Dead on Arrival by Scotney Storm

Dead On Arrival by Scotney Storm

Dead On Arrival by Scotney Storm

Where do you go to hide from Death?

When I bought my big beautiful bed, fantasies had fired off my imagination of a cornucopia of wild nights with an even wilder lover. We would twist, roll and pant through countless sexual dances until exhaustion claimed us.

Well, one part of my fantasy came true. I do twist, roll and pant. The Lover?   He is nowhere in the picture.   No, Death has claimed my lover’s place as we wage a contentious battle among my eight hundred thread count floral sheets.   He tries to take what I am unwilling to give. My life.

His arsenal is dastardly and well equipped. My chest roils with pain as a wall of sharp daggers pierces it. I struggle to breathe as fluid surrounds my heart and fills my lungs. He pulls me down into the dark depths of nothingness. I toss and turn, drowning in my big beautiful bed.

My need for air overcomes Death’s wily tactics. Today, like the day before, I declare victory in our long-standing fight.   Sometimes I am not sure the outcome will be in my favor. At times our desperate battle rages on for months with no relief. Other times it lasts for mere hours. I am never totally free of Death. He bombards me with minor skirmishes daily.   Peace? I don’t know what this is. Payne is my constant companion. It is a nagging reminder that every breath I take is hard-won.   So I ignore Death and make Payne my best friend.

The way I see it, if Death wants me so badly he’s going to have to chase my dying ass as Payne and I zip up and down the streets of Hell on my electric blue moped. Life isn’t easy, but the alternative is not an option.

Welcome to my new home, Hell, Texas, population 3,258.

Want to find out more about author Scotney Storm or Brooklyn Sinclair, the young woman who just moved to Hell?  Visit chroniclekeeperz.com.

The Women of My Sister’s Soul by Dawn Gena

My Sister's Soul by Dawn Gena

What is a soul?

 

What is a soul?

When I started writing My Sister’s Soul I had no clue that would be the title for this collection of short stories.  After reading what I had written and feeling the emotions that drove these women to pivotal moments in their lives, the title, My Sister’s Soul seemed fitting.  It crept up on me one night, lodged into my brain, and refused to leave.

I went to dictionary.com and looked up soul.   The more definitions I read for soul, the more I knew this title had found a home.

Noun

  1. the principle of life, feeling, thought, and action in humans, regarded as a distinct entity separate from the body, and commonly held to be separable in existence from the body; the spiritual part of humans as distinct from the physical part.
  2. the spiritual part of humans regarded in its moral aspect, or as believed to survive death and be subject to happiness or misery in life to come.
  3. the emotional part of human nature; the seat of the feelings or sentiments.
  4. high-mindedness; noble warmth of feeling, spirit or courage, etc.
  5. the animating principle; the essential element or part of something.

Now, I’d like to introduce you to some these Souls.

 My Sister’s Soul by Dawn Gena will be available this month at most online bookstores.  Don’t miss out!

The Birth

My Sister's Soul, a novel by Dawn Gena
My Sister’s Soul, a novel by Dawn Gena

“I can see a corner! Push again!”  His tone is a mixture of excitement and anger.  It has been a long road for the both of us.  The long nights I thought I was, but wasn’t.  The fear of not getting it right; of not being accepted.  Through it all, he was there.  We were finally ready.

“I can’t.  I’m tired.” I pant with stolen breaths.  I don’t have the strength.  I’m borrowing his and that is only taking me so far.  “I wish I could, but I’m done.”  I steal another painful breath.  ” After this one, no more.”

“You say the same thing every time.” He actually chuckles.  He is lucky I am weak or I would smack him.  “Come on, push!  It’s almost over.”

For me, for him, I do as I’m told.  The pain is excruciating.  My mind lost in concentration.

“One more babe.  One more push and it’s here. ”   I felt it.  I gave it all I had and out it came.  I looked down and it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.  The pain and misery quickly forgotten as I gazed upon it.

“What will we call this one?”  He stares at it in awe.

“My Sister’s Soul,”  I reply.  I reach out and lovingly stroke the front cover.

“Ready to start on another?”  This time I don’t hesitate.  I smack him.

My Sister’s Soul.  Available in December 2015 at online bookstores.

 

The Power Of The Written Word

 Power of the Written Word
Painting, Konstantin Somov – Lovers in the Evening

I don’t know what made me start thinking one night about the books I had read which impacted my thoughts, behavior or life in some way.  Once I started I could not stop.  There aren’t enough hours in a day to write my complete list so here is a quickie.

Stephen King:

The Stand – After reading The Stand, I couldn’t move fast enough from people who were sniffling, sneezing or coughing.  Didn’t want to touch anything in public either.  Dogs and cars? Sometimes I give them a wide berth too (Cujo, Christine).

Salem’s Lot and Desperation – Small towns?  No thank you!  I don’t want to live in them, drive through them or pass relatively close to them.  Airlines have become my best friend.  Yeah, yeah…I know he wrote a book about that too.

Cell – Now you know why I don’t answer my cell phone.

Sol Stein:

The Husband – It taught me to have sympathy and understanding for the supposed bad guy.  Of course when it happened to me, all that empathizing went right out the window.  I tried to dust the floor with the guy!  The novel vaguely reminded me of Henry Miller’s, Sexus.

Elizabeth McNeill:

Nine ½ Weeks – I must have been about fifteen when I read it.  Boy, did it open my eyes to a sexual world I never knew existed.   Of course I had written erotica since the third grade.  So by fifteen I thought I knew it all.  From a writer’s perspective of course, not experience.  My book debut, Light My Fire, inspired by The Doors and Jose Feliciano, was an instant hit but almost an automatic suspension.

Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Browning:

My Last Duchess, Men and Women, The Love Letters of Elizabeth and Robert Browning, and Sonnets of the Portuguese – It is not so much the books and poems themselves that effected me but the tone and the sentiment that was conveyed in every line.  The love and influence the couple had upon each other is apparent in their writings.  I love poetry, but to this day, never having read those lines since my early high school days, I can still quote “How do I Love Thee” verse for verse.  I wanted a love like that.  Did I get it?  Well…    Their book of love letters also inspired me to write my own;  my first published book, To The One I Love.

Clive Barker:

Books of Blood – Talk about nightmares! This collection of short stories had me screaming in the night but I still came back for more.  Since all his books have the same result, I didn’t bother to list more than one.

Janet Evanovich:

Stephanie Plum Novels –  She taught me you can be destitute, have a broken-down car that probably won’t last more than a few weeks or months, have a ex-ho for a best friend, be resourceful, clueless and still get the job done.  Not to mention have two hot guys chasing after you.

Robin Cook:

Almost everything he’s published:   I learned don’t trust blood banks, organ donors cards, doctors, injections, genetic testing and HMOs.  And for Pete’s sake, never…ever…jog alone, let others breath on you, look at you, or stand next to you!  An ambulance you say?  No thanks, I’ll grab a cab.  His novels gave me “white coat syndrome” for sure.  Unfortunately I don’t regret the introduction.

G.A. McKevett:

Savannah Reid Mysteries – Her books leave no doubt that a curvy girl can have a crazy family, a cheap boyfriend/husband, loyal friends and still kick ass, mentally, intellectually and physically.

John Sandford:

The Lucas Davenport Novels – Don’t get me wrong, I certainly wouldn’t pass up Virgil Flowers, but my ultimate book boyfriend is none other than Lucas Davenport.  He’s large and in charge with a side of nasty.  Rich, intelligent, good-looking; he is a cop that’s not afraid to get his hands dirty or scuff his Ferragamo shoes.  What’s not to love?

Amanda Quick, Emily Bronte, Johanna Lindsey, Emily Dickinson:

Mistress, Jane EyreLove Only Once, The Gorgeous Nothings – What girl or woman who reads romance classics and regency romances hasn’t imagined herself  in flowing gowns of ruffles and lace?  Sometimes I am embroiled in a tryst with a dark domineering hero, at other times my imagination runs along the lines of a more genteel setting of balls, tea rooms and quiet longing.

Robert Frost:

The Road Not Taken – Let’s face it, most of us have, at some point, considered the choice of the road not taken.

James Weldon Johnson:

God’s Trombones: Seven Negro Spirituals in Verse – When James Weldon Johnson is mentioned, one of his works that quickly comes to mind is Lift Every Voice (The Black National Anthem).  My favorite however is God’s Trombones.  I still get caught up in this beautiful portrayal of God in The Creation.  The poem also reminds me of Auguste Rodin’s sculpture The Thinker because of the line, “With his head in his hands, God thought and thought, til he though, ‘I think I’ll make a man’.”

The names and titles above barely scratch the surface.  I read more than four hundred books a year so you can only shudder at the thought of what stimulates my actions and thoughts.

Tell me what novels, short stories and poems move you to live, think and act certain ways.  I’d love to know.

Frozen, A Writer’s Nightmare

Photo by Dick Muddle - sneeuw.jpg

Frozen by Dawn Gena

My chest hurts.  

Breathe.  

I must remember to breathe.  

But I can’t.  

I am frozen.  

Eyes shut tight.  

Body locked.  

Brain shut down.  

Not even sweat has the courage to appear upon my brow.

This is a death not so painful, yet excruciating in its corruption.

This is a life not lived.

This is my life.

Frozen. 

To The One I Love, The Book Trailer

I think book trailers are a wonderful thing.  If you are familiar with Chronicle Keeperz, you know that there is or was a trailer for every book published.  I figured, why break from tradition.  So here it is the trailer for To The One I Love.

Hey!  Why not check out my website!    dawngena@com

 

The Noose: A Mystery Novelette by Dawn Gena

A Woman’s Point Of View

The Noose: A Mystery Novelette by Dawn Gena

The Noose: A Mystery Novelette by Dawn Gena

Hmm, I don’t know, maybe readers would prefer a woman?  It doesn’t seem as if anyone had anything to say about Scott Coleman, a male, being the main character of  The Noose.  Let’s see if anyone wants to comment on the lead character being a woman.  Frankly I think a woman would be great.  After all, woman are resourceful, tenacious, intelligent and let’s not forget passionate.

The Noose by Dawn Gena

The Noose by Dawn Gena

An account of events as told by Loraine Barton:

I came to on the floor, wedged between the back seat and the front seat of what I thought to be a passenger van or SUV.    I was lying on my stomach with my right arm pinned under me.  My jaw was throbbing from the hit I had taken from that Neanderthal who had walked up to me outside of the airport terminal.  Though the windows seemed to have a dark tint, the sun’s rays were doing their best to fry my back.

 The vehicle wasn’t moving so I wasn’t sure whether we were still at the airport or if I had been driven some place else.  I was about to raise my head when the driver’s seat shook a little and the door opened causing the small chiming noise of the car door to sound off.  I closed my eyes and tried to slow my breathing as much as I could to make them think that I was still unconscious.

 “I’ll get us some food and water.”  A woman’s voice said from the driver’s seat.  Her voice reminded me of the woman who had approached me just before I had been punched.

 “You gas up and keep an eye on the package.  Notice I said eye.  Don’t you dare lay another hand on her.” The woman threatened.

 The package?  Were they referring to me?  The front passenger door opened and the vehicle bounced and swayed as if something heavy was being removed.  My guess, it was the massive monster who had slugged me.

 The smells of gasoline, grilled meat and heat rushed in through the door the monster had left open.  I could hear car doors opening and closing, children laughing and an occasional car horn honking.  We seemed to be at a gas station.  A very busy gas station.

 My head was at an awkward angle that had the bottom of my chin resting on the floor mat with my neck craned back.  I was about to move my head to a more comfortable position when everything went dark.  I no longer felt the sun’s heat on my back.  The overgrown troll must have been looking in the back window at me.  I held my breath and froze.  The last thing I wanted was for him to know I was conscious.  It seemed like forever before the sunlight returned.  The troll had moved away from the passenger right rear window.

 By then, my neck was screaming for relief.  I had to move my head.  I heard the door of the gas tank spring open and then the twist of the gas cap.  The troll was still on the right side toward the rear of the van or SUV.   I finally thought it safe enough to move my head.  As I did, pain shot from my neck, then my shoulders, ending at the back of my head.  I tasted blood from my lip as I bit down to stifle my groan.  Now, through my left eye, I could see more of my prison.  From the look of it, I was in an SUV.  The logo of the automaker was emblazoned in a small corner of the door between the window and the armrest.  I also had a limited view out the rear right side window.  I saw no sign of the troll.  I could, however, hear him fumbling with the gas pump nozzle in the tank every now and again.

 I had no idea where they were taking me or what they wanted.  What I did know was that I probably wouldn’t have a better chance, than at that moment, to try to escape.  I tuned my ears to listen for the slightest noise as I slowly slid my left arm up my side and past my head.  My knuckles grazed along the left door panel until they made contact with the door latch.   I stopped and listened to make sure the troll was still filling the gas tank.  As if on queue, the springs on the right rear of the SUV lowered as the Neanderthal leaned against it.

 I grasped the door latch and slowly pulled it toward me.  The door opened with a faint pop.  Sunlight blazed through the crack in the doorway blinding me.  I pushed the door wider and raised myself on my hands and knees as I began to crawl toward the open door.

 The SUV was higher off the ground than I had anticipated.  I moved so quickly through the opening I had no time to brace myself for the two-foot drop to the ground.  My hands came down hard on the oil stained cement.  My arms buckled and my head smacked the ground.  The rest of my body tumbled out with one of my feet still caught in the doorway.

 I heard a sharp gasp and looked up to find a woman quickly guiding her children around me as she stared at me in horror.

 “Call the police!”  I called after her retreating back.  The woman and her children disappeared around the front of the SUV without a backward glance.  Ignoring the shards of pain, I hurriedly untangled myself and was about to stand up when I heard a voice directly behind me.

 “Going somewhere?”  I turned around, knowing it was none other than the troll.  From where I crouched, my line of sight fell on his kneecaps.  I gathered my breath and opened my mouth to let out the loudest yell I could manage.  The cry locked in my throat as the troll stepped closer and placed the barrel of his big gun in the center of my chest.  My eyes climbed his large rumpled frame until they came to his mouth.  What I saw there did not encourage me to venture any further.  The troll’s wide mouth was twisted into a cruel grin that bared a lot of big white teeth.  Too stupid to halt there, my eyes met his.  His green eyes were vacant yet somehow managed to convey the layer upon layer of maliciousness that vibrated through his being.

 “Sneaky bitch,” he sneered.  For someone so large, he could move quickly.  Before I could register what was happening, he drew the gun back and clubbed me on the side of my head.  Damn, that was going to leave another bruise.  Miranda was not going to be pleased…

 Note to self:  Did I mention I was going to kill the bastard?