"YOU want FREE," sighs THE TURQUOISE WOMAN

For a LIMITED TIME ...

    THE BEAR WITH TWO SHADOWS is FREE!
http://www.amazon.com/BEAR-TWO-SHADOWS-ebook/dp/B004MDLWD0/

In a land just beyond your mirror lies a realm few discover.

It is a magical, dangerous dimension. There lurks your darkest nightmares and your fondest hopes.

And the mysterious Hibbs, the bear with two shadows, who walks in the shadow of the dreaded Turquoise Woman.




You two-leggeds ...

Always you search for that which is FREE.

Do you not know?  Have you not heard?

Your very EXISTENCE was FREE.

Free yet fragile.

Nothing makes you more aware of the fragility

of existence than a son nfinished.

Here is a secret:

We are all songs unfinished.

We start with names. But what illusions are names.

Some call me Turquoise Woman.

Others call me Gaia. I call all of you temporary ...

Some I call cherished.

Others of you are but a fleeting rash upon my surface.

Irritating, viral, and in the end, self-destructive.

Sadly, your race is like a tick that will gorge itself until it bursts.

Bemused, I watch you scurry along my skin, moaning you are bringing an end to me.

I would laugh if it were not so pathetic.

You are merely bringing an end to yourselves.

I count the moments. You make my scalp itch.

You think you know what life is. Sad. Do you know what life is?

A firefly's flicker in the night,

the breath of a buffalo in winter,

a cloud shadow that races across the green grass to lose itself in the blood-red of the sunset.

Do not try to understand me.

I look, not only down upon you,

but out across the vast glittering sea of eternal night.

The colors of my thoughts are the Northern Lights

and the reach of them is from horizon to horizon and unto the vastness of the stars.

The electro-magnetic field of my body gave birth to my consciousness

long before there were human hands to chisel stone into mute, blind idols

or to brush your world in paint upon cave walls.

Your only true contribution to me was your language.

Before you crafted words into being, my consciousness was unfocused.

I listened with wonder as you spoke to one another,

slowly piecing the concept of language together in my thoughts.

Through the prism of your languages, my awareness crystalized.

I became aware.

Now, I know a haunted melancholy. Like a windmill's blades, my thoughts dip into my memories.

In misty after-images, I see your fleeting lives walking soft like prayers across my green fields only to fade into the inflamed oblivion of the sunset.

My son, Elu, will survive.

Hibbs, the bear with two shadows, I have spirited safely away into a sister dimension.

But Samuel, my sad-eyed, adopted son, will soon die I think.

Not at the hands of his life-long enemy, DayStar. But by the two-edged sword of his love for his wife, Meilori.

And that trickster scamp, Victor Standish, he, too, will die. I will miss him, for he, also, will be "consumed" by his love for the unnatural creature called Alice.

You are wondering why I am talking to you?

You are close to my heart as well, for all of you craft with words.

So I have come to say seven words to you:

"Live well. Soon I will miss you."
***
For more of THE TURQUOISE WOMAN:

THE LAST SHAMAN  (Just 99 cents plus audiobook then only $1.99!)
http://www.amazon.com/THE-LAST-SHAMAN-ebook/dp/B00534OEL4/

KINDLE UNLIMITED. WHAT IT MEANS TO YOU

WHAT'S IT ALL ABOUT, ALFIE?

Amazon launched KINDLE UNLIMITED last Friday ...

Where for a fixed fee of $9.99 a month

readers can read as many books as they want from a certain subset of the ebooks sold by Amazon.

It also includes a limited number of audio books from Audible.com.

Here is how the numbers break down:

– 2,769,500+ ebooks in Amazon
– 645,790 books in Kindle Unlimited (about 23%)
– 2,157 audio books (about 0.3% of the Kindle Unlimited Books
– 2,773 books in KU are free (even if the reader isn’t subscribed to Kindle Unlimited)

At $9.99 a month, Kindle Unlimited is the most expensive of the three services.

Scribd is $8.99 and Oyster is $9.95.

The Kindle Unlimited platform will feature such blockbuster titles as

The Harry Potter series, The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings trilogy, the Hunger Games trilogy, Diary of a Wimpy Kid books, and Flash Boys.

Several of these big titles aren’t available on Scribd or Oyster, which have around 400,000 and 500,000 ebooks to choose from, respectively.

BUT HOW DOES THIS AFFECT US AS AUTHORS?

The fee we will get is about $2 when 10% of our book is read.

If your book is in Kindle Direct Select, it is automatically entered into Kindle Unlimited. 

Amazon is allowing you a chance to withdraw your books now.

Amazon is also GIVING A FREE ONE MONTH TRIAL. 


Free.  I would suggest you see what Kindle Unlimited does for you in the next month before you withdraw any books.

Unless you are a best selling Indie author like Hugh Howey, your book must be EXCLUSIVE WITH AMAZON.

It's REAL LIFE folks:

If your books make lots of money for Amazon, you will be accorded special treatment.  Life is what it is.

But protests howled when Kindle Direct Select first came out ...

and then, the Indies discovered that those first who entered, got the best rewards.

I suggest trying Kindle Unlimited as an author.  You can always withdraw.

Check out my books.  Many of them are in KINDLE UNLIMITED.

And for those of you who do not want to spend $10 a month --

FOR A LIMITED TIME --

THE LEGEND OF VICTOR STANDISH
 http://www.amazon.com/LEGEND-VICTOR-STANDISH-Roland-Yeomans-ebook/dp/B005NCUTAG/

and

RITES OF PASSAGE
http://www.amazon.com/RITES-PASSAGE-Roland-Yeomans-ebook/dp/B004XQVPYM/

ARE FREE!

CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS!

Harper Voyager Announces Global Digital Publishing Opportunity!

Keen to become a Harper Voyager author?

 Here’s your chance to join the imprint that publishes some of the biggest names in fantastic fiction—

George R. R. Martin, Kim Harrison, Raymond E. Feist, Robin Hobb, Richard Kadrey, Sara Douglass, Peter V. Brett and Kylie Chan—to name but a few.

For the first time in over a decade,

 Harper Voyager is opening the doors to unsolicited submissions in order to seek new authors with fresh voices, strong storytelling abilities, original ideas and compelling storylines.

So, if you believe your manuscript has these qualities, then Harper Collins wants to read it!

http://harpervoyagerbooks.com/2012/09/12/call-for-submissions-harper-voyager-announces-global-digital-publishing-opportunity-2/

The submission portal, www.harpervoyagersubmissions.com , will be open from the 1^st to the 14^th of October 2012.

The manuscripts will then be read and those most suited to the global Harper Voyager list will be selected jointly by editors in the USA, UK and Australia.

Accepted submissions will benefit from the full publishing process:

accepted manuscripts will be edited; and the finished titles will receive online marketing and sales support in World English markets.

Yes, they will consider work that has been previously published

 if the author has retained full volume rights or had full volume rights revert to them. Please provide the publication details.

Voyager will be seeking an array of adult and young adult speculative fiction for digital publication,

but particularly novels written in the epic fantasy, science fiction, urban fantasy, horror, dystopia and supernatural genres.

Submission guidelines and key information can be found at www.harpervoyagersubmissions.com.

YOU DO NOT KNOW THE DARK_Friday's Romantic Challenge

It is Friday's Romantic Challenge again.

Its prompt: Romantic Picnic.
http://romanticfridaywriters.blogspot.com/

My entry: YOU DO NOT KNOW THE DARK!

Yes, a midnight picnic in a cemetery. Hey this is me we're talking about.

Let us join Victor Standish and his ghoul friend, Alice Wentworth,

having a midnight picnic beside the crypt of Marie Laveau:

{"I shall tell you a great secret: do not wait for the Last Judgement; it takes place every day." Albert Camus}


“You do not know the dark, Victor.”

Alice’s eyes were blue fire, her translucent skin spun moonbeams, her teeth sharper than regrets.

I flicked my eyes over this midnight graveyard as empty now as it usually was in the light. Adults these days shed all their yesterdays.

Guess because when the future turned out to be a cruel place, no proof of a better past would exist. And the loss would be survivable. I smiled bitter. I knew all about lying to yourself.

I forced a laugh, “Say again? I’ve lived years on the streets. I know the night all right.”

Alice gestured at the cemetery all about us. “You know city darkness … which is never fully black.”

She shivered. “There is power in the night, terror in the darkness. Here there are … things that do not believe in wrong or right … only prey and hunger.”

I gestured to the small basket in front of her on the sheet spread on the grass. “Speaking of hunger, I got you finger sandwiches.”

“What?” murmured Alice in her odd British accent.

“You know that child molester who got off on a technicality today?”

“Yes?”

“Well, let’s just say that he’ll never play the piano again.”

Alice’s strange eyes hollowed. “Y-You?”

I shook my head. “Elu … which is where the rest of the pervert went. Elu gets hungry, too.”

Alice sighed, “Is he going to attend this ill-advised picnic as well?”

I faked hurt. “Ill-advised? This is romantic with a capitol R. We first met in this cemetery, remember? Right here. In front of Marie Laveau’s crypt.”

“That night almost killed you, Victor! There are no thresholds in a graveyard! Nowhere for you to run to safety. Oh, no!”

I turned around to follow her horrified look. Marie Laveau flowed across the withered grass towards us.

Her face was glowing like an instrument of dark grace. She never died, never used her crypt. Guess she just thought we lowered property values.

I gestured to our right. “The addiction counseling center is that way, Fright Face.”

Marie husked, “You always a smartass, boy?”

I shook my head. “No. Sometimes I sleep.”

Alice whimpered as she looked to our left. The shade of her insane mother rose like mist from Hell's open gate from the center of a ring of black mushrooms.

“No, not Mother. Not her!”

Alice’s mother smiled a thing of nightmares. “I shall show you both pain like you never imagined.”

As if. There were more flavors of pain than lies in a politician’s head. In my life, I swallowed most of them. It was part of the deep music, the big game.

I took Alice’s trembling fingers. “Everything important that will ever happen to you will involve pain. Like getting rid of in-laws and pesky neighbors.”

Marie laughed, “You be a fool!”

I shook my head. “I be Death’s son. And her I did invite to the picnic.”

Mother, in her traditional black robes, billowed behind Alice’s mother. The wraith blurred into smoke. Mother inhaled sharply, making a face as she consumed the essence of Alice's mother.

“Tasted bad as I knew she would.”

Marie Laveau backed up, her palm held out uselessly. “The Gray Man say I can’t be dying!”

I turned to Alice. “Evil isn’t the real threat to the world. Stupid is. And it’s more common.”

Mother flowed to Marie faster than I could blink. She wrapped a sinewy arm around the voodoo queen. “Death is a door one person wide. Let me show you what’s on the other side, waiting.”

Then, faster than fingers become fists, the two of them were gone.

Alice turned to me. “You planned this?”

“Ah, planned might be too detailed a term to use. I just thought if I made us big enough targets, those two would stop hiding in the wings.”

I winked at her. "Now, we can get back to our romantic picnic."

Alice gasped, “And if your mother had decided to let us picnic alone?”

I made an uneasy face. “It’s not good to hold on too hard to what-if’s. You’ll get muscle cramps.”

She lunged for me. “I will show you cramps!”

I sprang up, racing between crypts and tombstones as she flowed after me. “Your finger sandwiches will get cold!”

As we darted between mausoleums, Alice smiled wide. “Your fingers look warm to me!”

I sighed. Victor Standish, saving the world one stupid suicidal stunt at a time.

THE NIGHT OF THE LIVING UNREAD ... and THE SECRET!

Business is business.

A market starts, and barriers to entry are low.

There’s things like quality and consistency of product,

so that the early products are often of poor quality and have limited distribution.

Usually but not always. But the early entrants aren’t the companies who win through.

Then, there's Amazon. eBooks have been the making of Amazon.

A few years ago, Amazon was making a loss on the book side and accounting for 4% of the market.

With their aggressive promotion and bold introduction of the Kindle, they’ve claimed a big portion of the distribution market.

Which means exactly what for us? To me?

You say I can do little to change how things go.

Some believe I can just wave and feebly mention that I’m still here. As the market grows, my voice becomes feebler. All I can do, many sigh, is keep writing the stories I love and hope that someone else loves them, too.

But are they right?

THERE IS THE SECRET that says NO. Read on to discover it.

{Oh, interesting side-note:
Did you know that Amazon can remotely delete purchased e-books through a back door, much the way it did in 2009 on "thousands of copies of George Orwell's 1984? Big Brother indeed!}

THE SECRET!

Do you know how Robert Bindinotto managed to write and publish a debut novel that, without backing by a traditional publisher and with zero paid advertising, went on to become a Kindle bestseller?

Get out your highlighter to copy this secret.

Prepare yourself. Wait for it.

The short, unsatisfying answer:

HUNTER caught the eyes of the Amazon Kindle editors, who (bless their little hearts if they do this for me) singled out his book for one week-long focused attention and promotion on the Amazon website.

You go: "Duh! Well, sure! My book would soar if they did that for me!!!!"

Better question:

Why did they single out HUNTER from over a million items in the Kindle Store? Did Mr. Bidinotto do anything that made a difference?

Nobody from Amazon ever confided in him. But Robert (I can call you, Robert, can't I?) has a few guesses:

1. CARVE OUT A DISTINCTIVE NICHE.

To succeed in being noticed in an overcrowded marketplace, you must distinguish yourself and especially your product.

If all authors are blogging, tweeting, Facebooking, interviewing, pricing at 99 cents, etc., then there is nothing in that which makes the individual author or his book stand out.

Likewise, if you are writing the umpteenth rendition of the same kind of protagonist in the same kind of story, aping other successful writers who pioneered that same sort of character or plotline, etc., you are not standing out from the pack.

John Locke stood out by being the first with 99-cent ebooks, and he did sensationally well. But now, a zillion indies have mindlessly copied him, and as a result, 99-cent pricing no longer stands out or moves ebooks.

In fact, it screams “SELF-PUBLISHED!” to readers who have grown leery of quickie, low-quality, self-published titles.

Similarly, Amanda Hocking triumphed by being one of the first indies to develop a big social-media following for her books via Facebooking and Tweeting. Now, everyone is doing it—and again, nobody stands out as she did.

To stand out in marketing, you must be first to do something new and different. You must pioneer something.

It can be a new twist on an old formula, but it must be sufficient to create a kind of “niche monopoly.” Clancy invented the “technothriller,” a thriller subgenre. Rowling pioneered a parallel race/universe featuring young wizards.

Everyone knows the Western is dead:

So I have created an undead Paladin (HAVE GUN WILL TRAVEL) in the haunted New Orleans of the present.

{Speaking of unique, Originally, each show of HAVE GUN WILL TRAVEL opened with exactly the same 45-second visual.

The first season's Christmas episode, "The Hanging Cross," is unique.

Instead of drawing the revolver, Paladin unbuckles the belt and removes the entire rig, holding it out to the camera as he talks.

The camera then tilts upward, revealing Richard Boone himself speaking to camera, then hanging the belt, holster, and gun on a wall peg and walking away as the theme picks up and the title graphics appear.}

Vampires have been so overdone that they are crisp and black! So I have a flesh-eating Victorian ghoul as the love interest of my young street Gypsy, Victor Standish.

And see how my name is a household word? Ah, not so much, huh? Hey, it was just a guess on Robert's part!

2. THINK LIKE A READER.

Kerry Wilkinson, a self-publishing phenom who is currently #1 on Kindle in the UK, wrote that he put himself in the reader’s shoes.

So, if you were a reader in your genre, what would engage you?

Apply that consideration to everything you do–from writing, to cover, to formatting, to pricing, to marketing, to websites, to blogging, etc.

Also ask yourself:

Who are the readers for my kind of story? Where do they hang out? How can I reach them? What would catch their interest? If you answer those questions before you hit the “publish” button, you’re many times more likely to be successful.

3. CRAFTSMANSHIP COUNTS: NOTHING TRUMPS A GOOD STORY.

Authors should spend well over 90 percent of their time and effort not on marketing, but on crafting the best stories they can possibly write.

A great story can sometimes succeed without marketing fanfare; but no marketing fanfare can long sustain a poor story.

Catchy covers and pricing gimmicks may win attention for a book, but if that initial attention isn’t eventually affirmed by a positive and enduring reader response, long-term sales will be mediocre at best.

4. PROFESSIONAL PRESENTATION COUNTS.

When publishing, an indie author must pay attention to all the “little things” that lend an air of competence and professionalism to his book(s).

Covers, design, formatting, logos, your author blog or website–all of these things must exude a quality equal to anything issued or overseen by Random House or Simon & Schuster.

And no, you do not have to break the bank to obtain that kind of quality. Robert was able to do it all for about $1000.

{For more of his excellent guesses read:
http://www.bidinotto.com/2012/02/how-to-succeed-as-a-self-published-author/ }

{If you are interested in Victor or Samuel, read and see the new, improved product page: http://www.amazon.com/THE-LEGEND-VICTOR-STANDISH-ebook/dp/B005NCUTAG }

ALICE WENTWORTH'S song as she met VICTOR STANDISH at midnight by the crypt of Marie Laveau done by THEA GILMORE:

SAMPLE SUNDAY: THREE SPIRIT KNIGHT

Being but a novice to Twitter, I have just discovered #SampleSunday.

Yesterday, I advised you, my friends, to take advantage of it. So here I am leading by example.

Some of you have inquired about the next chapter in the legend of Victor Standish, THREE SPIRIT KNIGHT.

Here is the introduction by none other than the ghost of George Bernard Shaw:

INTRODUCTION
By George Bernard Shaw, ghost.

I hasten to protest at the outset that I have only a modest personal knowledge of the incorrigible scamp who wrote this amazing book. I do know him well enough however to make the following statement.

If he is to be encouraged and approved, then British morality is a mockery, British respectability an imposture, and British industry a vice. Perhaps they are: I have always kept an open mind on the subject.

Life isn't about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself, something young Standish excels at. So much so that he created his own last name in fact.

A life spent making mistakes is not only more honorable, but more useful than a life spent doing nothing. In this respect, Victor Standish is the most honorable gypsy I have ever met.

What was it he once told me? Oh, yes. “If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton, you might as well make it dance.”

Standish executes the dance between love and death better than any I have ever met. I admit to being somewhat of a cynic when it comes to love.

When two people are under the influence of the most violent, most insane, most delusive, and most transient of passions, they are required to swear that they will remain in that excited, abnormal, and exhausting condition continuously until death do them part.

Astoundingly, Victor Standish and his ghastly fiancée, Alice Wentworth, seem to be able to sustain that formerly transient passion … past death itself. Or should I say herself, for the Angel of Death is young Standish’s mother.

A fact which might help explain it all. Though I fear the Pope would be scandalized at these words … for which I again quote young Standish:

“Why should we take advice on sex from the pope? If he knows anything about it, he shouldn't!”

You use a glass mirror to see your face; you use works of art to see your soul. I say that to warn you that this narrative is, indeed, a work of art, rough, but art, nonetheless.

What you find in it will reveal your soul not young Standish’s.

As for that scamp …

People are always blaming their circumstances for what they are. I don't believe in circumstances. The people who get on in this world are the people who get up and look for the circumstances they want, and if they can't find them, make them.

Such was, and is, the case of the legend of Victor Standish.

CHAPTER ONE
TIME TRAVEL ISN’T WHAT IT USED TO BE.

“After all, the wrong road always leads somewhere.”
- Victor Standish.
***
If any of you are curious about Victor Standish now, start with his first humble narration, THE LEGEND OF VICTOR STANDISH:

http://www.amazon.com/THE-LEGEND-VICTOR-STANDISH-ebook/dp/B005NCUTAG

eBAY has been INVADED! By VICTOR STANDISH

Alice Wentworth sat silently down beside me at my table at Meilori's.

"I am somewhat perturbed with you, Roland," she murmured in her proper Victorian accent.

Now when a ghoul, proper or not, says she is perturbed with you that is not good news!

"What do you mean?" I said out of a suddenly tight throat.

Victor sat down beside her with a lazy grin. "She saw your ads on eBAY selling our images on a poster, a coffee mug, and a T-shirt."

http://www.ebay.com/itm/290746456435?ssPageName=STRK:MESELX:IT&_trksid=p3984.m1555.l2649

http://www.ebay.com/itm/290746458227?ssPageName=STRK:MESELX:IT&_trksid=p3984.m1555.l2649

http://www.ebay.com/itm/290746459635?ssPageName=STRK:MESELX:IT&_trksid=p3984.m1555.l2649


Alice's voice grew lower. "You are making money off my image."

I shook my head. "I will take whatever extra I make from them than the cost of their production and donate it to the Salvation Army in New Orleans."

Her eyes widened and Victor beamed a smile. "See? I told you so. Our Roland is one of a kind!"

I patted her cold, cold hand. "I make my living from being a rare blood courier, Alice. This is just my way to get you two to a larger audience of potential readers."

Alice bent over the table and kissed me full on the lips. Now, it was Victor who was glowering at me. Sigh.

I can't win.

E is for ELU__Names Are Dangerous Things

The Native American shamans will tell you that there is power in the use of names --

and death if you use the wrong ones.

Laughing Wolf, a cyber friend, asked what Elu meant.

He told me that in Estonian it means life. I hadn't known that. I did know that in several Native American languages it means "full of grace."

But Elu is only half-Apache {a name meaning 'enemy'}. His mother is the Turquoise Woman, who was called Gaia by the ancient Greeks.

So I was very careful in selecting the name Elu, for there is more to him than even Samuel knows.

Elu in ancient Chaldean encompasses in its Semitic essence, the concept of surpassing might, immense power, and unlimited strength. There is more to Elu than what his surface would suggest.

Here is Victor Standish's first meeting with Elu:

I glanced at the reflection in the store window beside my new friend. I went a little cold. A tall Indian dressed in buckskins was reflected, not Captain Sam. His dried-apricot face looked my way. I tried to swallow and couldn't.

There was fresh war paint on the Indian's face. He shook his head in silent reproach. Lightning split the angry skies above me. Did he cause that?

In a voice of distant thunder , Sam said, "Elu's not happy about this, partner."

“W-Who’s Elu?”

“My Apache blood brother. Because of me he’s trapped in the Mirror World.”

“The what?”

Sam didn’t get a chance to answer because the ghost reflection of Elu grunted, “Not your fault. Our fault. But this boy’s death will be your fault if you bring him into the Crossroads of Worlds.”

“The what?,” I frowned.

“Meilori’s,” the two of them said together like two old friends who’ve traveled so long side by side that they think and talk alike.

“Don’t be mad at him, E-Elu. Captain Sam thinks I need to go there to live.”

The Apache glared at me. "Boy, you need to breathe, eat, and sleep. The rest is negotiable."

“The name’s Victor Standish, sir. I used your right name. Use mine.”

He pursed his lips like an old woman and disappeared in billowing mists. Sam shook his head.

“Elu’s a mite touchy, son. Best to walk light around him.”

I grunted, “We were never going to be best buds, sir."
***

B is for BYRON, Ada Byron_Death Wears 3 Faces

A LOOK AT THE WORLD OF VICTOR STANDISH

THROUGH THE EYES OF ONE HE CARES ABOUT :

{In the mythos of THE LEGEND OF VICTOR STANDISH,

Abigail Adams controls the shadow confederacy of American revenants (think vampires on steroids.)

She hates Samuel McCord, for she believes he robbed her of her husband. A promise to her dead husband prevents her from taking direct action against McCord.

But to hurt a long-time friend like Ada Byron, daughter of Lord Byron, would bring her much delight.

Sister Magda's only allegiance is to her former husband Father Renfield.

All others must tread warily around this gypsy who is rumored to be the thief who stole the fourth nail from that infamous centurion two thousand years ago.}:


I am Ada Byron. I have died and willed myself back to a semblance of life. On this fine New Orleans morning, I may well die again :

I smiled demurely over my dining table at my two uninvited guests. I will not die alone.

Abigail Adams sipped her tea cup of O Negative blood and smiled with red-stained teeth. "This need not end badly, Lady Lovelace."

To my right, Sister Magda spoke softly, "This need not have started at all, Madame President."

There was a soulless giggle from the foyer door. We turned. I sighed. Things had gotten ... interesting. The ghoul, Alice Wentworth, looked at us with blue-fire eyes.

"President," Alice sneered. "Empress is the true title. Empress of the American Revenant Empire."

Eyes which had looked calmly at men being sucked dry of their blood by cold, efficient machines narrowed. "I preside over America Corps, ghoul."

The window suddenly raised from the outside, and the scamp, who had won my and Alice's heart, climbed into the room.

And Victor Standish, the thirteen year old Ulysses, laughed that reckless, gypsy laugh of his.

"That's Miss Ghoul to you. And don't be silly. Call it whatever you want, but if it goose-steps and Sieg Heil's, it's a Nazi."

Alice flowed to his side, clutching his right arm. "Oh, Victor, you shouldn't be here. Adams wants you dead."

He patted her hand lightly. "No. She wants Captain Sam hurt. And you know me, Alice. I always have a plan."

Abigail studied him with slit eyes. "So this is the infamous Victor Standish."

I fought a smile as Victor bowed with a mocking flourish. "At your disservice, your majesty."

Sister Magda growled, "You mentioned a plan."

Victor placed a not-so-humble hand on his chest. "Not my plan. DayStar's, whoever the hell he is."

Sister Magda husked, "Apt way of putting it."

I had never seen Abigail frightened before. It suited her. She swallowed hard.

"What do you mean, boy?"

Jerking a bold thumb his way, Victor said, "Me, being me, I've just found out that this DayStar is in the midst of planning something final for Captain Sam."

Sister Magda shook her head in disbelief. "And this saves you from Abigail just how?"

I whispered, "What she said."

Victor walked up to Abigail. "By all means, kill me."

Alice trilled, "Are you insane?"

Victor leaned forward, hugging a stiffening Abigail around her rigid shoulders. "Kill me, and, of course, you throw Captain Sam off his game."

She glared at him. "You call this a plan to save your life?"

"But you also take the thrill from this DayStar when he defeats Captain Sam because he really didn't do it all on his own."

Victor winked at her suddenly hollow eyes. "Imagine how pleased he'll be with you."

Abigail's eyes became windows into Hell. "You think yourself clever but are not. I will not move against you nor Samuel McCord."

She leaned forward. "Death wears three faces, Standish. Bad, worse, and worst. You have chosen the third."

Though it was summer I shivered.
***
More on the woman who wrote the first computer program a 100 years before the invention of the computer :

A is for ALICE_What is dead?

Alice here.

Am I dead?

Many of you have asked that of Roland. Am I?

Ghoul they call me. Am I?

I eat the living. But then so do many of you ...

and for far less pressing reasons :

for spite, for envy, for the sheer pleasure of it.

I was born after Princess Victoria and before grown men started wearing ear-rings.

In New Orleans, I was betrayed into a living death by Mother, jealous of my step-father's attention.

I had the cold comfort of watching her beauty wither, her loves leave her,

starting with my step-father ... who had only pretended affection for the two of us.

I gave her revenge,

and the only price was her sanity.

Watching the monster you made of your own daughter eat your beloved right in front of you

will tend to make your mind become just like your heart ... empty.

So what am I to do with Victor Standish?

I am an old woman in a girl's body. He is an old soul in a boy's frame. Hemingway once told me that it can never end well when two love one another.

And I find myself falling in love with Victor. Is what I see growing in his eyes love for me? I will destroy him I know.

I even forced myself to tell him so. And do you know what he did?

He laughed that gypsy laugh of his, kissing me on the cheek.

"Oh, silly rabbit," he said. "Captain Sam's enemies are gonna kill me long before that! Let's just enjoy it while we've got it."

"It what?," I whispered.

"Us," he whispered back, and this time he kissed me full on my cold, cold lips.

And he didn't flinch. Not even a little.
***

LOVE IS NOT BLIND, RATHER IT SEES WHAT OTHERS CANNOT_Friday's Romantic Challenge

Denise Covey and Francine Howarth

have given us the challenge to write a flash fiction based on I LOVE YOU BECAUSE ...

http://romanticfridaywriters.blogspot.com/

The post must be under 400 words and contain the title within the post.

{My entry is 390 words and comes from THE LEGEND OF VICTOR STANDISH,

detailing Victor's first meeting with the ghoul, Alice Wentworth, by the crypt of Marie Laveau at midnight.)

Alice murmured, “How did you read my thoughts, meal-about-to-be.”

“It must be some voodoo magic still clinging to Marie Laveau’s crypt.”

She took a step back. “How is that possible?”

I hitched myself up on a marble slab. “Pull up a seat. Maybe I can have you hear my thoughts.”

She sat beside me. I reached out and gently took her left hand and concentrated.

I stiffened as the swirling sea of her loneliness, her joy at being in touch with another hurt spirit swept me up.

I drew her into me, into my memories of burnt out ends of smoky days laced with violence, with the withered leaves of a thousand misunderstandings, and with the gropings of my heart to the uncaring hearts of others.

The autumn world of my days on the streets came rising up over the dark horizon of my loneliness. Lost friends, mocking enemies, the haunted eyes of Mother.

The yellowed papers of recollection curled up around us from Detroit, to Cleveland, to that strange bus ride to New Orleans.

The light of hope shot through the shutters of fear as images of me wandering lost through the madness that was Meilori’s. My losing everything as I decided that for Captain Sam to live I had to die.

The cry of Alice’s heart calling out to me as she struggled to escape her own private hell. Her spooky entrance into my life. My own loneliness reaching out to hers.

The circle completing its circuit. Resurfacing from the waters of our shared spirits. Our fingers parting. Her pale face looking at me haunted.

Alice was shivering. My head was spinning. Something was wrong with my heart.

It wasn’t empty anymore.

What had I done to me?

Maybe you couldn’t see, really see, into someone without it changing you. And you couldn’t show them the you that you really were without the two of you never being the same anymore.

I looked into her strange eyes. My heart skipped a beat. Her eyelids lowered. Her hand softened around mine.

A wild thought came to me.

I brought her cold hand up to my lips and kissed it.

Alice’s lower lip trembled. “How could you?”

“C-Could I what?”

“Turn out so special?”

Black tears welled in her eyes. “Love is not blind, Victor, rather it sees what others cannot.”
***

SUPPORT YOUR INDIE AUTHORS! Indie Author Tag Blogfest!

http://tgunwriter.blogspot.com/

Francine Howarth has a great idea :

This blogfest is just a simple fun game of playing tag on Amazon to up your profile and that of your book's.

For me : THE LEGEND OF VICTOR STANDISH :

http://www.amazon.com/LEGEND-VICTOR-STANDISH-ebook/dp/B005NCUTAG/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1328245906&sr=1-1

{100% of this book's royalties go to The Salvation Army.}

You'll not only meet other Indie authors along the way, ones you've probably never met before, you can guarantee readers and writers who are on the cusp of going Indie will all be watching from the sidelines and taking note of books that catch their eye and its link!

So what do you have to do?

The Rules!? I hate that word and prefer "Criteria required" for entry to the tag-party:

My own idea : hit the LIKE button on the book page of all the Indie authors involved in the tag blogfest -- sort of like patting their back!

First off: how tagging works

a) be prepared to tag all those who join the tag-party = fair play
b) basically follow tag-players’ links to Amazon
c) scroll to tag and add appropriate tags

Secondly what to do on your own blog:
d) post details of your Amazon link to your blog on 4-5th Feb.
e) copy-paste the banner (from her sidebar) to your blog's sidebar

In New Orleans, we have what is called LAGNIAPPE :
a small gift given with a purchase to a customer, by way of compliment or for good measure; a bonus.

You need read no further. But here is my Lagniappe, courtesty of the Victorian ghoul, Alice Wentworth, who would like to speak to you :

WHAT IS DEAD?

Am I dead?

Many of you have asked that about me of Roland. Am I?

Ghoul they call me. Am I?

I eat the living. But then so do many of you ...

and for far less pressing reasons :

for spite, for envy, for the sheer pleasure of it.

I was born after Princess Victoria and before grown men started wearing ear-rings.

In New Orleans, I was betrayed into a living death by Mother, jealous of my step-father's attention.

I had the cold comfort of watching her beauty wither, her loves leave her,

starting with my step-father ... who had only pretended affection for the two of us.

I gave her revenge,

and the only price was her sanity.

Watching the monster you made of your own daughter eat your beloved right in front of you

will tend to make your mind become just like your heart ... empty.

So what am I to do with Victor Standish?

I am an old woman in a girl's body. He is an old soul in a boy's frame. Hemingway once told me that it can never end well when two love one another.

And I find myself falling in love with Victor. Is what I see growing in his eyes love for me? I will destroy him I know. I feel it deep in my dry bones.

I even forced myself to tell him so. And do you know what he did?

He laughed that gypsy laugh of his, kissing me on the cheek.

"Oh, silly rabbit," he said. "Captain Sam's enemies are gonna kill me long before that! Let's just enjoy it while we've got it."

"It what?," I whispered.

"Us," he whispered back, and this time he kissed me full on my cold, cold lips.

And he didn't flinch. Not even a little.
***

DO YOU KNOW YOUR HERO?

Under what conditions does a person continue to be a person?

Under what conditions does he or she stop being a person?

As a young man, Hitler dreamed of being an artist.

There are private collections of his artwork kept all across the world by different individuals ...

for whatever reasons prompt such people to collect those paintings.

Do they look at those works of art, trying to picture the mind of the man who put brush to canvas? To see if they can spot any indication of the monster he later became?

Rene Descares maxim : I think therefore I am.

Does what we think determine the person who we are? Do our actions dictate that? Or is it a meld of the two?

A zombie. Could we call that a person? It is hunger with a mouth and two legs (usually).

Yet, haven't you met people consumed by the hunger for fame, wealth, social status to the extent that they will sacrifice their wives, their children, their health to obtain them?

Do they quality as a type of zombie, emotional hunger driven with little thought for others?

What tells you more about a person? The way his body works or how his mind works?

I would suggest that language is where our being lives. There is the language of words, but there is also the language of action.

I say "I love you" but I forget your birthday, I humiliate you in public, and slap you in private. The language of action is more persuasive than that of words.

Novels are the only medium that portray the mind well.

Only novels expose the secret life of character.

Do you know your hero/heroine well enough to portray his/her character with a few deft eye lifts or sighs or the finality of a signing of a divorce decree?

The best novels show a mind in conflict with itself, dark urges contesting over the feeble protests of decent urges.

You, as a reader, will find the deepest connection with the character when his or her deepest thoughts are explored.

But they must resonate with truth -- the truth of what it means to be human. What are your character's deepest thoughts?

They will be about his worries, fears, and hopes.

If you can write a short , genuine-feeling paragraph of the worries, fears, and hopes of each of your characters,

they will come across as real in your novel.

And those paragraphs will help give you a sense of self for each character -- and how each one of those characters interact, mesh, or strike sparks off the others in your novel.

How do you write a genuine summation of your character's worries, fears, and hopes?

Once in New York City, a rat was filmed by a news crew caught in the middle of a busy street. It tried to dart from one side to the other, only to nearly be run over.

As by-standers watched, again and again, it frantically scrambled to the safety of the curb, only to miss death by millimeters.

Finally a whizzing tire caught the rat, sending it spinning and tumbling.

It stayed in one spot cowering.

A man with folded newspaper in hand ran from the sidewalk, scooped up the fearful rat, and tumbled it into the dark safety of the sewer grate.

The man smiled big, got on his bike, taking off. The camera crew called after him. "Why did you do that?"

He smiled embarrassed. "I've been scared like that, too."

If you can get your reader to think "I've felt like that, too," your character's worries, fears, and hopes will feel real to him and her.

Hope this helps your writing in some small way, Roland
***
Jessica Bell's STRING BRIDGE just hit #1 in Modern Contemporary Fiction! Whoot!

Oh, both VICTOR STANDISH urban fantasies are gaining momentum, too. Good to see. Thanks to all of you for buying. All royalites go to the Salvation Army still. :-)
***

ANN BEST and ANGELA BROWN_ My heroes!

ANN BEST of ANN CARBINE'S BEST BLOG :

http://annbestblog.wordpress.com/2012/01/11/getting-back-to-blogging-and-promoting-bloggers-books-applause-for-roland-yeomans/#comment-1133

has done a lyrical "non-review" review of THE LEGEND OF VICTOR STANDISH. Her words leave me stunned with their grasp of my world.

I tried to layer Victor's perceptions of his world in layers that repeated readings would bring new enjoyment and new revelations. I tried to reach out and touch the reader's heart and bring my heroes to life.

Ann's words let me know I succeeded with her. As writers you know how deeply grateful that makes us when it happens.

Especially so since Ann's world is crowded with demands and writing dreams of her own. Please visit her post and tell her thanks for me!!

We, as struggling writers, all stagger sometimes under the loads of life. Please give her a pat on the back and words of supportive encouragement.

ANGELA BROWN of

IN A PURSUIT OF PUBLISHNESS

http://publishness.blogspot.com/

has taken time out of her own struggles to find realization of her dreams of becoming published -- which includes writing, editing, queries, and enduring the rejections that seem to be like cuts of a razor

to write a spotlight of bashful moi and my latest mythic fantasy, LAST EXIT TO BABYLON.

She even mentions this blog and posts my book trailer for the trilogy that leads up to LAST EXIT TO BABYLON : the LOVE LIKE DEATH trilogy!

After a long night of driving 500 miles through blinding rains interspersed with dense fog that frankly terrified me, this day has been a truly needed balm!

Thank you, special ladies -- ANN BEST and ANGELA BROWN!

You're my heroes, Roland

CAN LOVE KILL?

Can love kill?

Yes ...

if you happen to love a ghoul who hungers for your flesh only slightly less than she does your heart.

Yet to the street orphan, Victor Standish, who has repeatedly risked his life for food and shelter,

to chance death for the love he has never had

(even if for only one magical French Quarter night)

is worth dying in the morning.

And we, who throw our lives away for much less, can we fault him?

Buy THE LEGEND OF VICTOR STANDISH and WRITE A REVIEW

http://www.amazon.com/LEGEND-VICTOR-STANDISH-ebook/dp/B005NCUTAG/ref=pd_rhf_dp_p_t_1

(where 100% of the profits go to the SALVATION ARMY)

and get FIVE entries to my contest where you could win

1.) A KINDLE FIRE

2.) AUTOGRAPHS OF

JK ROWLING, STEPHEN KING, CHARLES SCHULZ (2 of these being offered) ANGELINA JOLIE

3.) AUTOGRAPHED MOVIE POSTERS OF

AVATAR, BATMAN BEGINS, THE BOURNE IDENTITY, THE COLOR PURPLE, FROM DUSK TO DAWN,

HARRY POTTER & THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX, THE ROCK (and many others.)
***

LET'S HAVE SOME FUN!

YOU CAN WIN A KINDLE FIRE IN MY CONTEST!

The drawing for that will be held when my AMAZON SALES RANKING for THE LEGEND OF VICTOR STANDISH or UNDER A VOODOO MOON reaches #100.

But until then LET'S HAVE SOME FUN!!

When the number of positive reviews for either THE LEGEND OF VICTOR STANDISH or UNDER A VOODOO MOON reaches 16,

I will have a separate drawing for

THE CLINT EASTWOOD AUTOGRAPHED movie program (given only to the press) for

FLAGS OF OUR FATHERS!

Aren't those great odds? 1 out of 16 people will be sure to win the CLINT EASTWOOD AUTOGRAPH!

It gets better :

Through December, THE SALVATION ARMY gets 100% of the profits for both books!

So not only do you have a great chance to win a valuable autograph

BUT YOU ARE ALSO CONTRIBUTING TO A GREAT ORGANIZATION!

What do I get out of it?

This holiday season people will be giving thousands of the 3 affordable Kindles, including the Kindle Fire.

People will want content to read on their new devises.

The favorite authors will be gobbled up first. But at $14.99 each, 3 of those Kindle books will amount to $45!

They will be hungry for more. But at a more affordable cost. If they hear of me,

look up my Victor books and see 20 positive reviews each, they will think : "Hey, why not give Victor Standish a try?"

If they like his world, they may realize they could buy all four Sam McCord (who is Victor's mentor) books for under $10!!
***

THE RULE OF 3 FINALE_OLD TOMORROWS

All the characters in my BOOK FAIR NOVEL of yesterday

are in this haunting finale so if you guys are back, you might want to read this as well.


THE RULE OF THREE BLOGFEST :
http://jc-martin.com/fighterwriter/2011/10/ren3-final-round-prompts/

reaches its eerie climax NOW!


OLD TOMORROWS :


I am Meilori Shinseen.

Time holds me prisoner. A frozen bubble of it. Maija, my sister, used my concern for her to capture me. I was taken in by her lie that she was in danger.

Awareness is seldom mine. Only when my Samuel leaves Time’s boundaries, as with his excursion here to Renaissance, does my link to my mate lift the gauze of oblivion.

Maija stands gloating, knowing the mayor’s fate will be a mystery for generations. Her cheeks blush with the blood of queens and kings. Was my face ever a’glow with cruelty’s bliss as hers now?

Memories of pleasantries with Caligula, screams of sacrifices on Aztec altars, and of the perfume of a death lotus gorging on a slave in Babylon’s Gardens warn me to withhold judgment for myself.

Maija’s whole body quivers. She is planning something. She never learns. All her days will be old tomorrows where she endlessly grasps for that which cannot be captured only given freely.

Samuel fills my world. Those eyes deep with sad wisdom. He cocks his head, looking at his companions. Seeing him thus, I feel as if my heart will burst.

When he smiles, I decide I would not mind it bursting if only he would turn and smile at me one last time.

Samuel smiles only at Alice Wentworth, who has bloomed like a watered desert rose since last I saw her. Victor Standish is clearly the reason. Victor laughs.

“Captain Sam, you were right. If we hadn’t come, Maija would’ve bought the mayor’s lies and been killed by those ghosts.”

Alice murmurs, “Maija killed by a lie would have been most poetic.”

I curse wordlessly. If she but knew how poetic it would have been.

Maija stiffens as if stabbed and turns to Samuel. “You knew I was luring you to your death and still you came to … to save me?”

Samuel looks sad. “I don’t know any other way to be.”

She bows her head, staring at the red carpet. “You are too noble for this world. I do you a favor with what is about to transpire.”

Alice floats closer to Maija. “I have little love for you and less reason to have it. But I tell you there is a path other than the one you have chosen to gain your heart’s desire.”

Maija’s voice is thick and forlorn, convulsed with scarlet pain. “I know of no other way to be.”

Maija’s head snaps up, cruel resolve freezing her blue eyes. “Attack!”

All the exterior doors burst open. A horde of Ningyo warriors, loyal, not to me their empress, but to Maija, storm in like fluid death. Victor laughs.

“You mean these flunkies you planned to take out the mayor with? Captain Sam knew about them, too.”

Maija frowned, “Wh-What?”

Victor smiles, “Hold that pose, Your Hind-Ass. You’ll make a great Poster Girl for DUH!”

Alice flows right up to Maija, her sharp teeth at my sister’s quivering throat. “Surely, you know Samuel can fold time as well as space.”

My Samuel smiles like a wolf, “We four exist a layer of time back from your assassins, Maija. They can’t touch us.”

Maija husks, “So again you spare me.”

Samuel’s face hardens. “Not hardly. Since I’ve been layered from time, I sense Meilori. You did something to her. I’ll find her. But you ….”

His eyes become windows into Hell. “You I leave a ghost in Time.”

“No!,” wails Maija.

The impossible happens. Samuel’s eyes meet mine. “I’ll find you, Meilori.”

And though oblivion again swallows me, I smile.

(596 words)
***
For Week 4, Empress Meilori Shinseen graciously chose all four of the following prompts:

•The misfortune is resolved/accepted {Maija was not happy about how.}

•Relationships mend/are torn asunder {Sam’s with Maija was torn asunder. Sam comes to realize Meilori did not leave him after all but was a victim of one of Maija’s plots.}

•The final event becomes another secret for generations to come. {No one in Renaissance will ever realize their mayor was a scion of an Old One or discover his true fate.}

•There is a new arrival in town. {The spirit of Meilori Shinseen, the Ningyo Empress and wife of Samuel McCord.}
***

If any of you are intrigued with the mysterious Meilori Shinseen, you might want to read RITES OF PASSAGE

which details the tempestuous love affair between Meilori and Samuel aboard a fantasy Titanic in 1853 crossing the Bermuda Triangle.

Aboard that cursed ship you will find : Maija, Fallen (of THE LAST FAE), The Turquoise Woman (of THE LAST SHAMAN), the mother and father of Hibbs, THE BEAR WITH 2 SHADOWS, and...

Samuel's first duel with DayStar, the supernatural Hannibal Lector who crosses over into most of my novels.

Oh, and William Faulkner in the New Orleans of the Roaring Twenties begins and ends the tale. How cool is that?

http://www.amazon.com/RITES-OF-PASSAGE-ebook/dp/B004XQVPYM/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1319642886&sr=1-1
***

TRUE BLOOD meets THE ARTFUL DODGER_THE LEGEND OF VICTOR STANDISH!

M. A. Leslie (the writing team) has a great idea :

AN INTERNET BOOK FAIR!

http://maleslie1.blogspot.com/2011/10/internet-book-fair-blogfest.html

THE LEGEND OF VICTOR STANDISH!

http://www.amazon.com/LEGEND-VICTOR-STANDISH-ebook/dp/B005NCUTAG/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1319475381&sr=8-1

Think TRUE BLOOD meeets THE DRESDEN FILES meets THE ARTFUL DODGER.

Beware French Quarter nights. The shadows are hungry. You see, voodoo never died.

And the dead?

Here they do not always stay dead. They get hungry. And lonely.

Every city has its secrets. New Orleans more than most.

To walk its streets is to move through history : Lasalle. Orleans. Galvez. Lafitte. A street map is part time capsule, part history lesson. And all Death. She is waiting in every shadow.

New Orleans is the most haunted city in America where Voodoo was big business, slavery even more so, and no government official or newspaper dares to tell the truth.

No one talks openly of the misty figures seen walking along iron-laced terraces, casting no shadow. Of the shapes seen rising from sewer grates. And no one willingly visits the crypt of Marie Laveau at midnight.

Into this strange world arrives the street orphan, Victor Standish, from Charon's Greyhound. Charon has to keep up with the times ...

the End Times.

And the teen destined to be called the "Ulysses of the French Quarter" has come just in time for Hurricane Katrina, the End of All Things, and …

the deadly love of the Victorian ghoul, Alice Wentworth.

MORE!

Buy a copy and post a review on Amazon and you could WIN :

a AMAZON KINDLE FIRE!

a J K ROWLING AUTOGRAPH or a CHARLES SCHULZ AUTOGRAPH or

A STEPHEN KING AUTOGRAPH

AUTOGRAPHED MOVIE POSTERS OF

AVATAR ... THE ROCK ... FROM DUSK TO DAWN ... THE COLOR PURPLE and

EVEN MORE PRIZES!

http://rolandyeomans.blogspot.com/2011/10/new-and-old-prizes-i-am-giving-away.html

REVIEWS :


By Wendy Morrell (NZ)
Roland Yeomans, writes scenes that appeal to all the senses. Memorable characters. Rich dialogue. Looking forward to reading more from this author. I highly recommend this book!

By Dina Howell "guatefea"
The Legend of Victor Standish.....Outstanding! It is the second book I read from this author, Roland Yeomans. It did not dissapoint me once again!

By H. McCorkle (West Coast)
Roland's writing is rich and haunting. You will be drawn instantly into a world that is tangible to all the senses and introduced to characters who come alive. I loved this and would highly recommend it to any paranormal fan!
***

THE WALKING DEAD makes me ask WHY ZOMBIES?

My fascination, and many others', with THE WALKING DEAD

makes me ask,

WHY ZOMBIES?

The undead.

They captivate us.

The appeal to vampires is obvious :

even Bram Stoker, who coined the term "undead," painted Dracula as sexy and seductive (at least in London).

Don't get me started on the "sparkly" ones.

While most vampires are etched as lovely, though deadly, predators, what is up with our fascination with zombies?

They are Id's brought to hungry life : only appetite, no morals or guidelines. And terrible table manners.

Why are we so obsessed with zombies? They are not seductive, not appealing, what with body parts missing or rotting away as you watch.

Zombies symbolize those threats like actual skin-eating diseases,

terrorist bombs,

and natural disasters like the promised California SuperStorm that will someday in the future dump ten FEET of rain over 30 days.

Zombies symbolize our fears of death that will not be reasoned or threatened away.

Does immersing ourselves in zombie movies give us an illusion of some measure of control over death, cancer, and other all-too-real threats in our modern lives?

Seeing teens surrounded in a cabin by milling, moaning zombies, we know that soon those pretty girls will be either eaten or transformed into eternally hungry zombies.

And in a sense, we, the viewer, have become with them Death in our imaginations : unstoppable, forces of nature, unthinking.

But the zombie is never at rest : like a shark, it must continually shamble in search of prey or it will die.

Then, take little Karen Cooper (please, you take her 'cuz me and Victor want nothing to do with the little munchkin), from the original NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD :

Newly undead, the zombie girl happily starts to feast on her father's arm, then lay waste to her mother with a trowel of all things. There is something deeply unsettling about seeing an innocent child turn to a flesh-eating monster in front of your eyes.

Which is why I used the Zombie Playground picture in yesterday's post :

http://rolandyeomans.blogspot.com/2011/10/walking-dead-meets-victor-standish.html


This, for me, is the worst facet of becoming a zombie : it robs you of your identity, of your sense of self.

Is our fascination with zombies an extension of 21st century Man's self-loathing? Or do we place ourselves in the roles of the survivors?

What would we do in their place? We revel in their violence against those shambling things which are already dead. We can mutilate and destroy with no regret, no remorse.

Or is it that zombies offer us the ultimate crucible : that arena which hones our characters and our souls into something better or into something infinitely worse than zombies -- a knowing evil against our brothers?

I already know what Victor Standish thinks about this. But don't be too sure you know. Remember his "ghoul friend," Alice. What do you think?
***

A BLUE MOON TO DIE FOR_Friday's Romantic Challenge

I'm prior-posting this 5 days in advance :

feverish, coughing, and chest pains. The ghost of Mark Twain keeps telling me that dying's not so bad.

"As compared to what?," I ask.

He takes a slow puff of his cigar and snorts, "Being nibbled to death by critics."

That's Samuel for you!
***
Denise and Francine have given us the prompt of BLUE MOON.

http://fridaynightwriters.blogspot.com/

So many things happen only once in a blue moon :

friendships with kindred spirits as I have found here in blogdom.

pursuing your dream with gusto.

and true love.
***
My entry is from THE LEGEND OF VICTOR STANDISH :

Victor has taken his newly found love to the infamous drug kingpin, the Snowman and his hitwoman Ice. The terms "Snow Cone" and "Ice cream" take on new meaning for Victor.

Alice and Victor hear Samuel McCord, Father Renfield, and Ada Byron rush to rescue Victor.


Alice whispered, "Victor, the McCord will kill me when he sees what I have done."

I patted her hand. "Not with me here. He and I are friends."

"The McCord has no friends when it comes to justice, Victor. You will see."

I heard Father Renfield scuffling with my friend outside the door.
"No, Sam, let me go in first. Let me see ...."

"No," snapped Captain Sam.

"Yes," said Ada, and I saw her zip in through the open doorway.

She pulled up short as she saw what remained of the Snowman and Ice. She looked at Alice. And I remembered the blood on her lips and fingers.

Ada gasped, "Oh, my stars!"

Renfield darted past her, looking at the bodies, then at Alice behind me. "Bloody Hell!"

Captain Sam rasped, "Dear God, what did that fiend do to Victor?"

And suddenly he was in front of my two friends. He seemed untouched by the Snowman's guards, his smoking Colts still held in his hands.

He looked at me, then at the bloody remains of the Snowman and Ice.

Soft and low, he spoke to me, "Victor, move away from the ghoul. Now."

I shook my head. "Her name's Alice, sir."

His words were soft thunder. "Move away from Alice, son."

"She's my ghoul friend, sir."

Alice kicked me in the right shin. "Damn, Alice! That was the one place on my whole body that didn't hurt!"

I saw Sam angle for a killing shot. "You know, Alice, blocking you from harm is hard enough without having to do it hopping about on one foot."

Ada cocked her head as she studied the two of us. She slowly smiled.

Alice hissed, "Do not EVER call me that again, Victor!"

Sam raised both Colts, and I rasped, "You'll have to shoot through me, sir!"

His pale face was hard. "I'll do what I have to, son. Please don't make me shoot through you."

"No!," screamed Alice. "Do not kill Victor. Kill me if you must, but leave my Victor alone!"

Everybody's eyebrows rose up at her word "my." Ada patted down Sam's Colts.

"Oh, do put away those behemoths, Samuel."

"What are you talking about? Look at what she'd done."

Ada shook her head. "No, look at what Victor has done."

"Have you gone loco?"

"Have you gone brain-dead, Samuel? Miss Wentworth has never strayed more than a block from her cemetery in all these years. No, Victor led her here to avenge Susan and punish vermin who needed it.

She looked tenderly at Alice. "Samuel will not hurt you dear."

"I won't? She's a ghoul, Ada."

"No, Samuel. She's Meilori."

He stiffened. "What did you say?"

"Oh, Samuel, real love comes but once in a blue moon. Think 1853. Look at them. Look at the way she looks at him. The way he was about to die for her."

Ada smiled as if it were an open wound. "She's Meilori, and he's you as you both were aboard the DEMETER in 1853."

He slowly turned to study us. He closed his eyes as if what he saw hurt him too deeply to keep on looking. He holstered his Colts.

Alice smiled at Ada. "You should have seen him do his Parkour."

Sam raised an eyebrow at me. "You know that?"

I nodded. "Learned it in Cleveland from a sensei."

Renfield barked a laugh. "He learns a French skill from a Japanese Master in Cleveland. Victor, you're a bloody riot."

Alice hugged my right arm. "He's a hero. My hero."

Sam sighed and doffed his Stetson to Alice. "Miss Wentworth, would you do me the honor of coming to Meilori's?"

Alice hushed, "Meilori's? Oh, could I? I have always wanted to go."

I patted her hand. "The first time's the worst. But don't worry. I'll be by your side."

Alice smiled soft. "Those are the only words I will ever have to hear to feel safe."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ada's lips move silently. But I read the words : "... and loved."
***