Wednesday, December 3, 2014

Renewed Cramps

In my absence, it seems that this blog has developed a following all on its own. Because of that, it kind of behooves me to put some new content in here. :)

Just to bring you up to date, the series of short stories "Tales From the County Jail" has been complete and published. They can be purchased on a number of outlets including Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Apple and others for 99 cents each or you can get the box set for $2.99.

I am currently working on a political thriller novel called "The Candidate". Here is a quick blurb about it:

Lance Scott is a freelance journalist just two years out of grad school and hungry to make it in the news business. Just a couple of weeks away from election day, he gets a tip on a story about the front-running presidential candidate that looks like a mere conspiracy theory until the tipster turns out to be a Secret Service Agent. And she turns up dead.
With few clues to go on, he is forced to reconstruct the story while trying to stay alive. His lovable, if unusual pet basset hound turns out to be the best detective he could have hoped for.
If he breaks this story, he could win a Pulitzer prize. If he fails, the country could be destroyed.
The first draft is completed and I hope to have it revised, edited and ready for publication by mid-2015.

I am forming plans for two series of novels after The Candidate is finished. Stay with me for more on that.

Thank you for your interest in Writer Cramps! I will be keeping this blog up to date from here on out.

Monday, July 18, 2011

On to Round Two

I finished The Hard Way on time! It looks to be the last story in Tales From the County Jail. Now it is time to do re-writes. I’m coming down the home stretch and hope to have the work ready to publish soon.

Friday, July 8, 2011

The Hard Way

I got Home Incarceration finished (first draft) and am moving on. Retrograde Amnesia turned out to be too long for this project, so I am going to make it into a novel. It is therefore on hold while I finish the next story for Tales From the County Jail. It is a story about an ex-con who had to learn his lesson The Hard Way.

Stay tuned for more. This project is nearing completion.

Thursday, June 23, 2011

WIP Tales From the County Jail

I am getting closer to completion of my WIP entitled Tales From the County Jail. It is a collection of short stories set in and around a county jail in Kentucky. Some of the stories are based on true events, taken from my experiences as a Corrections Officer in a real jail. Others are purely products of my overly active imagination.

I just finished a story called Home Incarceration, which is an action/humorous tale of an inmate who inadvertently makes a bad drug deal and has to fight for his life and keep from going back to prison at the same time.

Next on my writing list is a story called Retrograde Amnesia. I hope you will join me on this writing journey by following along and maybe offering some advice.

Good reading to you!

Sunday, August 1, 2010

A Profound Blog Post by K M Weiland

K M Weiland on her blog WordPlay wrote this:

"I find it interesting that so many writers, myself included, tend to be introverts. Here we are creating hundreds of in-depth human beings for the page, and yet we struggle to understand and communicate with other people in real life. Or is it perhaps the other way around? That we tend to take a step back from the frenetic bustle of life and ask the questions (write the stories) about people and relationships, which then allow our characters to resonate on the page? Is it because we are seeking more than the obvious that we are able to better illuminate the common emotions we all share?

Her article is a discussion about why she (and we) write. She goes on to explain.

"If I’m being honest, I have to admit in answer to my titular question that, really, I write for myself. I write because I want to find the answers, because I want to understand and be understood. But it is also a prayer of my heart that somehow my ramblings might find a place in the bigger picture, that they might resonate with even just one reader and form that invisible, ineffable line of connection between my soul and the soul of another. My heart hurts for people who disparage art, including fiction, as a waste of time. They are missing so much."

It is a short post, but contains some profound words about one of life's great mysteries: why we are driven to write.
Thanks, K M.

For the complete article go here.

Yeah, I know. I am becoming a shameless K M Weiland cheerleader. But hey, you gotta have a hero in your life somewhere.


Thursday, April 29, 2010

Lonely Child

Jimmy pulled his Little League uniform out of the commercial dryer. It was still a little damp, but he didn't have anymore money, so it would have to do. He had collected cans to sell to the recycle place so that he could bring his uniform to the laundromat. It was important because today was a big day; he was going to actually get to play in this game. Usually he just sat in the dugout and passed cups of water to his team mates when they came off the field, but not today. Coach had told him that, since they were playing a team that had never won a game, he could play left field.

When he thought about the other players, he could not help but wonder how they got away with cheating the way they did. He knew for a fact that Bobby's dad actually taught him how to pitch and how to bat. Jimmy had seen it with his own eyes. And he suspected that most of the others parents did the same thing. He thought, “Now if that ain't cheatin', I don't know what is.” His parents would never think of such a scandalous act.

After scurrying home, he ran up to his bedroom to change. He did not want to be late for the game, so he would have to hurry. He pulled off his dingy pants and felt a little uncomfortable that he had not been wearing his underwear. But it could not be helped; they needed washed and he had put them in with his uniform. He had not wanted to face the possibility of getting injured in the game with dirty underwear.

He was careful, as he pulled his undies over his foot, not to catch his toe in the hole that was forming. He had done that once and had torn the hole so big that half of his left cheek had been exposed. He could not afford to do that this time because he knew he would not get a new pair until school started two months from now.

He thought back to his recent visit to Steve's house. Steve was a classmate of Jimmy's and had invited him over for lunch one day last week. His friend's house made him uneasy; it was immaculate. It looked like one of those houses you see on a TV show; they always looked like nobody lived in them. When they were in his bedroom, Steve had opened a drawer and Jimmy had been shocked to see the contents. The boy had an entire drawer full of underwear. It had looked like a store shelf. The shorts were all neatly folded, just like they were new. And none of them seemed to have any holes. In fact they were still white. Jimmy could not believe his eyes; he had never seen such a thing except in the store; certainly not in someones home.

Just as he was pulling on his uniform shirt, he heard his parents car pulling up into the driveway outside. He buttoned his shirt and hurriedly grabbed his fielders glove from under the bed. The wrist strap pulled open, reminding him that he had to be careful with it because the button hole was torn out a little. He guessed that was why someone had thrown it out. Other than that, it was in useable condition, though.

He ran down the stairs and into the kitchen where his parents were just coming in the back door.

 “Mom! Pop! Guess what? Coach said I can play in the game today,” he said. His excitement could not be contained.

“That's nice,” said his mother.

“You want to come and see the game?”

“No, damn it. We're tired. Now just go on,” his father said. His mother nodded in agreement.

“Okay. I just thought . . .” his voice trailed off. He had known that they wouldn't come;. they never came. He had been stupid to even ask.

He pushed the old wooden screen door open and headed outside. He would have to run or he would be late. As he got to the sidewalk, a car passed. Bobby's hand poked out of the rear passenger window and waved.

“See you at the game,” Jimmy yelled as he began running down the street.

Friday, April 2, 2010

Revenge Scene

Henry made the corner onto the street where his home was located and slowed his car as he turned off the headlights. He could see the man's car in his driveway. The nerve of that guy, parking right out front while he cavorted with Henry's wife.

This had happened many times before in many different states. For fifteen years, he had watched as she slept with dozens of men. But this time was going to be the last. Henry had insisted on moving to this state because he knew that the law here would not punish him when he finally put an end to her adultery. Divorce would have been cleaner, but he was not about to let her walk away with half of his money and half of his property.

Henry had been careful not to let her see him load the rifle into his car and he had not told her that he was taking the night off of work. She had no idea that she was about to get caught in the act with her latest stud. He stopped half a block from the house. He would walk from here.

He carefully slid the bullets into his 30-06 rifle. Six should be more than enough. Before exiting his ten year old Chevy, he pulled back the bolt and then shoved it forward. The first round was chambered. He opened the car door and stepped out leaving the door slightly ajar so as to not make noise that would reveal his presence.

As he crept around the back of the house, his heart began to pound against his chest wall. His hands trembled violently and he began to fear he might not be able to hit his target. He wondered if she was even doing what he suspected. Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe he would not have to shoot.

He eased up into the tree and onto the limb which he had carefully selected yesterday. This spot gave him the perfect angle to the head of his bed. As he shifted into position, he could see them – two naked bodies lunging against one another in his bedroom.

He lifted his rifle and peered through the scope. Carefully he examined the faces and confirmed his worst suspicions. It was his wife and his best friend, and he was plainly inside of her. He lowered the rifle momentarily and took several deep breaths to steady himself. Rage seethed inside him.

Once again, he shouldered his weapon and found the head of the man laying on top of his wife. The man was thrusting hard and his head became a moving target. Henry struggled with timing the shot. He made three mental attempts at the shot before he was satisfied that he knew when to fire. Then he held his breath, waited for just the right moment and squeezed the trigger.

He watched as his friends head exploded in the dim light of the bedroom. Henry then pulled the bolt back and jammed it forward, sending another round into the chamber. Once again he raised the rifle. This shot would be easier – she was pinned under her dead lover. Her head was raised and she was trying to push him off of her body. Henry homed in on his wife's head and jerked the trigger. She fell back onto the bed as her brain matter splattered onto the head board.

Henry had his revenge. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed nine one one.