Tuesday once more. It is cold enough here to build a snowman, if there were snow, and it was 25 degrees cooler. Okay, so it isn’t overly cold, but it is barely 50 degrees this morning, and I think officially I can stop complaining about the heat of summer and switch over to the coolness of winter. Okay, I’ll wait a few weeks, and honestly it has been so hot and humid this summer that I don’t really mind this cold yet. I think that is my problem with the weather this year, it has been too extreme one way or the other. Not much, or enough of the nice in between weather.
Spent my day yesterday with family and the small children that result from family. If you have not spent time around small children in awhile I suggest you do. Nothing like the way a child laughs to loosen your heart up and make you appreciate life, youth, beauty, the world.
I think the goals for this month are to get all of the books that should be available available. With new writers and deadlines that is a job. That is what I will be sticking too today, getting listings done.
As for Dell he is stepping back a little further. I will take over all of the day to day stuff and that is probably where that will remain. So he isn’t gone, he just isn’t here. I think things are finally running the way he wanted them too and so he stepped back as he said he would to allow them to run.
There isn’t much else going on. We are working to get books out and listed, working on the websites. I see there are still old links that offer free chat. Does anyone even use that? So things like that will be cleaned up as I go through the links, other than that you shouldn’t see any major changes. I will write this blog from now on and so my name will be on the blog, a small change. I will continue to make the websites phone and tablet friendly.
I think one thing you will see is a more centralized website. In other words all areas easily reached from a main menu. Right now things are spread out and the information, reading, art or whatever else you are searching for is on multiple sites and not easily found. I’m making the consolidation of that sound easy, I’m sure though that it won’t be.
I am going to leave you with that as far as news goes.
New writers:
I hope your Monday is good, I will leave you with a short story from Paul Block…
BLACKNESS OF THE SOUL
Blackness Of the Soul is copyright 2014 Dell Sweet. All rights reserved.
This excerpt is used with permission. If you would like to share this short story, please point those you wish to share it with to this page. This material may not be copied electronically or digitally and or distributed without the publisher’s express permission (Writerz.net). Permission is granted to use short excerpts in critics. The publisher of record for this work is writerz.net & Dell Sweet. The copyright holder retains all rights foreign and domestic to this work.
Paul Brown settled the barrel of the nine Millimeter pistol against his left palm, curled his hand around it as if to hold it forever, and then released it finger by finger. A sob escaped his throat and a fat tear drop rolled down his left cheek and splashed against the butt of the pistols grip where the clip protruded slightly. He took his free hand, wiped the tear away and then reached for the beer that sat beside him.
He raised the can to his mouth, drank deeply, and then continued to stare at the black pistol that rested in his right hand. Once again his left hand closed around the barrel, but lightly. Stroking it. Caressing it. He fished a cigarette from the pack beside him on the floor, thumbed the wheel of his old Zippo and pulled the harsh tobacco smoke into his lungs.
The smoke, or the beer, or both seemed to calm him, at least momentarily. His chest hitched but he stifled the sob this time. The sobs frightened him more than the gun. The sobs came on their own and there seemed to be no way to fight or stop them. They were a life unto themselves. The gun on the other hand only had to speak once. And technically he would never hear it.
“Probably never hear it,” he whispered into the semi darkness of the living room. He had pulled the curtains on the outside world. Blocked it away from him.
Probably never hear it. He wondered about the truth of the statement for what seemed to be an excessive amount of time to him, caught himself, and took another deep drink of the cold beer followed by a near frenzied pull from the cigarette. He waited on the sob but it came when he didn’t expect it. A flood of tears came with it, falling from his eyes, staining his reddened cheeks before he could think to try and stop it.
“Oh, God,” he moaned. He sucked in a deep breath, lifted the pistol to his mouth and bumped the barrel across his teeth and into his mouth.
Everything seemed to freeze. The taste of oiled metal flooded his mouth He gagged, and then nearly squeezed the trigger too hard because of it. Panicked, he ripped the gun from his mouth tearing open his upper lip on the gun site as he did.
He was breathing hard. He needed to calm down. The tears just continued to fall. His cheeks felt raw. His eyes full of sand. His head began to pound harder. It had begun to pound earlier. He thought about that too. No more headaches. None. No more worries. No more anything at all. He sighed and returned the gun to his lips. He could taste the oil and metal once more, mixed with the blood from the torn lip.
His lips did not seem to want to part. He eased the gun away, took a deep drag off the cigarette, his breath shuddered in and out. He tipped the can and took a deep drink to rinse his mouth of the tastes that had made him gag, then upended the can and drained it. He reached over and pulled another beer from the bag on the carpeted floor, took another deep drink to rinse the tastes from his mouth and then lit a new cigarette from the butt of the old one. He dropped the old butt into the freshly emptied can beside him. He pulled the smoke deeply into his lungs and then let it drift from his nose as he slowly exhaled, trying to calm himself. If he could only think this out, his mind jabbered. He took another deep drink from the can.
In a way it would be nice to sit down and think this through, but in another way he didn’t care if he ever had another thought in his life. He didn’t want to take the time to think it out at all. He had made up his mind earlier. In a few minutes, when he finished the cigarette and the beer he’d do it, he decided.
He didn’t want to die with a lit cigarette in his mouth and burn down the house. Anne had to live here… Well, maybe not, but even so she’d have to sell it or something… If she didn’t lose it…
He pulled hard on the cigarette as if rushing it to its end so he could rush his own end. He took a deep drink from the beer and felt the headache ease back a little.
He could feel the buzz from the beer. Maybe it would knock down the headache after all. Either way the headache was not long for this world, he decided.
Calm seemed to come over him all at once. The sob that he had been waiting for didn’t come. His chest didn’t hitch. His cheeks still felt irritated, his eyes full of sand, his mind weary and removed from him to a degree, but the hysteria he had been sure was going to grab him didn’t make another appearance.
Through the curtains he could see the late afternoon sunlight. Still gold in the sky. Heating up his part of the south. There was no noise except the steady rumble of the air conditioner. Whatever heat the sun held was lost on him today.
He pulled on the cigarette, noticed that it was all but dead and dropped it into the can with the last one. He upended the beer can and drained it. He waited, expecting the sobs to come back but the calm remained. He sighed once, was surprised to find that the gun was only inches from his lips, opened his mouth and slid the barrel in. The hysteria stayed at bay. He adjusted the barrel so it would be more comfortable, sighed at the absurdity of that thought, and then squinted his eyes down as his finger tightened on the trigger.
~2~
“How do you feel, Paul?”
Paul blinked and tried to look around him. He found that it was not entirely possible. He couldn’t really turn around to where the voice had come from no matter how he tried.
“It doesn’t matter though,” the same voice said.
And it didn’t. It became completely unimportant right then. Just like that.
“How do you feel?”
“I’m pretty upset. I…” He stopped. He had been pretty upset, but he wasn’t now. Now he felt… Well, at peace.
“That’s good, Paul. You should feel at peace.”
“It feels good,” he said. It seemed entirely normal that whoever was behind him could read his mind… Am I dead?
“I wanted to talk to you about how you got here, Paul.”
“How?”
“How.”
The time spun out.
“I stole about… I guess I don’t even know how much… I kept stealing and it kept adding up. And I knew they’d catch it… And they did… My boss must have called the cops,“ Paul said.
“Actually the company accountant… But I meant how you got here… To this point.”
“I… … I don’t know what you mean.”
“To kill yourself, Paul. I mean how did you get to this point where you decided to kill yourself… Take your own life… How did you reach that point, Paul?”
“Oh… I thought about it… I…” He stopped and thought about it. “I see… It’s just tough to understand… I don’t really know exactly… Are you God?”
“Do you think of me as God?”
Paul thought about it. “I think I do… I think so… I believe you are God.”
“Then I am.”
“You are? … Really? You really are God?”
“I really am, Paul…”
His voice was soft. Reassuring.
“I… I thought you would sound different… I… Am I dead?”
“No… Not yet… You have some little time left… I thought, since you asked, that before you do something that will change everything we should talk.”
Paul nodded. “I prayed… Earlier I prayed.”
“I know… You know, Paul, people sometimes think I don’t listen to prayer anymore… If I ever did. They tell themselves that and then they begin to believe it. I do listen though. I do. Every prayer. Every time. Do you believe that, Paul?”
“I do… I mean I do now. I do know that now. I’m ashamed to say that.”
“Don’t be. There is no shame here. You are used to saying words that really don’t mean anything true. They are there, you say them… In this case you say that you are ashamed when you are not ashamed.”
Paul examined himself. “You’re right… I don’t feel ashamed. I feel good still. At peace still.”
“So how did you get here. How did you come to be here? Who told you that suicide was a solution?”
“I… It was painful… My wife will leave me. We’ll lose everything… The kids… I can’t imagine what the kids will do… Feel… It seemed… It seemed right.”
“Did it?”
Paul thought about it. “Maybe not… It felt like the only choice I had.”
“Yet you called out to me. Why?”
“Because… Because I used to believe in you… I…”
He laughed. “And I am still here. Did you think I had died? Did you think I had stopped believing in you?”
“Some people think so… That you died.”
“You?”
“No… I guess the truth is I just stopped believing… I believed in other things… Taxes… Bills… Mortgage payments… Summer… Fall…”
“The things you see every day.”
“That’s a good way to put it.”
“I have a way with words.”
Paul laughed and then stopped. “I thought maybe that was a joke.”
”It was… Do you wish you had not stopped believing? Do you see how things could have been different?”
“I can see that now, but what good is it after the fact? I pulled the trigger… I remember that.”
“Did you? I think you asked me to help… Sometimes I help in unexpected ways… Thomas needed to see… To place his hand in my side… Peter needed to see me risen… Sometimes my people ask me for help and then don’t recognize the help when it comes.”
“Like now?”
“Like now, yes. It’s time to think. To breath… To make a decision… A different decision.”
“Then what?” Paul asked.
“Then? … What comes, comes… I know what it is to live. I have felt what you feel. Struggled with the same temptations. We take it as it comes to us, Paul.”
“So the problems would still be there?”
“Yes.”
“That’s help?” Paul asked.
“I will help you all that you will allow.”
Paul thought about it and realized it was true.
“So… How did you end up here?”
“I guess I just walked away… I guess I chose to do that.”
You still choose words that are untrue. Do you guess or do you know?”
“I know. I walked away.”
“You know, it’s a split second decision… Many times if you take the time to think you can get through whatever comes at you.”
Paul nodded, took a deep breath. “I see.”
~3~
The finger stopped. He remembered something… Something… Summer. A thousand years ago it seemed… Anne… When they had first met… The picture in his mind was so perfect, so intense. So real, and a flood of images followed it… But… There had been something else there for a moment, hadn’t there? He had been focusing on the trigger… The pressure… And there had been something else there… Just for a moment… It seemed so. It seemed as though he had been ready to pull the trigger and… And someone…
He pulled the barrel from his mouth and sucked in a deep breath. Whatever it might have been it was gone now. The sobbing came back with the fresh air. The pistol slid from his hand and fell to the carpet with a soft clunk. He lowered his head into his hands and let the tears take over…
I hope you enjoyed the story. Have a great Tuesday! Check out our sponsors, Geo
The Invisible Writers: Unveiling the World of Ghostwriters
Ghostwriters are the unsung heroes of the literary world, crafting stories, books, and articles that bear someone else’s name. Despite their significant contributions, ghostwriters often remain in the shadows, their work attributed to the credited author. This article explores the world of ghostwriters, their role, challenges, and the industries that rely on their skills.
What is Ghostwriting?
Ghostwriting involves creating content for someone else, usually without receiving public credit. Ghostwriters work in various genres, including fiction, non-fiction, memoirs, biographies, and even speeches. Their primary goal is to capture the voice, tone, and style of the credited author, making the content seem authentic and engaging.
Types of Ghostwriting
Book Ghostwriting: Ghostwriters create entire books, including novels, memoirs, and self-help books, for authors who may not have the time, skill, or desire to write themselves.
Article Ghostwriting: Ghostwriters pen articles, blog posts, and other online content for individuals, businesses, or publications, often under a byline that isn’t their own.
Speech Ghostwriting: Ghostwriters craft speeches for politicians, executives, and celebrities, helping them convey their message effectively.
Content Ghostwriting: Ghostwriters create content for companies, websites, and social media platforms, including product descriptions, whitepapers, and more.
The Role of a Ghostwriter
Ghostwriters wear many hats, including:
Researcher: Gathering information, conducting interviews, and analyzing data to create well-informed content.
Storyteller: Crafting compelling narratives, characters, and plotlines that engage readers.
Voice Chameleon: Adopting the tone, style, and voice of the credited author to ensure authenticity.
Editor: Refining content to meet the client’s expectations and publication standards.
Challenges Faced by Ghostwriters
Lack of Credit: Ghostwriters often remain anonymous, making it difficult to build a personal brand or portfolio.
Contractual Obligations: Ghostwriting contracts typically include non-disclosure agreements, limiting the writer’s ability to discuss their work.
Creative Constraints: Ghostwriters must work within the client’s vision, which can be restrictive for creatives who value artistic freedom.
Time Management: Ghostwriters often face tight deadlines, requiring efficient time management and writing skills.
Industries That Rely on Ghostwriters
Publishing: Many bestselling authors rely on ghostwriters to produce high-quality content.
Business and Finance: Companies hire ghostwriters to create thought leadership content, whitepapers, and marketing materials.
Politics: Politicians and government officials use ghostwriters to craft speeches, policy documents, and press releases.
Entertainment: Celebrities and public figures often employ ghostwriters to write memoirs, scripts, and social media content.
Benefits of Ghostwriting
Flexibility: Ghostwriting offers the opportunity to work on diverse projects, genres, and styles.
Income Stability: Ghostwriters can earn a steady income, as their services are in demand across various industries.
Skill Development: Ghostwriting helps writers refine their craft, adapt to different styles, and improve their research skills.
Networking Opportunities: Ghostwriters can build relationships with clients, editors, and other industry professionals.
Famous Ghostwriters
Tom Clancy’s Ghostwriter: Grant Blackwood, who ghostwrote several Tom Clancy novels, is a notable example of a successful ghostwriter.
Nora Roberts’ Ghostwriters: Romance author Nora Roberts has worked with several ghostwriters over the years, producing numerous bestselling novels.
Andrew Nurnberg: A well-known literary agent and ghostwriter, Nurnberg has worked with prominent authors and celebrities.
The Future of Ghostwriting
As the demand for high-quality content continues to grow, the role of ghostwriters will remain essential. With the rise of AI-powered writing tools, ghostwriters will need to adapt and focus on creative, nuanced writing that machines can’t replicate.
In conclusion, ghostwriters are the invisible architects of the literary world, crafting stories and content that captivate audiences worldwide. While their work may go uncredited, their impact on the publishing industry and beyond is undeniable. As the demand for quality content continues to grow, the art of ghostwriting will remain a vital part of the writing landscape.
Dell Sweet provides articles, short stories or full-length novels on demand. Crime, Horror, Zombie, Apocalyptic, True Crime, Historical Fiction and more.
Example:
Long live the King
Put your copyright notice here
A legal notice here, IE: This story is a fabrication by the author. Any resemblance to actual places, persons or things is unintentional
This is copyright protected material, do not copy and or distribute or utilize this written material in any way.
Aaron walked slowly out of the bedroom, and into the kitchen area. The music had cut off, and suddenly too. And for just a second there. For just one small second there, he had felt as though the last ten years had slipped away, had been made unreal somehow, and he was back in the run-down trailer in good old Palmview trailer court, in Florida. Which was ridiculous, had to be ridiculous, and even he knew that it was ridiculous, but nevertheless it had felt that way.
It had, thank God nothing to do with that though. It was fifty years later, he wasn’t in Florida, and everything was… Well, regular. The damn breaker had flipped again. A friend had helped set it up, and most of the time it worked just fine, but sometimes, like this time, he thought it didn’t. Sometimes when the sun slipped behind a cloud the thing just shut down. And the reason was clear. The electricity was solar, and they had hooked up a battery back-up, but the back-up was shot, kaput, done, finished, the damn thing couldn’t hold a charge more than fifteen minutes on a good day, and the last several days had been far from good days. Barely any sunlight six days running and it didn’t look as though there would be any real quick. No big deal, he thought, as he switched off the main breaker, and then reset the one that had tripped. It wasn’t like there were factories just pumping out batteries any longer. He had come a long way since his days as the king of rock and roll. And he really had been the king for a while there, even after he died; after he was supposed to be dead, he had still been the king. Still on top and no one had come along to knock him out of that top spot either. The Star Reporter had still been doing articles about him ten years ago. ELVIS LIVING AS A VEGETABLE IN BRAZIL, was his favorite. Really? Please, give it a rest. How much, he wondered now did they have to pay those people to say those things? Probably, he concluded, as he always did with a dry chuckle absolutely nothing. They were glad to say it, needed to say it even and would say it regardless of whether they were paid or not. Wouldn’t they be surprised to know that he had really spent those years since he was supposed to have died flipping burgers in a run-down diner on the outskirts of Miami? No, he decided, that would be too boring to print. They would have never gone for that. Aaron chuckled once more and walked back into the bedroom. His friend had stopped by just a few hours before, and invited him over to dinner, no time to think about Slander Sheets now, time only to get ready and not just for dinner. After all, there was some serious business ahead. Very serious, and his friend might not know it yet, but Aaron did he knew it for a fact. And he also knew, had a feeling really that this time… This time the king might really die. He might really die, and… He chuckled once more, an uneasy chuckle and again began to trim the bushy sideburns that had been one of his trademarks so long ago. It made no difference. Not to him and most surely it wouldn’t make any to his friend. If it was time, it was time. Life hadn’t been so bad, at the least the last several decades hadn’t, not at all. In fact, the last several decades of not being the king, of not living in the shadow of being the king, of not reading all that garbage every day, those years had made all the other years more than worthwhile. If he died so be it, Mamma would be there and Aron would be there, and he had spoken to his friend about death, so he was no longer afraid of it. It was a known thing now, an understood thing and if he had to go he would. The sound of a motor came to him from outside, slightly loud. The exhaust, he knew, was going on his friend’s old truck. It was too dark in here to see all that well anyway without the light. He set down the scissors and left the bedroom just as a short and feeble-sounding toot came from the truck outside. His friend could use a new horn too, Aaron thought, as he opened the front door, and walked to the truck. The large speed boat moved quickly through the morning air across the choppy surface of the water. The dark-haired side-burned man at the wheel piloted the boat easily, although in truth it had been several years since he had been at the wheel of a boat of any kind. For the last five, he had been holed up in the run-down trailer, leaving only to walk to his job at the fast-food restaurant down the road. Even he had begun to grow sick of his existence. He tried to push the thoughts out of his mind. It no longer mattered, and he was determined to leave that part of him behind. It was too painful, a shadow existence, not at all what he had imagined it would be like. Despite his efforts to push it away, it all came back in a flood. All of it, not just the trailer, and his miserable existence there, but before the trailer, the life he had led before he had ended up there. If the trailer and the crappy string of jobs he had worked to stay alive was bad, the time before had been even worse for him. It hadn’t started that way. In fact, it had started simple, innocently even, with just one small lie. The lie hadn’t been told by him, but by Mamma. That lie had blossomed into a huge deception. A deception that he’d had to live every day in the old life.
Times had been tough then, Mamma had told him. You could tell a person that times had been tough, but telling them didn’t mean they truly understood it. No matter, the times really had been tough, very tough, and she had been forced to decide. No man to care for the family, no money, and twin baby boys, one at each breast. The solution, although painful, had been obvious, and her sister had been agreeable. She could not support both of them, one more mouth to feed was enough to contend with.
Time went by. A lot of time and he had gone on to become a somebody, to use Mamas words, a big somebody. And Mama hadn’t expected that, she had seen nothing beyond the miserable existence they lived, let alone that he would make it big. People would look up to her boy? They would place him on a pedestal? No sir, she had told him honestly she had never even imagined it at all.
Then she had told him with tears and a great many stops and starts, but she had told him. His twin brother had not died at birth. There was a body, but it had belonged to Mamma’s sister and that child had been still-born, his brother was very much alive somewhere in the back country of Mississippi.
It had quickly become an obsession for him, at least until he had found him, and brought him to the huge mansion to live with his real family. He never realized until after, that it had been a mistake. If life had been hard for him to cope with, it had been doubly hard for his brother. He had been unable, or unwilling to deal with it. To the world he was dead, a non person, and it had finally caught up to him.
His brother had taken his own life. Mamma was long dead at that time, and her passing the way she had, had taken a lot of the heart out of both of them. No one besides Mama and Mama’s sister had known of the brothers existence. He had even managed to hide it from his own wife.
By that time he himself had grown tired of life. His wife was ready to leave him, Mamma was dead, what was the use, he had wondered, and then he had walked into the bedroom to find his brother dead. A scatter of empty pill bottles surrounding him.
Everyone he had loved, everyone who had loved him, had gone. He was alone, and . . . he had simply walked away. He had taken some money with him, not a lot, a couple of thousand dollars he had kept in the bedroom wall safe, along with the pistol he kept next to the bed, and just walked away.
The money he hadn’t understood at first, but the pistol he had plans for. He had intended to end it, the whole lie, one quick shot to the head, and he could join Mamma and his brother.
In the end he simply had not been able to pull the trigger, and, the way things had turned out, he supposed he was glad he hadn’t.
He had been riding in the cab of an old beat pickup early the next morning, when he had heard the news. The driver had picked him up hitchhiking, just ten minutes before. He had listened with shock, as the special news bulletin had broke into the music. The old farmer that had given him the ride, had gave him a strange look as he had reacted to the news. “Din’t you hear ’bout it?”
He had only wagged his head no.
“Yep, right on the shitter too, the king was on his throne at the end, that’s for sure.” he chuckled briefly at the small joke. “You know, you look sorta like him. Bet you heard that before though, huh?”
He had managed to snap his mouth shut, and thought quietly about it instead as they drove along. He was dead, or so the radio said, and wasn’t that a crock? And how had his brothers body gotten from the bedroom, to the bathroom? No answers.
At first he had felt nothing at all except a sense of sadness and a realization that once he surfaced he would have to set the record straight.
The old man driving the truck had dropped him off in the middle of Alabama later that day and as he stood hitching a ride further south it had suddenly dawned on him.
He had been about to climb up into the cab of an eighteen wheeler when it struck him, and he had stopped cold. The driver, after staring at him for a few seconds, had taken off like the hounds of hell were on his tail. The truck door slammed shut of its own accord, and he had been left standing in the dust, thinking.
That had been the start, and with the remaining money he had on him he had bought the trailer, which even then had been old and run-down and had begun his new life. It hadn’t been a bad life, much better than the one before, but it had slowly been suffocating him. Every time he picked up one of the slander sheets, as he thought of them his name was in it.
He was being kept alive on the moon, or working at a donut shop, whatever. Garbage story after garbage story, his ex-wife was doing this or that, his body guard had done this or that it was beginning to drive him crazy. That and the new music. At first it hadn’t been too bad, or at least not mainstream too bad, but then, as far as he was concerned, it had gone down hill fast. The only good thing had been the bargain bins at the local thrift store, stuffed with fifties music on cassette tapes for a buck a piece. It had been a gold mine, that and the cheap plastic cassette player he had bought used for five bucks. It had kept him going a long time, or at least as long as he had needed to keep going, he realized.
The press had found him. Just a odd chance in a million, maybe a billion, but they had found him. He had caught the photographer hiding out in the bushes at the edge of his driveway. A lady in a nearby mom and pops store had seen him and called the paper to report it. The reporter had thought it was bullshit, or so he had told Arron, but the very next day he had caught him nosing around his garbage. No good for him if the guy was digging that deeply into it. Although there was nothing in the garbage that would help him; if he really was that motivated he would eventually find something to prove who he was.
So, he had called his friend. In the early years he had done a little debt collection for a local bookie. Not something he was proud of, but you did what you did to survive, and the early years had been lean. That connection had been there for years. The bookie retired, the son took over and Aron still did a few favors for him. Now he needed a favor and so, he had asked.
It was no trouble for the son. He had made the arrangements in just a few hours. Louisiana. Swamp country, a place in the middle of nowhere where no reporters ever came, unless they wanted to leave in a box. The trailer home would have an accident. The investigators would find a body. That would be that. So, he had to die, but like the last time it was not a real death.
He glanced over his shoulder at the horizon as the boat plowed through the water. Now he had a new life, a real new life, and he could be any one he wanted to be. Live anywhere he wanted to live, and there would be no more shadows over his life.
He smiled into the wind. It felt good, really good, he told himself, and he was looking forward to being a real person.
As the boat plowed along through the Louisiana bayou country, he said a silent prayer of thanks. God had delivered him, he felt, to a life that was filled with possibilities. The best of which was just being a regular person, as they used to say back in Mississippi, just regular…
An example of a short story. If you need to check out some of my novel length work let me know. I also do cover design, Amazon Kindle and Paperback formatting and ePub production. Dell Sweet wendellsweet7@gmail.com Subject: Ghostwriter … Important, if you contact me via email make sure to mark the subject matter as Ghostwriter or I will not respond. Thank you. Phone number will be provided and immediate answer eMail upon hiring me.
The horror genre is a broad and complex category of fiction that spans literature, film, television, and other forms of media. At its core, horror aims to evoke fear, anxiety, and unease in the audience, often exploring themes of mortality, the unknown, and the human psyche.
History of Horror
The horror genre has its roots in ancient mythology and folklore, where stories of supernatural creatures and terrifying events were used to explain natural phenomena and the workings of the universe. The genre evolved over time, influencing literature and art. In the 18th and 19th centuries, Gothic fiction emerged, characterized by atmospheric settings, mysterious events, and supernatural elements.
The 20th century saw the rise of horror cinema, with films like Nosferatu (1922), Dracula (1931), and Frankenstein (1931) becoming classics of the genre. The 1960s and 1970s witnessed a surge in horror films, including Night of the Living Dead (1968), The Exorcist (1973), and The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (1974). These films pushed the boundaries of on-screen violence and gore, redefining the genre.
Subgenres of Horror
Supernatural Horror: Focuses on supernatural entities, such as ghosts, demons, or monsters, often exploring themes of faith, spirituality, and the afterlife.
Slasher Horror: Typically features a psychopathic killer stalking and murdering a group of victims, often teenagers or young adults.
Psychological Horror: Explores the inner workings of the human mind, often featuring themes of mental illness, trauma, and psychological distress.
Body Horror: Focuses on the transformation, mutilation, or destruction of the human body, often exploring themes of identity, decay, and mortality.
Survival Horror: Typically features a protagonist fighting to survive in a hostile environment, often against supernatural or monstrous threats.
Comedy Horror: Combines horror elements with comedic relief, often parodying horror tropes or using humor to subvert audience expectations.
Themes in Horror
The Unknown: Horror often explores the fear of the unknown, whether it’s supernatural entities, unexplained events, or the unknowable nature of the universe.
Mortality: Horror frequently confronts audiences with the reality of death, often exploring themes of mortality, decay, and the afterlife.
The Human Psyche: Horror can delve into the inner workings of the human mind, exploring themes of mental illness, trauma, and psychological distress.
Social Commentary: Horror can serve as a vehicle for social commentary, addressing issues like racism, sexism, and social inequality.
Fear and Anxiety: Horror often taps into audience fears and anxieties, using suspense, tension, and gore to create a visceral response.
Influence of Horror
Cultural Significance: Horror has become a significant part of popular culture, influencing music, literature, and art.
Social Reflection: Horror often reflects societal fears and anxieties, providing a unique lens through which to examine cultural and historical contexts.
Therapeutic Value: Horror can serve as a form of catharsis, allowing audiences to confront and process their fears in a controlled environment.
Community Building: Horror fans often form communities around shared interests, creating a sense of belonging and shared experience.
Modern Horror
In recent years, horror has continued to evolve, incorporating new themes, styles, and technologies. The rise of found-footage horror, exemplified by films like The Blair Witch Project (1999) and Paranormal Activity (2007), has blurred the lines between reality and fiction. The use of CGI and special effects has enabled the creation of more realistic and terrifying monsters, as seen in films like The Conjuring (2013) and It (2017).
The horror genre has also become more diverse, with filmmakers like Jordan Peele and Ari Aster pushing the boundaries of traditional horror tropes. Peele’s Get Out (2017) and Us (2019) have explored themes of racism, identity, and social commentary, while Aster’s Hereditary (2018) and Midsommar (2019) have delved into family trauma, grief, and folk horror.
Conclusion
The horror genre is a complex and multifaceted category of fiction that has evolved over time, reflecting societal fears and anxieties. From its roots in ancient mythology to modern-day cinema, horror continues to captivate audiences, providing a unique lens through which to examine the human condition. Whether through supernatural entities, psychological terror, or social commentary, horror challenges audiences to confront their deepest fears, often providing a cathartic release in the process. As a genre, horror remains a vital part of popular culture, continuing to influence and reflect our collective fears and anxieties.
Read horror:
Witches Bend
Seven friends break down on Witches Bend. An area spoke of in whispers because of the horrors that are believed to be there. But horror cannot touch you if you don’t believe in it… True? Maybe not in this horror thriller that celebrates all of the horror genre. The car is dead. As of now, they are not. But the coming hours may change that completely. It may, in fact change that forever… #Horror #Paranormal #Thrtiller #Splatter #Gore #BHorror #Readers
The Wastelands Zero (Book One)
The hand was mangled. It looked chewed, a finger missing, maybe an accident with a dog, his mind supplied. Accidents with dogs happened. He watched the little boy stumble along. The arm a grotesque parody of a real arm… #KU #Amazon #Readers #BookLovers #Zombies #ApocalypticFiction #DellSweet
The United States of America are no more. The people left to fend for themselves with no governments, cites, electricity, grocery stores, medicines… It’s all gone. In face most of the people are gone with it and those that are left are unsure of strangers. Untrusting of anyone. There are rumors of dead coming to life again. There are rumors of some of the larger cities surviving only to be taken over and run by gangs now. Follow a group who come together and then make their way across part of what is left of the country. They are only looking to survive what is left of the world they used to know, but their chances are very slim…
An apocalyptic event has destroyed the world all of us grew up depending on. Police… Order… Governments… Water… Food… All gone…
Zombie Book 1: Origins. I still feel human: If it made changes to me, they are very small changes… But the dead. Oh, the dead, that is a different story. It did something else to the dead. #Apocalyptic #Readers #Amazon #Kindle #BookLovers #Horror
Knock
5.0 out of 5 stars
Johnny. The Farm House:
My hand is cramping, but I am almost finished. The dead are quiet right now. Quiet as in, not scratching, not trying to get in. #Zombie #Horror #Kindle #Amazon
The Zombie Plagues A. L. Norton
And the earthquakes began. There are no police, no firefighters, phones, electric. The real world is falling apart. Two days and nothing that I thought I knew was still here. Do you see? The entire world has changed. The world as we know it is coming to an end. The dead will walk again. Who will survive and who will not? Book one of The Zombie Plague Series.
The crime genre is a broad and complex category of fiction that explores the world of crime, law enforcement, and the justice system. From classic whodunits to gritty police procedurals, crime fiction has captivated readers for centuries, offering a unique lens through which to examine human nature, morality, and society.
Characteristics of Crime Fiction
Crime fiction often features:
Crime and investigation: A crime is committed, and the protagonist (often a detective or amateur sleuth) must investigate and gather clues to solve the case.
Suspense and tension: Crime fiction relies on suspense and tension to keep readers engaged, often using plot twists, red herrings, and cliffhangers.
Moral complexity: Crime fiction often explores moral gray areas, raising questions about justice, morality, and the nature of right and wrong.
Subgenres of Crime Fiction
Mystery: Focuses on solving a puzzle or uncovering a hidden truth, often featuring amateur detectives or clever sleuths.
Thriller: Emphasizes action, suspense, and thrills, often featuring a ticking clock or a race against time.
Police Procedural: Focuses on the investigative process, often featuring a team of detectives and a detailed examination of forensic science and police work.
Noir Fiction: Explores the darker side of human nature, often featuring hard-boiled detectives and a cynical, gritty tone.
Notable Crime Fiction Authors
Agatha Christie: Known for her clever plots and iconic detectives, such as Hercule Poirot and Miss Marple.
Arthur Conan Doyle: Creator of the iconic Sherlock Holmes, one of literature’s most famous detectives.
Raymond Chandler: A pioneer of hard-boiled detective fiction, known for his gritty, atmospheric novels featuring Philip Marlowe.
Gillian Flynn: A modern master of psychological thrillers, known for her twisty, suspenseful novels like Gone Girl and Sharp Objects.
A. L. Norton: A modern popular author who broke into the Crime Fiction genre with the book White Trash. She also write non-fiction titles.
Themes in Crime Fiction
Justice and morality: Crime fiction often explores questions of justice, morality, and the nature of right and wrong.
Human nature: Crime fiction can offer insights into human psychology, revealing the motivations and flaws that drive individuals to commit crimes.
Social commentary: Crime fiction can serve as a vehicle for social commentary, addressing issues like corruption, inequality, and social injustice.
The detective’s journey: Crime fiction often features a detective’s personal journey, exploring themes of obsession, addiction, and redemption.
Impact of Crime Fiction
Cultural significance: Crime fiction has had a significant impact on popular culture, influencing film, television, and literature.
Social reflection: Crime fiction often reflects societal fears and anxieties, providing a unique lens through which to examine contemporary issues.
Catharsis: Crime fiction can provide a safe space for readers to confront and process their fears, offering a form of catharsis.
Intellectual stimulation: Crime fiction often requires readers to engage their critical thinking skills, making it a stimulating and engaging genre.
Notable Crime Fiction Books
“And Then There Were None” by Agatha Christie: A classic whodunit featuring ten strangers trapped on a remote island, one by one being killed off.
“The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo” by Stieg Larsson: A gritty, suspenseful thriller featuring a journalist and a hacker teaming up to solve a decades-old mystery.
“The Silence of the Lambs” by Thomas Harris: A masterful thriller featuring FBI trainee Clarice Starling and imprisoned serial killer Hannibal Lecter.
“Gone Girl” by Gillian Flynn: A twisty, psychological thriller about a marriage that takes a dark and unexpected turn.
“White Trash” by A. L. Norton: A pulp story crime thriller that reads like a modern-day Bonnie and Clyde with loads of surprises.
Conclusion
The crime genre is a rich and complex category of fiction that offers a unique lens through which to examine human nature, morality, and society. From classic whodunits to gritty police procedurals, crime fiction has captivated readers for centuries, providing a stimulating and engaging reading experience. Whether you’re a fan of suspenseful thrillers or clever mysteries, the crime genre has something to offer, making it one of the most popular and enduring genres in literature.
The city breathed with a rhythm all its own, a symphony of sounds and smells that were as much a part of Vinnie LaRosa as his own heartbeat. Little Italy, mid-20th century, was a vibrant, chaotic organism, its narrow streets a pulsing artery crammed with life. From the cramped tenements that clawed at the sky, their fire escapes a tangled lace against the brick, to the bustling trattorias that spilled the rich, intoxicating aroma of simmering tomato sauces and roasted garlic onto the cobblestones, the neighborhood was a constant, humming presence. Laundry flapped like colorful prayer flags from windows, a cacophony of Italian dialects spilled from doorways, and the ever-present rumble of streetcars added a bass note to the urban opera. #Crime #Fiction #Amazon #KU #Kindle #WGSweet #Mafia #Organizedcrime
The city sprawled beneath him, a glittering tapestry woven with threads of ambition and illuminated by a million indifferent stars. From the aerie of his penthouse, high above the cacophony of the streets, Vinny LaRosa surveyed his kingdom. It wasn’t a kingdom of stone and mortar, but of shadow and influence, a sprawling, illicit empire that pulsed with a life of its own. The lights weren’t just streetlamps and neon signs; they were signals, markers of territories controlled, deals brokered, and lives manipulated. Each flicker was a testament to his reach, a silent acknowledgment of the power he wielded. This was the zenith, the apex of his ascent, a plateau of opulence built on a foundation of calculated ruthlessness and an almost supernatural understanding of the human appetite for both order and chaos. #Crime #Fiction #Amazon #KU #Kindle #WGSweet #Mafia #Organizedcrime
EASY CRIME SERIES
Easy Crime 01 Kindle Edition
Book 1 of 4: Easy Crime
Then I saw him. Robby.
He hadn’t changed much. Still the same lean build, the same unsettlingly calm demeanor that had always made me both wary and fascinated. His eyes, though, held a sharper glint, a honed edge that spoke of survival in a world even harsher than the one behind bars. He was a predator, disguised in the sheep’s clothing of a casual acquaintance, and the way he sat at the bar, radiating an aura of dangerous nonchalance, sent a chill down my spine… #Crime #Fiction #KU #Readers #Thriller #Kindle #Audible
Easy Crime 02 Kindle Edition
Book 2 of 4: Easy Crime
The air hung thick and heavy, a humid blanket clinging to the skin even in the pre-dawn chill. The city, normally a cacophony of distant sirens and rumbling traffic, was unusually quiet, punctuated only by the rhythmic tremor that vibrated through the very foundations of the buildings… #Crime #Fiction #KU #Readers #Thriller #Kindle #Audible #Series
Easy Crime 03 Kindle Edition
Book 3 of 4: Easy Crime
Marva took a slow sip of her drink, her expression unreadable. “Midnight’s risky, Robbie. The place is usually crawling with people that late.” Her voice was flat, devoid of any emotion, a stark reflection of her hardened exterior. Years spent surviving in the unforgiving landscape of the city’s underbelly had honed her survival instincts, turning her into a creature of stark pragmatism. She had seen too much death, too much violence, to afford herself the luxury of fear or sentimentality. #Crime #Fiction #KU #Readers #Thriller #Kindle #Audible #Series
Easy Crime 04 Kindle Edition
Book 4 of 4: Easy Crime
Jenna clutched the strap of her worn messenger bag, her knuckles white. Her gaze was fixed on the two figures illuminated by the erratic neon. One was a burly man, his face obscured by the deep shadow cast by a baseball cap pulled low, his frame hunched as if carrying the weight of the world, or perhaps just the heavy duffel bag clutched between his hands. #Crime #Fiction #KU #Readers #Thriller #Kindle #Audible #Series
Gus Dyer: The Jimmy West Case
Gus Dyer is a hardcore detective in the big city. He knows what crime is, and he has seen the worst of the worst walk her streets and taken those same people down. Some to jail, some to the gates of hell where they belonged in the first place.
This time he is on the trail of a hired killer, Jimmy West. West works out of the city. It is his base and fortress, the place where he can roam free among millions of other people unseen, unchallenged and free to continue his crimes. #crime #thriller #mystery #amazon #ku
Gus Dyer: The road to redemption
Gus Dyer is a detective no more. Staring into the deep wells of corruption for too many years sent him into a spiral. He tried to use the bottle to find his way out, but that only dragged him in deeper. The road to Redemption is a look at that fall and how hard that fall was. But Gus is determined to stand on his own two feet again. It remains to be seen whether he will ever become a detective again, but he is finding out that being a detective is not about a badge. It isn’t something you take on with the position either. It is in your blood, and if you have it, you cannot help but follow those impulses that flood through your body with that blood when you know something is wrong. Dead wrong… #crime #thriller #mystery #amazon #ku
Breakout
The Trap
The air hung thick and heavy, a miasma of stale cigarette smoke, cheap weed, and something else… something indefinably rotten. It clung to the peeling wallpaper, to the stained mattress shoved against the wall, to the very fabric of the room itself. This wasn’t just a dilapidated apartment in Harlem; it was a tomb, a suffocating cage built from neglect and despair. Rose-Lee, her eyes sharp and assessing, took it all in, the grime, the shadows, the sense of impending doom that settled like a shroud. Across the room, Alice huddled beneath a threadbare blanket, her eyes wide and fearful, a stark contrast to Rose-Lee’s steely gaze… #Crime #Thriller #Psychological #Readers #Urban
The Dope Man
Come along on a crazy ride: Mob button men. Crime bosses, dirty cops. Top-level dope dealers and Dollar, a low-level loser just trying to stay alive… #Crime #OrganizedCrime #Mob #Readers #Thriller #BookLovers #BookWorms #Drama
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Prologue
Hay Vida 02281 11-08 21:58:27
Present Day
Michael Watson sat at the mouth of the cave staring out over the valley below. This close to the thick plastic the air was cold, but the wooden benches were comfortable if a little hard. They had served for dozens upon dozens of people since Mike and Tom had built them some thirty years before: They still served them well. He turned and smiled at several children who sat nearby pointing out different landmarks in the valley far below. The children, especially, never seemed to tire of sitting on the low benches and looking out over the valley.
Michael chuckled to himself, turned his eyes from the other benches, and back out on the valley far below. The snow was falling heavy. Two hours ago late fall had been holding steady, little smudges of green had still existed throughout all the fall foliage in the valley. Now it was quickly becoming a blanket of white. Fall had lost this round.
Years before they had devised a new year that better kept track of seasons and the much longer year Hay Vida had. Even with a year that now held some 95 extra days spread over fifteen months to even the seasons out the time still seemed to move by too quickly. Time was never a friend to anyone, Michael thought. Well, maybe death nothing else.
The seasons had worked themselves out after a few years. Some longer, some shorter, it was winter that had come out the winner in that round. Even slightly longer winters had a huge impact on the year around weather and the planting that could be accomplished. It took much longer to get through winter, longer for spring to thaw the valleys and fields for planting, longer for the sun to warm the ground and glaciers were forming in the north: Growing ever bigger year by year. Michael had sometimes wondered in years past if he would see them come this far. Of course the answer was no: They would not come this far in his lifetime, but he had no doubt they would come here eventually.
Winter was coming in strong today; there would be little left to do soon but plan the hunts and tell stories around the fire.
They still kept their own herds started from the stock they had worked so hard to bring into this valley, but they often hunted. The habit was good and it passed the skills down to the younger ones. There were places in this still-young world where those skills were essential.
The whole mouth of the cave had been closed off from the elements for many years. Salvaged carbon sheets that spanned floor to ceiling: A graphite frame that held them: Warmth inside the elements without, but always within reach. Something Tom had built. The last thing Tom had built, Michael remembered sadly.
He shook his head slightly remembering. That had been back in the council days before the wars had begun: Before the years of leaders, kings, the two queens and everything else that had come with the wars. Even so, even in the council years, Michael had been their leader. The council had made its decisions, but he had lead them.
Michael had been the only leader for several years now, he had helped to build this society, but he was getting older and it was getting closer and closer to the time when he would need to turn the reins over to a younger, stronger person. Maybe even this winter, he thought as he watched the snow swirl and blow.
Back in the cave behind him there were three generations waiting to take their own steps into the procession that would bring them to leadership. Some of those young men and women were ready now. It really wasn’t something he should be thinking about it was something he should be doing.
“Grandfather?”
Michael smiled up into the eyes of Rain, a newborn at her breast; her swollen belly a testament to the one coming. He took one of the furs from his shoulder and laid it across the worn wooden planking for her. A second went around her shoulders as she sat.
“It’s not too cold for the baby this close up is it?” Michael asked. The carbon held the weather out, but it was still very cold this close to the huge sheets.
Rain smiled back. “Thank you, grandfather. No it isn’t too cold.” She looked out over the valley too.”It’s beautiful,” she said.
“It is, but it can be treacherous. Winter is here now… Probably you should stay?” he asked the last. Too often he came off as demanding. The rule giver; it was something that Petra had always chided him about: He missed her constantly.
“It’s what Ron and I thought too. Base One will be there in the spring. I thought we could send a messenger… Maybe tomorrow after the snows?” She smiled widely. She knew he had been worried, and she was glad that he had given them the time to work it out between them. Glad now to give him what he would consider good news. Michael had already stood and turned though, his large frame standing tall from the rock floor.
“Jerrica,” he called out.
A young woman came from the back area of the cave. She was tall, dark, short black hair framed her face. Her clothes were stitched leather, heavy, well made. A laser rifle rested upon her back. A wide belt circled her waist; pistols on either side and a knife sheaf depended from it: Firepower was a luxury not easy to come by any longer. She came and stood next to Michael. She looked so much like her mother, Michael thought, that it amazed him. He had known Petra at this age, the resemblance always threw him when she was here and made him think for a second that reality had side slipped and he was back in time somehow.
“I will need you to deliver a message to your mother for me,” Michael told her. He stood and walked a short distance away and continued to talk to her in low tones. Rain turned her face back out to the valley and watched the thick flakes of snow fall, when they had finished their conversation they both came back to the benches. Jerrica gazed out over the valley, her eyes veiled.
Rain smiled at Jerrica, but her face barely softened. She was so serious. All members of the guard were always serious and Jerrica was no exception. Rain supposed she had been the same during her service too, but something in Jerrica had gone past service, she had come to love it. She had never left it. It was her life. Younger than Rain, she had already been a guard for several years. Rain had done her own duty for two years and had then become a wife and mother. She and Ron were going to Base One to be considered for leadership. She listened to the low whispers of talk between Michael and Jerrica and thought about her own life as she did.
She had come to this valley as a child with the original settlers: Years past now. That bought her to nearing her middle years, the age of leadership. As she looked out over the valley she realized there was little left of the original settlement she had watched rise from the valley floor as a child. In those days the people had still clung to the old technology. That was long gone here now, except with the guard and some other applications like the power plant; a few others. The people themselves had gone back to simpler roots. The old ways Tom had taught them. His motto had been; why use it just because it’s there? Do we want to return to the old life or do we really want to move on to something else? Always a challenging question and one everyone had to answer in their own way.
There was only a settlement here at all because Michael had come back, killed the ones that had enslaved the people; freed them, Rain included and taken the settlement back.
Michael spoke, interrupting her thoughts.
“A team is outgoing with Jerrica. She will tell them to look for you in the spring.” He smiled. “Maybe that will give me time to talk you out of leaving.” He smiled, but it was an uneasy smile.
Rain smiled. He didn’t know why they were leaving. They had told him it was simply time to move. She didn’t know how he would feel if she did tell him, but she hadn’t wanted to hurt him.
Michael turned back to the valley speaking as he did. “They will know inside of a week.”
Rain made up her mind. “They have asked us to come… To be considered to lead… Petra asked for us.”
Michael turned and straightened. “Petra?” He looked from Jerrica to Rain as he spoke.
“Petra wishes to step down,” Jerrica told him quietly.
“… I remember the times we spent there… When it was still good for all of us,” Rain said. Her eyes teared up; she shifted the baby and looked at Michael.
Michael nodded. “You should not leave here. I have sat staring out at this valley and wished you would stay so I could offer you this leadership,” He turned away to hide his own eyes from her. “Not so large or advanced as Base One, but large and in need of new blood to lead.” He turned back to face her. “Had I known I would have offered. I was afraid you would refuse it.”
“I…” she caught herself as her voice broke. “I didn’t know…” She turned her head away and then stood quickly and walked away.
Michael turned to Jerrica. “I had thought that it would be you that would lead after your mother stepped down.”
“It was offered… I refused. My place is here in this valley where I was raised; not there… I … I refused,” her eyes seemed to struggle to say more, but it was not really necessary.
It was the same with many aspects of the split that had torn them apart. There were sides and they were chosen. After all of these years he couldn’t think of a single reason why he had stayed and fought here. He reached out and placed one large hand on her shoulder. “I understand your choices. I am glad that there are no barriers between your mother and you.” He waited for her eyes to meet his. “I hope to be going with you. I should make some changes here.” He glanced over where Rain stood talking with Ron.
Jerrica followed his eyes.
Ron had watched Rain from the seat he shared at the fire with some other hunters. He excused himself, and followed her to the back of the cave where they made their own winter quarters.
“Rain?” he asked as he came to her and placed one massive hand on her shoulder.
“He is stepping down… He wanted me to know he would have already given the leadership to us.” She turned and buried her face in his shoulder and wept. The baby fussed for a second, upset at the confinement and emotion and then went back to nursing; sniffling as she did.
Ron smoothed her hair with his roughened hands. He turned her slowly and then pulled her and the baby down to the floor where he held her silently for a few moments.
“What do you want, Rain. What do you want?”
“I can’t leave now… I can’t. We can lead here. We can make it bigger. Rebuild it even more from the wars. It could be good,” Rain said as she looked at him with her tear reddened eyes.
“Trade the sea for the snow?” he asked with a smile.
“Leaders can visit.” She shifted around. “I think all the people that caused the wars are dead now. Just the ones who worked so hard to end it are still going. Michael, Jerrica, Ash, Terrica. They are still here. They still want it all back together. We should try to get this all as one again and as leaders we could do it. I could accept leadership here you could accept it there. It could work.” Her eyes pleaded with his.
“They would turn both of us out if we tried that,” Ron told her.
“Not if we were straight forward. Accept leadership here and take the proposal to them next spring. We will already be leaders here. They can only say no, but I do not believe they will say no. I think it is time to put us all back together,” Rain said softly. The baby let go of her nipple and began to fuss. “Poor, baby,” she soothed as she put her over her shoulder and patted her back softly, rubbing for short periods. Her eyes met Ron’s.
“Tell Michael. Tell Michael and see what Michael says about it,” Ron said after a few moments.
~
Michael watched the heavy flakes fall. He had not known what to make of Rain jumping up and leaving so quickly as she had. He only hoped it was because she wanted time to talk to Ron about what he had said. What he had essentially offered.
He had shocked himself. While it was true that he had been sitting here thinking about turning leadership over he had not thought it would be so soon. He had hoped that when Rain and Ron came back from their trip to Base One he could approach the subject with them. Now he could see that it would have been far too late then. They would have left and they would never have come back.
It saddened him to think of passing leadership to someone else, but in another way the responsibilities were too heavy. He was too old. Petra was younger and stronger. He couldn’t understand why she would give up leadership. A position she had held in one capacity or another for all the years since the end had come. She was a natural. What would make her consider stepping down, he wondered as he stared out over the valley.
He had been on the verge of rising; going to find Rain when Ron dropped down beside him.
Michael held his eyes when he turned to him. “She spoke to you?”
“She did, grandfather.” He laughed. “She would never leave you now.”
“It wasn’t meant to make you stay… It was time,” Michael said. He turned his eyes back out to the valley. In the far distance a herd of bison grazed. Whether their own or a wild herd he could not tell. At one time the entire valley had been closed: No longer. A smaller valley on the opposite side of the mountain held the winter herd: Small; what they could afford to keep and feed through the cold. The rest were turned loose. They mingled with the wild herds, but they never forgot the valley was their home and so they could be depended upon to come back in the spring.
Ron followed his eyes and watched the herd of bison in the distance through the blowing snow. “Big herd.”
Michael nodded and then turned. “You will stay?”
“She will stay…” he paused and let his words sink in: Concern mounted in Michael’s eyes. “She seems to think that I should take the leadership being offered by Base One… Bring us all together as a people again.”
Michael smiled. “She is like my own blood.” He laughed; a small laugh, but then he let it roll out of his huge chest. “I can see it. I can see it.” He fell quiet, watching the bison as they moved more fully into the protection of the walls of the valley. Their coats were already heavy; carrying the weight of the snow as it hid them from the eyes of predators. Ron watched with him.
“Almost gone already… If I didn’t know exactly where to look…”
“Yes, I never get tired of it,” Michael agreed. “I’m older than all of them you know. It was so unfair… Petra is so young; she should rule for years to come yet she is stepping down. Here I am in my late seventies, almost eighty now… Soon I will be…” He sighed. He shook his head. “Where did it all go to?” He turned and met Ron’s eyes, but Ron only shrugged as he held his eyes. Both men turned back to the valley, but just that fast the bison who had been moving nearer had disappeared under their walking blankets of white.
“Insulates them too: Hard for me to believe that but it is true,” Michael said. He turned back to Ron. “She’s right… It’s what should have been done long ago.” He stood and turned back into the cave where Jerrica stood talking to several others. The only vehicles they still had were the transport vehicles the guard used. Everything else had long been given back to rust and age. The guard transports had only gotten better. Built from scratch and modified with more and more technology as they came across it in the old drops they discovered out on their missions.
Michael stood to his full height and raised his arms high above him. “People,” Michael’s voice boomed out and the people in the cave stopped what they were doing and looked to him. He may have been closing in on eighty, but there was still a great deal of fight in that voice: Power.
At one time there had been several thousand people here. Now there were slightly more than two thousand; still a great responsibility and a growing one. He waited until he had everyone’s attention, at least those that were inside. Most were working at this time of the day, but it didn’t matter. The news would find them.
Rain came from the back: The baby gone; most likely sleeping on a pile of furs with a few others, Michael thought. She came to Ron; her face tense, unsure what was about to be said.
“You all know me. You all, I hope, know that I am not pretentious. I pray to God I never have been or will be. I am just a man.” He paused. “There is no easy way to say this, for I love you all. You mean something to me. Every one of you; and if you can look at this in that light you will realize it is past the time that I stepped down.” A few gasps punctuated the silence and a very low buzz of hushed, surprised conversation.
“It has never been concealed from you that I have looked at Rain as my blood. That is why I hope and pray that you will accept her leadership of this settlement.” Michael fell silent and the silence in the cave held for a few moments before the cheers began. With a few seconds the crowds around himself and Rain were so thick they found themselves pushed together and herded back into the central area of the cave. Questions, answers; they would have them. He had to answer some of them at least.
Michael raised his arms and waited for the quiet. “I give you your leader… Will you accept her?”
The cave reverberated with the shouts of yes.
“It’s finished then,” Michael said softly. He said it softly on purpose to hold their attention for a moment longer. “Before the celebration begins I will explain why it had to be now. When Jerrica and her guard team leaves I will be going with them to Base One. I will leave tonight with them, and I do not know if I will return. My wish will be to return, but that old dog age is nipping at my heels and so who knows, maybe I will reach the warmth of the sea and wish to stay there.” He waited for the laughter to die down. “You need a leader now: A leader that can take you to the next place our people need to be. The same place we have all worked to attain, togetherness, healing, advancement. A man or a woman grows, or they die. This settlement is the same way. We forgot that back in the wars. I have remembered it now. Rain has never forgotten it,” his voice fell even lower. “Something I only wish I could claim. Something I am proud to see living within her.” He met as many eyes as he could.
“God willing I will see you all again,” Michael told them. He turned and embraced Rain as her tears fell and then his eyes fell on Jerrica where she awaited him. He kissed Rain’s eyelids, told her he loved her; wished her all the best there could be and then he joined Jerrica. A moment later they were making their way through the tunnel to the eastern side of the mountain where the guard had their own quarters: The laughter and cheers of congratulation falling away behind them.
“You surprised me,” Jerrica said as they walked.
“I surprised me,” Michael agreed.
The guard was comprised of ten all in all. He found that impressive. The first group he himself had formed had been only four. And what they had then was nothing compared to what they had now. Weapons, vehicles, armor and more bags of tricks, some Michael was sure he himself didn’t fully understand the implications of.
They turned from the main tunnel way into a wide open area filled with large transports and bustling with activity.
“We are ready…” Jerrica faltered; unsure how to address him. For so long she had addressed him as leader, father when she had been younger, she didn’t know what to do now that he had turned his reigns of leadership over so quickly.
“Father will do,” he told her as her face colored.
“Father,” Jerrica said. “We need to get going.”
Michael took a last look around the huge area. “Been a long road,” Michael said huskily. He followed Jerrica to one of the huge transports. He stepped inside: The door drew down and sealed with a hiss of air: A few seconds later a huge carbon panel parted; opening the cavernous space to the outdoors and the transport rolled silently out into the swirling snow…
ONE: Star Dancer
ONE
Earth Date: 2196 – 08 -25 – 16:21:43
Moon Base 14: United Planet Technologies
Intra Flight Systems: Star Dancer
Michael Watson
Michael Watson, Mike to his friends purchased Star Dancer right after college and began intra system runs shortly after that. He could remember his great-grandfather, gone now for more than forty years, talking about what he had, had for opportunities right out of high school. That would be laughable now. Mike’s parents had, had his life mapped out from the age of two. Life Mapping was and is a serious thing, Mike didn’t know anyone that didn’t have their lives mapped out now from birth or before.
School was not complete without college. You could not be licensed to work the counters of a Planet Burger unless you had two years of college. His own career had taken four years of Specialty College as well as geared trade school from the first grade on. When other first graders were learning about monetary systems and world level banking, he had been learning about Solar Wind Drives and Hydrogen Propulsion units.
The grades, one through twelve, start at age three and last on average seven years. Some fall behind, some spring ahead, but by ten years of age most are ready for focused education and he was no exception. He began his specialized training; four years, four more years of global military service after that with an option for six more which he had deferred and he was pretty sure he made his instructors very happy by doing so, and so at the old age of eighteen Mike had signed a twenty year funding commitment for Star Dancer. At the time he was sure he would never dig himself out of thirty million credits of debt, but for the last two years he had been watching credits build in his accounts.
Today he was docking at UPT on Moon Fourteen to pick up a four year re-supply for a prison colony at Mars Twenty-Seven: Some kind of Tech drop for Colony One; and two panel pre-fab labs for IO’s base six.
Moon Base Fourteen is United Planet Technologies’ own base. There is not much else there; a small cafeteria, some lounges for through travelers, each progressively worse than the last: The best being Vic’s, and Vic’s was the only official bar, the other two were simply overlooked. That could happen at a base that was not really a base at all but a company town.
Mike had, had the tour before and short of taking on a small fed crew, and maybe a new navigator to replace the one he had been without for the last seventeen months he would be here only long enough to fuel, be unloaded and then reloaded: Once the ship was re-supplied he would be off; there would be no downtime in the next twenty-four hours.
The crew was a fed security and transport crew. In other words a federal crew that would accompany him to all three of the offloads, do all the offloading and on loading. He would be coming back to Moon Base Fourteen with a full load of finished products bound for Earth and they would pack it all, all he had to do was bring it back. They also provided security for himself and the Star Dancer crew. In nearly twenty years of intra cruising he had never had a single security issue for them to defend him from.
On the last stop, IO, he would lose the crew. That would leave him alone for the return trip unless they turned up a dead head crew for the return trip. He would also be required to transport any returning paroled inmates: Terminated or retired employees or UPT employees that required transport: Bar those possibilities; unless he signed a navigator today he would be coming back alone and so far out of twenty possible candidates he had, had only five show up, and out of the five three had turned him down. He had turned the other two down. He told himself that if he were a betting man the odds were that he would be riding alone this return trip.
A return trip alone did not mean he would be returning empty. No transport was ever left empty. There were always shipments heading back to Earth, short hops to other Moon Bases, Mars and twice he had done several runs between IO and Mars without going back to Earth. In any case of in-system transport he was required to have a security crew. If it was a straight run back to the Moon or Earth then the shipment was loaded, locked and sealed and he could run back with no security crew. If a parolee was scheduled for the ride back then a security team was required, even if there was no other reason for their presence. He had rarely transported parolees, once or twice that he could recall. He almost always offloaded, reloaded Earth-bound cargo, loaded up supplies and a dead head crew, usually a mixed security and worker crew and headed back within a day or two.
He eased Star Dancer into dock. Most Captains go with the auto-nav, but he had heard too many horror stories about out of phase computers, last second power surges and more to trust his ship to the machines. He would do it himself. He had known how to do it since third grade in the flight sims: Microsoft had the best federally approved space-flight sims and Mike’s parents had made sure he got the best.
He gave his reverse thrusters a quick slap with his palm at three hundred feet out and watched the ships lock coupler drift home with nothing more than a small frame vibration when all systems went green on lock-in. He keyed his overhead.
“Central, I’m locked on 6B… Standing by for station personnel, over…”
“Green on my board, Dancer… Unlocking for loads… You have company standing by, Dancer.”
“Oh yeah?” That was a surprise.
“Uh… Lounge seven… Navigator?”
“Oh, okay, right… Send him right up, and thank you.”
“Uh, her.”
“Her?”
“Oh yeah… Pretty sure unless I’m blind.” He chuckled.
“Huh… Supposed to be…” He punched the name up on his scheduling screen. “Pete Stanovich.”
“Uh huh… Short for Petra no doubt… Petra Stanovich… See you must have heard the Pete part and not the tra part.” He chuckled again.
“Someone screwed up… It’s entered as Pete in the com. Okay send her up then and thanks.”
“Coming at you… Base out.”
Mike clicked off and sighed. This meant number twenty-one was most likely a wash too. Most women who interviewed for the job were not interested once they realized it was an intra-galaxy, or system cruiser and one that was considered a dinosaur of a ship. About all he did have to offer were transferable credits for Federal space-work. Because he had not deactivated his military time he had what was called time for time credit. A perk because he had done his four in the service and kept his six active. That meant that technically the feds could still pick him up for that six any time they wanted to. In exchange it meant that he could offer his employees who were fresh out of military service time for time credit. A young navigator would have to be fresh out of military service, or within their benefit time window, thus making them eligible for the time. The time would count directly as military experience in advanced navigation; a big plus, but maybe not worth the two year minimum hitch they would have to do on his ship.
Even so it was a good perk and the past three navigators he had hired were immediately picked up for star cruiser service at the end of their contracts. It was both his ace in the hole and his queen of spades.
He unbuckled thought about it and then keyed his Com-Link
“Unlocked, central and could you delay my visitor by twenty?”
“Be at least that… Problem?”
“No… That’ll work…”
“Okay, Mike… You have Baylor as Sec-Chief… A crew of twenty security. Three max level prisoner transports and four tech level grads bound for IO. That’s it… Out.”
Mike keyed his Com-Link as an answer; flicked the unlock switches for the cargo holds, electronically signed his security certificate to allow off loading and loading and headed for the showers and fresh clothes. He may as well make the best impression that he could, he reasoned.
Earth Date: 2296 – 08 – 25 16:27:14
Moon Base Fourteen: Visitor Lounge seven
United Planet Technologies:
Petra Stanovich
She could see the bar through the glass wall; she supposed that was the idea, but the last thing she needed before the interview was a drink.
This would be her fourth interview: Each interview had started out good and then spiraled downward. She supposed her job broker was doing the best he could though. She had no real experience. Her parents had used all of their remaining influence to get her into the military after two years of training school. She had worked out of field for the last two years, a bad mistake. You became obsolete fast as a navigator. She had been considering using her six on the back and going back into the military side of the feds. There would be plenty of navigators and pilot positions there. The out of field work had really put her in a bad position, but even though military service could save her situation, if she went to the military side of the feds she could forget about ever having a civilian career.
The only good thing about this particular position was that it was a time for time position. It would count as military time; restart her clock and qualify her for something better down the line. The overhead speaker suddenly came to life with a loud buzzing that made her react by clasping her hands over her ears.
“Remain where you are… Attention: Remain where you are. Federal transport crews are moving through your area with dangerous cargo. It is in your best interest to avoid all movement as motion sensing units may determine that you are a threat to security”… The speakers went dead for a few seconds and then began repeating the warning again. She watched as doors slid open in the middle of an el-bank and a security crew stepped from the el, weapons at the ready sweeping the area, stopping on Petra, turning and motioning to the el’s other occupants.
Three chained and cuffed inmates stepped out, herded by three other security staff. Hands cuffed to a set of chains that encircled their waists, leg chains that hobbled them to a short, shuffling stride. The security team surrounded them and herded them into long tunnels that lead to a transport shuttle. She watched as the inmates shuffled slowly down the hallway and into the shuttle. Shortly after that the overhead speakers went back to some sort of electronic music that had been there all along: She hadn’t even noticed it.
She turned her mind back to the upcoming job interview and what it could mean to her as she watched the shuttle do several slow burns, revolve slightly out of dock and angle toward the Star Dancer. She had not given any thought to the fact that criminals would be traveling on the ship. It was something she hadn’t known. She entertained the thought briefly: She supposed they would be locked well away from the rest of the crew; and then turned her mind back to the job interview. Military time, she thought weighing the pros and cons again.
Time for time would not take away from her on-the-back time; it added to her military experience instead: So her two years became four years, and two more became six. In that sense it was a good opportunity, but nothing else about this position looked good at all.
She had watched the Star Dancer dock: A twenty-eight year old intra cruiser: Straight cargo. She was shaped like a giant box with rounded corners. The propulsion units, hydrogen drives and living quarters sat atop the box; rounded, slightly flattened spheres looking as though they had been added as an afterthought. She watched the shuttle dock at one of two dozen docking stations laid out along the side of Star Dancer: A slight bump that she remembered from school and that would be it: The auto couplers would engage; draw the ship in and couple the station ship and shuttle together…
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