in Provincetown ; the specific locale for most of this book. On holiday on the Cape I sang karaoke at the Governor Bradford in downtown P'Town which does in fact have karaoke seven days a week ("Drag Karaoke" no less).

The characters that frequent the karaoke bar at the Gov'nor are based in any number of ways on the real life people that I sing with on a weekly basis; on shared experiences (thank you Alina, I forgot all about the paper clip progression but you can bet your ass it is going to be integrated into the novel).

This is a work in progress folks. I have set myself a deadline for the end of May to have the first draft of this puppy all wrapped up. No deadlines from editors or publishers mind. Just something that I can shoot for. The amount of editing and draft revisions required afterwards are a black hole for me at the moment. With my first novel my editor said there weren't alot of edits required outside of grammer, spelling and some small breaches of continuety. But then again I had spent the better part of two years writing, reviewing and editing it before it ever reached his inbox.

Considering the fact that my first book was based in large part on personal experience, the task of writing a novel "from scratch" has been challenging; but in a fun and completely infecious way. I'm having a blast folks. I will continue to provide occasional updates and samples here as I believe are warrented.

If you are on Facebook, please come join my group there; While there you might consider joining my group for Not Only Am I With The Band... at Either way, please stay tuned. Here is a little taste, the first chapter of Dire Tides in it's current form. Hope you enjoy... comments most definately welcomed.

Chapter 1

Oh shit, it was dark. And damp. It was bloody damp. Brady could feel the sweat pouring off his scalp and down the neck of his tattered and stained shirt. Even if his hands were not currently trussed up behind his back, Brady sincerely doubted he would be able to see his hand right in front of his own face. Still he got the impression that the walls were ominously narrow; the ceiling unforgiving and low.

“A breath,” Brady’s mind capered, “Just take a breath. Slow and steady. Count to ten. Do anything that it might take to get me the hell out of this situation.”

But that didn’t seem to help at all. The ceiling still felt as though its raison d’ĂȘtre was to slowly squash the life out of him. Why was he still here? Why couldn’t he see? Why had no one missed him and come looking?

“I always thought Karaoke was perfectly safe,” he croaked out loud and chuckled.

“Guess I did one too many Bob Dylan songs,” his mind babbled.

He tried hard to focus on where he was. He tried to open his eyes but they seemed stuck shut.

He tried to settle his racing heart the better to hear ambient sound.

Listening, Brady could hear waves lapping against a wall somewhere very nearby. The rope by which he was trussed up squeaked in a gentle rhythm; swaying him gently back and forth. The lack of any other sounds forced him to the realization that no one would be around to hear his dying screams. He rightly concluded that he was on the waves; but too what end...

Just as he was contemplating these things Brady became aware that he was not alone.

“Hello,” he enquired.

A whimper greeted his entreaties.

“Who is that,” he hissed fervently.

Still no response; save another whimper.

“Do you know where we are?”


“For God sake man,” he bellowed, “speak up!”

The volume of his own voice startled him into silence.

The air hung hot and humid all around. After the roar of his own blood subsided from his ears

Brady screwed up his courage enough to try and make contact yet again. Hanging there he had heard the occasional whimper coming from his unseen companion, the gentle lap of waves against the walls of the room which he was in and, worse, the sound of tiny feet scurrying around below him.

Actually, the approaching sound of heavy footsteps was worse. Brady was just ready to yell out when some primeval voice hissed for him to remain quiet. In this world of utter darkness how was one to tell friends from foes.

So he waited; waited and listened.

The footsteps grew inexorably closer. The perpetrator of these steps was in no hurry; savouring each and every footfall. Suddenly, the steps stopped; the ensuing silence unbearable.

Brady’s companion whimpered miserably.

“Shut up,” he hissed, “do you want them to hear us?”

From off to his right a low chuckle started, cutting through the darkness like a low voltage current through a sock full of marbles. The chuckle continued for a minute or two, playing counter point to the pathetic simpering of the unseen other.

“Ah yes, the new one.”

The voice; equally soothing and menacing, cold as a long abandoned graveyard at midnight, nearly ripped a scream from Brady’s throat. His roommate had no such self restraint.

“Now Leo,” this new voice reprimanded, “you are making Brady here uncomfortable.”

Upon hearing his own name Brady recoiled as though physically struck.

But at this rebuke Leo did shut up. Not even a whimper.

“There now, that’s much better. Isn’t that better Brady?”

Brady remained quiet, paralyzed with a terror as old as time itself.

“Yes? No? No worries, we will have plenty of time to get better acquainted later. In the meantime, you don’t mind if Leo and I play some more?”

At this Leo started to scream again. And when Leo’s voice finally gave out, Brady could hear the insistent chuckles, punctuated by the sound of ripping and of wet things hitting the floor with a sickening plop.Then the screaming started once more. It took Brady a couple of minutes to realize that, this time, it was him doing the screaming

1 comment:

Randy said...

You've telegraphed it completely! The butler did it, right?