Sneak Peak of Forgotten

Getting back on track with writing. My oldest son was in the hospital last week with a bout of gastritis. Hats off to the nurses at Children's Hospital of Buffalo for the great care they gave him.

I'm about halfway done with Forgotten, the latest novel. I'm shooting for a late October/early November release. Once Forgotten is out, I'll write the third Dead Land book and finish up the trilogy.

In the meantime, here's a snipped from Forgotten. It's from my first draft and should be considered uncorrected copy.

Excerpt from Forgotten. Copyright 2012 Anthony Izzo

Prologue

Griggs had gotten the call from dispatch: report of a possible intruder out on Pine Top Road, please investigate. Apparently someone's dog had started going crazy and the owner had seen someone out by their shed.

He'd been Sheriff in the town of Forgotten for fifteen years and calls like this were far and few between. It was mostly peaceful. They got a lot of tourists who came to get a taste of Big Sky Country and the mountain air.

He pulled the Crown Vic up to the house, a brick ranch with white trim around the windows. It was the beginning of October, and the family had placed a trio of pumpkins and a dried cornstalk on their porch.

Griggs radioed that he was on the scene and got out of the cruiser. Once at the front door, he rang the bell and a middle-aged couple in matching white robes opened the door. The man was balding and his belly strained the belt on the robe. The woman was pretty, even with some crow's feet around her eyes.

“Officer, we're glad you're here.”

“Sheriff. We got the complaint about an intruder?”

“Yes, come in.”

Griggs stepped into the living room, where a girl of about nine slept on the couch.

“You're Mr. Hardin?” Griggs asked.

“Eric. This is my wife Theresa.”

Theresa said, “Shadow, our German Shepherd, started going nuts. I had just let him out. When I went to see what he was barking about, I saw a large man in the woods.”

“What happened after you saw him?”

“He slipped back into the woods.”

“Okay. Stay here and I'll go investigate.”

Shadow came bounding into the room, gave a hearty bark, and sat at Theresa's feet. His ears went back and he began to whine. The Shepherd attempted to bury it's head in Theresa's leg. Some watch dog. Something must have spooked him.

“Is he normally timid?” Griggs asked.

Eric said, “Usually he's fearless. Something got him scared.”

“All right. Where did you see the intruder exactly?”

“Out by the shed. Back of the property,” Eric said.

“Stay here. I'll go around and have a look,” Griggs said, taking a flashlight from his belt.

He rounded the house and started down the driveway. The rotten-sweet smell of garbage came from trash cans left by the side of the house. A girl's bike with tassles on the handlebar grips had been left on its side.

The yard contained a patio near the sliding glass door, and a table and chairs had been wrapped in a blue tarp, stored for the winter. He saw the shed, its white siding illuminated in the moonlight.

He shined his light on the shed and then the woods beyond. The breeze picked up, causing the pines to sway. Something tipped over and banged. He shined the light and saw it was a spade that had been leaning against the shed.

Moving forward, he swept the light back and forth. He kept his other hand on the Glock. The old-timers in town, the men that hung around the diner and drank endless cups of coffee, spoke of strange things happening up in the mountains. Some of them he believed. Some he didn't. No doubt these stories fed the imagination of the homeowners.

He drew closer to the shed and was beginning to think the dog had been barking at shadows.

A pile of pressure-treated lumber lay on the ground behind the shed. He checked the ground and saw no footprints. The shed had two front windows and he peered in both with the windows. After determining there was no intruder in the shed, he was ready to head back to the house.

A branch snapped, sounding like a whipcrack. It had come from the woods.

He crept to the edge of the woods. The beam only went so far before it was devoured by the shadows.

“Police. Come out,” he said, drawing his Glock. He'd only fired it on the range. Firing on a person was completely different.

Another branch snapped, this one sounding like a gunshot.

Something walked between two trees. Its head brushed a branch that had to be seven feet off the ground. His heartbeat began to pick up and he took a deep breath to steady himself. The huge man appeared to be dresed in rags. A huge rock or club hung from one hand. The head was malformed, as if someone had squished a piece of clay into a nightmare form.

“Police,” he said, but the giant paid him no attention and bounded into the woods, branches crackling as it went. The legends spun in diners just might be true.

He backed away from the woods, sweeping the Glock back and forth in case the intruder returned. It wasn't until he got within ten yards of the house that he turned his back on the woods.

He leaned against the side of the house and let out a huge breath. If he told the family what he'd seen, they'd never believe it. Something less-than-human trolling in the woods.

Once his hands had stopped shaking, he holstered the Glock. Then he went back to the front door and rang the bell.

Eric came to the door, his face hopeful. The bathrobe had come open, revealing coarse black chest hair.

“Find anything?” Eric asked.

“Just some broken branches. I think your culprit was probably a deer.”

Eric let out a huge sigh. “Thank you. We were so startled we brought our daughter to sleep downstairs. Shadow never gets upset. I'm sorry we wasted your time.”

“All part of my job,” Griggs said. “Call if there's any other trouble.”

One Week Later

Josh Elliott was aware of the men watching him. He could feel their gazes searing into the back of his neck like a branding iron. He had no beef with them. Hadn't exchanged words or dirty looks, but still he felt them staring.

Seated at the bar in the Forgotten Pub, he was working on a brunette in a low-cut mauve sweater. She had freckles on her cleavage. Hair was a little too big and out of style, but he could live with that. Liked the way she threw her head back and laughed like she didn't give a shit who heard. And she had approached him. Her name was Jamie.

She was a nice surprise. He'd only stopped in Forgotten for a few nights as part of his road trip. He'd graduated with a mechanical engineering degree from the University of Buffalo but was in no hurry to get a job. Figured he'd see the country. Center himself before settling into a desk job for the next forty years. A modern-day Kerouac.

“You want another beer?” Jamie said.

“Why not?” he said. His head spun and he felt a little disconnected from the noise in the bar. But his gaze kept going back to her chest. He had a chance with her. Right?

She ordered him another Stone IPA. There were five empties in front of him. Shit, had he downed those since meeting Jamie?

She raised her hand and the barkeep came over, set down a beer, and popped the top with an opener. Jamie continued working on a vodka and cranberry.

“So how long are you staying in Forgotten?” she asked.

“I told you until this Saturday. Going hiking tomorrow.”

“I have a place around the corner. Wanna go?”

“Yeah.”

“You keep looking at my chest.”

“That's right.”

“You like what you see?”

“That's a silly question,” Josh said.

“Come on,” she said, and held out her hand.

He took it, her skin smooth and cool on his. She led, her Guess jeans hugging all the curves. From the corner of his eye, he saw the men who'd been watching get up and follow. There were three of them, dressed in denim and sheepskin jackets.

“I think those guys are following us.”

“Don't worry about 'em,” Jamie said, leading him into the cool air.

She stepped onto the sidewalk and led him to a Range Rover parked at the sidewalk.

“Hop in.”

He got in, the interior smelling of cigarettes and heavy perfume. She got in the driver's seat and slid her hand around the back of his head. She pulled him close and kissed him hard, tounge flicking in his mouth. She tasted of vodka and cigarettes, but still his cock grew hard. The cigarette taste didn't matter. It had been a month since he'd banged his buddy's sister in a bar bathroom. He was ready to go.

He kissed her back, slipped a hand up and squeezed her breast. She moaned.

A moment later he felt something hard dig into his belly. She pushed him away and he looked down. A silver revolver. Her finger on the trigger. “What are you doing?”

“That's a nice gold watch you have, Josh,” she said, giving a smile that could charm the devil.

“You're robbing me?”

“No. This is something much worse.”

The car door was ripped open and rough hands pulled him from the car. He banged his ankle on the curb and pain shot up his leg. Josh flailed, looked around. His assailants were the men who'd been watching from the bar and he realized he'd been set up.

He got his arm free and blasted one of them in a face, a big bastard with a full blonde beard. The guy's head snapped back but it didn't really move the guy. He countered with a right hook that caused Josh's vision to dim. Knees buckling, he felt himself slinking to the ground.

As he fell to his knees he saw Jamie coming around the Range Rover. She tucked the revolver into her purse and knelt in front of him. “You didn't really think you had a chance with me, did you?”

A gruff voice said, “Get him up.”

They hauled him to his feet. Jaw aching, Josh looked around for any sign of someone who might help. The streets were bare. He could hear muted country music coming from the juke inside the pub and the low murmur of the bar crowd. But the streets were empty and there was no one to help.

They dragged him to the Range Rover. Jamie opened the passenger door and they shoved him inside. The big blond guy got in the driver's seat. Jamie and the other two men piled in back. He heard something being unzipped and then felt the cold barrel of the revolver against the back of his neck.

“Fucking move and I'll spatter you all over the front seat,” Jamie said.

They pulled away from the curb, drove down the street, and made several turns, winding through side streets. They ended up on a road flanked by pines. “Where are you taking me.”

“Why would we tell you?” Jamie said.

They had to be taking him to the woods. And that would be the last of anyone saw of him. From the back seat he heard one of them talking on a cell phone. The man's voice was low, but Josh made out something about being on route. The man ended the call almost as soon as it had began.

The Range Rover continued along the road until it began to rise into the hils. They made another quick turn and they came to a driveway marked by a sign that said Hospital.

As they pulled up the driveway he saw a monstrous brick building that looked like it could've doubled as a medieval fortress. A series of turrets and pointed spires rose against the sky. The place had to have a thousand windows that gleamed like malevolent eyes.

“Why are you taking me to the hospital?” Josh asked.

“You'll see,” Jamie said.

They stopped the Range Rover in a roundabout near the hospital's front steps. There were twin concrete gargoyles flanking the steps, each with a sneer on their stone faces. Jamie got out behind him, opened his door, and held the revolver at her side. The other men got out and surrounded Josh.

“Up the steps and not a word.”

Jamie slipped behind him, digging the revolver into his kidney. One of the men went up the steps and opened the door. The other two gripped Josh's arm, their fingers digging into his flesh.

Inside, a faded checkerboard floor done in brown and white stretched out ahead of him. A circular desk took up a large portion of the lobby. To the left and right were a series of double doors. He saw a slim but muscular cop standing at the desk and breathed a sigh of relief. All he had to do was signal the cop and this would be over.

The cop approached. The name badge on his uniform read Griggs. He bore a flat expression on his face. He placed his hands on hips and looked Josh up and down.

“Officer, I'm glad to see you.”

“Shut up,” Griggs said.

“But these people...”

Before he could get the rest of the words out, Griggs slammed a fist into Josh's belly. He doubled over, stomach nearly heaving. The men pulled him back to his feet. He saw a set of double doors open and a nurse in pale scrubs and a doctor in a white coat approached with a gurney.

“What the fuck is going on!” Josh said.

Griggs turned to the doctor and said, “You ready for him?”

The doctor drew closer, hands in the pockets of the lab coat. He looked at Josh with a counterfeit smile. Josh started to flail, but the crushing grip on his arms only intensifed. Someone kicked him behind the knee and his leg buckled. They forced him to the ground, pinned his head down. He saw the doctor's polished loafers. Saw him hunker down. His sleeve was forced up and he felt the needle prick his arm.

They held him down for a few more moments until a warm feeling overtook him and soon he felt as if he were floating in liquid. His limbs got heavy and he felt incredibly relaxed.

“Get him on the gurney,” a voice said.

Wildfire Now Available

Thought I'd make it official and announce on the blog that Wildfire, Book Two of The Dead Land Trilogy is now available for Kindle. Nook and Kobo versions will follow in the next few weeks. Wildfire picks up where Infected left off. The survivors of the zombie outbreak in Anderson continue to fight the growing hordes as the military struggles to contain the virus. It's fast-paced zombie mayhem and a lot of fun (I hope).

I'm taking a break from the trilogy and writing another horror novel in between. Book Three will be out December/January. Thanks to everyone who's purchased it so far.

Chapter One of Wildfire

Thought I'd post the first chapter of Wildfire (Book Two of The Dead Land Trilogy). To put it in context, Maria Gilardo, a nurse at St. Mary's Hospital, has lived through the first night of the zombie outbreak that tore through the hospital. She's trying to get home to see Jake, her son.

Wildfire will be available for Kindle and Nook within the next two weeks. Until then, I hope you enjoy this preview chapter.

Chapter One

Maria Gilardo crouched by the hospital's side entrance. Across the street was the six-story parking garage. She would have to steel herself and make a run for the garage. She was beginning to think herself foolish for leaving Emma and the others, but her first priority was Jake. She wanted to hear his voice. That slight crack that entered into it once and a while. Calling Jake right now wasn't possible. Her cell phone was in the Honda and she didn't dare linger in the hospital to use the phone.

He was a smart boy. Maria made him lock the doors when she wasn't home. He kept a Louisville Slugger and a hunting knife that had been his father's stashed in his bedroom. The knife didn't thrill her, but Jake was a good kid and she trusted him not to use it unless someone was busting the door down.

Now, she scanned the strip of road that separated the parking garage from St. Mary's main building. There was no sign of any freaks. With a hitch in her belly, she sprinted for the parking garage. She reached it to find the glass attendant's booth empty. The yellow arm that protected the entrance was raised.

She had parked on the fifth level. Maria went to the elevator, hit the button, and waited for the doors to open. Multiple times she thought she heard footsteps on the concrete. The doors opened and the faint odor of urine wafted out.

She took the elevator to the fifth level and got out. The Honda was parked at the end of the first row. The wind whipped through the garage, blowing a dirty newspaper across her path. There were ten cars left in the row. Maria guessed some of the staff had made it to their cars and taken off.

She reached the Honda and dug into her pocket. Pulling out the keys, her hand shook. She dropped them and they clattered on the ground. She bent down and picked them up. That's when she heard the sound, a soft scraping on the concrete.

She crept to the rear bumper and peered down the row. It was the ramp attendant. His shirt was painted with blood and the knees were torn out of his pants. He stopped, sniffed the air. As she started to back toward the driver's side door, the attendant saw her. He broke into a run, arms pinwheeling. Dammit he was fast.

Scrambling to get the keys in the lock, she saw the attendant closing. There was no time to get the key in the lock, so she flattened out and slipped under the car. A moment later she saw the dark-skinned man with the egg-white eyes peer under the car. The bastard looked like he was grinning. He reached for Maria and she slapped his hand away.

He was flat on the ground, straining to reach. Maria inched away. The undead attendant pressed closer, attempting to squeeze under the Honda.

Maria remembered a tip from a women's self defense course the Sheriff's office had put on at the hospital. She gripped the Honda's key, point out between her knuckles. With it, you could go for an attacker's eye. The zombie wedged itself under the car. Maria jammed the key into its eye. It pulled back and she scooted out from under the Honda.

Kneeling, she unlocked the passenger door and slipped in. She locked the door. Then she climbed over the center console and got behind the wheel. The attendant, his eye dripping goo, pressed against his face against the window.

Maria started up the Honda, got it in reverse, and backed out. The attendant gripped the door and she could hear him being dragged. She turned the corner to head back to the entrance and heard a thump as the Honda's rear wheel rolled over the dead man.

She pulled out of the ramp. Had to put a death grip on the wheel to keep her hands steady. The hot glow of a fire burned in the distance, and oily black smoke rose into the air. It made her think of fire and brimstone. The pits of Hell. She didn't know what could have gone up to cause smoke like that.

She reached her little Cape Cod and pulled in the driveway. The lights were out, but nothing looked out of place. Jake might be upstairs watching television. He usually did so with the lights off.

After putting the car in park, she got out and went inside. The smell of pepperoni and cheese hung in the air. She guessed Jake had made himself a microwave pizza. Advancing through the house, she called his name. When she got to the stairs she stopped and listened, straining to hear the television. It was as quiet as a tomb.

She went upstairs, the stair risers squeaking under her weight. She called his name. At the top of the stairs she turned right. Jake's bedroom door was closed. Maria expected to hear Avenged Sevenfold or Megadeth blasting through the speakers, but it was silent. That gave her a chill. She knocked on the door.

“Who is it? I've got a knife.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Jake, it's mom.”

“Hang on,” he said, sounding muffled through the door.

Thumps and bangs came from behind the door. It sounded as if he were moving furniture.

A moment later, he opened the door. She marveled at how much taller he seemed every time she looked at him. Tonight the t-shirt of choice depicted the band Lamb of God. A pair of ripped jeans and black Chuck Taylors rounded out his outfit.

“Preparing for the apocalypse?”

“Did you see those things out there?”

If only you knew, she thought. “Yeah, the world's gone off its psych meds.”

She saw the hunting knife and Louisville Slugger on his desk. Next to the desk was a little Marshall amp and his Jackson flying V.

“So you saw them?”

There was no sense lying to him, or trying to sugarcoat things. “They got loose in the hospital. Overran the place.”


“Shit. That's bad.”

“Watch the English, young man.”

“Are you hurt?” Jake asked.

“I'm in one piece. How did you know what was going on?”

“I heard a bunch of noise. Growls. I looked out the window and there were a bunch of freaks out in the street. So I barricaded myself in,” Jake said.

“Why's it like the inside of a cave in here?”

“The lights? They'd see them. Give me away.”

Smart kid, she thought. “Is the back door locked?”

“Yep.”

“I wish your father was here.”

“To protect us?”

“To stay with you. I hate leaving you alone. What if something had happened?” Maria said.

“Any zombies show up, I'll beat them down.”

She didn't want to tell him that he'd last not two minutes against those things. “That's the spirit, zombie slayer.”

“What caused it?”

“Something with that flu bug that's going around.”

Something crashed outside. It sounded like a garbage can being tipped over. Her stomach clenched in a knot. The noise had come from the back yard and she slipped into Jake's room, stepping over a balled up pair of sweatpants. Memo to Jake: clean your room. Jake's window overlooked the back yard.

Maria eased the drape away from the window and looked down upon the yard. Nothing by the two-car garage. She spotted the cause of the noise. A man the size of a small boulder trudged across the yard. Blood streaked the side of his face. Maria replaced the drape and backed away from the window.

“Not a sound. They're outside.”

They huddled in the living room, the drapes drawn. She could hear them stomping and muttering to themselves outside. Their shadows danced against the thin drapes. It was only a matter of time before one of them tried to get in the house.

“We got to boogie, my friend,” Maria said.

“Why?”

“They'll find a way in,” Maria said.

“We can go to the basement, lock up,” Jake said.

“We'd be trapped. Listen up. Very quietly, we need to gather some supplies. Clothes. Food. The whole town's not safe.”

“I don't want to leave.”

“We might be back someday,” Maria said. “But not now.”

She watched him, saw the tears form in his eyes. For all his bravado sometimes, he was still a boy. She put her arm around Jake and gave him a squeeze. “Go upstairs and get some clothes in a backpack.”

“Can I bring my guitar?”

“Jake, not now.”

“Please.”

“All right. But make it quick. Go.”

Jake scampered up the stairs. Maria went to her bedroom and packed a bag of clothes and toiletries. Then she went to the kitchen and boxed up dry goods: cereals and granola bars. She took five cans of pork and beans, the can opener, and a flashlight. Then she grabbed a few afghans off the couch and set everything by the front door. The pile of survival goods seemed woefully inadequate.

Jake returned with a backpack slung over one shoulder. He also had the survival knife and baseball bat. They didn't own any guns.

“Didn't bring the guitar?”

“It'll be here when we get back,” Jake said.

“I like the way you think.”

She peered out the front window. The Honda sat bathed in early morning sunlight. The street was empty. They picked up their supplies and Maria opened the door. The chilly air stung her cheeks. When she was sure things were clear, she said: “Okay. Move like your pants are on fire.”

“Really?”

“You haven't seen these things in action,” Maria said.

They reached the Honda. Got the supplies and packs into the back seat. As Maria turned she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned around and saw one of them coming across the lawn. She got a nasty, greasy feeling in her stomach. The zombie was a kid – nine or ten. Not just any kid. It was Dylan, the boy from two doors down. His thick, black hair was matted with blood.

“Jake, hand me the bat.”

She reached her hand out, not taking her eyes off of the dead Dylan. A series of strangled grunts came from the boy. Jake slipped the bat into her hand. It felt oddly disconnected. Gripping the bat with both hands, she said: “Don't look.”

Dylan saw the bat, narrowed his eyes, and charged. Maria planted her feet and swung. The bat connected, sounding like she'd smacked a hollow log. Dylan staggered sideways and fell. She took a deep breath and swung the bat as if splitting wood. It took four blows to finish him off. Dizziness flooded her head and tears stung her eyes. Had it really come to this?

“Mom, you okay?”

“He was just a boy.”

“But he wasn't Dylan anymore. You could see it.”

“Get in the car before more of them show up,” she said, wiping the Louisville Slugger on the grass. “I feel sick.”

Copyright 2012 Anthony Izzo

Quick Updates

A few quick updates as I prepare to take a week off from work for some R&R.  Plague, the second book in the Dead Land Trilogy, is complete. As soon as I design the cover, I'll be ready to upload it.

I've decided to pull my books from Amazon's KDP Select program. The sales bounce from free books has become next to nothing (at least for me), and I fear that readers are loading up Kindles with free titles and not reading them. I know I have several just sitting on my Kindle. I might put some of my older titles in KDP Select at some time, but the new ones will not be entered in the Select program.

I'm anticipating the third Dead Land book to be available in December. Until then, I'm working on another horror novel and a straight-up action thriller under the Jack Vincent pen name. Other than that it's working the full time job and enjoying the beautiful Buffalo summer. Believe it or not, there's no snow here in July.

Two Ways to Immediately Improve Your Fiction

I've been ruminating on some writing advice and thinking of the best advice I could give a beginning fiction writer. Something besides "Show Don't Tell" or "Write What You Know." In reading through some recent samples on Amazon, I've found plenty of good writing, but even good writing isn't enough to hook a reader. So here's two tips that I think will improve your fiction immediately.

1.  Start your story with the moment of change, threat, or crisis. By this, I mean when the characters' lives will be forever changed by a story event. There is no going back. Here's some examples:

In Jaws, Chrissy is attacked by the shark in the first few minutes of the movie. The shark has shown up and things won't be the same for Amity until the beast is killed.

In Super 8, 14-year-old Joe has just lost his mother in an industrial accident. His world has changed forever.

In The Stand, King opens with a man frantically waking his wife. The superflu bug has been released on the military base where he is stationed. The man implores his wife to grab their daughter so they can escape before they're trapped.

In Mystic River, Dennis Lehane's opening chapter depicts Dave's abduction as a young boy, an event that will have consequences in his adult life.

It might be tempting to drop in a truckload of backstory about the character's childhood, past, etc. The first chapter isn't the place for backstory. Think of backstory like spices in cooking. Sprinkle it in here and there throughout the story. A line of dialogue here. A couple sentences there. Dumping it all in at once will ruin your dish. King shows us his characters getting ready to run. He doesn't delve into a long explanation of the superflu or explore the characters' entire history in the first scene. That can come later.


2. Write in immediate scenes

Immediate scenes show us the story as it is unfolding. I tell my writing students to imagine a movie playing in your mind. It's your job to transcribe what you see (and what the characters see, feel, hear, etc.) If you're writing paragraph after paragraph of internal monologue and the character is basically sitting around thinking about things, you're in trouble. Put them in action. Give them a goal to pursue. Show them interacting with other characters.

Don't explain the story, show it to us. For example, here's telling/explaining:

Frank Capretti needed to see Lou Giambra about a turf dispute. Lou's territory was in Brooklyn and lately he'd been trying to expand his drug business into Jersey. Frank wanted to talk to Lou and maybe beat some sense into him. Frank didn't like Lou being on his turf. Jersey belonged to the Capretti family. He would make sure Lou paid. Frank was the toughest guy in the Capretti family. He'd always like busting heads. Once, when he was a kid....


Here's a better way to do it in an immediate scene:

Frank Capretti walked into Mangia, Lou Giambra's sixty-dollar-a-steak restaurant. Through the gloom he saw Giambra sitting at the bar. He was sipping a cocktail, his fat ass spilling over a bar stool. Frank went up to him, tapped him on the shoulder.  Giambra turned around, his face twisted into a frown.

"Need to talk to you," Frank said.

"That's funny, I never seen walking, talking garbage before," Giambra said.

"You and your boys need to stay out of Jersey."

"You own it?"

"It's our turf. You know that."

"What are you going to do? Bust my skull in my own place?"

Frank looked around, hitched his thumbs in his pockets. "Nice place you got here. Be a shame if someone broke in, let loose a couple dozen rats."


Not award-winning material, but you get the idea. By letting action and dialogue carry the scene, we see the story. We see that these guys are enemies and that one of them is willing to stoop pretty low to get what he wants. If I were writing this scene, I'd expand it, ramping up the tension between the two men.

By using these techniques in your fiction, you'll stand a better chance of hooking the reader and keeping them engaged. If you're not already doing it, give it a try. I think you'll like the results.

Six Writing Prompts to Ignite Your Fiction

From time-to-time, I like to post some writing prompts. Do with them what you will.


As he was mowing the lawn, Jerry came upon an enormous hole. It hadn't been there the last time he'd cut grass.

The odd snow continued to fall, black as coal dust.

She saw him across the hotel lobby and knew he was the man she'd marry.

A character comes home to find a sticky note on his/her fridge. It's from a family member and says: Help us. No Police. Call this number.

As the Detective looked down at the corpse he thought: I've never seen that done to a human being before.

She heard the thud. Once. Twice. With a creeping fear in her belly, she was quite certain someone was in the attic.

Straying From the Map

I'm not a fan of writing detailed plot outlines, but I do like to have a list of scenes ready to go when I write. I like to know the ending and approximately how much material I will need to complete the book. I'm currently working on Plague, the second book in the Dead Land Trilogy. As the action is unfolding, I'm finding one of the main characters separated from the group. I didn't plan for this to happen, but I like the possibilities. Can he survive on his own? Will he be reunited with the group? How will it happen?

Don't ever be afraid to take a detour from your outline. It can take your story in new and exciting directions. And if you're surprised and delighted at the turn of events, it's a good bet the reader will be, too.

Building Your Characters (And plot, too)

Whether you're a plotter or pantster, at some point you have to create story people to do all the cool stuff you have planned in your novel. I've created a list of questions to ask yourself when working up characters. You can either do this before writing, or on the fly. I think you'll find it will also generate plot ideas and send your story galloping off in new directions.

Name

Age

Occupation

Physical Characteristics

Manner of Dress

Political Beliefs

Hobbies (Can you make these relevant to the story?)

Childhood (How does this affect the present story?)

Skills/Talents that are relevant to the story

Religious beliefs (Could this possibly create conflicts within the story?)

What's the catalyst that changes the character's life? (Good stories start with a change or on the cusp of one. Put the character in some sort of trouble)

What does the character want more than anything?

Who is opposing the character?

What's the worst thing that could happen to the character right now?

What happened in the character's past that could affect the story?

Do they have any enemies? Why?

What are the character's flaws/weaknesses? How could someone exploit them?

What does the character value more than anything? What if it were taken away? Threatened?

What's the character's story goal? What happens if the character fails? Make the stakes big if they lose (loss of life, a loved one, emotional ruin, destruction of career, etc.)

Can you "interview" your character to learn more about them?

Random Stuff

Plague, Book Two of The Dead Land Trilogy, continues to move along. The zombie virus is spreading and things are starting to break down. Destroying the world is sort of fun. In a fictional sense. I've been getting 1000 words a day, which is a respectable pace. For those of you who don't think you have time to write, 1000 words per day (which should take about an hour) equals at least three novels per year, depending on length.

I have a number of books that I'm currently reading. I tend to switch back and forth between books, eventually finishing all of them.

The Frenzy Way by Gregory Lamberson

Under the Dome by Stephen King

Sick by Brett Battles

Throttle by Joe Hill and Stephen King


On a side note, I've been listening to Hold On by Alabama Shakes quite a bit. If you like Southern Rock, you owe it to yourself to check them out:

The Power of What If

One of the concerns I hear from beginning writers is that they will run out of ideas. When this comes up, I tell them two things:

1. It's pretty much impossible to run out of ideas. Most professional writers have more ideas than they have time to write.

2. Once you get into the daily habit of writing, ideas will start coming at you. In line at the grocery store. In the shower. Your brain will start to make connections and twist things into story ideas. Trust me, it's like opening some weird pipeline to the Muse.

But one tool I like is to ask "What if?" For some reason, going on vacations seems to spur ideas for novels. Perhaps because a new and different setting offers story possibilities. No Escape came about when we were vacationing up in the Thousand Islands. To access the island we stayed on, you had to drive over a dam. I thought: "What if something were keeping us on the island? And we had to fight our way off to survive?" Bam. Story idea. The park we stayed in became the inspiration for the setting. Once I dreamed up a threat to keep the characters on the island, I was off and running.

Let's say you're staying at a hotel. There's nothing good on TV and you don't want to order that type of movie on pay-per-view. The pool water reminds you of a swamp, and the fitness center has nothing more than a Thighmaster and some Richard Simmons exercise videos. Why not write?

Off the top of my head, here are some what ifs:

What if the hotel came under attack by zombies?

What if the hotel owner wouldn't let you leave?

What if one of the rooms was a portal to another world/dimension?

What if a group of escaped convicts used the hotel as a hideout?

What if you discovered a pile of bodies in an abandoned part of the hotel?

What if you woke up and the formerly occupied hotel was now empty?

What if you saw someone dumping a body in the pool?

What if there were a string of murders and the victims were haunting the hotel?


Those are some ideas that come to mind. Because I write horror and thrillers, most of mine have the potential to be that type of story. If you're not inclined toward the gruesome, why not try some others?


What if you fell madly in love with the person in the next room?

What if the owner told you he was leaving you the hotel in his will?

What if you saw a guest who resembled a long-lost family member?


The possibilities are endless. Sometimes it's just a matter of asking questions.

Thought I'd also give a writing update. I'm about twenty-five thousand words into writing Plague, the second book in The Dead Land Trilogy. I'm shooting for a June release. The first book, Infected, is available now for Kindle.

Sketch of The Voodoo Child

I've been playing guitar for around twenty years, and I've recently made an effort to get in more playing time. Between a full-time job, family, and writing, that usually amounts to only 15 minutes a few times a week. I decided to learn Jimi's Voodoo Child. Years ago I learned the wah-soaked intro but never got any farther. So I got the inspiration to sketch the master. When I first started playing, my guitar teacher was trying to show me "Catfish Blues", which Hendrix did on his live Radio One album. My teacher commented "he's such a snake", meaning Hendrix was all over the place and hard to figure out. He meant it as a compliment.

And the master at work:

The Face of Nightmares

I'm posting a sketch I did of Michael Myers. I remember watching the original Halloween as a kid, sneaking peeks at it on HBO as my parents were out in the kitchen. For years after, I had a recurring nightmare where Mr. Myers was chasing me through our town park. At night. I still think it's one of the most frightening images in all of horror. Enjoy. Or flee in terror.

Infected Top 100

Infected has been in the top 100 horror novels on Amazon UK since the weekend. It's the strongest start I've had to a book launch. Just wanted to say thanks to all who have purchased a copy so far. I truly appreciate it.

I'm about 5000 words into writing the next book in the Dead Land Trilogy. Right now our survivors are on the run again. This time from a different foe. Look for it June/July 2012. Thanks for reading!

Infected Now Available

I've thrown my hat into the zombie ring. Infected is now available. If so inclined, you can purchase it here http://amzn.to/GRawxl. This is the description from the Amazon page:

Part one of the terrifying Dead Land Trilogy begins.

It looked like a flu. Until the first patient woke up. Violent. Hungry for flesh and blood.

People in the small town of Anderson are saying the military let loose a bioweapon.

Soon the hospital and town will be overrun with the undead.

Emma Ross is the sheriff in Anderson. She will lead a band of townspeople in a desperate fight to survive against the horde of newly risen that threaten to overtake the town. And spread the Infection.

An action-packed novel from the author of Evil Harvest and The Hollow.

Look for Book Two of The Dead Land Trilogy Summer 2012.


Infected was intended to be a standalone, telling the story of a zombie infestation in a small town. As I neared the end of the book, I felt there was a bigger story to tell. Hence turning it into a trilogy. I'm at work on Book Two right now. Look for June or July release.  If you've picked up a copy of Infected, thanks for reading. 

A Thriller For Free

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

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

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?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"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

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

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)

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

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

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.