Keeping The Plates Spinning

Zoë Sharp

There’s always talk among writers about the pros and cons of writing a series versus standalone novels and I can see both sides of the argument. There’s a lot of freedom to writing standalones. Any character traits that engage your interest can form the protagonist of your next work.

No baggage, no preconceptions. You can narrate in first person, third person, close third, multiple viewpoints – second person if you feel the urge. Present tense, past tense, a mix of both. Contemporary, historical, futuristic. There seems to be no limits beyond what your publisher will accept and your readers will enjoy. (And reader expectation is a whole different subject . . .)

Of course, there has always been a liking for ‘the same . . . but different’. I was a big fan of the early Dick Francis books, and not just for their horse-orientated content. Although they were mainly standalones with only a few repeated characters, there were definite similarities between the heroes of the Francis books, regardless of whether they were jockeys or bankers, airline pilots or movie stars.

As a reader, you knew what you were getting. And if you liked one, the chances were pretty good that you were going to like them all.

Few of the Francis protags were professionally involved with crime, but he successfully side-stepped the issue of Cabot Cove Syndrome, as it’s known. Anybody familiar with the long-running Jessica Fletcher ‘Murder She Wrote’ TV series will understand this. Every time that woman turned around, she tripped over a body. I mean, nobody in their right minds should ever have accepted an invitation to dine with Ms Fletcher, because you could be certain there’d be one less guest for dessert than for the appetiser. She was a jinx.

So, if you want an amateur sleuth to discover the bloodied corpse book after book, at least with a standalone character you aren’t forced to invent yet another reason why someone with an apparently harmless occupation should become such a magnet for murder.

Even professional law enforcement characters may stumble into the credibility issue, though. Just how many serial killers or fiendishly cunning murderers can a small-town police chief chase down in his career? Reminds me of the Bruce Willis line in ‘Die Hard 2’ as he’s battling the bad guys in a stricken airport in the snow: “How can the same sh*t happen to the same guy twice?”

Of course, the standalone writers might argue that the series writers have it easy. Once you’ve hit upon an intriguing main character, you’re halfway there. If people are hooked on your recurring protag, they’re likely to pre-order the next in the series without knowing more than the title.

And this is the reason that publishers, it seems, also rather like series. I wonder how many debut authors have stopped work on a non-related second novel because of hints that another book featuring the same characters as the first would be smiled on rather more favourably.

Then you have the additional question with a series – how inter-related do you make the books? If someone picks up book five, for example, how much are they missing – and how frustrating will they find it – if they haven’t already read books one through four?

Do you keep your main character stuck in a time warp, where they never age, never change, never carry lasting memories of old cases, old love affairs, old enemies? Or do you allow your protag to evolve and develop as the series goes on, taking them on a personal journey through each book that’s as important to returning readers as the individual story arc?

I set out to write Charlie Fox as a series character from the beginning, and I had a reasonable idea of where I was going to take her, from ex-army self-defence instructor, through training and into the world of close protection. Maybe I should have just chucked her straight in at the deep end, and made every client she had to protect a new job without reference to anything that went before.

But I couldn’t do that.

It seemed important to me that the character learn from her past experiences, that they affected her as much as she affected them. People tell me they like Charlie’s ongoing internal battles, her complicated relationship with her former army training instructor, lover, and now boss, Sean Meyer, and her constant struggle to come to terms with her own cold-blooded side.

And this is where I discovered another difficulty with writing a long-running series.

Keeping the plates spinning.

People who are coming to a series cold like to start at the very beginning. My first US publisher picked up the series at book four, FIRST DROP, and then leapfrogged the next one to go straight to book six. Books one, two, three and five were overlooked, causing endless confusion, not to mention frustration.

My original UK publisher was sold out to a larger house and one by one, the early UK books went out of print. All five of them. The only editions still obtainable – apart from Large Print and audiobooks – were snapped up by the collectors, and I have been amazed and even a little horrified (if, I admit, somewhat flattered) by some of the prices being achieved. But this has meant that getting hold of a half-decent reading copy became an exercise out of the reach of most people’s pocket. Mine included.

Not any more.

(And here you must picture me shuffling my feet awkwardly, being British and finding BSP a difficult exercise. Please forgive my excitement, though. Normal service will be resumed next time, I promise.)

For the first time in years, all the early Charlie Fox backlist books are available again – in e-format. It’s taken some blood, sweat and tears – not necessarily in that order – but they’re all out and damn if I’m not proud to have them back on sale. The later books, of course, are available from Allison & Busby in the UK and St Martin’s/Pegasus in the States, with e-versions either out currently or on the way, in the case of FIFTH VICTIM.

(And even those of you who don’t have a Kindle reader device itself, you can download Kindle Reader for PC or Mac absolutely free.)

Until now, it’s felt like one of those TV game shows where hapless volunteers from the audience have to try to keep a load of plates spinning on the end of poles. Just you thought you’d got them all going, the one at the beginning begins to topple.

At last, all my plates are spinning at once.

I know I mentioned the new Charlie Fox e-thology, FOX FIVE last time, and the new edition of the very first book, KILLER INSTINCT, but now these have been joined by RIOT ACT, HARD KNOCKS, FIRST DROP and ROAD KILL. (Although as I write this I’m still waiting for a couple of them to go live on Amazon US, UK, and DE. This brand newness explains part of my ‘kid with new toy’ feeling today – sorry!)

Here are the covers for the series, designed by Jane Hudson at NuDesign. I’m over the moon with the eye-catching look of the series, but see what you think:

As with KILLER INSTINCT, each book has some added extras, like Author’s notes, an introduction to Charlie Fox, an excerpt from the next book in the series, and a guest excerpt.

For these I’ve been lucky enough to hook up with some of my favourite writers. Former ‘Rati Brett Battles allowed me to put an excerpt from his Jonathan Quinn novella, BECOMING QUINN in the first book, and others are: in RIOT ACT, Timothy Hallinan’s second Junior Bender novel, LITTLE ELVISES; in HARD KNOCKS, Libby Fischer Hellmann’s PI Georgia Davis/Ellie Foreman novel, DOUBLEBACK; in FIRST DROP, Blake Crouch’s ‘what if’ thriller, RUN; and finally in ROAD KILL, Lee Goldberg’s new standalone, KING CITY.

I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to have been able to join forces with these very talented writers, who are also including excerpts from the Charlie Fox books in their latest work. Let’s hope this cross-pollination opens up our novels to a wider audience.

And finally, I was invited to join a new outfit called The Hardboiled Collective, by Jochem Vandersteen of the Sons of Spade blogsite. This is just a group of – well, the clue is in the name, and I hope you’ll check out some of the great writers who are members. We even have a terrific group logo, courtesy of Jane Hudson again:

OK, that’s it, I’m going to stop going ‘me, me, ME’ now. I promise to calm down and stop stuffing myself with Sunny Delight and blue Smarties and go lie down in a darkened room for a bit.

My questions this week, though, are do you feel that you HAVE to start reading a series right from the start, or are you happy to dive in wherever the fancy takes you? And if you used to read a series but have stopped, what made you do so?

Next weekend I shall be attending Bouchercon 2011 in St Louis MO, and am hugely looking forward to going – more so as I’ve missed out on the last couple. Please say “Hi” if you’re going. On the way, I’m doing an event at Lisle Library in Chicago IL. Can’t wait!

Finally, this week’s Word of the Week is paedometer, a device that can be strapped to the arm while out exercising to show you how many perverts are in the immediate vicinity . . .

The Stick and The Carrot

Zoë Sharp

The humble donkey is the beast of burden across the globe. It ambles along on impossibly dainty feet, while carrying outrageous loads apparently without complaint.

And always, it seems, there’s a man on the animal’s back with a stick.

I’m not suggesting that the man beats the donkey, although I’m sure that happens with depressing regularity. But the stick is still there and the implication is clear – go faster, work harder, or this is going to hurt.

I think I know how that feels.

The most depressing job I ever had was a brief stint selling display advertising for the local paper. Classifieds were a different section. People want to place classified adverts. They do so specifically because they want to sell something, or buy something. All the classified sales people had to do was sit by the phone and wait for calls.

Display advertising is different. Display advertising is the stuff that gets in the way of the stories people are trying to read at the front of the paper. Unless it’s by chance, their eye skims over the ad without ever taking any of it in. And, I admit, if you work for a New York ad agency you probably have some very scientific ways of making people look at those ads, but I didn’t have those skills.

Nobody wants to spend money on advertising. They know that half that money is wasted – they just don’t know which half. They practically hid under the desk when they saw you coming, or told their secretaries to fob off your phone calls. So, persuading small businesses, week after week, to lay out cash for adverts that ultimately ended up lining the cat litter tray or the bottom of the budgie’s cage, was not my best choice of career. (I did mention it was a very BRIEF stint, didn’t I?)

But what has this got to do with the donkey and the man with the stick? Well, in my case, the display ad sales people were the donkeys, and the stick was being wielded by the advertising manager.

We were given weekly targets of how much advertising we had to sell, and we never seemed to be able to quite make those targets. Looking back, I’m pretty sure that if we’d worked it out we would have discovered that he was trying to get us to sell more ads than it was actually possible to fit into the paper, and if we’d ever managed it we would have caused a major glitch in the space/time continuum.

After six months, the job started to stress me out so much that I even developed a heart murmur. (I’ve never been very good at the high-pressure sell. I can’t even do it with my own books.)

The whole experience was all stick and no carrot.

I’ve discovered over the years that I will go a long way and work my little wot-nots off for a bit of encouragement and a thank you. That is far more important to me than getting paid – I’d rather do a good job than a quick job.

Which possibly explains why I am not a lot more wealthy than I am ;-]

The world of being a published writer can involve a lot of stick, and only being shown the occasional distant slightly out-of-focus photographs of something that might be some kind of root vegetable, but it’s in black and white so you can’t be sure if it isn’t a parsnip.

Things are tough for authors at the moment. If you’re not topping the bestseller lists, you’re being cut loose. It’s a big stick world, and sometimes it feels like we’re the donkeys.

And I know it’s been slowing me down, weighting me down, miring me down. I could feel it. My enjoyment of the whole business of actually writing was ebbing away. It had little to do with success or failure – it was to do with job satisfaction. People can be at the top of their field and still not really enjoy what they’re doing.

When I came back from the States in March, having witnessed the explosion in e-readers, with the idea that I would put the backlist Charlie Fox books out in e-format, starting with a short story e-thology, some people told me I was mad to contemplate tackling the whole conversion process myself.

“Writers should write,” I was told. “Leave that to the experts.”

I’ve never been very good at taking advice, especially when it concerns things I can’t or shouldn’t do.

So Andy and I, with help from my web guru, set about learning how to code and convert. Sadly, a lot of conversion work seems to be carried out by people who don’t love books, and the reading experience is spoilt by silly mistakes and bad bits of coding that slip through.

Producing an eBook is not just about the conversion process, though. It’s about EVERYTHING connected to a book, from the front cover to the wording of the copyright page. If that all sounds like a lot of work, it is.

But I found it was a LOT of fun, too.

 FOX FIVE: a Charlie Fox short story collection went live on August 8^th, and yesterday the first of the backlist went up, too – KILLER INSTINCT: Charlie Fox book one. So, for all those people who wanted to read the series right from the very beginning, now they can. As soon as all the backlist is up on Amazon, we’ll start coding for other reader formats, too.

I resisted the urge to rewrite the book – difficult tho’ that urge was to resist – but did take the opportunity to reinsert two backstory scenes that never made the final book. These explain a little more about Charlie’s military career and the start of her relationship with Sean Meyer. (I didn’t quite appreciate at that stage how important that relationship was going to be, or how integral to the character, hence the original cut.)

Getting KILLER INSTINCT ready for e-publication has been a fascinating experience. Not only was there a fabulous new cover by Jane Hudson at NuDesign I was very fortunate in that Lee Child generously allowed me to use the Foreword he wrote for the Busted Flush trade paperback edition last year. I added my own Afterword from the same edition, together with tasters from the other books in the series, including an excerpt from the next one, RIOT ACT, which is undergoing conversion as we speak. And finally, I joined forces with our former ‘Rati, Brett Battles.

Brett very kindly gave me an excerpt from his Jonathan Quinn novella, BECOMING QUINN, to include at the back of KILLER INSTINCT. In return, an excerpt from KILLER INSTINCT will be going in the back of Brett’s next Logan Harper novel. This is the kind of cross-pollination that not only gives people a nice added extra, but will hopefully also introduce the readers of both of us to something new they might enjoy.

So, I hope you’ll forgive me a small amount of proud-parent BSP at this point:

‘Susie Hollins may have been no great shakes as a karaoke singer, but I didn’t think that was enough reason for anyone to want to kill her.’

Charlie Fox makes a living teaching self-defence to women in a quiet northern English city. It makes best use of the deadly skills she picked up after being kicked out of army Special Forces training for reasons she prefers not to go into. So, when Susie Hollins is found dead hours after she foolishly takes on Charlie at the New Adelphi Club, Charlie knows it’s only a matter of time before the police come calling. What they don’t tell her is that Hollins is the latest victim of a homicidal rapist stalking the local area.

Charlie finds herself drawn closer to the crime when the New Adelphi’s enigmatic owner, Marc Quinn, offers her a job working security at the club. Viewed as an outsider by the existing all-male team, her suspicion that there’s a link between the club and a serial killer doesn’t exactly endear her to anyone. Charlie has always taught her students that it’s better to run than to stand and fight, But, when the killer starts taking a very personal interest, it’s clear he isn’t going to give her that option . . .

 ‘Charlie looks like a made-for-TV model, with her red hair and motorcycle leathers, but Sharp means business. The bloody bar fights are bloody brilliant, and Charlie’s skills are both formidable and for real.’ Marilyn Stasio, New York Times

OK, I’m done now.

This whole thing has proved a huge carrot for me. Getting reacquainted with Charlie at this early point in her history has reminded me why I started writing about her in the first place, and why I can’t wait to get back on with the next book.

Suddenly, writing is fun again, like starting to exercise and stretch muscles that had started to atrophy. I needed a boost, and this has provided it. Getting the short stories out there in FOX FIVE allowed people who’d vaguely heard about Charlie to try a selection of short pieces about her without investing time in a whole book. The 50 free review copies I offered in my last blog were all snapped up within hours. The reviews so far have been great. And if anyone would like a review copy of KILLER INSTINCT, they only have to email me . . . authorzoesharp [at] gmail [dot] com.

This whole experience has, one might say, re-kindled my enthusiasm.

So, ‘Rati, have you faced a time when you were absolutely fed up with what you were doing, and what did you do about it? Or, if you’re still in that situation, what are you going to do about it?

Finally, I thought I’d introduce a new section about what I’m reading on my sparkly new Kindle at the moment.

I’ve just finished LITTLE ELVISES by Timothy Hallinan. The book is the second to feature Junior Bender – and how can you not LOVE that name? – Tim’s Los Angeles burglar who moonlights as a private eye for crooks.

The ‘Little Elvises’ of the title were Philadelphia teenagers plucked off the city’s stoops in the 1960s by a mobbed-up record producer named Vinnie DiGaudio and turned into pallid imitations of the boy from Tupelo until their fourteen-year-old fans got tired of them and moved on to the next one. When Vinnie is in the cops’ sights for a murder, Junior is brought in, unwillingly, to prove Vinnie’s innocence. Unless, of course, Vinnie did it.

But one way or another, Vinnie – a gangster whose product was innocence – has made a central mistake. Some things never go away. And that’s what drives the plot of LITTLE ELVISES.

This book was enormous fun. Very wittily written, it’s refreshing in that Junior (sorry, Tim – I can’t bring myself to call him Bender) is far from a hapless comedy PI. He has smarts, both street and of mouth. I shall definitely be seeking out the first book in this series, CRASHED.

And I’ve just started reading Wayne D Dundee’s THE SKINTIGHT SHROUD, a Joe Hannibal mystery. When someone starts turning blue movies bright red with the blood of murdered porn stars, Joe Hannibal is called behind the scenes to prevent more killings. His investigation takes him places that are both shocking and dangerous and in no time at all he finds himself at odds with the mob, the police, a savage local pimp, and in the arms of another man's woman.

As the case hurtles toward a startling, blood-spattered climax, Hannibal will experience pleasure -and pain-like he has never known before. His life will hang in the balance more than once before the last dirty secret is exposed and the final desperate killer is cut down. Intriguing so far . . .

This week’s Word of the Week is karmageddon, which is, like, when everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it's, like, a serious bummer, man.

And So Here It Is...

by Brett Battles

As I mentioned two weeks ago, today is my last post as a Murderati regular. I have had a wonderful stay. The fantastic crew of authors, the wonderful readers and conversation contributors, you’ve all made this an excellent place to call home.

My departure has not come without thought. In fact, it’s taken many months of internal deliberations. But workload, focus, quality of ideas have all played a part in this decision. I’m writing more than I ever have before, and I don’t see that letting up anytime soon. I have so many stories I want to write, so many characters I want to bring to life, so many little moments I want to describe. But to really do that, I need to redirect my time and focus into these areas, and stepping aside so you can meet someone new, and discover things I would not be able to show you.

Pari and JT, you are the backbone—the soul—of Murderati, and I can’t thank you enough for asking me to be a part of it. JT, our bond is deep and long…Killer Year forever.

Zoë, my Thursday mate, it’s been great sharing the day with you, and spending a little time with you when you and Andy visited L.A. You are an original in the best of all ways.

J.D., I still remember when we—along with your beautiful wife—were waiting at the airport after Bouchercon in Madison, sharing stories and laughing. As much as I was exhausted and wanted to get on my plane and go home, the time passed too quickly.

Alafair, that picture from the party at Mystery Bookstore’s LA Times Festival of Books party a few years ago is still one of my favorites! And I still laugh about that time I was too nervous to even talk to you.

Louise, you continue to be an inspiration…not just to me, but to the whole extended Murderati family. You are so much stronger than you even know.

Tess, your quote graces the cover of my debut novel, and as much as I am eternally grateful for that, what I remember most was an email you sent me while you were reading it. Me, a still to be published author, and you telling me that you were on tour but also in the middle of reading my book and “loving it!” I’m not sure my feet have touched the ground yet.

Steve. Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve. We have been good friends for more than twenty years now…dorm life, film school, astronomy class with a teacher who had a few too many on finals day…a gap…then a reconnection before the release of BEAT. A reconnection that has meant the world to me.

Alex, from the very first Thrillerfest to today, seeing you in the crowd always makes me smile. You’re a haven of light.

Cornelia…we have traveled a similar road. We have shared tears high above I-don’t-know which city. We have an understanding for which few words are needed. I am here for you, as I know you are there for me.

Allison, you’re energy, your spirit, your drive in the face of everyday life is to be more than simply admired. You are gifted on so many levels, and I’m glad to call you friend.

David and P.D. as I’m sure you’ve already found, you’ve landed someplace special. My only advice is to have fun.

And to a few Murderati of the past—Rob, I know enough to not say anything nice about you…well, except to say you have become a great friend; Toni, I haven’t seen you in person in years, I miss you, I miss your stories, I miss your laugh and your smile. You brighten things wherever you go; and Ken, your words are amazing, and your heart is huge. It’s always a privilege just being around you.

And finally, to you, the members of the Murderati community, you are the reason we are all or have been a part of this blog. There are not enough words to thank you properly, so I’ll merely say, “Thanks,” and hope you know what I mean.

Okay. All that said, it’s not like I’m completely disappearing. I’m sure you’ll see me in the comments, and, hopefully, my friends here will allow me back now and then to let you know how things are going.

If you’d like to bookmark my personal blog where I sporadically post news click here…no pressure, though.

Until I see you again…

HERE COMES MR. TROUBLE

by Brett Battles

After reading Tess's and JD's posts from the previous 2 days, I thought about changing what I was going to share with you today. I mean, after all, it's definitely BSP, and after the important topics we've been discussing here, I wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do.

Two things stopped me. First, one of the secondary themes of the book I wanted to tell you about is bullying, and second, this is my penultimate post as a Murderati regular, so what better time to discuss it? In view of all this, I hope you'll forgive the BSP... 

Unlike the other two books I’ve mentioned lately, the book I just released is a little different. HERE COMES MR. TROUBLE is my first foray into the world of younger readers. Technically I think it would be considered a cross between middle school and tween genres, but in reality can be enjoyed by anyone 10 and up.

It’s a mix of reality and my own brand of mythology, with humor, suspense, and more than a couple scary moments thrown in. Oh yeah, and thrills, too. I can’t get away from that.

I can’t tell you how much fun this was to write. I’ve wanted to work in the middle school/YA market for a while. Part of it is because I read and love the genre books, but probably the biggest reason is that my kids are in that reading group. I think some of the most innovative and interesting work is being done for readers 20 and under.

To say MR. TROUBLE holds a very special place in my heart, would be an understatement. Here’s a bit about the book:

ARE YOU LOSING THINGS?

ARE PEOPLE YOU KNOW ACTING STRANGE?

IS SOMEONE CLOSE TO YOU MISSING???

DO YOU FEEL LIKE THINGS ARE BEYOND YOUR CONTROL?

ARE YOU IN…TROUBLE?

When Eric Morrison sees the advertisement, he doesn’t know which is more surprising—the ad’s sudden appearance or the fact that his answer to every question is YES!

Not only can’t he find things, but the bullies at school are suddenly picking on him for no reason, and, worse yet, his mother has disappeared but he seems to be the only one who’s noticed. Even his best friend Maggie thinks he’s only run into a little bad luck.

But if Eric thinks his life is upside down now, it’s nothing compared to what’s about to happen when Mr. Trouble and the Trouble family arrive to assist him in solving his problems.

One thing’s for sure—Eric will never see the world in the same way again.

If that caught your interest, I guarantee what you’ll find is a wild ride that you’ll enjoy no matter how old you are. Currently it’s available as an ebook, priced at $2.99 from all the normal outlets (links below). By the end of the month a trade paperback version will also be available through Amazon.com.

If I could ask your help…MR. TROUBLE may not necessarily be for you, but you may know someone who might enjoy it. I grateful request is that if you could, please pass the information about the book on to them.

It’s a great story with wonderful characters, and, yes, I know I’m biased. But I truly believe this.

Here are those promised links:

HERE COMES MR. TROUBLE in the Amazon Kindle Store

HERE COMES MR. TROUBLE in the Barnes & Noble Nook Store

HERE COMES MR. TROUBLE at Smashwords.com

HERE COMES MR. TROUBLE in the Amazon UK Kindle Store

And if you'd like to read more, here's the first chapter:

1

It started with a guuuuuuurgly suuuuuuuck.

Eric Morrison twisted around, trying to see what had caused the noise.

“Are you going to just sit there all afternoon?”

He would have sworn the sound had come from the other side of the classroom, but he didn’t see anything over there that could have caused it.

Please tell me I’m not hearing things, too.

As he started to turn back around, someone punched him in his arm. “Hey, are you ignoring me?”

He glanced over his shoulder. Maggie Ortega was standing right next to his desk. He’d been concentrating so hard on the gurgly suck he hadn’t heard her walk up.

“Why’d you do that?” he asked, rubbing the spot where she’d hit him.

She stared at him over the top of her glasses as if he’d lost his mind. “The bell? It went off like two minutes ago. You’re usually the first one out the door.”

Eric glanced at the clock hanging at the back of the classroom. Two fifty-two p.m. School was out. How had he missed that?

“Thanks,” he said. He gathered his books and started shoving them in his backpack. “I guess I wasn’t paying attention.”

She looked down at him for a few seconds, then said, “What’s wrong with you?”

What’s not? “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been acting all weird for days now. Stop it. I don’t like it.”

“No, I haven’t,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, you have,” she said, heading for the door.

She was right and Eric knew it. He had been acting weird, but given what was going on, how else was he supposed to act?

“Everything all right back there?” Mrs. Bernhardi asked from her desk at the front of the room. She was their sixth-period English teacher.

“Yeah. Fine,” he said as he stood up.

“Eric, I expect you to have your essay in on time next Monday. It’s not like you to fall behind.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Like he needed that reminder. Still, just like Maggie a few seconds earlier, Mrs. Bernhardi was also right. It wasn’t like him.

He was a good student who always got his work in on time in the past. But for the last two weeks, even though he was sure he’d put his finished assignments in his backpack, when it came time to turn them in, they weren’t there. Math, history, English—it didn’t matter.

It almost felt like he was going crazy.

Actually, maybe not almost, he thought. If I am going crazy, that would explain everything.

“Hurry up!” Maggie called from the doorway.

“Have a nice afternoon,” Mrs. Bernhardi said.

“You, too,” Eric replied quickly, then headed for the door.

The main corridor of Valley View Middle School was nearly deserted as they headed toward the front exit.

“Come on, come on,” Maggie said.

“If you’re in a hurry, don’t let me hold you back,” Eric said. “I’ll just see you tomorrow.”

She whirled around, stopping right in front of him. “Tomorrow? What do you mean tomorrow?”

“I’m just saying, if you need to be somewhere, I don’t want to be the one who makes you late. I know you hate that.”

She did hate it, but that wasn’t the real reason Eric was urging her to go on without him. Unlike the rush she seemed to be in, he definitely was not in a hurry. Chances were there’d be another one of the Neanderthals waiting to mess with him on his walk home. It had been happening almost every day lately, since about the same time he’d started forgetting his homework.

Plus there was another reason he wasn’t anxious to get going. Eric really didn’t want to be at his house at all, not if it meant opening his front door again and finding out his mother was still gone. It would be the fourth day in a row.

His dad had told him she’d gone on a business trip, like it was a normal event, and had been completely unconcerned about the fact she hadn’t said goodbye to either of them before she left. But it wasn’t normal. Not even close. And skipping goodbyes? No way.

Eric’s mom worked at a small beauty salon in town. She didn’t go on vacations, let alone business trips. “Time away means time we’re losing money. And we can’t afford that.” How many times had he heard her say that?

“Have you forgotten what we’re supposed to do today?” Maggie asked.

Guuuuuuuuuurrrrrgly suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

Eric turned his head, trying once more to pinpoint where the odd noise was coming from. “Did you hear that?” he asked. It sounded both distant and right around the corner.

“Hear what?”

“That sound.”

“What sound? I didn’t hear anything.” She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “You’re just trying to distract me, aren’t you? Well, that’s not going to happen. We agreed to go to the library this afternoon to work on our China report, remember? Now, come on.”

The China report. Right.

She took off down the hallway at a pace that was more a run than a walk. After a deep breath, Eric started after her.

• • •

The Tobin City Library was a single-story building about three times larger than Eric’s house. It was only six blocks from the school so the walk didn’t take them long. But because they had gotten a late start—Eric’s fault, as Maggie pointed out several times on the way over—the only open table when they got there was the one nearest the librarian counter.

“Great,” Maggie said as she dropped her bag on top.

Mrs. Kim, the head librarian, looked over, one eyebrow arched high into her forehead. “Shhhh!”

Mrs. Kim was the reason no one wanted that particular table. She could hear everything you said. The second you started goofing around she would “Shhhh” you and remind you that if you weren’t there to study, you were welcome to leave.

“Sorry, Mrs. Kim,” Maggie said, glaring at Eric.

As soon as they sat down, Maggie pulled a thick folder of loose papers out of her bag and slid it across the table to him.

“You’re responsible for the part about the Great Wall,” she said.

Eric picked up the folder. “What is this?”

“Research I printed out from the Internet last night.”

He looked at a couple of the pages. “You printed all this out last night?”

She sat back. “Well, given the way you’ve been acting lately, I knew you weren’t going to do it.”

He ignored that and asked, “Why am I responsible for the Great Wall? Aren’t we supposed to decide who does what together?”

She stared at him, her face blank.

After a moment, he said, “Fine. I’ll take the Great Wall.” He thought about asking what she was going to work on but was afraid she might snap at him again, so he said nothing and glanced through the pages instead.

“You’re going to have to read them,” Maggie said.

“I know. I’m just trying to get an idea of what’s here.”

She scowled, pulled out another equally thick folder and started going through it.

After twenty minutes, Eric leaned back and rubbed his eyes. He’d only made it about a third of the way through the folder but he was seriously thinking about skipping the rest. He was sure he already had more than enough information. The only problem was Maggie. Since she’d taken the time to print everything out, she probably expected him to read it all.

He gave his eyes one more rub, then opened them. As annoying as it was, he was probably going to have to—

He suddenly became aware that there was someone sitting in the chair next to him. He turned his head just enough so he could see who it was and immediately wished he hadn’t.

Filling the chair beside him was the six-foot-two, two-hundred-and-who-knew-how-many-pound solid body of terror known as Peter Garr. That was his legal name, anyway. To most of the kids at school he was known as King of the Jerks.

In the two weeks since Eric had become the victim of choice for after-school intimidation, the one guy who hadn’t bothered with him yet was Peter Garr. Apparently, that was about to change.

With his oily blond hair hanging partially over his face, Peter sneered long and hard at Eric, then opened a car magazine that was sitting on the table and started looking through it.

I didn’t even hear him sit down.

With a shudder, he returned to Maggie’s printouts. But the words refused to cooperate and he soon found himself reading the same sentence over and over and over.

Focus!

Just as Eric was starting to relax enough to understand what was on the page, Peter set a meaty hand on the table. He flexed his fingers then curled them into a fist as he turned his head just enough so that he could look Eric in the eye.

Eric wanted to turn away but Peter’s stare held him in place.

The corner of Peter’s mouth inched upward and he began a laugh so low that Eric almost didn’t hear it. It was nearly half a minute before he turned back to his magazine.

“What are you doing?” Maggie asked. “You can’t be done yet.”

Had she not seen what just happened?

“Nothing. I was just…never mind.” He returned his attention to the folder, but just as he started to read a new page he heard the noise again.

Guuuuu–

His head snapped around, scanning the area behind him. It was close. So very close.

–uuuuuuuuuuuu–

But there was nothing there.

–uuuuuuurrr–

He looked back at Maggie. “Tell me you hear it now,” he said, his voice raised so he could be heard over the sound.

–rrrgly suuuuuu–

“Quiet,” Maggie whispered, her eyes wide.

“You hear it, right?”

–uuuuuuuuuck.

“Why are you talking so loud?”

“Shhh,” Mrs. Kim said from behind the counter.

“Yeah. Shut up,” Peter said beside him in an oddly monotone voice.

Eric turned and looked back again. It had to be there somewhere. But all he could see were bookcases.

Must be in one of the aisles.

He pushed himself out of his chair.

“Where are you going?” Maggie asked.

Peter looked at him as if he was interested in the answer, too.

“The sound,” Eric said.

“What sound?” she asked.

Guuuuuuuuuurrrrrgly suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

 “That sound.”

Peter, who had been obviously listening to their conversation, narrowed his eyes as if he didn’t quite understand what Eric was talking about but thought he should.

Maggie shrugged. “The only thing making any noise is you.”

“Shhhhhh,” Mrs. Kim commanded.

Eric shook his head. “Never mind.”

If he was right, the sound was coming from just the other side of the nearest bookcase.

Guuuuuuuuuurrrrrgly suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

He walked around it and stopped at the end of the aisle.

Guuuuuuuuuurrrrrgly suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

No question about it. The gurgly suck was coming from somewhere down there and it seemed to be speeding up. But he couldn’t see anything that could be causing it.

Cautiously, he entered the aisle.

Guuuuuuuuuurrrrrgly suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

When he’d gone halfway down the row, the sound grew so loud he had to put his hands over his ears just to think straight. He looked back the way he’d come, expecting to see a crowd of people gathered there wondering what was making all the racket, but there was no one.

Was he really the only person who could hear it?

He peered through the bookcase back at the table where he’d been sitting. Maggie was writing something in her notebook and Peter appeared engrossed in his magazine. Behind them, Mrs. Kim sat quietly at her desk using the scanner to check in books. If anyone should have heard the noise, it would have been her. Her hearing was scary good.

But she showed no reaction at all. None of them did.

It’s just like everything else that’s been going on. I’m the only one it’s happening to.

The thought that he was going crazy crossed his mind again.

Guuuuuuuuuurrrrrgly suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. Guuuuuuuuuurrrrrgly suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. Guuuuuuuuuurrrrrgly suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

Eric whipped around in surprise, the noise right behind him. But as he turned, his foot caught on the carpet and sent him banging into the bookcase.

“Shhhh!” Mrs. Kim said. “If you can’t be quiet, then you’ll have to leave.”

Guuuuuuuuuurrrrrgly suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

It was so close Eric felt he could almost reach out and touch it.

Gurgly. Gurgly. Gurgly. Suck. Suck. Suck. Suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

Then, though he knew it was impossible, the air moved.

Not like a breeze you could feel. He could actually see it. It was like an inflating balloon expanding toward him.

As the last of the sucking sound faded, the air jiggled then collapsed back to normal.

Eric reached out and put his hand through the area where it had been. There was nothing there.

Had he been seeing things? Had he–

Gurgly. Gurgly. Gurgly. Suck. Suck. Suck. Suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

The air bubble shot out again, coming straight at him. He fell backwards onto the floor but it stopped just inches from where he’d been standing and hovered there. As he scrambled back to his feet, he could see it wasn’t round like he’d initially thought. It was more like a box—a foot long, maybe a little less than that wide, and about two inches thick—but definitely a box.

Once more it snapped back and disappeared.

Eric reached out again, this time halting just short of where the box had been.

Gurgly. Gurgly. Gurgly. Suck. Suck. Suck. Suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

The air rushed out so quickly it knocked into his fingers before he could pull them away. What he saw had to have been an illusion. There was something solid inside, something definitely not, well, air-like.

Gurgly. Gurgly. Gurgly. Gurgly. Gurgly. Gurgly.

The box pushed out further.

Suck. Suck. Suck. Suck. Suck. Suck.

It was sticking out at least three feet from where it had started, warping the air around it. Then the box began to vibrate up and down, up and down, up and down. Faster and faster and faster.

Gurgly. Suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu–

SNAP!

The air split open and the whole building began to shake.

As Eric grabbed the bookcase so he wouldn’t fall down, he could hear yelps of surprise from the other side.

Then, when the shaking reached its height, a book shot out from the rip in the air.

The moment it landed on the ground at Eric’s feet, the gurgly suck stopped.

• • • • 

Things only get wilder from there! Thanks for giving me a little bit of your time. 

SICK

by Brett Battles

At some point today, SICK should be available in the Kindle store both in the U.S. and the U.K., at barnesandnoble.com, and at smashwords.com. In celebration of that, thought I’d give you a taste from the beginning:

A cry woke him from his sleep.

A young cry.

A girl’s cry.

Daniel Ash pushed himself up on his elbow. “Josie?”

It was more a question for himself than anything. His daughter’s room was down the hall, making it hard for her to hear his sleep filled voice in the best of circumstances. And if she was crying, not a chance.

He glanced at the other side of the bed, thinking his wife might already be up checking on their daughter. But Ellen was still asleep, her back to him. He’d all but forgotten about the headache she’d had, and the two sleeping pills she’d taken before turning in. Chances were, she wouldn’t even open her eyes until after the kids left for school.

Ash rubbed a hand across his face, then slipped out of bed.

The old hardwood floor was cool on his feet, but not unbearable. He grabbed his t-shirt off the chair in the corner, and pulled it on as he walked into the hallway.

A cry again. Definitely coming from his daughter’s room.

“Josie, it’s okay. I’m coming.” This time he raised his voice so he was sure she would hear him.

As he passed his son’s room, he pulled the door closed so Brandon wouldn’t wake, too.

Josie’s room was at the other end of the hall, closest to the living room. She was the oldest, so she got to pick which room she wanted when they’d moved in. It wasn’t any bigger than her brother’s, but Ash knew she liked the fact that she was as far away from mom and dad as possible. Made her feel independent.

Her door was covered with pictures of boy bands and cartoons—she was in that transitional stage between kid and teenager that was both cute and annoying. As he pushed the door open, he expected to find her sitting on her bed, upset about some nightmare she’d had. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

“Josie, what’s—”

His words caught in his mouth.

She wasn’t lying in the bed. She was on the floor, the bedspread hanging down just enough to touch her back. Ash rushed over thinking that she’d fallen and hurt herself. But the moment his hand touched her he knew he was wrong.

She was so hot. Burning up.

He had no idea a person could get that hot.

The most scared he’d ever been before had been when he’d taken Brandon to a boat show in Texas, and the boy had wandered off. It took Ash less than a minute to find him again, but he thought nothing would ever top the panic and fear he’d felt then.

Seeing his daughter like that, feeling her skin burning, he realized he’d been wrong.

He scooped Josie off the floor, and ran into the hallway.

“Ellen!” he yelled. “Ellen, I need you!”

He knew his voice was probably going to wake Brandon, but, at this point, he didn’t care. Josie was sick. Very sick. He needed Ellen to call an ambulance while he tried to bring their daughter’s temperature down.

“Ellen!” he yelled again as he ducked into the bathroom.

Using an elbow he flipped on the light, then laid Josie in the tub. He wasted several seconds searching for the rubber plug, then jammed it into the drain, and turned on the water, full cold. To help speed up the process, he pulled the shower knob, and aimed the showerhead so that it would stream down on her, and cool her faster.

Where the hell was Ellen?

He put the back of his palm on Josie’s forehead. She was still on fire.

“Ellen!”

He was torn. He wanted to stay with Josie, but the pills Ellen had taken must have really knocked her out, so that meant it was up to him to get help.

“Hang on, baby,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

He raced into the hall and back to the master bedroom. The nearest phone was on Ellen’s nightstand, next to their bed.

“Ellen. Wake up.”

He shook her once, then picked up the phone, and dialed 911. As he waited for it to ring, he glanced back at the bed.

Ellen hadn’t moved.

“911. What is your emergency?” a female voice said.

He reached down, and rolled Ellen onto her back, thinking that might jar her awake. But her eyes were already open, staring blankly at nothing.

He flipped on the light. The skin around her mouth and her eyes was turning black, and there were dark, drying streaks running across her face from her eye sockets where blood had flowed.

“911. What is your emergency?”

“Oh, God. Help,” he managed to say.

“Are you hurt, sir?”

He touched Ellen’s face. It was as cold as Josie’s had been hot.

“Send help! Send help, please!”

And that is just the start. If you’d like to read more, you’ll be able to download a longer sample at the sites where it’s for sale. Or you can just buy the whole thing for $2.99.

I’m pretty jazzed about SICK, but I’m biased. So here’s what Elyse at popculturenerd.com has to say: “Like a fever, SICK makes you sweat and keeps you up all night, wondering what the hell is happening. It'll make your heart race like someone shot you with an EpiPen. You think Battles was badass before? He just cranked it up to 500 joules. CLEAR!” I probably owe her a few bucks for that quote.

So, what did you think? Intrigued? Not? Something you'd want to read more of?

Get SICK for the Kindle here!

Get SICK for the Nook here!

Get SICK at Smashwords.com in most formats here!