Sun, Surf, Suicide - Chapter 1

When I started writing my second novel, I was very unhappy with the first chapter. Instead of rewriting it at the time, I continued forward with the story. I have since gone back and rewritten it and am much happier with the results. Interesting story, the same thing happened with the first novel and now I love that first chapter. It's as if when I start writing I am very uninspired and then as I get going I go back and write something more worthy. I believe I have done that and I decided to post it here for anyone who wants to read it. Now I am not an editor, nor do I pretend to be so there are probably some tense issues (as in past, present, future...not as in uncomfortable) and minor other problems which will be addressed once I am done and send it off to my professional editor. So please keep that in my when reading this. At any rate, I hope you enjoy the first chapter of Sun, Surf, Suicide.

     The sound of his heart, beating in his chest, is the only noise stopping the room from being completely silent. The distance is too great for the hum of the refrigerator to pierce the quiet as he sits on the couch contemplating the fact he is about to remove another life from this earth.
     Like a golfer visualizing the roll of his putt, he has spent the last hour going through the events of the evening. How he would get to her place. How he would gain entry. Where he would find her and how he would subdue her. He had the answers to these questions because he was a planner and he’s been planning these murders for a long time. At the time he planned to breach her front door, precisely 10:00pm, she would be upstairs in her room, unwinding with an hour of reading before the corner of her eyes got tight and the heaviness of impending sleep began to droop her lids.
     He would enter her room quickly and be on her before she had time to register his intrusion. Rag to mouth and the chloroform would gain purchase almost instantly. She would never wake again. From there, he would carry her body to the open hallway which overlooked the living room below.
     Wearing gloves, he then will slide the noose over her neck feeling the weight of her life in his hands. Stroking her hair, he thinks about how at that very second, he holds the ultimate power. The power of deciding life or death. Whether she lives or dies is up to his complete discretion and that excites him. It excited him during the previous murders and expects tonight to be no exception. Although his original motivation was revenge, the intoxication of life or death has become almost as strong.
     From there, he will pitch her body over the railing like a sailor dropping anchor. Hearing the crack of her neck as the rope goes taut. Listening to her death rattle as life vacates her body. He will linger, watching her reflection in the bay window across from where her lifeless body gently sways.
     Once he has committed the scene to memory, he will return to her room. He places the bookmark back into the book she was reading and returns it to the night stand. He makes her bed, smoothing out the sheets so it appears unused. He knows from his research that she makes her bed every morning and if it is found unmade, someone may have questions.
     He knows he has all the time in the world so he takes that time. Moving downstairs to the hall closet he retrieves her vacuum, starts in her bedroom and works his way towards the front door. He hasn’t left any fingerprints but the possibility of a stray hair concerns him enough to take this extra precaution.
     Once he has made his way to the front door, he will gently remove the bag and replace it with a fresh one. He stores the used bag in the duffle bag he has brought with him and returns the vacuum to the closet.
     Returning to the front door, he steals one more look at the body, marvels at his work and slides out the front door. He remembers to leave the lights on. Instinct and habit would have him turning off lights as he left but nobody would hang themselves in the dark and he lingers over that vision a little longer to make sure he doesn’t forget.
     Feeling confident that his plan is perfect, he notes the time on his watch and realizes he has an hour before he needs to leave. He uses the time to look over his victim once again. Margie Sands doesn’t deserve to die. The only thing putting her on this path is her last name and the ease at which this plan can be put into motion.
     She barely tips the scales at a little over one hundred pounds and she is easy to manipulate. Her demise is by far the easiest to orchestrate. His first victim was John Sands, an 18 year old cabana boy who was working for the summer, trying to earn money before starting college in the fall. Although hanging was possible, there was no need to tackle that challenge. John met his end with a razor blade and a slit of the wrist. Even three months later he still gets excited thinking about all that blood. It oozed like water from a faucet and the metallic smell that permeated the room was intoxicating. Tonight would be his third staged suicide and he was thrilled that the rush had not diminished. If anything, it has gotten stronger. He feels a justification in his actions and that his life has been leading up to this. Before this, his life was one of quiet reserve, without direction or course. He now gets it. A life without purpose is not worth living, he now feels that purpose.
     He knew it would only be a matter of time before the authorities get suspicious. Even on a resort island such as this, two and two still equal four but it would not be enough to make him stop, nor would it be enough to make him chance course. He planned to ride this horse to the end, the bitter end if necessary.
     He checks his watch one more time as the minute hand moves into position and it is time for him to go. Before leaving he takes a mental inventory of everything he needs, he then takes a physical inventory. His murder kit is small yet essential. Chloroform, a rag he grabbed from the laundry to make sure it was of common use at the resort and a length of rope already fashioned into a noose. Zipping the duffle he feels ready. He feels strong, invincible, unshakable. He feels alive as life pumps through his veins while he prepares to take that from another.
     He checks one last thing and the key card to Margie’s room is right where he left it, in a plastic bag, tucked into his wallet. As an employee at the resort, gaining entry into any room posed no problem. He duplicated Margie’s key months back in the hopes that when authorities looked into her death, they would not look far enough back to notice. Like a child at Christmastime, he squirmed with anticipation, wanting to open that present he had been waiting for. That time has arrived and his patience is about to be rewarded. As he approaches the front door, in a gloved hand he reaches for the key. As he gently slides the thin plastic into place, the faint click he hears each time he opens his own door registers now and he knows it has begun. Margie’s plan was determined a long time ago and it was time for her to meet that fat

I DO still remember how to blog!!

So I haven't written a blog entry in a few months. Partly out of frustration because I'm having difficulty driving traffic to my book but also because I knew I was the only one seeing it. With that I figured anything I had to say I could just do it in my head a la Kevin Arnold in The Wonder Years or John Dorian in Scrubs.

Now I look up and things have changed. I actually have some followers now and I'm extremely grateful. So much so that I thought I should stop in and say hi. Hopefully it will give me the motivation to do so more often. As none of you know, I was the 15th employee at eBay, it was an amazing experience. I say was because in October they decided after 14 years that it was time for me to move on...it's a long story. At any rate, I moved back to California from Utah, which is a major improvement and I'm currently taking some time off to focus on my second book.

Sun, Surf, Suicide, the second book in the Topper McMullen series should be out by the end of the year and I'm excited about the direction it is taking. It's proven to be a little harder to write then the first book but I'm working through my blocks and I'm better and it's a better book for it. Anyway, I just wanted to drop in and say hi, show that I'm still alive. To my followers, thank you again and if you ever find time to read my book, I promise you'll be surprised....and in a good way.

Blah, Blah and more BLAH!!!

I am coming to you from my living room, I have NCIS on mute because I'd like some quiet but I don't really want to be alone. I just thought I would give a few musings about my first two weeks as a (self)published author.

I guess the first musing is amusing. It's amusing that I thought I would have more success than I am having. I've sold 20 books so far, which is amazing, don't get me wrong but I'm 99.93% positive that those copies are all sold to family and friends. The title is intriguing, the cover is amazing and I'm really proud of the book. I've posted and responded to a handful of posts on the kindle boards but that hasn't garnered me anything. So I've tried to find book bloggers who will review my book. Most will not review self published work. To be honest, I can't really blame them. I'm sure a lot of the stuff that gets self published isn't worth reading. I did email three book bloggers and sent them my book but I haven't heard back from any of them. It's possible that they will/are reading it and I'll find a Christmas present of a review in the near future but I'm not going to hold my breath.

I've done a lot of reading and a lot of studying about self publishing and the number one thing people say is that the best publicity is to write a second book. I'm doing that, I'm happy with the direction but my question is, if nobody is finding the first book, what makes you think they will find the second book? That sounds like a fair question. I think my next course of action is going to be to try and find out about getting my book listed at goodreads.

I guess I will keep plugging away. I keep thinking if I can find that magical blogger to read my book and review it I might gain a little momentum. It's not that the brass ring is just out of my reach, it's that I don't know where it's located.

So if anybody is reading this and my best guess says there isn't I hope you have read or will read my book. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised. I'm going to keep plugging away. Right now, I'm that tree falling in the forest and I don't seem to making a sound. Hopefully someday soon, somebody will hear me.

The Trinity Murders

I have just uploaded my first novel to both Amazon and Barnes & Noble. There's no telling what will happen now! I'm very proud of how it turned out and I've already started working on the second novel with a hopeful publish date in October. The name of the second novel is Sun, Surf, Suicide. Anyway, I'm too jazzed to think right now so I'm going to go. Not to mention I'm off to go golfing in half an hour. Anyone who reads this, thanks for checking out my page. I promise to strive and make each book better than the last one.

How To Save a Life

I was searching on the net, just seeing if and where my name popped up and I came across this past blog post from My Space. I decided to transfer it here because, A) who knows how long before My Space purges old profiles and B) I'm really proud of this post. Also, it's partly about my Father and anytime I can talk about him is fine by me:

Meaning and symbolism can be found wherever you look for it. You just have to be open to the possibility that life is not just a random ordering of events and that there is symmetry both big and small in everything that happens.

In a shade over a month, my Father will have been gone twelve years. It seems like just yesterday we were driving up the coast to catch a baseball game or he and my family dropping me off at college, saying goodbye. I can still hear his voice choke when I called and told him I would be following in his footsteps at his alma mater. Time can fly by in an instant or can crawl across an eternity.

Everything we are in the present is made up of everything we were in the past. Each experience, each moment, each scintilla of time that has come before is what makes up each one of us at this moment. Remembering the past and honoring those ghosts are important because whether good or bad it is who we are. As I sit here writing this I am honoring the ghosts of my past as earlier today I made the decision to put Buddy to rest and end his suffering as cancer ravaged his body as it had my Father twelve years earlier.

The number that pops into my head on this day full of meaning is 25. My parents were both 25 when they got married, I graduated Arizona State at the age of 25, 3 months after my Father died and it was 25 years ago last week that my parents bought me a beagle that I named Leon. He was a Christmas present and Leon is Noel spelled backwards so the name was appropriate. On Christmas Eve, my Father asked me to go get something out of the back seat of his car. There was a box there with an 8 week old beagle with a bow around his neck.

It became obvious to everyone that I was too young to have a dog and Leon was more than I could handle. We weren't pet people to begin with and Leon was never a part of the family like he should have been. He spent his days alone wandering the backyard and his nights in the garage sleeping on the cold cement floor. It was no surprise that he was taken from me before his time when he was only two years old.

I remember that day as if it happened yesterday. We lived in the corner of a cul-de-sac that fed out to a six lane road. I was out in the street playing kickball with a bunch of the other kids when the two kids next door were playing in their backyard and threw their ball over our fence. They went to get it and left the gate open. Leon came bounding out and started heading toward the deadly road at the end of the block. I immediately gave chase but as a two year old dog who had never been trained, Leon wasn't about to take any orders from me. It was late in the day and there were lots of cars on the road. I chased him towards that street hoping he would either turn the corner or stop but instead he ran straight out and the right front tire of a woman's car collided with his face and tossed him like a cork.

My parents refused to get me another dog and rightfully so. I vowed right then and there that as soon as I had a house of my own I would get another beagle and one week after I bought my first house, that's exactly what I did.

A week after I moved in, I fulfilled that promise. I found a breeder and he had one beagle left, the runt of the litter. I said I would take him. I can't ever remember my Father calling me by my name. I'm sure he did, I just don't remember. What I do remember is that he always called me Buddy. That is one of the most important memories of my past and since it was my Father who bought me my first beagle there was only one name it could ever be. He was named before he was ever born, before I ever bought that first house. Everyday that Buddy was in my life, a piece of my Father was too.

I enjoy burning candles in my living room and I have a nice set of aromatherapy pillars that I have been burning for awhile. I didn't think it had any significance at the time but about two months ago I decided to burn the love candle. Every time I sat in that room, even if only for half an hour I lit that candle and let the scent wash over the room as the shadow of the flame danced on the walls. Last night before I went out, the candle extinguished itself. It had reached its end and had no more light to give. In the back of my mind I knew Buddy's spark was nearing its end too.

When I was 11, I sat and watched the life drift out of Leon's eyes. When I was 24, I stood at my Father's side and watched as the fire died in his and today I stood for a third time and watched as a link to my past was taken away from me.

I've spent a lot of time today finding meaning and symbolism in this story I've related. There's a saying that the world moves in mysterious ways and that has never been more evident than on my ride home from the vet. My satellite radio was set to The Coffee House and there were three songs I heard on the way home. The first was Sweet Baby James by James Taylor….Goodnight, you moonlight ladies; Rockabye sweet baby James . . .Deep greens and blues are the colors I choose; Won't you let me go down in my dreams And rockabye sweet baby James. The second song that played was Shine by David Gray….So we'll walk down the shoreline One last time together Feel the wind blow our wanderin' hearts Like a feather But who knows what's waiting In the wings of time Dry your eyes We gotta go where we can shine. Incredibly, the last song to play as I got back home was How to Save a Life by The Fray….Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend Somewhere along in the bitterness And I would have stayed up with you all night Had I known how to save a life.

I sat in the car and waited for the song to finish.

Buddy allowed me to keep a piece of my Father with me everyday and ironically,it was my life that was saved.

The End

No, this isn't the end of me....at least I hope not. I finally reached the end of my novel. I told a friend over the chat function in Words with Friends that I had just written "the end" but that was a little poetic license. I didn't actually write those words but I'm very happy with how it ended. I was a little worried that I wouldn't know how to end it but just like the rest of the story, it came to me right before I wrote it. The entire time I almost felt like I was on a train but there was only a few feet of track ahead of me and I had to continue to frantically place more track before the train derailed. Thankfully, I had a pause button so I could sit from time to time and ponder if I wanted to lay down a 'S' turn or an gentle incline or whatever but I had a lot of fun writing it. Especially the last third where things really started happenin'!

Three weeks from now I plan to have it available for purchase...and then scrutiny. I'm very proud of what I've accomplished and I hope anyone who reads it finds as much joy in reading it as I had writing it. Not that anybody will see this until after the fact but as soon as I get the cover back from my cover artist, I will post it here. I'm going home to visit friends and family this weekend but once I get back Sunday, on to book 2!

The Challenges of Me

So for many reasons, writing is difficult. First off, I believe you have to have a talent for it. It's not something that can really be learned. You can learn techniques and you can learn structure and the like but to be an actual writer that people want to read, it's gotta be something you can't get from books. Then of course there's the difficulty of actually writing a book. The actual sit your ass down and hammer out 50K+ words that are coherent, make sense and don't make people want to scratch their eyes out. You have to forgo other pursuits, put things on backburners, in some regards lead somewhat of a monastic life. I have always strongly believed that my being single is a curse but in this one regard, it's a blessing. Although, if some crazy deity came down and offered me one or the other, a lot of pondering would be had, that's for sure.

Writers are notorious for having lots of self doubt and I'm no exception and what I've realized is one of the most difficult things about writing, at least for me, is I believe my work sucks. Not that it does, don't get me wrong but I've come to the realization that when you're writing a book and going over passages and rereading chapters and changing things here and there and plotting the future chapters, there's no newness, there's no excitement, there's no surprises. So as I read my stuff I'm practically drop dead bored and since I'm replete with self doubt I automatically think it all sucks.

Except this time. For some reason, I'm really enthralled with the story and my progress and where it's going. As a self proclaimed procrastinator this is the most I have ever written for one project. I have tons of stuff, 10,000 words here, 15,000 words there but not for one single project. I have one friend who's been reading this as I write it and giving me suggestions and he tells me it's pretty good. I don't know, maybe I'm finally turning a corner. I'm shooting for getting the book released in the middle of July and then I'll immediately start on the second one. It's been a fun, albeit difficult ride but I can't wait to get my book out there and let it stretch it's legs. Hopefully it doesn't pull a hammy.

Roadblocks and Brainlocks

Alright, it's the moment of truth....and now I have The Karate Kid stuck in my head. Part of my "MO" is working on a project for awhile and then moving on to something else, leaving the original project to become a distant memory. Usually, it's because I come up with some other amazing idea, at least I think so and I jump ship. Sometimes though it's because I get to a point where I'm unsure of where to go next or the task becomes too daunting in my head.

Currently, I'm unsure where to go. I haven't been able to write for the past two weeks because I had to finish up the two winter bowling leagues I run. I had to reconcile all the money collected and what was paid to the house and then divvy up the profits between 110 bowlers over two leagues. All told, I split up $21,000 between the 110 bowlers. Needless to say I spent a lot of time doing this. Thankfully, I'm now done until September. I've been voted to be the secretary in both leagues again.

So, it's been two weeks since I've written and yesterday I sat down and got started. I finished the one chapter I had been working on and then....yeah. So I sat there for a little bit trying to decide where to go and after 10 minutes I put the computer down and cleared a little space on my DVR. I watched the latest episode of NCIS and was actually tickled because something I do when watching some of these procedurals was actually written into this script....I thought it was cool. Sometimes I'm watching L&O or CSI or something and the cops are chasing a perp and I go into the voice of the cop and say, "why are you running? You know I'm in better shape then you, I'm faster than you and I'm going to catch you." or "do you really think you can outrun me?" It was a flashback to when Dinozzo was with the Baltimore PD and he did those exact things. He was yelling at a perp that he played college basketball and he had nowhere to run. Anyway, I found it cool...but I should get back to my story.

So the book I'm writing is called The Trinity Murders and it's about a recently fired FBI profiler, Topper McMullen, who gets called by the Dallas PD to help out on a case. The sergeant thinks there is a connection among 32 victims across three states but hasn't been able to get any support, until he calls Topper. I'm at a point where I want to introduce a new character who will be integral to the story but I'm struggling with how to introduce him and who he's going to be, I have options. I am planning Topper to be a running series of his stories and I already have the premise for the second one and how it will begin. So when I got stuck last night, I started thinking about the second one...a true Jeff "MO".

So this is the moment of truth, hopefully a positive step in my maturation. When I get home this afternoon, well first I'm going to watch the end of the A's day baseball game....I'm only human. Then I'm going to close off all distractions and try to work through this portion of my story...both my story and Topper's story and hopefully come out stronger on the other side.

Progress Check

So I've always been a slacker, a procrastinator...a take your own timer. Like I said in my first post, which of course was weeks ago...but seriously, who cares? Nobody is reading this anyway and when somebody finally does, they'll be posted one right after the other. I digress, like I said in my first post, I've wanted to be a writer for over 20 years but have never done anything about it.

Most recently, I had been working on a novel off and on for at least the last 2 years. I'd write for a couple hours here or there, then forget about it for months, come back write again...blah blah blah. I'm very proud of it. It will be a successful novel once it's done. Only one person has read what I've completed so far and she called me the second she finished so I could tell her how it ends.

Anyway, in the 2(ish) years I've been working on it I have completed a little over 17,000 words. Probably about a quarter of the way done. 5 weeks ago, I learned about self publishing, started researching it and working on the novel that I could turn into a long running series, if it's successful of course. As I sit here, that novel is currently sitting at 17,773 words. I wrote 1400 words this morning, 1300 yesterday, 1000 the day before and you get the picture. Anyway, I'm really excited at my progress.

My DVR is starting to fill up but I did take a break today for about 3 hours to watch the A's beat the Mariners...I'm not perfect.

Time to get back at it. Hopefully another 1000 words before Breakout Kings in a few hours.

Putting it out There

I've been battling weight issues since about the 4th grade except for an amazing stretch of 4 years during college. It's been a bitter fight and I've had a constant gym membership for the past 14 years. For a short span when I moved to Utah, I actually had two gym memberships but we won't dwell on that.

I go through spurts, sometimes I work out 3-5 times a week and give it a real honest effort and sometimes I go months without going. When I am giving it an honest effort, I never tell my friends about it. The reason I don't is because if and when I fail or sluff off, if I haven't told anybody I haven't put it out there and I can keep my faliure to myself.

That's not the point of this post or this blog for that matter. The point is, I've wanted to be a writer since I was 17 years old. I did nothing about that until I was 21 and then at about 23 I didn't do anything about it until I was 30. For the past 8 years I've written on and off, here and there. I have great ideas and think I at least have the building blocks to be a decent writer but I never follow through. I'll write for awhile, then come up with another idea and abandon the previous for the latter. The beauty is, if I ever do get off my ass, I'll have a lot of projects to choose from.

So that's what I'm doing, I'm putting it out there. I've started a new novel which has the possibility of being a long running series if I want and I want to self publish in on Kindle and see what happens. I'm closing in on 40 years old....a year away but still closing in and it's time to finally put my stuff out there for people to see and make their own decision on....even if it is self published.

Now granted, I'm not telling anybody about this blog so nobody will see it...at least not right away. Hopefully someday people will but what is it they say about the Internet, once you put something on there it's impossible to take down?

For me, that's a start....and hopefully this is too.