This blog consists of travel essay's and info on my five books, Behind the Closet Door, Through the Cane Fields, Blood Brothers, Wyatt and The Secret Lives of the Harvested. I'm also a certified Reiki Master/Teacher.
Friday, January 17, 2014
My new book, Behind the Closet Door is now available from Amazon, Barnes&Noble and Smashwords.
It's winter... Not the best time for me to try and promote anything but hey, it's good to curl up with a book, right? So why not curl up with mine?
It's sunny which is kind of important to my state of mind. I can handle most anything when the sun is shining. It's the only thing I have in common with my main character, Henry Peterson which is a good thing. Read the book and you'll see why. Here's an excerpt.
An idea formed in his mind, something about that last
piece of the puzzle. He thought he knew how to make the
fog lift, the skies brighten again. When he reached his
apartment, the rain was coming down harder than ever. He
doubted that anyone would hear Michelle, even if she was
screaming like a banshee up there. He was already
sopping wet, so he took his time pulling out the insulation
board and all of the bags. He blipped the car alarm and
made his way back to his apartment.
As he opened the door, he heard a loud tapping
followed by a clawing sound.
“Henry, open the door, its dark in here! The light is off,
turn the light on. Open the goddamn door!”
Henry put down his purchases; he went into the
bedroom to change into some dry clothes. “Henry, I can
hear you out there, talk to me please.”
He noticed a kind of desperation in her voice that
hadn’t been there before. He looked at his watch; it had
only been a couple of hours. It couldn't be all that bad, he
thought. He undressed, piled up his wet clothes on the
floor and went into the bathroom. It was dark and smelled
vaguely of mold. Michelle had always jokingly called it
his dungeon. He turned on the hot water and stepped into
the shower. The steam rose up around him and comforted
him. He felt raw after the day’s events. He had scratches
on his hands and face…and they stung as the wet spray hit
him. He stood there for a while, letting the warmth of the
water seep into him. After he dried off, he put on a pair of
sweatpants and an old sweatshirt. He felt better. It was
quiet. Michelle wasn't making any noise at all. He knew
he was going to have to say something to her eventually.
He wasn't ready yet, though.
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