The Horrible Truth

A Thriller For Free

2012-01-20T08:16:00.000-08:00

You're camping with friends. In the shadows, a pair of serial killers are watching you. When one of your friends disappears in the woods and you find him cut to pieces, what do you do? If you're Liz Mallory, you fight like hell. The Hollow. How long could you survive?

The Hollow is available for free today and tomorrow in the Amazon Kindle Store.

http://www.amazon.com/The-Hollow-ebook/dp/B005TUDLVG/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1327076078&sr=8-2

Thanks to all who've already downloaded it. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

My Number One Writing Productivity Tool

2012-01-11T14:28:00.000-08:00

You want to be a writer. But there never seems like there's enough time. Especially if you have a spouse, family, job, pet monkey, etc.

I've managed to write 5 novels since 2004, hold down a full time job, and help raise two kids, one of them a special needs child. My time - like everyone else's - is limited. I'm shooting to write at least two novels this year, hopefully three. I've been averaging 1500-1700 words a day.

The main factor in being able to maintain a consistent output is having something portable to write on. Whether it's a laptop, netbook, or spiral notebook, I can be sitting in the living room with the family and writing. Writers as a group tend to feel guilty about what they do. I know I would feel guilty if I holed myself up in our home office to write.

Your portable writing device should be just that. Take it with you whenever you might have to wait somewhere. It might take a little while before you can write in public and not feel self-conscious, but once you realize that people aren't paying attention, you can drop in and write with ease. I've found when writing in public that the world tends to dissolve around me.

I'd also recommend having whatever files you need to write (outlines, notes) handy, whether on paper or electronic file.

You can write a novel in increments, without feeling like you have to disappear into a sacred writing space. If you want to write, grab a laptop and go to it. No one's going to hand you writing time. You have to hunt it down and wrestle it to the ground.

In The Digital Age - Write What You Please

2011-12-28T08:57:00.000-08:00

I teach a novel writing course through our local continuing education department, and one of the first things I try and get across to students is to write what you love. Or better, write the type of book you want to read. Without embarrassment or shame. Love horror or sci-fi? Crazy over paranormal romance? You should write it and not be embarrassed about your chosen topics.

The indie revolution and the rise of Amazon has allowed authors to pretty much write what they want. No longer are we bound by traditional publishing contracts that ask for more of the same type of book. You can write a paranormal romance and switch gears on the next book. Maybe make it flesh-eating zombies. Or pirates in outer space. Whatever you choose to write, put it out there. Be bold. Here's what I told my students:

1. Don't pay attention to people who belittle or laugh at what you write. You might get some snide remarks. I know I have. They don't like horror, or sci-fi (or your chosen genre)? Hell with them. Keep writing. Be a writing tank, rolling over objectives and crushing word counts.

2. You do your best writing - I think - when you're passionate about the subject. Lively, juiced-up prose and stories are born when the writer loves their genre.

3. Write to entertain yourself. Think about your favorite novels or movies. Pick them apart. What about them - structure and storytelling wise - kept you hooked? Shoot for those types of things in your stories. Write those big scenes, those killer one-liners. Create that character that you and the reader will fall in love with. There's nothing wrong with writing to entertain. Go big.

4. Pay attention to the market, but don't write specifically for it. There's no bestselling formula, or any guarantee that if you write in a popular genre, you'll have success.

Has anyone experienced naysayers, those people who look down on your chosen genre? How did you deal with it? Does it slow you down, or do you keep on rolling?

Central Casting - Where Do Characters Come From?

2011-12-19T07:31:00.000-08:00

Recently one of my writing students asked me if I ever use real people in my books. The answer is yes. And no.

The bad guys in my most recent novel, THE HOLLOW, are ruthless. Soulless killing machines that look only to up the body count. Two of them are entirely fictional. The third, Andrew Cort, was partially inspired by an inmate I saw on MSNBC's Lockup. The inmate that inspired Cort was similar in physical appearance to my character: huge, heavily muscled, tattooed. What made the guy so damned scary was his eyes. Pale blue and cold, I don't imagine anyone could look him in the eye and not flinch.

On the show, when it came time for him to leave the cell, the inmate refused. It took around six guards and a blast of pepper spray to subdue the man. I give anyone who works in corrections all the respect in the world. Don't know how they do it.

I visualized Cort looking much like the inmate and gave him a backstory. Along with a nasty disposition and a penchant for cutting people up.

I'd recommend Lockup for anyone writing thrillers and crime novels. It offers a fascinating look into the minds and actions of inmates.

For additional research and inspiration, I'd also try Tru TV's Crime Library.

What provides the inspiration for your fictional characters?

New Cover Art - Paperbacks

2011-11-29T04:58:00.000-08:00

Both the Hollow and No Escape will be out in paperback format within the next two weeks. I'm waiting for proofs and after I approve them, they can be purchased at Amazon.com. They're both currently available for Kindle. I changed the covers for both books, and I'm happy with the way they came out. I used Microsoft Publisher for both. Here's a look at the new covers.

You Are The Brand

2011-10-28T08:17:00.000-07:00

You’re an author. Therefore you need a brand. Something that lets the world know what you and your book are all about. But what is it? There’s a ton of articles on the internet about how to build a brand, many of them written by social media and marketing gurus.

I’m no guru, but I’ll tell you what I think platform and brand boils down to: being yourself.

If I were trying to build a platform/brand, I would start by asking myself what writers I enjoy following, whether it be on their blog or a social media site. What drew me to them? What made me buy their books? Usually it’s because I like what they have to say. Or because I have similar interests.

Building a brand – to me - is as simple as making a list of your interests and what your books are about.

For me, it would be something like:

Writing horror/thrillers

Writing advice/tips

Publishing

Fantasy/horror art

Playing guitar

Metal/classic rock/blues music

Horror movies

Tweet/post about your interests. If you’re on Twitter, you’ll attract those with similar interests. Throw in some promotional tweets here and there, but don’t go crazy. Right now I’m trying to mix in 2-3 promotional tweets per week. Some authors do a lot more, but that’s what I’m comfortable with.

For examples of authors who do this well, I’d recommend checking out Bryan Smith, Amanda Hocking, and Lynn Viehl. They are all active on line without bashing people over the head with “Buy my book.” All three of these authors share their interests and hobbies through blogs/and or social media.

The other part of building a brand/platform is showing up on a regular basis. Be present on Twitter, Facebook, etc. Interact with others.

Building a brand doesn’t have to be complicated. Be honest. Put it out there. You are the brand.

Random Tattoo Art

2011-10-25T09:05:00.000-07:00

A piece of tattoo art I recently finished. I just submitted some of my designs to a tattoo website. Also toying with the idea of opening an Etsy store and making some art available for sale online.

The Birth of Jack Vincent

2011-10-10T05:49:00.000-07:00

Horror has always been my first love, followed by crime novels. I'm a big fan of Elmore Leonard, Dennis Lehane, and Ken Bruen. Duane Swierczynski has become a recent favorite, as well. I wanted to start penning some crime novels but release them under a different name, as to differentiate them from my horror novels.

So I chose the name Jack Vincent. Jack because it's a solid name. Sturdy. I've always liked it. Vincent was my dad's middle name. My first release under the Jack Vincent name is UNDERWORLD. It's a short story featuring ex-cop Cody Garrett. Garrett was created for THE HOLLOW, and I liked him so much I wanted to possibly do a series of books with Garrett as the main character. He fixes things for people who can't go to the cops. And he's not afraid to get his hands a little bloody. Or a lot bloody.

Here's the cover for UNDERWORLD. It's 99 cents and you can find it here: amzn.to/r1Sf95

Why You Should Never Totally Scrap a Novel

2011-09-10T05:47:00.000-07:00

A few years ago, I tried my hand at writing a crime/mystery novel. I was trying - then - to break out of horror. I had sold three novels to Kensington and was hoping for something bigger. I sent the novel - called Taken - to my agent. He hated it, but he made suggestions. I rewrote it and sent it to him again. He still didn't feel it would sell. I had my wife read it. I knew she would give me an honest opinion.

The verdict? She didn't care for it, either. The parts that appealed to her were the horrific sections. The cop stuff I wrote about just wasn't me. The gruesome parts kept her interest. "You're a horror writer, honey," she'd said. That I am. After I sulked for a little bit, I wrote the next book, which turned out to be No Escape. But I wanted the follow-up to No Escape to be both horrific and appeal to thriller fans.

Thus, The Hollow was born. I took a few characters from the now-abandoned Taken. Also grabbed some of the more horrific scenes that had captivated my wife's attention. The rest I threw in the dumpster. As a result, The Hollow turned out to be something completely new.

If you have an old manuscript or stack of short stories lying around, hang on to them. They might have a second life.

As far as The Hollow, I'm making a last pass on edits. It's formatted and the cover is ready. Look for it soon on Amazon Kindle. Here's the description of The Hollow:

Twenty years ago a pair of killers went on a brutal crime spree.

Their final target was The Hollow Campgrounds. An entire family was slaughtered. Dragged from their cabins in the middle of the night. Then the killers vanished for twenty years.

Now they're back.

Liz Mallory and her teenage daughter are taking a weekend camping trip to The Hollow with Liz's old college friends.

They're being watched. And the killers have come home.

The weekend plans are about to take a turn for the worse.

The Hollow. How long could you survive?

Name My Publishing Company

2011-09-06T18:54:00.000-07:00

I'm looking to attach a new name to my publishing company, and I need your help. It's currently called Steel City Press, but I'm not in love with that name.

Therefore, a contest is in order. The winner will receive a $10 Amazon gift card and an acknowledgement in my next book, The Hollow. Please send entries to my e-mail at:

authorizzo at gmail dot com

I'll choose the winner based on the most creative and fitting entry. Entries can be horror-related. Or not. Whatever blows your skirt up. I'm open to anything.

The deadline for entries is midnight, September 13.

Happenings this Summer

2011-08-26T05:22:00.000-07:00

First off, I have a few projects in the works that I hope to have available for sale before year's end.

The Hollow - novel (for e-readers)

No Escape - print version (through Createspace)

An unnamed short story I'm working on. Will probably offer it for free.

A crime novella that I'm doing under a pen name.

Plus I have ideas cooking for two more novels. Both are thrillers. One is more horror-oriented. The other will be a crime novel with a recurring central character.

It's been a busy summer. Here's a recap of some of the best parts:

Taste of Buffalo - One big old food festival on Delaware Avenue. Highlights were the spinach pocket from Bylbos and Nick Charlap's Ice Cream. Eighty-five degree weather and amazing food. Can't go wrong. If you're in Buffalo in early July, that's the place to be.

My lovely wife and I renewed our wedding vows in June. She's the best thing that ever happened to me. We got each other new wedding rings inscribed in Gaelic. There were those that said we shouldn't get married. Guess what? We're still going strong. The best part of my summer.

Seeing Flogging Molly live at Buffalo Rocks the Harbor. This is a great venue. Large enough so you can walk around, take in the waterfront, and enjoy kick-ass music. Plus there's beer. Best quote from the evening: "You're wearing sunglasses after dark. You know who does that? Blind people and assholes." - Flogging Molly's singer, Dave King, to a concert-goer.

Hitting America's Fair, the Buffalo Naval Park, and going on picnics with the wife and kids. My three favorite people in the world.

How to Create Memorable Villains

2011-08-11T04:37:00.000-07:00

About fifteen years ago, my wife and I rented an apartment in South Buffalo. It's a blue collar neighborhood with a strong Irish heritage. Our apartment was across the street from an American Legion. There was a group home for developmentally disabled adults on the corner. It was generally a quiet neighborhood, and we enjoyed living there.

Until George moved in downstairs. The first day I met our new neighbor, he filled me with a sense of unease. Not long after moving in, he stole some items off of our storage shelf in the hallway. He also told me he was arrested for waving a gun at a former neighbor, but not to worry because it was only a BB gun. That didn't really ease my mind. George started getting creepier. He often spent the night in his car, which was parked in the back yard of the house. One night he managed to start the car on fire. Not long after that, he began watching my wife as she came home from work. Then we found out he was walking around naked and leering at the next-door neighbor's daughters through the window. I thought about buying a gun, just in case. We wound up telling our landlords that they needed to evict him. And they did.

George would've made a good fictional villain. Unfortunately, he was real. He made me uneasy. How does this apply to fiction? To me, the best villains make the reader nervous. They are unpredictable. In one scene they might do horrible things to a victim. In the next, they might let a victim narrowly escape.

What can you do to create a great villain?

Make them violent, explosive. Like a bomb waiting to go off. Hans Landa in Inglorious Basterds is charming and suave. But this facade disappears in an instant when he brutally chokes a suspected spy to death.
Give them perversions. Make them deviant. Jame Gumb in Silence of the Lambs is making a dress from his victim's skin. Hannibal Lector enjoys snacking on people's livers.
Great villains are intelligent, cunning. They must be a worthy opponent for your hero. They shouldn't be easily defeated.
Give them a physical deformity or make them ugly, unattractive. Or make them attractive and charming. That can be just as frightening.
Create a villain that is physically imposing, or has skill with weapons. Make them someone you wouldn't want to mess with.
Mix in some qualities that elicit sympathy. Dean Koontz, in Watchers, does this with the murderous creature known as the Outsider. The Outsider is a genetically-engineered killing machine, but Koontz creates sympathy by showing us its den, where it keeps a Mickey Mouse doll.
Have them be unpredictable. Anton Chigurh, in No Country for Old Men, is a remorseless killer. But in one scene, he allows a storekeeper to live based on a coin toss. This creates suspense. Will he let the next person he comes across live?

In my work-in-progress, The Hollow, I've tried to incorporate these qualities into my villains. They are cold-blooded killers that prey on the innocent. No one who gets in their way is safe, and my goal is to make the reader uneasy every time they appear on the page.

Keep these tips in mind and you'll create a character that is not only a worthy adversary, but will give your readers the creeps. And as a writer of horror or thrillers, that's worth going for every time.

The Road Up The Mountain

2011-08-04T07:48:00.000-07:00

"The road to truth is long and lined the entire way with annoying bastards." - Alexander Jablokov, novelist

If you're an indie author, you no doubt strive to have sales numbers like Joe Konrath or Amanda Hocking. What we all must realize is that this whole indie book publishing thing is a marathon, not a sprint. A long road, for sure. The annoying bastard part? Rejection, poor sales, bad reviews.

We all want instant success, but building a fanbase and getting your name out there takes time. My father-in-law worked a number of jobs over a period of 30 years. Sometimes two or three at once just to pay the bills. He was in his mid-fifties by the time he left his job delivering linens. After that job, he started working as an estimator for a commercial bathtub installer. And he absolutely loves it. Says it's not even like working. And he does well at it. What's the point? At fiftysomething, he found the ideal job. It's never too late for success, and if you have the talent and don't give up, I think success will come in some form.

So what are us indie authors to do?

1. Write. Write. And oh yeah, write. Marketing and social media are important, but if you want sales to grow, you must have product. If a publisher only had one or two books to offer for sale, do you think they would make much money? A thousand words per day (which should take about an hour or so) equals an average-sized novel in three months.

2. Stop comparing yourself to other writers. Instead of constantly reading blogs or killing time on Facebook, work on your own stuff. Quit worrying about who has more sales or who's a better writer. Improve your stories. Write more.

3. Give and take. Don't incessantly promote. Offer blog posts that have value. Give advice. Re-tweet other writers' good news. Pay it forward.

As Bon Scott said, "It's a long way to the top if you wanna rock n'roll." Success as an author is no different. Try and enjoy the journey. What are some ways you're trying to improve as a writer?

Vampires As They Ought to Be

2011-07-21T10:54:00.000-07:00

Stephenie Meyer has taken a drubbing from the horror community for her portrayal of sparkling, angst-ridden vampires. I've seen a few of the Twilight movies and can't say I care much for their portrayal of vampires. Likewise for Anne Rice's less-than-frightening vamps. That being said, if you're looking for good, old-fashioned bloodsuckers, here are some books that won't steer you wrong.

1. Salem's Lot, Stephen King. I tried reading King's vampire opus when I was eleven-years-old, and it frightened me so badly I had to put it down. I eventually read it years later and it's one of his best.

2. They Thirst, Robert McCammon. Vampires run amok in Los Angeles, and mayhem ensues. They Thirst, along with Swan Song, are two of McCammon's finest horror novels.

3. Carrion Comfort, Dan Simmons. Simmons' creations are mind-vampires, but that doesn't make them any less creepy. An epic, sprawling book that you can get happily lost in.

4. The Keep, F. Paul Wilson. Nazis, a creepy old castle, and an shadowy, murderous force that lurks within the walls. What else could you ask for?

Also worth checking out is William Meikle's Watchers: The Coming of the King. Meikle blends 18th Century England with wicked vamps. Highly entertaining. I'm reading this one now and can't wait to get into more of Meikle's works.

One of the All Time Greats

2011-04-01T05:00:00.000-07:00

My grandmother was old school. If you got smart with her, you had two choices of punishment: the wooden spoon, or the yardstick. And don't think you could outrun her. I have vivid memories of being chased down with the yardstick, as if Gram were some type of Samurai warrior out to avenge a fallen comrade. Believe me, I probably had it coming.

Gram also baked amazing pies - apple and lemon meringue were her specialties - and made a kick ass pot of chili. Her Chex Mix was legendary. I don't know what she did to it, but I've never tasted it quite like Gram made it. She would also play 500 Rummy with me for hours. Gram was great.

She also pulled one of the best April Fools' pranks I have ever seen.

My grandmother - in her seventies at the time - showed up at our house. She carried a cardboard jewelry box with a lid in her handkerchief-wrapped hand. When she came in we asked her what was up. She proceeded to lift the lid off the box, showing her fingertip surrounded by "bloody" cotton. She told my father, feigning panic, that she needed to go to the hospital right away. Seems she had gotten careless with a steak knife and severed her fingertip. She thought they might be able to re-attach it at the hospital.

Dear God, we thought, Gram had cut off her fingertip. It was code red in our house. Get Gram to the hospital, stat.

After my father went scrambling for his coat and car keys, she cheerfully called out, "April Fool!" She then took her finger out of the box and waved it around, to show us it was still in tact.

Gram is twelve years gone, but I've never forgotten that prank. Truly one of the all time greats.

The Work In Progress (Excerpt)

2011-03-27T06:25:00.000-07:00

Thought I'd post an excerpt from my current novel, currently titled The Hollow. It's my first non-supernatural horror novel, and I would consider it a thriller/horror hybrid. The Hollow came to be when my wife read a thriller/mystery I had written. Her opinion was that I did the horror parts of it very well. Not so much the mystery part. So, I took very few parts of that novel, tossed it in the literary blender, and it was reborn as The Hollow. I changed pretty much everything from the aborted mystery novel except a few characters.

My goal is to have this available for Kindle, Nook, etc. by May. Please note, this is uncorrected copy. Please do not redistribute. Copyright 2011 Anthony Izzo.

The Hollow

by Anthony Izzo

Prologue

They were coming home.

The men stood on the bluff, careful to stay out of sight. They watched the three SUVs pass down the winding road going to The Hollow.

There was prey in those cars, fresh meat. It had been twenty years, but now the men were home. The biggest of the three, who weighed two hundred eight pounds, motioned for the other two to follow him. He opened the rear of the rusted panel truck and showed them the tools he had bought and stolen. There were drills, saws, icepicks, blowtorches. Also weapons. Knives, hatches, machetes.

The other two men smiled at this, satisfied that the big man had gotten the tools they needed.

It was early in the day, around eleven a.m. The beginning of November, and a chill had filled the stark woods.

The campers – if the were headed to the Hollow – had no idea what was in store for them. The men had stayed in the Hollow's cabins for the past few weeks, using them for shelter. The youngest of their, group, no more than a boy, really, liked to butcher small animals. He usually started with cutting off the limbs.

The young man told the two others he wanted to try his skills on bigger things.

They would give him the chance. Soon.

Chapter 1

Liz Mallory couldn't help the prickly feeling that danced on the back of her neck. She didn't like the woods, and attributed the strange feeling to her dislike of their location, but she couldn't shake it. Like they were being watched.

Liz was driving the second vehicle in the three car caravan, a blue Ford Excursion. Jamie, her seventeen-year-old daughter, sat in the passenger seat. They were off for a weekend camping trip with some of Liz's old college friends, who were in the vehicles in front and behind.

“You're quiet, mom,” Jamie said.

“Woods. Don't like them.”

“Afraid of a bear?”

“Rabid squirrels. They terrify me.”

“Your sense of humor terrifies me sometimes,” Jamie said.

Liz cracked a smile.

“We'll be fine. We're staying in cabins. I wonder if they'll have a fireplace?” Jamie said.

“Said online they did. They just reopened this place.”

Jamie said, “Oh yeah?”

Liz nodded, but didn't tell her daughter why the cabins had been closed for the past nineteen years. “Doing renovations.”

She was being jittery, which wasn't like her. The trip would be good for them. The divorce from Ken had been painful. She'd spent the better part of last year fighting with him and his lawyers, with Jamie caught in the middle. Her daughter had the strength of a grizzly, and had held up well through the ordeal. Even when Ken had called Liz a filthy whore in Jamie's presence. Liz had though Jamie was going to go for her father's throat when he'd said that. Maybe now they could start putting thing behind them, unwind. There was a twelve pack of Sam Adams in her cooler to help with that.

“Look's like Uncle Matt's stopping,” Jamie said.

“There's the cabins, that's why.”

They came around a bend and saw three cabins perched up on a hill. They had new vinyl windows, and each had a porch out front made from knotted logs. They looked cozy to Liz, and she envisioned herself in front of a fireplace, feet up, beer in hand. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

Her friend Hannah, and Hannah's husband, Matt, were in the lead SUV. Liz had known Hannah since college. Liz's other best friend from her days at the University of Buffalo was Sonya, who was in the rear vehicle with her fiancee Kevin.

They'd planned this trip for a month, hoping to make it an annual thing.

Liz pulled to the side of the road, parked, and got out. Jamie stayed in the Expedition.

“We're here,” Hannah said. Hannah was blond and slim, and today she wore too-tight jeans and a pink sweater that looked like it'd been painted on. But it worked for her, evidenced by the number of looks Hannah got from guys whenever her and Liz went out.

“Thank you, queen obvious,” Liz said.

“I was just telling you,” Hannah said.

Matt was already striding up the hill that led to the cabins. Liz buttoned her wool coat as the wind nipped at her.

Sonya came up beside her. Sonya, petite and dark skinned, had bundled herself in a puffy blue coat, hat and scarf. Kevin joined them. He was a big guy with a face that always reminded Liz of Droopy the Dog. Sweet guy, though.

“What's our fearless leader up to?” Sonya said.

“Probably building us a shelter and starting a fire,” Liz said.

Hannah said, “Quit mocking my man. He's a take charge guy.”

Matt appeared at the top of the hill. “C'mon up.”

The rest of the group walked up to the cabins, which were arranged around a small clearing with a fire pit in the middle. They found Matt reading a piece of paper, a quizzical look on his face.

Hannah said, “Something wrong, hon?”

“I don't think these are our cabins,” Matt said.

“Uh oh Matt, you're slipping,” Sonya said.

Matt frowned. Liz knew he wouldn't like potentially looking like he was wrong.

“Well it's this goddamned printout. This says Cabin Area C, but the cabins are marked D-1 through D-3. I think we're in the wrong area. But the campground map says this should be it.”

“I'll call the manager,” Liz said, and took a printout from her pocket that had the campground info on it.

“Now just wait,” Matt said.

“You wait. I'm freezing,” Liz said, and taking out her cell, dialed the manager's office. A gruff voice answered and said he'd be right down to help them.

Fifteen minutes later, a Ram pickup truck with the words The Hollow Campgrounds on the door pulled up. A stick-thin man of about sixty got out of the truck. He wore a flannel jacket and khakis and moved with the stiffness Liz associated with an arthritic.

He came over and said, “Who called?”

“I did,” Liz said.

“We need our cabins,” Matt said.

“Name's Lee Cordo,” the man said, and offered his hand to Liz.

She shook it. “Liz. Seems we're confused about our cabins.”

“Lemme see your printout,” Lee said, holding his hand out.

“Hope this gets straightened out,” Matt said.

Liz handed the printout to Lee, who looked it over.

“They did it again, damned website. We use a third party website for our reservations. These are the D cabins, but they used to be C. You want to be in the new C area. I'll take you down there,” he said, and handed the printout back to Liz.

“Easy enough fix,” Sonya said.

Matt said, “Okay, let's go then,” and hurried towards his SUV.

“What's the matter,” Lee said, “he have a hot date.”

Hannah said, “My husband likes being in charge. We're doctors. Kind of used to it.”

“All right then. Follow me.”

Liz got back in the Expedition to find Jamie with earbuds plugged in her ears. Liz didn't know what kind of music she was listening to, but it was loud enough to be heard through the earbuds. She let it go. Liz had listened to Def Leppard full blast in her room and remembered how annoyed she would get when her mom would tell her to turn it down.

They pulled out, Lee's truck in the lead.

He led them down the road a few miles and turned right down a road that sloped into the woods. Darkness seemed to close in around the Expedition, and the little bit of sun they had was blocked by clouds.

The road continued downward for several miles into an area containing three more cabins arranged around a clearing, much like the C area cabins

They pulled into the driveway that looped through the cabin area, and Liz saw the stark difference in the cabins. These cabins were built of dark wood and seemed to blend with the woods. The paint on the windows was peeling, and moss grew on the roofs. The cabins up top had seemed cozy and cheery, where these seemed forgotten.

“This is dreary,” Jamie said.

“Maybe it won't be so bad.”

They parked the vehicles, got out, and gathered around Lee near the fire pit.

“These are older, but they're serviceable. All have fireplaces and running water.”

Kevin, who had been silent until now said, “This is kind of a downgrade from the other cabins.”

“Yeah,” Matt said. “These look pretty rough.”

“You're camping,” Lee said. “You were expecting the Hyatt Regency?”

Kevin looked to Matt, whose forehead had knitted into a frown. “We want a discount. This isn't what we paid for.”

“No discounts,” Lee said.

Liz said, “Matt, these will be fine.”

Hannah was rubbing Matt's arm, telling him to let it go.

“Hell of a way to run a railroad, right Kevin?” Mat asked.

“Maybe these won't be so bad,” Kevin said. “It's just for the weekend.”

“Look,” Lee said. “I can offer you a refund if you really don't want them.”

“Nah,” Kevin said. “We drove two hours to get here and there's nowhere around to stay.”

Matt went to the nearest cabin and started looking it over, as if performing a home inspection.

Liz looked at Sonya, who rolled her eyes. “We'll take them,” Liz said.

“Good,” Lee said. “Liz, right? I talk to you for a second?”

He motioned for her to follow him, and she did, ending up at his truck. Lee leaned against the door and crossed his arms. “You know what happened here?”

“I do.”

“We don't get much call for these cabins. My maintenance people don't even like coming down here. If you want a refund, take it now. I won't offer again.”

“I said we'll take them,” Liz said.

“Just making sure. Some people are funny about stuff like that,”

“I'm not superstitious. It was twenty years ago.”

“Okay then.” He gave a brief nod and got in his truck.

Chapter 2

The interior of the cabin wasn't much of an improvement. Upon entering, Liz smelled must combined with the smell of old campfires. The floorboards creaked, and when Liz flipped the light switch, some dim yellow bulbs came on.

Liz and Jamie brought in their bags and the coolers. The cabin had a kitchen, bathroom, and two bedrooms.

“Any preference on the bedroom?” Liz asked.

“No.”

Jamie lugged her bag into to one of the bedrooms and Liz heard hear shriek and ran into the bedroom. “What's the matter?”

“On the floor,” Jamie said, pointing in the corner.

Liz saw what had disturbed Jamie: an animal, or what was left of one. Its red muscle was exposed, and its eyeballs bulged, as if they'd been squeezed. It's head hung at an odd angle, indicating to Liz its neck had been broken.

“It's been skinned,” Liz said.

“Gross,” Jamie said.

Liz wondered if the poor thing had been alive when someone skinned it. Why would someone do this?

Liz noticed the creature – it was hard to tell exactly what it had been – left a trail of intestines behind it. Liz told Jamie to wait in the kitchen and went to the Expedition, where she kept a small snow shovel for emergencies. After grabbing the shovel, she went in the bedroom, scooped up the remains, and carried it outside. She went into the woods and tossed it, glad to be rid of the stinking carcass.

Hell of a way to start a camping trip, she thought.

Back in the cabin, she found Jamie seated at the table. Liz went over, put a hand on her shoulder. The girl was trembling. “You okay?”

“That was freaky,” Jamie said.

“Probably some kids,” Liz said, realizing that sounded lame.

“Sick kids.”

“Some kids are. Let's try and forget about it, start unpacking. Okay? I'll take that bedroom,” Liz said.

“Okay.”

“It'll get smoother from here on in,” Liz said.

Hannah watched Matt unpack, taking sleeping bags, pans, pots, and assorted camping gear. He did this in silence, operating with precision, as he did when he replaced knees or repaired slipped discs. She admired his surgical skills, but could never be a surgeon. Her practice as a pediatrician allowed her to talk to people up close, be personal. Surgeons were the auto mechanics of the medical world. Fix it, bring in the next one, fix it again.

Her stripped bare ovaries also had something to do with it. She loved the kids that came into the office, even the ones that puked on her.

As she entered the bedroom, something crunched under her feet. Hannah looked down and saw chicken bones. There was still meat and gristle on them, and they had a greasy shine to them. That told her they'd been consumed recently.

“What's up,” Matt said from behind her.

“Chicken bones. Looks like someone ate them recently.”

“Probably a raccoon,” Matt said.

“Why would it come in the cabin? They usually live underneath places like this.”

“Whatever. Want me to clean them up?”

“No,” Hannah said. “ I got it.”

Using a plastic bag to cover her hand, she picked up the bones, wrapped the bag around them, and tossed them in one of the Hefty bags they'd brought.

Half-an-hour later, they were unpacked, and Matt was sitting at the kitchen table reading a New England Journal of Medicine. Hannah grabbed herself a bottled iced tea from their cooler.

“Those bones still bother me,” Hannah said. “Like someone was here..”

“Animals, babe. Trust me.”

“Even if they were here, it was before we came.”

“Even if who was here?” Matt asked.

“The chicken bone eaters.”

“You mean the raccoons?” Matt said, still reading his magazine.

There would be no changing Matt's mind about it. “I'm going to text Sonya, see if she wants to take a hike.”

“Sounds good. I'll hang back. Me and Kevin can get wood together for a fire.”

“You're not coming?”

“These trails aren't much of a challenge,” Matt said. “But if you want to try them out, go ahead.”

“Suit yourself.”

Thinking it foolish to text her friend, Hannah walked over to Sonya's cabin and knocked on the door. Kevin answered, a smile on his bulldog-like face.

“Help you ma'am.”

“You going to invite me in?”

“I suppose,” he said, and stepped aside.

Sonya was standing in the kitchen, pulling a second sweater over her first.

“Chilly?” Hannah asked.

“Freezing. That back window was left open. A penguin walked by,” Sonya said.

“Last campers must've left if open.”

Sonya said, “You'd think the staff would've noticed an open window. They usually do an inspection before you check out, make sure there's no damage in the cabin.”

She didn't share her uneasiness about the chicken bones with Sonya. “I'm sure it's fine. Probably an oversight.”

“Want to take a hike while our men get the fire going? I'm thinking hot dogs over the fire for dinner.”

“Sure. Let's grab Liz, too.”

After grabbing Liz, the three women hiked up a trail that ascended behind the cabins and wound through the dense woods. Sonya had been chilled in the cabin, and even with two sweaters, gloves, and a furry hat, she still shivered. Kevin would keep her warm tonight, placing a big, hairy arm around her while they were sleeping. She'd hoped to surprise him by coming to bed with a pair of see-through bra and panties, but thought she might shiver too hard.

The three of them reached the crest of a hill and went down the other side before stopping.

“I found something weird in our cabin,” Liz said.

Sonya said, “Our window was open.”

“Dead animal,” Liz said. “Skinned.”

“Ugh,” Hannah said. “I found chicken bones that'd been eaten. They were fresh.”

“Maybe we had some squatters. Hikers or kid screwing around,” Sonya said.

Liz wandered away from the group, said, “Look here.”

Sonya and Hannah joined her. Sonya saw burnt logs and stones arranged around them. Her nose wrinkled in disgust as she saw something next to the campfire. A cat, its head severed from the body, its eyes removed.

Liz hunkered down and took a closer look. “These have been burned recently.”

Sonya was beginning to wonder if they shouldn't have canceled the reservations and gone elsewhere. Like the Hilton, where they had heat. And no mutilated animals.

Hannah said, “Let's call the owner.”

“Cops might be better,” Sonya said. “Maybe we should go home, eat the money on the cabins.”

“Matt won't go. Too stubborn.”

Sonya said, “Kevin will do what Matt does.”

Liz said, “Well, we could always leave them here. They could keep each other warm at night.”

“Thanks for putting that image in my head,” Sonya said.

Chapter 3

Lee Corvo locked up the manager's office at The Hollow and climbed into his pickup truck. His wife, Maggie, was making beef stew for dinner, which was one of his favorites. And apple pie. She would never tell him she made one, but if there was beef stew for dinner, the pie always followed.

He pulled away from the office and down the road leading out of The Hollow. Switching on the radio station, he found a sports station, the host discussing the NFL's latest rule change on blows to the head.

He drove ahead, almost to Route 16, which would take him home. There was a truck pulled to the side of the road, its hazard lights flashing.

A man the size of a small truck stood near the van. He waved his arms frantically, wanting Lee to stop. Looked like a workman's truck, maybe a plumber or carpenter. Lee'd been helped by passing motorists, one time running out of gas on Interstate 90 and having someone pull over and drive him to a gas station. Why not?

He pulled the truck over and got out. “Need a hand?”

The man motioned him closer but said nothing. Lee approached, the guy standing still, arms hanging at his sides.

“What's the trouble?”

The man stood silent. Lee got the feeling like he might be walking into something bad. A raw jolt of adrenaline pumped through his system, and he stopped. The large man still hadn't said a word, and this worried Lee more than he could have articulated. The man hadn't threatened him in any way, but this was somehow more terrifying to Lee.

Lee backed up toward the truck. The man stood still, and Lee bumped against the grill of the truck.

Something bit into his arm, a hot pain, and he turned to see another guy, this one with a face like carved granite, holding a machete. He was aware of blood leaking from his arm and drenching his shirt.

The man swung the machete again but Lee managed to get his arm up and block the blow. From there, he ran, off the road and into the woods, not knowing where he was headed. He hadn't looked at the wound, just knew it was bleeding heavily.

He heard the man grunting behind him, as if he were an animal tracking prey.

Lee stumbled through the woods, branches scratching his face. The cold air burned his lungs. He thought about not getting his beef stew and pie.

His legs began to cramp and he slowed down. Turn and fight, he thought.

Leaning on a tree for support, he turned around to see the man closing with the machete.

Before he could get his arms up to defend himself, the man swung the machete low and chopped into his leg. The pain was enormous, and he collapsed to the ground.

He looked up to see the man staring at him with eyes that were nothing more than hard slashes in his face. The man wasn't even out of breath.

Lee heard another voice in the distance say, “Keep him alive.”

Lee raised his hand, as if to ward the man off. The man swung the machete and clipped off three off Lee's fingers. Lee stared at the stumps, now jetting blood. His head swimming, darkness began creep into view, shrinking his peripheral vision. Lee knew he didn't have long to live.

The man with the machete called for the fat man. The old man's body was near a tree, and he'd bled to death within a few minutes.

The fat man said, “You shouldn't have chopped off his fingers. We could've kept him alive.”

“He's just a warm-up,” The man with the machete said. “Help me drag him.”

The killers dragged the old guy's body through the woods. The machete man went to the step truck, cleaned the machete with a rag, and grabbed a few shovels. While he was getting the shovels, the fat man pulled the old man's pickup truck off the road and left it. They dragged the old guy into the woods and buried him. The man with the machete was barely winded, but sweat poured off the fat man and soon he began to stink.

“I was hoping to catch a woman on the road,” the Fat Man said.

“Well we didn't,” the man with the machete said.

“Get in the truck. We should get off the road.”

They covered the fresh grave with leaves and walked back to the truck.

On Deck For This Year

2011-03-18T11:11:00.000-07:00

Thought I'd post an update in regards to my current project, as well as what I'd like to write for the rest of the year.

Currently, my horror/suspense novel, The Hollow, sits at around 45,000 words. I'm shooting to make it around 70-80K and hope to have a draft completed in about two months.

After that, I have a crime novella I've been sitting on. I may leave it at novella length, or see if I can expand it to a full length novel.

Beyond the novella, I have a few other ideas banked for an additional horror novel, possibly involving ghosts and a missing girl.

That's the beauty of Kindle and other e-book platforms. The writer no longer has to wait. Once the work is completed, I've done a few passes, and my business manager (who also happens to be my lovely wife of 16 years) formats it, the work is ready to go.

Look for some sample chapters from the current work in the coming weeks.

March Happenings

2011-03-01T10:27:00.000-08:00

This month my books and artwork will be featured in the display case at the East Aurora Public Library. I have several drawings along with my print books to go in the case.

Also, I'll have a new short story collection entitled NO MAN's LAND available at Smashwords.com for all e-reader formats. Had a paragraph get cut off from the last story, and as soon as it's fixed, I will put up a link for the book on Twitter, etc.

Finally, I'm pricing NO ESCAPE at $.99 for at least the remainder of the month. Depending on how sales go, I may leave it at this price.

NO ESCAPE available at Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0047T7EZY/ref 99 cents for a limited time.

Also at Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/36642

At Smashwords, enter coupon code XV62L to get the discounted price of 99 cents.

The Dark Lord

2011-02-25T19:15:00.000-08:00

I am admittedly several years behind the curve when it comes to movies and television. My wife and I just now started watching the first season of The Office on Hulu. Likewise for the Harry Potter movies. My kids have seen a few of them, but I watched the first one a few weeks ago, and saw The Half Blood Prince this evening. Watching the movies inspired me to draw Voldemort. The evil, scary characters always make great subjects for art.

I'll be displaying this pencil sketch, along with my books and other artwork, at the East Aurora Public Library. The display will be up for the month of March. If you're a local, come check it out.

Author Scott Nicholson

2011-01-13T17:16:00.000-08:00

Just wanted to take a moment to announce a new release by thriller author Scott Nicholson. Scott's a good guy and a terrific writer. His latest is CRIME BEAT. Here's a description:

Product Description

Crime doesn't pay...but neither does journalism. DRM-free and 99 cents for a limited time.

CRIME BEAT
A novella by Scott Nicholson

When John Moretz takes a job as a reporter in the Appalachian town of Sycamore Shade, a crime wave erupts that boosts circulation and leaves people uneasy. Then a murder victim is discovered, and Moretz is first on the scene.

As more bodies are discovered, Moretz comes under police suspicion, but the newspaper's sales are booming due to his coverage of sensational crime. His editor is torn between calling off his newshound and cashing in on the attention, plus the editor is romancing the big-city reporter assigned to cover the suspected serial killer.

And Moretz seems to be one step ahead of the other reporters, the police, and even the killer himself.

CRIME BEAT is a 21,000-word novella, the equivalent of about 80 book pages. Also contains the bonus story "Do You Know Me Yet?" from HEAD CASES.
-------------------------
By Scott Nicholson, #1 Kindle bestselling author in Mystery & Suspense. Nicholson is author of Disintegration, The Skull Ring, The Red Church, and other crime, mystery, suspense, and paranormal thrillers. His mystery collections include Curtains and Head Cases, and with bestselling Kindle author J.R. Rain, he's published the urban fantasy Cursed!

You can buy it here: http://www.amazon.com/Crime-Beat-ebook/dp/B004IK8FRI/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=books&qid=1294967485&sr=8-1

Check out Scott on the web at www.hauntedcomputer.com

Scott's website is loaded with articles and tons of information for writers.

You Might Be a Writer.

2011-01-11T04:18:00.000-08:00

People often wonder if they have what it takes to be a writer. I've posted some helpful guidelines to determine your aptitude for writing fiction. Signs you might be a writer...

You obsess over office supplies. The prospect of purchasing a new notebook makes you a little too excited. You purchase a pack of your favorite pens even though you have two packages of said pens at home in your drawer. Because you like the way they flow on the page.

You are willing to defend to the death the placement of a comma.

Much to your friends' dismay, you point out what will happen next in a movie. Or you say things like, "That would never happen. Let me explain." At this point it is perfectly acceptable for your friends to pelt you with popcorn and/or Raisinettes.

Potential story ideas are everywhere. While standing at the deli counter you wonder aloud, "What if a shadowy government agency secretly controlled the nation's supply of olive loaf?" You immediately write this idea down for fear it you will forget it.

You have three to five novels laying around at any given time because you never know when they'll be a reading emergency and you may need to grab one. The prospect of getting rid of favorite books makes you want to weep uncontrollably.

You were the kid who daydreamed during history/math/science class. While the other kids were learning about algebra, in your mind, you were defending the school from a Russian invasion (a la Red Dawn). Or you just knew a masked maniac was waiting beneath your basement stairs, and if you didn't climb them fast enough, he would surely grab your ankle and drag you into the shadows.

You start writing a piece, decide it's total crap, and vow never to write again. Ever. You promptly return to writing the next day and discover you cannot quit.

Take heed. Once the writing bug sets in, there is no known cure. May God help us all.

Surviving Disaster

2011-01-10T18:47:00.000-08:00

I stumbled across Surviving Disaster, which I guess is no longer on Spike. In the show, former Navy SEAL Cade Courtley gives tips on how to survive worst case scenarios. Not only did I find the show entertaining and informative, but I thought the episodes could teach basic novel plotting.

The episode where Cade shows the viewer how to survive a terror attack at a mall is quite good.

http://www.spike.com/full-episode/mall-shooting/34334
How does it relate to plotting a novel?

There's an inciting incident (the attack).
The status quo has changed for the mallgoers (nothing will be the same after this)
The mall patrons try several routes of escape (which are blocked). They are pursuing goals and repeatedly denied.
They must come up with plans while being hunted. They must take out the terrorists at certain points.
Things go wrong (someone is wounded, they are blocked by a sniper) until they pull things together at the end.

It's worth watching not only for the survival tips, but for the mini story arcs that occur throughout the show. No matter what type of fiction you write, plotting is about throwing roadblocks in front of your characters and forcing them to deal with it.

No Escape/Smashwords

2011-01-10T18:34:00.000-08:00

Thanks to the efforts of my wife, NO ESCAPE is now available at Smashwords.com.

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/36642

Hope you'll check it out.

The Next Book

2010-12-10T17:37:00.000-08:00

I had a week's vacation from the day job, so with some of the extra time I was able to crank out 40 pages on the next novel. This one's my first foray into non-supernatural horror, and so far, I like it quite a bit. Check back with me around page 150 and I might tell you different, but the writing's going well.

Thanksgiving

2010-11-25T19:18:00.000-08:00

Thankful for my wife and kids. Good health and a nice home.

My wife prepared - as always - a fantastic Thanksgiving dinner. In addition to turkey and the usual suspects, we had roasted asparagus, baked squash with apples, dashi mushrooms, and her famous homemade bread. Spent a wonderful afternoon with family and am pleasantly stuffed.

Happy Thanksgiving to all.

Why Do You Write?

2010-11-11T11:59:00.000-08:00

I saw this video the other day. The speaker is Scott Stratten, the president of UnMarketing. He gives a very moving talk in the video, much of it about how we all rush through life.

How does this apply to writing?

We as writers sometimes fail to savor the moment. You might sign a book deal only to begin wondering why it wasn't for more money. Slow down. Be thankful. You should write because you love it. Write because that story idea that hit you while you where out walking is eating at you. Write because you can't not write. Publishers can drop you. Fiction markets dry up. But you can always put your fingers to the keyboard and create. Sometimes when it seems like you'll never sell another story or novel, the writing's all you have left.

If you asked unpublished writers their goal, they would tell you it's to sell their work to a professional market. And that's a worthy goal. Something we should all strive for as writers. But it is in our nature as human beings to always want more. If you get a five figure book deal, you'll wonder why it wasn't six figures. If you hit the USA Today Bestseller List, you'll wonder why you didn't make the NYT Bestseller List.

Strive to reach your goals, but as Mr. Stratten advises, slow down. Enjoy the ride. It's only when we stop going a hundred miles an hour that we can enjoy life, and such things as the act of creation.

Pumpkinhead

2010-10-30T05:06:00.000-07:00

I left one film off my list of horror favorites. Pumpkinhead, which was Stan Winston's directorial debut.

Favorite Scary Movies

2010-10-26T05:32:00.000-07:00

October is my favorite month of the year. Not necessarily because of Halloween. I just love a blustery October day, the changing of the leaves, seeing a full moon on a cold Fall night. Maybe it's the horror writer in me. Seeing as I've listed my favorite horror novels in a previous post, today I'm putting up some of my favorite horror films.

Halloween (1979) Carpenter wisely leaves much of Michael Myers' motivations and back story to our imagination, creating a faceless terror that is as scary today as it was thirty years ago.

Alien (1979) A masterpiece. The chest bursting scene is the most referenced scene in the movie. For my money, the scariest sequence is when Dallas creeps through the bowels of the ship, searching for the Alien. We see him tracking the Alien with a motion detector until finally he finds the creature (or the creature finds him). Gets me every time.

Feast (2005) Loaded with gore, dark humor, and some unique takes on introducing key characters, this one's just plain fun.

Paranormal Activity (2007) This one goes for a slow build, but it's worth the wait. Proves sometimes what you don't see in a film is scarier than what you do.

The Descent (2005) A group of female adventurers goes spelunking only to find they're not alone. The caves provide a creepy, claustrophobic feel. But that's nothing compared to what they find in the caves. I saw the unrated version, and if you're a fan of gore, you won't be disappointed.

Jaws (1975) To this day, I won't swim in water where I can't see the bottom. Enough said.

The Road (2009) A horror film (although not presented as such) based on Cormac McCarthy's Pulitzer Prize winning novel. See if the scene when The Man and his son search the seemingly empty house doesn't give you chills.

Top Ten Horror

2010-10-25T05:53:00.000-07:00

Thought I'd rattle off a list of top ten horror novels. These are novels that always stick with me. Some of them I've re-read and keep on my bookshelf for no other reason that getting rid of them would be like kicking out a friend. I'm probably leaving a ton of books out, but these are the ones that come to mind:

1. The Shining - Stephen King

2. It - Stephen King

3. The Road - Cormac McCarthy

4. Season of Passage - Christopher Pike

5. Phantoms - Dean Koontz

6. The Terror - Dan Simmons

7. Endless Night - Richard Laymon

8. Watchers - Dean Koontz

9. Island - Richard Laymon

10. The Stand - Stephen King

No Escape now available

2010-10-21T04:05:00.000-07:00

Thanks to my amazing wife, who is also my Business Manager, No Escape is now available for Kindle:

http://www.amazon.com/No-Escape-ebook/dp/B0047T7EZY/

The Cover for No Escape

2010-10-18T04:23:00.000-07:00

Thanks to my lovely wife's computer skills, we were able to come up with an e-book cover for No Escape:

If all goes according to plan, it'll be up for sale on Amazon within the week.

As a family, we've been doing a constant juggling act the past month. My wife is a teacher, and she was picked to be the Senior Class advisor. So that means we've been working the school's concession stand for the Friday night football games. It's kept us busier than the proverbial one legged man in the ass kicking contest, but it's been a blast.

The writing class I'm teaching is going well. My students are bright, articulate, and both have a good amount of writing talent. I think they'll both turn out stellar stories. I'm finding I enjoy teaching and will be offering the class again in the winter class session.

Due to our hectic schedule, I've gone into guerilla mode when it comes to writing. Strike fast, get the words down, and get out. Usually on a note pad while in a waiting room, or maybe some pages early on a Saturday morning. I think that's how most writers do it. At least the ones with full time jobs and other commitments. I think there's a myth about writing that you have to have huge blocks of time to do it. Or a special place to write where the Muse comes along and sprinkles fairy dust on your keyboard. If you have that time and space, more power to you. But it can be done in short bursts, too. Life doesn't stop for writing, but that doesn't mean you can't write.

The next novel is rolling along (almost too well - that scares me). No completion date for that one yet, but the pages keep piling up.

No Escape Chapter One

2010-09-24T19:41:00.000-07:00

Here's Chapter One of No Escape:

Chapter 1

Crash

Jack Hammond was not a superstitious man, and didn’t buy into portents and bad signs. But he couldn’t shake the quiver of dread that ran through his stomach as he watched the thunderheads from his cabin window. It was a big picture window with a pretty view of the Saint Lawrence River. Beyond it was a deck that wrapped around the cabin. From the relative safety of the cabin, he watched the purple monsters drift through the sky. It was dusk, and they blended with the orange and violet of the sunset, now quickly dimming.

He turned and watched Karen, his twelve-year-old daughter, as she lie on the floor- on her belly. Her IPOD pumped Good Charlotte’s latest offering through her earbuds. Her feet moved in time with the music. Amanda, his wife, sat at the kitchen table. Her nose was buried in the latest J.A. Konrath novel. He wanted at that moment to hug them both tightly and not let go. He couldn’t say why, but it seemed urgent.

It would be roughly an hour when his life would be changed forever.

Jack turned from the window. They had brought a boom box on their camping trip, and Jack went to the kitchen counter and turned the radio on. He was greeted by the hiss of static but then he tuned it until he found a local news station.

Without looking up from her book, Amanda said, “Whatcha doing?”

“Looking to see if the latest Kenny G. single is playing anywhere.”

“Try W-C-R-A-P. You might find it there. Are we going to the caverns?”

“They’re closed, kiddo, remember?”

“Sucks.”

“You’ll live. Plenty to see on the island.”

He listened to the end of an oldies song and then caught a weather report. There was a severe thunderstorm warning, possible hail and high winds. He didn’t like the sound of that. The bridge they came over to get on the island was a rickety wooden thing that dated back to the Eisenhower administration. He wouldn’t want to go over it in a storm.

“Thunderheads moving in. I’m going to batten down the hatches.”

“Need a hand sailor?”

“I’m good,” he said. He went over, kissed her on the head. Her hair smelled like roses and tea leaves.

As he walked past Karen, he gave her a friendly nudge with his foot. She frowned and went back to listening to her I-POD.

Outside, it had grown darker. The crickets sang in full chorus. He grabbed their beach towels off the clothesline, along with the axe, which he’d used to split logs for the campfire. With the weather coming in, it didn’t much look like they’d have a campfire tonight.

He looked again across the river. The sunlight had been swallowed up. Smoky thunderclouds had mixed with the dark sky. Lightning flashed, and in the distance a flock of geese screamed.

Why the hell am I so nervous about a damned thunderstorm?

He had just started toward the cabin when he heard the roar of an engine, then a blatting horn. It blared repeatedly, sounding like a big truck. Whoever was driving pushed it hard, the big engine revving.

He walked down the stone driveway to the road, which was about thirty yards from the cabin. The horn blared again. He saw the headlights come around the bend. The RV came into view, its driver’s side door open and flapping.

The driver beat on the horn again.

For a moment, Jack was frozen to his spot. He watched the RV roar ahead as if it were in slow motion. It took him another moment to realize two things: it was coming right toward him, and it wasn’t stopping.

Rubber shrieked and the RV gave a tortured groan. Jack couldn’t see the driver and was sure the driver couldn’t see him, or was incapacitated in some way. He had a horrible moment where he envisioned the runaway RV veering toward the cabin, where Karen and Amanda waited, unaware of the danger. He hurried to the cabin steps, climbed them.

The RV charged ahead. Its front wheels rolled over the grassy area next to the driveway. Jack ducked inside, dropped the towels and axe near the door, confident the RV was going to miss the cabin but wanting to be near his wife and daughter. Karen took no notice, lost in her music. Amanda looked up. “What is that noise?”

Before Jack could get a word out, he heard a huge thud, then the grinding of metal. The cabin shook. He turned and looked out the door. Amanda jumped up from the table and came to his side, as did Karen. Apparently a crash of that size was louder than even Good Charlotte’s blaring guitars.

The RV had plowed into a tree near the fire pit. The front end had been crumpled. The windshield shattered. The side door banged open-shut, open-shut. The engine made a tortured gurgling sound and steam poured from the front end. Jack cautiously opened the door. To Karen, he said, “Call the park police. The number’s on a flyer on the bulletin board.”

“I’m on it,” she said. “Hopefully our damned cell works this time.”

Given the remoteness of the cabin, the cell phone service had been spotty.

Jack stepped onto the deck, and Karen began to follow. He put his arm out, blocked her. “Stay here.”

“I want to see. Maybe I can help.”

“Stay put,” he said, and went outside.

“Are they dead?” Karen asked.

“That’s what I’m going to find out.”

Jack approached the RV, a big Gulf Stream with a blue stripe across its side. The driver’s seat was empty. He climbed up into the cabin. Looking down, he saw a pair of blue jean-clad legs and their wearer. It was a pudgy bald man with a Syracuse University tee shirt on. It bore dark stains and Jack looked at the man’s neck and saw the source of them: blood leaked from the side of the man’s neck. Jack moved forward, knelt down next to the man. The guy had given it up.

Overhead, thunder crashed, and then the hiss of rain began to patter on the RV’s roof. Jack moved back through the RV, passing through the kitchenette. There was a smudge of a fluid that he knew could only be blood on the Formica tabletop. In the back, in a bunk, he saw someone lying under a blue comforter.

He approached, heart pounding, aware that even in the darkness of the vehicle, he didn’t see the blankets rising and falling. “Hey,” he said. “You okay?”

No answer came.

He paused for a moment, half-expecting the form under the blanket to pop up like a funhouse boogeyman. The person under that sheet was dead, he was sure of it. In Afghanistan, he’d seen his share of the dead, some with faces missing, others burned so badly you wouldn’t guess they were human at one time. This person wasn’t sleeping.

He moved forward and in one motion pulled back the comforter. He found a woman with a tee shirt that matched the dead man’s. At first Jack thought the woman was smiling, but then he realized her lips had been cut away and jagged slashes made in the cheeks. He looked at her hands and saw that the fingers had been removed, the stumps bloody and ragged. He didn’t see a mortal wound, but it was there somewhere.

He scanned the RV. Dots of blood stained the carpet. It didn’t look as if there’d been a struggle. The only sign of a mess was the blood stain on the table. Jack would’ve thought there’d have been papers and clothes strewn about, things knocked over. What the hell happened?

Not wanting to touch the body, he backed up to the front seats, stepped over the dead man, and climbed out of the RV.

Outside, the rain assaulted him. It came in sideways, the wind throwing it in his face. He hurried to the cabin door, where Amanda and Karen stood, watching him.

“Well?” Amanda asked.

“Did you get anyone on the cell?”

“The parks police aren’t answering.”

He didn’t like that. “Watch out,” he said, opening the door and stepping inside.

“Jack? Did they?”

He looked at Karen, who had begun to chew her lower lip. The earbuds still dangled from her ears but she had shut the music off. He debated making her go in her bedroom while he spoke to Amanda, but the girl would find out anyway.

“They’re dead. A man and a woman.”

“Didn’t survive the crash?” Amanda asked.

“Someone killed the woman. She was – cut up. Missing fingers. I don’t know if it was the driver, but he had a wound in his neck. I doubt it was him that killed the woman. They were running from someone.”

“Jesus,” Amanda said, and shut the inner cabin door. She clicked the passageway lock shut.

“Did someone really kill them?” Karen asked.

“Looks that way, kiddo. I’m sorry you had to hear that,” Jack said.

“The police will come, sweetie. Someone had to have heard the crash.”

Jack didn’t know about that. The road wound away from their cabin, theirs being the last one on the road. There were other cabins a few miles down the road, each several hundred yards a part. “We’re driving up to the parks police station. It’s right near the entrance.”

“We should stay put. Help will come,” Amanda said.

“I’m with mom. The weather’s lousy, too,” Karen said.

He didn’t like the idea of sitting here waiting. The perpetrator of the crime could be long gone, or he could be looking for more victims. The cabin had a flimsy lock, and the picture window could be easily shattered. “We’ll take a ride up, let them know. Maybe the storm’s got their phones messed up. I don’t want to sit here and wait.”

“For what, Dad?”

Amanda looked at him, waiting for Jack to finish his sentence. After thirteen years of marriage, she probably knew exactly what he was thinking. Wait for some maniac to show up at our cabin.

Amanda said, “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to drive up there.”

From the top of the fridge, Jack grabbed a hatchet he’d brought for chopping kindling. He also took a buck knife from the top of the fridge. Karen, seeing him do this, said, “I hope you don’t need those, dad.”

“Me neither, kid,” he said, and bending over, kissed her cheek.

Amanda grabbed her cell phone and the raincoats hanging on the coat hook near the door. She handed Jack his navy blue slicker and he put it on. With the hatchet and knife in hand, he went to the door and looked out. No sign of police, or anyone else. The road was dark and desolate as the surface of the moon.

The wind drove the rain against the door in bloated drops and it splattered as it hit. The RV was a big white blur through all the rain.

Their Explorer was parked about fifteen feet from the cabin and was barely visible, the rain and darkness cloaking it. “I’ll go first,” Jack said, thinking of the clump of woods that surrounded the cabin, and that it would make an excellent hiding spot for an intruder. He placed the knife, still sheathed, in his belt. In his right hand he held the hatchet, and his left the car keys. “Wait here. I’ll open the car door and then you two run out.”

He took the first step, not quite feeling as scared as when his unit went into caves looking for Taliban – but it was close. He half-expected to be knocked over, tackled by the maniac that killed the people in the RV.

Once outside, he descended the steps and moved to the car. The rain pelted him. He got the door open, scanning the trees for any signs of movement. When he was sure no one was lurking nearby, he waved for Amanda and Karen to follow.

Karen came first. Jack watched her hit the second step and her foot kicked out and she flopped on the steps, letting out a small grunt. Amanda, who had turned to lock the door, now was crouched over, saying “Karen, you okay?”

Karen was getting to her feet, and Jack heard her mutter, “Fuck” under her breath. Normally he would’ve reprimanded her, but under the circumstances, he let it slide.

“You okay kiddo?” Jack called.

Amanda was at Karen’s side, took her by the elbow.

Karen said, “Just bruised my butt, I’m sure.”

They climbed into the Explorer. After setting the hatchet down between the seats, Jack started the Explorer up and pulled down the driveway.

As they pulled onto the road, a blast of thunder that sounded like the hammer of God shook the truck. The storm had brought bad things, after all.

Inspiration

2010-09-20T07:50:00.000-07:00

A great first line can really get your story moving. Stephen King has said that stories are found things, meant to be unearthed like fossils.

Here's some random opening lines off the top of my head. Feel free to use them. Maybe it'll get you digging on that story fossil.

"I awoke to a gun in my face and knew it was going to be a bad day."

"As I peered down the hole, it stared back at me with bloodshot eyes."

"This is how it happened."

"She saw the hooded man coming up the walkway and immediately locked the front door."

"He gazed upon his army, ten thousand strong, and prepared for what might be his last battle."

"Getting your ass kicked tends to put life's minor problems in perspective."

"As the van rolled past, she noticed the passenger. He wore a rubber Halloween mask."

"He'd seen his share of nasty homicides, but never anything like this."

"The new neighbor, yeah. That's the guy on the wanted poster I saw."

"As they rode up to the fortress, the dead lay strewn upon the ground."

New Novel - Prologue

2010-09-19T19:34:00.000-07:00

As promised, here's the prologue of my latest novel, No Escape. Sample chapters to follow over the next few days.

No Escape

                   By Anthony Izzo

                   Prologue

     Captain Ernie Nevitz didn’t like the assignment and wanted to drop his cargo as soon as possible. His wife, Felicia, was due to pop with their third child and he’d been out of contact her while on this ship. Due to the nature of the assignment, the crew hadn’t been allowed contact with family. The Navy had recruited him because he knew how to keep his mouth shut; he did his job and didn’t  question the brass.

     As the ship drifted down the St. Lawrence River, Nevitz thought of having a girl this time. He loved his two boys, but he couldn’t help thinking of the Barbie jeep he’d bought for his unborn daughter. She’d grow into it and he hoped Felicia wouldn’t be too pissed about it.

     There was a storm coming in. The latest forecast had them hitting it in less than half-an-hour. The steel gray clouds and choppy water told him they were going to get it hard. The first rumble of thunder echoed a moment later.

     Nevitz’s second in command, an angular, hawk-faced guy named Gill, stepped beside him. Gill’s expansive, wrinkled forehead twisted his features into a frown. Man his age shouldn’t have that many wrinkles, Nevitz thought.

     “Gill,” Nevitz said. “What’s the good word?”

     “Sir, problem with the containment hold.”

     Nevitz glanced at him, and in the glow of the bridge’s instruments, Gill looked like a specter.

     “What type of problem?”

     “An error message. Our tech people are working on it.”

“If they can’t fix it?”
“There could be a breach.”

“Go full arms. How many men on the door?”

     “Two.”

     “Triple it. But don’t cause a panic.” They had Marines on board in the event of something like this.

     “Aye Aye sir.”

     Gill took off, his long strides somehow reminding Nevitz of an ostrich. Not ten minutes after Gill left, an alarm wailed. “Goddammit, this had better be an error.”

     Nevitz headed below deck to the containment room, unsnapping his holster along the way. His Colt automatic was ready – just in case.

     Entering the containment control room, he squinted at the white light that seemed to stab his eyes. Once his eyesight adjusted, he went to a computer monitor, where Gill stood over the shoulder of a seated soldier.

     “Gill, what is this? Am I going to miss by baby girl’s birth?”

     “Sir, they’re out.”

     Nevitz felt his blood temperature drop. “Tell me the door’s still in tact.”

     “That’s failed, too.”

     Automatic weapons barked from down the corridor and Nevitz knew they were in trouble.

     Nevitz took out his Colt automatic. Gill and the two other sailors in the room grabbed Colt AR-15s from a specially installed rack on the wall. Because of their cargo, nearly every part of the ship had been outfitted to store hardware.

     Screams echoed in the hallway. One of them high and wet sounding.

     “Gill, open the hatch.”

     “Sir?”

     “We’re trapped rats in here. We’re going to fight our way out and get to the bridge.”

     Gill put his hand on the hatch’s wheel. The other men crouched, ready to open fire.

     Nevitz nodded, and Gill swung the steel hatch open.

     Based on the carnage he saw, the captain knew two things: he would never see his wife again, and he was going to die horribly.

What's New

2010-09-12T17:43:00.000-07:00

By all accounts, the Buffalo Bills looked horrible today. Almost as bad as Trent Edward's mutton chops. But I digress.

I'll have a new novel ready for download on Amazon Kindle very soon. I'll be putting up sample chapters on the blog sometime this week. The book's called No Escape and takes place in one frantic night. It's the story of Jack Hammond, an Iraqi war vet looking for a peaceful island vacation with his family. When a mysterious ship with a deadly cargo runs aground on the island, his vacation turns into a nightmare. Jack must figure out a way to survive the unwanted visitors and get his family off the island.

Also, I'm teaching a course this fall on novel writing as part of Adult Continuing Education in East Aurora. I've never taught, but this is something I've wanted to do for a while. Jumping out of the plane and hoping the parachute will open. So far I have one student (that I know of) and she's pretty excited. If nothing else, maybe someone will bring some really excellent donuts from Tim Horton's. Wish me luck.

Going Digital

2009-09-07T18:22:00.000-07:00

Contemplating doing something new (for me, at least). Have a novel that I'm considering putting on Amazon's Digital Platform. This allows authors to set a price and have their work available for download on Kindle.

More to come on that. I've been reading their website and I'm intrigued.

What I've Learned

2009-08-25T03:51:00.000-07:00

I sold my first book nearly five years ago. I'm asked on a fairly regular basis by aspiring writers to judge an idea they have for a book. Or sometimes they want the inside track on how to get published. Sorry, but there is no inside track. I don't have it, and no other author does. But I can share what I've learned in my short time in the business.

1. There's a lot of luck involved. The right book to the right editor/agent at the right time can make all the difference. There is hard work and talent involved in making something like the Harry Potter series or Twilight a phenomenon, but luck plays a huge part, too. Making millions in this industry (or hundreds of millions) is the equivalent of hitting the Powerball lottery.

2. Ignore writing books. That's right. Keep walking past the writing reference section in your local Borders. With the exception of Writer's Market and a good style/grammar guide, leave them alone. Why shouldn't you buy the latest writing book that tells you how to write a megabestseller? Read too many books on writing and you start to suffer from what golfers call "paralysis by analysis". Outline. No, don't outline. Never open a book with weather. Never write on Tuesday during a solar eclipse. Pretty soon instead of writing you're staring at a blank page, frozen. The best writing books are the novels you have on your bookshelf. Read them. Learn from them. Figure out what the author did and how he did it.

3. The world at large doesn't give a shit that you wrote a book. Store clerks will be indifferent. Customers in a bookstore will get whiplash trying not to make eye contact with an author holding a booksigning. Must not look. Will be forced to speak with author. And as for book signings, they are mostly a waste of time. May the self-promotion gods not strike me down for that last statement. Unless you are a well known author with a large following (or can bribe your friends and family into coming), you'll probably spend most of the time at a table. Waiting. That's not to say you shouldn't promote. Write a blog. Meet other writers. Get online and participate in forums. Put excerpts and free stories on your website.

4. In the name of all that is holy, don't get in it for the money. For a first time, mass market paperback deal, you can expect between $2500 and $5000 for an advance. And around an 8% royalty rate. Write because you can't stop telling stories. Because you're always composing something in your head, turning things into plots, playing "what if." Keep writing because you love it, and if you make money, great. If not, be glad you've been blessed with a talent and use it.

5. Don't quit. There'll be rejection. Lots of it. Even after you're published. Keep writing. Always.

Take the above advice for what it's worth. Your mileage may vary.

Latest Novel

2009-03-30T05:34:00.001-07:00

Long time since my last update. My latest novel is done, after a round of revisions. Sending it to my agent today. If all goes well, hopefully I'll have a book out next year.

Goodbye, Old Friend

2009-02-05T18:20:00.000-08:00

Nobody died. I was thinking about one of my favorite authors and how much I used to love his work. When I first discovered this writer, I went out and picked up all of his titles and pretty much devoured them.

Last week I checked his most recent book out of the library. I read ten pages and had to put the book down. The description felt forced. The author was trying too hard. The relationship between the male and female leads consisted of little more than cutesy dialog. I wondered what had happened to one of my favorite writers.

I'll give his next book a try. But somewhere along the line things seem to have changed. This author's creepy, keep-you-up-all-night thrillers are a thing of the past. The latest book wasn't the same. It was like seeing an old friend after a number of years and finding you've drifted apart. Anyone else experience this with an author?

On the flip side, are there any new authors you've read and are excited about? Someone whose work you just have to read?

The Ending

2009-02-02T12:30:00.000-08:00

Finished writing the ending of my latest project (which is actually a rewrite). Now I just have to go back and type in the parts I wrote in my notebook. The notebook has its ups and downs. It's portable and allows me to sneak in writing time. Waiting rooms are a perfect place. I don't really need to know what bitchy things Jennifer Aniston has to say about Angelina Jolie. So the latest copy of People can gather dust while I get a few pages written.

After typing in the material from the notebook, I'll give it a once over, tying in old and new material. Then it's off to my agent for a look.

I keep telling people I hope to sell it. They ask me why this book would be any different. I hope they're right, but with publishers scaling back and the economy in the tank, you never know. I'll just keep writing and think positive. Sometimes that's all you can control.

Recent Reads

2009-01-16T19:17:00.001-08:00

I haven't read much horror fiction lately. I've been reading more crime novels and thrillers as of late. Two that really kept me coming back were Good People by Marcus Sakey and Severance Package by Duane Swierczynski. I found myself thinking about both books in between reading sessions and couldn't wait to get back into them. Good stuff. I also got Swierczynski's The Wheelman for Christmas, and it's on my TBR pile. Check them out.

The weather here isn't doing much to help Buffalo's reputation as the snow capital of the world. It's damned cold. I pumped gas today and took my glove off for about ten seconds. My skin actually hurt. Right now it's a balmy six degrees. I'm afraid to check the windchill.

New Year

2009-01-05T09:22:00.000-08:00

It's been a crazy 2009. Dealt with some troublesome relatives. Watched my oldest son struggle with school to the point where we decided to home school him. Today was the first day of me working with him and it went great.

On the writing front, working on revising my latest novel. I had sent it to my agent and he gave me a thorough editorial letter. His comments were dead on, so I'm in the process of tearing the guts out of the novel, keeping the good stuff, and tossing the junk. Hoping to make a sale with it.

Write a Novel In One Month

2008-01-26T15:40:00.000-08:00

I've seen a few books floating around the web that promise to help people write a book in a month.

I thought I'd share my own version.

For a 90,000 word novel:
1. Sit ass in chair
2. Write 3,000 words per day

That'll be $19.95, please.

If there's some other magic formula, please let me know.

Review

2007-07-11T04:12:00.001-07:00

Review for Evil Harvest here:

http://www.dondammassa.com/r3.htm#Evil_Harvest

The Dark Ones

2007-06-28T04:47:00.000-07:00

Coming down the home stretch on the next book. I've got about another week of writing to finish the draft, then it's on to editing and revisions. I'm calling it The Dark Ones right now, but I'm also considering Dark Siege. Kensington will have their own suggestions as well. If time permits, I'll post a snippet.

Evil Harvest, Chapter One

2007-06-28T04:24:00.001-07:00

For your reading pleasure:

Chapter One

Matthew Crowe was stopped at a red light when he heard the woman scream.

The scream came from his left, and he glanced out the open driver’s-side window at the Folsom Furniture plant. The main warehouse looked the same as it did in his youth, a pile of rust and bricks that resembled a long-dead industrial relic. He would have thought it abandoned. A spotlight shining on an open door at the front of the building and a tractor trailer with FOLSOM in blue letters parked at a loading door told him they were still in business.

He checked the light again; it was still red. He looked back at the open warehouse door. That was bad news. Business owners didn’t make a habit of leaving doors open, especially with thousands of dollars’ worth of merchandise sitting behind them. Did something break in, or out? That was the question.

The woman cried out again, this time a hoarse groan. No mistaking it, someone in trouble. He checked—no oncoming cars—and turned left against the light.

As he turned, he heard a second shriek, a low growl that rose in pitch to a keening wail. He felt the shriek reverberate through his guts, felt his stomach and bowels get liquidy. The last time he had heard that sound, there had been blood and pain and cries for mercy. Leaving now was not an option. One of the bastards was after someone.

He gunned the Cavalier’s engine and rolled up the driveway, gravel crunching and popping under the tires. He swung the car into a diagonal parking spot in front of the warehouse. Hope nothing happens to the car. Rental company will be pissed.

When he boarded his plane, he never counted on something like this happening so soon. Ten years out of Lincoln and I run into Them the first night back.

Ten years away, first in the Army Rangers and then in cramped apartments and Motel 6s around the country. Hell of a way to live, collecting newspaper clippings, Internet printouts and interviews about creatures that shouldn’t exist.

But they did exist, and from the sound of it, one of them was on the hunt.

Throwing the car in park, he got out, unlocked the trunk and pulled out the tire iron. If he had an automatic weapon handy, it might be a fair fight, but the tire iron would have to suffice.

The warehouse was separated from a four-story factory building by an alley. At the end of the alley, another spotlight shone like sunlight at the end of a train tunnel. Matt watched for any sign of movement, any shift in the shadows. When nothing rushed from the alley, he moved ahead, tire iron in hand.

The woman cried out again and he heard footsteps flop on the concrete floor of the warehouse. Had she managed to slip away? It sounded that way.

Creeping up on the door, he peered inside the ware house, half expecting the thing inside to pop out and grab him. Here goes, he thought.

He ducked inside and looked up at the three-tiered steel racks, the highest of which ran twenty feet in the air. Crates, pallets and rows of shrink-wrapped furniture went on for what seemed like a mile. It also created hundreds of hiding spots. Moonlight filtered in through the high windows, but instead of providing welcome illumination, it seemed to create more shadows.

He glanced at the door. The bolt was a mangled lump of metal. Likewise for the rings that held the door’s security bar in place. Something wanted to open the doors, and had done so from inside the warehouse.

He ventured a soft, “Hello?”

The woman darted out from under the storage bays and into the center of the aisle. She ducked and scrambled underneath one of the lower racks. The darkness swallowed her up. Dammit, he thought.

He started down the aisle, aware that he could be ambushed from any angle.

A thundering crash behind him. Matt spun around to see a pallet of kitchen chairs piled on the floor. The plastic shrink-wrap had busted, and the chairs’ legs had snapped like kindling.

A second pallet of chairs tumbled down from the third tier and landed on the first pile. Matt realized the assailant was attempting to block the exit. It would not be impossible to leave through the door, but anyone who tried moving the chairs would be an easy target as they attempted to clear the exit.

Now he heard it move, thudding along the top racks, its breath coming in heavy, wet grunts.

Matt searched the racks, trying to get a glimpse of the woman. He crouched down, scanning the crates under the racks. “You in there?”

No answer came, so he continued to the end of the aisle. As he turned left, he heard footsteps, someone in a hurry. He turned quickly, but before he could square his shoulders, something hard and metal smacked his ankle.

Shit, that hurts! he thought, hopping in pain.

The attacker followed up with a shove; already off- balance, Matt toppled over and smacked the concrete. The tire iron clanged to the floor beside him. Being a Good Samaritan hurt like hell.

“You son of a bitch!” the woman said, and pounced on top of him. She raised the crowbar over her head and brought it down like a lumberjack. He blocked the blow, his arm smacking her forearms. The crowbar flew out of her hands and tumbled under a pallet.

Her primary weapon gone, the woman dug her nails into his cheek. He winced but managed to grab her wrists and hold them. “I’m trying to help you, dammit!”

She tried to pull away, but then it dawned on her she couldn’t get loose her shoulders slumped in defeat.

I’m not what dragged you in here, he thought.

“My God,” she said. “I’m sorry.” A tear dribbled down her cheek. He wanted to wipe it away for her but thought better of it.

She was straddling him, and he glanced at her Nike T-shirt. It had been torn across the belly; blood stained the white fabric and had dribbled onto her running shorts. Something had clawed her before she slipped away.

“Thank you,” she said. “For coming in after me.”

In the dim warehouse, her eyes stood out. Pale green, they looked like they could be sniper’s eyes under the right (or wrong) circumstances. She was compact and had the lean, smooth legs of a runner. Her curly black hair was pulled into a ponytail. He took her for about twenty-eight or twenty-nine.

Matt said, “We need to get out of here fast. We’re in here with someone very dangerous.”

Random Thoughts

2007-04-21T04:12:00.000-07:00

Some things you probably shouldn't say to a horror writer:

Your monster/vampire/demon/zombie was just adorable.

That gut-wrenching death scene in chapter ten? I laughed my ass off.

So what screwed you up as a kid?

You're making - like - Stephen King money, now, right?

I keep telling my wife/husband/friend/brother they should elevate their reading tastes. They love your stuff, by the way.

You should let me edit your work before you send it out.

I've got a great story idea for you. It's about possessed objects. Three words: Toaster of Death.

MySpace

2007-04-19T06:47:00.000-07:00

This is a test. It is only a test. Just checking out the new blog on My Space. I finally broke down and created a MySpace page. We'll see how it works out. If nothing else, it's another tool to get my name out there.

My URL is http://myspace.com/anthonyizzo if anyone wants to check it out.

Signings

2007-04-16T11:46:00.000-07:00

Working on some marketing and publicity for Evil Harvest. I should have some book signing dates posted soon. Reading Bryan Smith's House of Blood and liking it. Lots of mayhem. Good stuff. Also reading Dan Simmons' Hard Freeze. I especially like the Simmons book because it's set in Buffalo.

Finally saw 300 last night. I was really looking forward to it, but I have to say I found myself kind of bored. One can only watch so many Persian soldiers being impaled before it gets a little stale. I love a good bloody battle scene (Braveheart, LOTR Trilogy), but something about this movie left me cold. Stunning visuals, though.

New Look

2007-02-10T10:53:00.000-08:00

Anthonyizzo.com has a new look. I'll be posting an excerpt of Evil Harvest in the near future. Let me know what you think of the site design.

Out the Door

2007-01-19T03:49:00.000-08:00

Copyedited manuscript for Evil Harvest patched, spot welded, and shipped out the door. Much rejoicing will now take place.

Almost There

2007-01-15T06:06:00.000-08:00

I just have a few more corrections to make on the Evil Harvest manuscript. The main thing is clearing up little inconsistencies. A description you write on page 200 is liable to change by page 400. It's amazing the things you overlook in the heat of writing, and even in an edit. I suppose it's never possible to distance yourself 100% from the work. That's where editors and copyeditors come in. For the most part, I think they help make an author's work stronger.

For aspiring writers (turn back, you fools!), I recommend making maps, time lines, even a rough calendar of events in your story. This is especially helpful when dealing with multiple characters and plot lines. Stephen King may be able to wing it and produce brilliant work, but let's face it, none of us are him. Preparation will make for an easier time down the line. Embrace it.

Blog Name

2007-01-12T11:16:00.000-08:00

With 2007 still fresh out of the wrapper, I decided to rename the blog. New year, new start. Besides, the old title was about as exciting as watching mold grow. The new title isn't anything great, but it's better than the old.

Copy Edit Time

2007-01-12T11:06:00.000-08:00

Received the copyedited manuscript from Kensington yesterday. Have a week to look it over and return it. Also received the cover for Evil Harvest, which I will post in the next few days on the web site. As usual, Kensington did a fantastic job on the cover. Let's hope it attracts lots of book buyers.

Passed the 40,000 word mark on the next book and am pleased with the progress.

Changing Titles

2006-11-13T06:19:00.000-08:00

The next book is available for pre-order at www.amazon.com, where it's listed as Unforgiven (the original title). As I mentioned in a previous post, the title is changing to Evil Harvest, but for some reason it made it to Amazon as Unforgiven. To clear up any confusion, they are the same book.

Also, it looks like Cruel Winter is available for order again at www.kensingtonbooks.com.

That's all for now.

The New Book

2006-11-07T04:22:00.000-08:00

Just got word from Kensington that the next book, due out in June 2007, will be titled EVIL HARVEST. My original title was The Unforgiven, but this title apparently brought to mind the Clint Eastwood western of the same name.

To give you a little teaser, EVIL HARVEST is the story of Matt Crowe, a drifter now returning to his hometown of Lincoln after a ten year absence. It won't be a warm welcome for Matt. He's coming home to seek revenge on Rafferty, the chief of police and leader of a clan of murderous shapeshifters. When Matt was a teenager, Rafferty and his followers murdered Matt's family. Matt finds out Rafferty's planning a wholesale slaughter of the townspeople, and with a new-found love interest and a tough ex-marine at his side, Matt will try to stop Rafferty and his band of demons. The odds are overwhelming. The enemy is cunning and vicious. Can Matt survive and put the past to rest once and for all?

Should have cover art soon. I'll post it as soon as I get it.

Been Away Too Long

2006-09-12T11:58:00.000-07:00

Okay, the blog has been gathering dust. I admit it. I've been busy working on the second book of the contract with Kensington. It's starting to take off and I'm liking the characters so far. I've been averaging 12-1500 words a day on it. Have a working title, but I'm not crazy about it. As I stated in a previous post, title seem to come on their own, and when you find the right one, you'll know.

Have to go. Kid is due on the school bus any minute.

The Unforgiven

2006-07-12T07:40:00.000-07:00

The Unforgiven is officially being released in June of 2007. The title is most likely going to change before then. That's not a problem. Titles have never been a sticking point with me. I read advice somewhere that you should not begin the book until you know the title. I say, title or not, get the thing written. Something in the book will most likely pop up and suggest a title. Maybe a line of dialogue or a certain setting. I think it's important to have a strong title, but I would never let the absence of one stop me from finishing a draft. We'll see how it all pans out. I submitted some suggestions to Kensington, but for now it remains The Unforgiven.

The "D" Word and the "O" Word

2006-06-26T06:00:00.000-07:00

I sent the Unforgiven manuscript to Kensington today. I have an account set up at usps.com and can print postage to deliver packages by Priority Mail. The U.S. Postal service will also set you up with boxes and Priority Mail envelopes if you start an account. Writers who are short on time (that's all of you, isn't it?) might find this service useful. The mail carrier will even come to your house and pick up the package, thereby saving you a wait in line at the post office.

This is my first manuscript submitted under a deadline. I also have a deadline for submitting an outline for the next book. I've never written under a deadline before. I think it's a good thing, although check back with me a week before the thing is due. I may have substantially more gray hair.

Publishers like to see an outline to get an idea of your story, and if it works for them. Some writers hate outlines. Others swear by them. I fall somewhere in the middle. The benefit, at least at the start of a book, of having an outline, is finding out if I have enough material. I start by writing out ideas for scenes, with one scene leading to follow ups. I have done this on index cards and I have done it simply by listing the scenes on a legal pad. My average scene runs 5-7 pages, so I know I'll need at least 80-100 for a novel.

I find that in the writing, the actual outline becomes less important. Characters grow and go off on their own paths. Events that seemed inevitable change. A new character walks on stage. For example, in Cruel Winter, I had planned on Ronnie Winter dying at the hands of the bullies. He managed to survive and the story went in a different direction. With my latest novel, The Unforgiven, a tough female cop named Donna Ricci came onstage, and I had a blast writing about her. I also find, that the best ideas for plot twists and turns seem to happen during composition. These are things I could not have planned out.

There's no one right way. If you like a detailed outline, go with it. Or if you like to shape the story as you go, that's fine too. Whatever gets the job done.

Check is in the Mail

2006-05-31T09:27:00.000-07:00

Got my first royalty statement from Kensington and was pleasantly surprised. Sprung for Chinese food for the family. Pretty cool.

Contracts on the Way

2006-05-22T05:46:00.000-07:00

Got word from my agent that the contracts for the next two books with Kensington are in the mail. Have to say I'm pretty excited. Working on the second book of the contract now and making good progress. The story is gaining momentum and I'm liking it so far.

Finding the Time

2006-05-10T06:57:00.000-07:00

As writers, we all lament not having enough time to write. Often people ask when I find the time to write. I would guess most writers are holding down a full time job in addition to writing. That cuts into writing time, as does family, chores, etc. But you don't have to let that stop you. One of the best ways to get writing done is the good old spiral notebook. I wrote the first drafts of two novels in notebooks, mostly on breaks at work. The notebook holds the advantage of being portable, and you don't need a power source or have to wait for the thing to boot up. Say you get two breaks and an hour lunch at work. I would bet instead of catching up on office gossip at the lunch table, you could write three or four rough draft pages. You could also take the notebook to doctor's appointments (you didn't really want to read that copy of Newsweek from 1993, did you?), kids' sports practices, or when you get the oil changed in your vehicle. You get the point. Fifteen minutes here and there doesn't seem like much, but the pages add up. And you've got yourself a first draft when you're done. You can either type it up when the draft is done, or type in the handwritten stuff in the evening. Either way, you're making progress.

Upcoming books

2006-03-16T03:52:00.000-08:00

Should have some good news to post very soon regarding the next few books. I will be updating the blog more frequently, and my next goal (along with working on the next novel) is to write a series of articles for the website on how I write books. Stay tuned.

Fear

2006-02-26T13:31:00.000-08:00

I'm convinced that writer's block has more to do with fear than anything else. I remember someone in college telling me they had writer's block and they were waiting for inspiration so they could write. Most likely they were afraid to write. I've got news for you. If you wait for inspiration to strike, you won't get much written. I think we all worry that what we write won't be good enough to impress an editor or an agent or our beloved sainted mothers, or whoever. Or even worse, that we will somehow forget how to write and when we sit down to the page, our minds will turn to pudding.

It's all garbage, of course. Stop worrying about how good your idea is, or who you have to impress. And don't tell people that you can only write on Tuesday during a full moon, and only after you have prayed to the writing gods for inspiration. Write a sentence. Even if it's a bad one. Follow with another. And do you really think you'll forget how to do it? Does a carpenter forget how to swing a hammer? Does a quarterback forget how to throw the bomb? Of course not. Now go write.

Waiting

2006-01-23T09:51:00.000-08:00

Currently waiting to hear back from my agent, who is waiting to hear back from Kensington on the next book. It is titled The Unforgiven, and if all goes well, it should be out early 2007.

Also wrote a short story for a Buffalo News contest. The News supplies a paragraph, which must appear in the text, and the goal is to write a mystery around it. It could only be 1500 words, so it was good practice in cutting unnecessary description and exposition.

Good Reads

2006-01-06T04:52:00.000-08:00

Just finished reading Red by Jack Ketchum. Highly recommended. Also read Endless Night by Richard Laymon. Both great reads. For aspiring writers, I would also recommend Laymon's A Writer's Tale. It's a great inside look at not only his creative process, but his experiences in the publishing world. There is some insightful info on how he works through a novel, plots, etc. Also a great look at turning an incident into a short story. The book is hard to find. For anyone in the Western New York area, the Buffalo and Erie County Library has a copy of it (signed, no less).

What are some of your good reads lately?

Welcome!

2006-01-04T15:29:00.000-08:00

Welcome readers! I welcome your comments. Please check back for updates!