lunes, 25 de abril de 2011

TAGS - A Paranormal Push or is it Pusch?


Now here's a thing, one more learning curve to climb. It seems that TAGS on Amazon are really important. Yes, I know everyone else but me knows this fact, but I have an excuse...I'm slow.

The more TAGS you have, count wise, in a particular category, the more visible you are. This is especially so in the .co.uk version as there are (right now) less eBooks versus the .com version. So here's my plea...those of you with either .co.uk accounts or .com accounts who are feeling generous, why not help 26-S by sliding along and clicking your agreement with the tags of Paranormal and Horror. Hey, if you want to click more that's good too, but Paranormal Tags are just up my street.

I promise to let you all know how it goes.

Watch this space...

domingo, 24 de abril de 2011

Actual Sales



As strange as it seems, actual sales in the plural. All of them via Amazon.com. There are some encouraging downloads via Smashwords too. No Kindle purchass in the UK yet, but I'm working on the marketing and tagging like mad.

Watch this space...


http://www.amazon.co.uk/26-S-ebook/dp/B004WDRVT4

martes, 12 de abril de 2011

Uploading as we speak!


Yes, it's true, 26-S is uploading (#2235 in the queue) on Smashwords as we speak, and is being checked out for Kindle too. I should be able to say that's it's live on both by tomorrow p.m.

This one has taken a long time to finish, as I needed much more confidence in both detail and plot before taking the plunge. From seeing Manolo Guerrero's original photo, to reading about the Spanish Civil War and experiencing the hurt and anguish which still lives in Spain there passed some time before I felt that I could write this.

Of course the characters and actual events are 100% fictional, however some of the tales of the time are in their own way more harrowing than my own attempts.

It has expanded my own writing style and self-confidence and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did the process.

lunes, 11 de abril de 2011

The Day is Here


I have finally finished my novella 26-S. It has been a long time coming, as it's a new venture for me - Historical Fiction and Horror. There are twenty four short, sharp chapters. My intention was to write this as a fast-paced horror, whose storyline grabbed you by the throat and didn't let go.

We'll see how I did!

26-S will be available on Smashwords and Kindle at $0.99/£0.71.

Hope you enjoy...

viernes, 8 de abril de 2011

Are you Ready?


Obstacles always appear; mounds of bones, rivers of blood or just plain writer's block. For me though, it's been the tortuous and soul-sucking process of self-publication. Yeah, I know that others have trodden the path...but it's just more real when it's you.

So, we are now in the final edit of 26-S. History, misery, despair and vengeance add to the mix and that's just the formating and editing...

Watch this space for the real story...

miércoles, 7 de julio de 2010

Chapter Eight

El 26 de Septiembre, 2008. 12:00 am

Energy poured into him. It filled his wicked soul, strengthened his anger and solidified his grasp on reality. Arms raised high, melted skin stretched taut, he howled. The walls of the building shuddered in the process, plaster fell and he twisted and turned, anxious to leave.

Brilliant light shone through the doorway, outlining his elemental struggle and one arm reached towards his prey. A woman’s scream reverberated through both actual and imagined existence. As he grew in power, the broken and burnt shape of the schoolhouse transposed itself. It fit like a badly cut cloth over the walls and foundations of the Surgery. His feral grin recognised the moment the hunted ran. Their fear was like a rich wine to his burgeoning senses and with one heave he was free.

Juan soared upwards, enfolding himself in the fog which thickened in tandem with his thoughts. Then he saw him and dived down.

*

Padre Francisco had forgotten all his training. What was faith when terror overcame all? There was nothing he remembered which prepared a simple country priest for this. Evil as a concept he understood. Bad men did bad things. The Universe raged against the righteous. He was there to counsel, to guide and to ensure that his parishioners did not stray from their path to God. This was so different.

At a basic level his body had reacted. Adrenalin pumped through him and he ran. There was no clear goal in his mind, just escape. Wave after wave of triumphal laughter washed over him. It was a sickening parody of baptism and each step became harder. When he could run no more, when his legs failed to obey his body and his chest struggled to contain the erratic beat of his heart, he stopped.

*
From his hideout, Rodrigo watched. His main camera was forgotten. It lay where it had fallen. He still had his video-camera though and enough space on its disk. With its screen turned towards him, he raised it high and filmed.

*

Juan swooped above the cowering priest. He saw the mumbling lips but no words could hurt him now. There was another close behind him, but he could wait. The fog became wispy, translucent as his form took shape. There was no hidden beauty in his ravaged visage, only spite and hatred. Tears fell from the priest’s tightly shut eyes and Juan was content.

“Where is your God now?”

His voice hissed and bubbled from the warped face. Padre Francisco caught a whiff of burnt meat and putrefaction, twined together in an unholy mixture.

“He cannot save you. No-one can.”

The priest crumpled. A vice-like grip dragged him upward.

“Not yet.” Juan said close to his ear. “First, I get to play.”

*

Rodrigo saw Padre Francisco jerk upwards. He zoomed in. There was nothing substantial there! The priest shivered in terror, head cocked to one side. Who was he listening to? He saw one arm drawn backwards and heard the sharp crack of breaking bone. This was repeated on the other side. Now he focussed on Padre Francisco’s face. His lips moved, but no sound uttered forth.

The left side of the priest’s chest began to move. A strange writhing movement which pushed against the cloth of his shirt. Blood sprayed as something tore its way free. There clear to Rodrigo’s eyes was a pale and tortured fist. Within it lay the still beating heart of the priest. The fist tightened, squeezing blood and flesh in a slow drip to the floor. Then the priest’s body was flung roughly aside and Rodrigo saw what was there. Another camera hit the floor, vomit spattering over it.

When he raised his head again, the fear controlled only to the most minimal extent, he saw Padre Francisco’s body. It was sprawled in grotesque abandonment. The thing was nowhere to be seen.

*

Rosa cowered inside a small shed. The wooden door was pulled tightly closed. Someone had tried to join her there, but her curses and tight grip refused them entry. They had gone now and she was safe. At least for the moment.Her mobile pone buzzed in her pocket and she flipped it open.

“H-hello.”

“Rosa, it’s Emilio. What the hell is going on. We can’t stall the public much longer.”

“Emilio, thank God. You’ve got to get us out of here. It’s all true.”

A short silence followed, then Emilio’s voice returned, cold and vindictive.

“You knew that it was true. We planned this. Get your lazy arse back to wherever the camera is. We need a live feed and now. The ratings are through the roof and I’m not going to lose this once in a lifetime chance. Not for you. Not for anyone.”

“Emilio, you don’t understand. It’ll kill me. There’s no way…”

He interrupted her. His voice calm now almost soothing.

“Just get me one more clear picture. That’s all I ask. When we stop talking I promise I’ll ring the Guardia Civil... and Rosa. Make sure you get that film or one stupid ghost will be nothing compared to what I’ll do to you.”

The connection died and she sat for a moment, chewing on her bottom lip. He had no intention of calling the police. No, her only possible way out was the old man. Hiding here though, she would have no chance. Decision made, she cracked open the door and peered into the dark and fog-filled street.

*

“Where are we going?”

The old man didn’t answer. He was saving all of his energy for their flight. They stumbled and slithered down a glass-lined slope, finally coming to an abrupt stop against a rough stone wall. Inching his way round, the Professor found and unhitched a small gate.

“In here,” he gasped, falling to his knees and peering at the small upright stones within the walled area.

Then Toni realised where they were. The cemetery. Was this old fool crazy?

“Are you stupid?”

His normal respect for his elders had been lost in their mad flight. Good manners were far from his mind and it was only the Professor’s ironic laugh which grounded him.

“That has never been up for much debate,” said the old man, “coming to this village was indeed the height of stupidity. The cemetery is a different matter altogether.”

“Pardon?”

“We are here for information. There is something about this plan of Sanchez which, apart from being half-baked, smacks of a certain confidence. We need to find the link and perhaps here we can start.”

He pulled out his torch and snapped it on, peering at the headstones.

“Look at the names. Try to find some common factor between them and our party. You, yourself are involved somehow, of that I am sure.”

Toni’s guilt was overpowering and he reached inside his jacket, pulling free the battered book.

“Maybe this will help, Professor.”

The old man took it from him and opened it to the first page. He flicked pages rapidly, the colour draining from his face. At last he looked up.

“Where did you get this?” he demanded anger clouding his voice.

“From my Abuela...Irene...”

“Holy Mary, Mother of God ...” gasped the Professor, as he slumped against a headstone, “You are the reason we are here. Those others are just the warm-up routine...”

domingo, 27 de junio de 2010

Chapter Seven

El 25 de Septiembre, 2008. 10:30 pm


“What are they doing?”

Toni looked across at the array of cables and lights. He would soon have to join the rest of the crew.

“They’re setting up. You know, getting ready for the rehearsal. We’ll prove the link to the station in Madrid. See that dish on the top of the van? It’s fully extended now and they’ll be running a series of checks, just to make sure nothing will go wrong.”

“That, I’m afraid, is out of your control now.”

“What exactly do you mean by that?”

The Professor glanced up at him and seemed to take a decision.

“Who are you?”

“I told you, Antonio Esposito.”

“Yes, but what’s your real name? Your connection with the village.”

He almost told him about the journal then. Later, he would wish that he had. Instead, he feigned anger.

“I told you my name already. What more do you want from me?”

“I’m sorry,” said the Professor. He rubbed his eyes and stared towards Rosa.

“She’s up to something. Her and her boss. They’ve planned this from the beginning.”

“You implied that before. What do you think will happen?”

The old man fixed Toni with his unflinching gaze.

“Juan will happen.” he said. “Can you pass me my bag?”

Toni watched him lay out an assortment of items. They looked like props from a horror movie, and a bad one at that.

*

“One hour to go until the broadcast, Emilio. Are you sure you’re ready?”

Sanchez smiled. The station was really worried at the loss of ratings. Today though, there would be a change. No other show had ever shown a real paranormal event. Spectacular visitations were limited to the movies. Blood, gore and the unearthly cry of a real-life ghost belonged only to his show. Not once did he think of the lives which would be lost. His only worry was whether the broadcast would last long enough to get the message across. Afterwards they could accuse him of a hoax. One visit to the village would prove his point.

“We’re more than ready. The link is proven and Rosa is running the rehearsal as we speak. Five minutes of ambient lighting and discussion, our anonymous video and then live to Pueblecito. Nothing can go wrong.”

His boss clapped him on the back, waved at the rest of the crew and went upstairs to watch the show.

*

“So,” Rosa began, “Fathers, you will start with a prayer. Let’s not call it an exorcism, shall we?”

She saw the older priest flush with anger and smiled.

“No, a blessing. You will ask for protection, for strength and guidance. Then the lovely Toni will lead in with the story of the strange disappearance of the villagers. The public will eat up their lemming-like behaviour. Then, if our friendly ghost won’t help, we’ll add a little atmosphere, a few noises and finish with the inexplicable mystery that is Pueblecito. Emilio can lead the panel discussion and it will become just another job well done.”

“You know that’s not all that will happen, don’t you?”

“Fantastic, Professor. Great for the ambient setting, but just a little early. If you’re a good boy, we’ll give you a walk-on part.”

The Professor looked at his watch, took his bag from his back, zipped open the top and grasped Toni’s wrist.

“Stay close.” He hissed, as the second hand swept round.

*

“We’re on in three, two, one ...”

Rosa pushed Toni to one side and smiled straight into the camera. He wanted to protest but the flashing red light on the equipment told him he would only make a fool of himself. All he could do was watch as Rosa stole his chance.

“This is Rosa Benitez, reporting from Pueblecito. It has been called the village of the damned. A cursed place in which once a year, death stalks its narrow streets. Here at El Ocho, we have decided to put this to the test. Myself and my crew will stay here and film all that occurs. We have with us spiritual help from the Holy Catholic Church and are well prepared for whatever may occur.

“You will see in the top left hand side of your screen a clock. This will count down to the so-called Witching Hour. Please stay tuned, as we will now pass you back to the studio where our experts will give you further background.”

The light blinked out. An angry Toni pushed past the cameraman.

“What the hell do you think you are doing?”

“There’s been a change in plans, Toni. Emilio called me and said he wanted someone with a little more experience anchoring this show.”

Toni felt the urge to wipe the cheesy smile off her face and struggled with himself. He spoke through gritted teeth.

“Why then did you bring me here?”

“Toni, Toni. Don’t worry. You are an integral part of this show.”

She laughed as a whistle drew her back to the camera. The Professor looked up as the second hand crossed the hour mark. His hand gripped his crucifix tight, sweat breaking out on his palms. Up above he could see the Surgery and a strangled cry burst from his throat.

“Look! Run!”

*

“We’ll now take you back to Rosa....”

Viewers saw the clock touch midnight, heard the woman start to speak. She was interrupted by a male voice and they saw figures as they scrambled away. The picture shuddered and they heard rasping breath. Someone was running.

“There, point it there ...”

The picture steadied on the quaint-looking Doctor’s Surgery. It focussed in on a partially-opened doorway and the small hall behind. A shadowy figure moved, strengthened and was outlined in wavering blue flames. There was a scream, the thump of the camera falling and an unearthly howling. That was the last thing they saw.

*

Emilio stared open-mouthed at the feed. His arm waved in a circular motion and in the studio they explained they had temporarily lost the signal and the panel of experts began to fill in the shocked silence. It was a disaster.

“Boss, look.”

One of the technicians called his attention to their web page and to the estimated ratings chart. Hits on their simulcast had suddenly leaped and their bar chart was rising rapidly.

Emilio muttered to himself, “It’s working, it’s working.”

*