Check out the promotional video for Little Ones of Wood & Hair here!
Have a great weekend and happy reading!
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Today is the release of my second double feature collection, "Little Ones of Wood & Hair." It's a collection of two stories and one poem all with a doll theme. It is available on Amazon exclusively as an ebook. Also, you can now get my first double feature collection, Two Before Dawn, FREE for two days only. Whether you want to read it or not, know that each download helps me tremendously. Thank you for your support. If you find that you enjoy either of these (and I have every confidence you will) please consider leaving a rating or quick little review on Amazon and/or Goodreads. Check out the promotional video for Little Ones of Wood & Hair here! Have a great weekend and happy reading!
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Yup...I haven't blogged all week. I've been busy proofreading, reading, pitching, searching, critiquing, editing, finalizing, emailing, and creating a surprise for this Friday, which happens to be the 13th. Actually, I may as well just tell you. This coming Friday will see the release of "Little Ones of Wood & Hair," book II in my double feature collection. But first, here's this weekend's drivel, courtesy of life experiences and observations: Facing a Wasteland You knew painting your door red would show the world how mad you were; that painting your lawn with the blue petunias would show the world how sad you were. And though you’d never let us see you, the dolls in your windows and your stone garden figurines told tales of your loneliness. Keep your curtains closed and your bricks stacked tight. It’s a mad, wild world. Fork in the Road It wasn’t a busy street. But what few cars there were, made up for it in speed. They were all in a rush to get from one cornfield to the next, or to race through the scent of country manure. Two boys rode their bikes along the road in the dirt, nearly touching the edge of the asphalt with their thin 10-speed tires. The boy in the rear looked behind to watch as an approaching car passed, while his younger friend hit the brakes in front of him. The older boy’s bike lodged impossibly into the back gears of his friend, launching the rear boy forward in a messy attempt at a forward flip. While in mid air, momentum petered out and the boy and bike tipped sideways, crashing on the road, barely missing contact with the passing car. The bike’s forks, now bent in opposite directions, rendered the bike useless. The boy was kept safe from the cornfield chaser. Years later he’d be hit by a car. But not today. Not on this street. News Update: I have recently found myself on the Famous Monsters of Filmland writer list, and last weekend I sent a pitch that they liked and have given me the go ahead to write a lengthy article. I'll be working hard on this in the next few weeks. In a future blog, I will write about just how much this means to me, but for now I'll just boast.
Now Reading: The Night is Long and Cold and Deep - Terry M. West As I'm reading an early draft of author Dan Padavona's upcoming book, I thought it appropriate to dedicate this week's Day-Off Drivel flash to his father, Ronnie James Dio. Enjoy! The Last in Line Three hours of standing in line had gone by, when the boy’s dad’s wife (it was hard to think of her as his stepmom with only a decade between them) showed up with 40-oz bottles of Schlitz Malt Liquor. His favorite since the age of 12—four years ago. Getting buzzed helped the time pass. The line was made up of hair, denim, and leather and smelled of grass and testosterone. Headbangers from all over gathered to meet the voice of heavy metal, Ronnie James Dio. Another hour went by before the line finally took them inside the record store. The walls were adorned with the announcement of the Dio meet-and-greet. As the line sluggishly moved, the boy could now see his idol sitting behind a table—leaving his signature on posters, photographs, and albums. The boy looked down at his small cassette case. It was all he had to hold Dio’s majestic markings. He wished he’d never stopped buying vinyl. As the boy approached the end of the long table where the band sat, his eyes were fixed on Ronnie—watching him take pictures with his fans. The boy’s dad, a seasoned photographer with an expensive camera, began capturing the moments. A picture would be far more valuable than any ink from a marker, rushed and squeezed onto the insert of a cassette tape. Dio’s band members sat like bland side dishes in a lunch line as the boy slowly passed each one, while others in line fed them various band paraphernalia for their signatures. The boy held tight to his cassette. The small area reserved for one signature—the voice of Rainbow. The voice of Black Sabbath. The voice of his generation. The band’s new guitarist sat idle; his hand eager to share his practiced rockstar scribble. “Don’t you want my autograph?” Asked the virtuoso. The boy squeezed hard at his cassette, protecting it. “No.” NEWS UPDATE: The winner of the Two Before Dawn giveaway is Helen Keely. Helen has won a copy of my new double feature collection "Two Before Dawn" as well as a copy of my short story "One for the Road." Congratulations, Helen! I hope you enjoy the stories! Now Reading: *The Night is Long and Cold and Deep - Terry M. West *From This Day Forward - Craig and Amy Groeschel The only time I’ve ever slept in a movie theater is when my parents took me to see Star Trek: The Motion Picture. My whole life I’ve hated science fiction. In the 70s I would see Star Trek on the TV at my neighbors and would cringe and leave the room. It bored me. The ridiculous costumes were laughable (although I do admit to enjoying the episode “Arena”), and none of the aliens looked threatening in the least. I wanted blood and gore. Or at least something that looked frightening. When it came to Sci-Fi, even Star Wars couldn’t do it for me. The only two things that ever stood out in that trilogy for me as a child were the scenes in Empire Strikes Back where Han splits open the belly of the tauntaun and when we get to see the back of Darth Vader’s sickly-looking dome. See, I was a messed up kid. As the 80s came, there were a handful of movies that melded science fiction and horror. Alien, the remake of The Fly, The Thing, and Lifeforce to name a few. And who can forget the terror that was Event Horizon in the 90s. But as far as I was concerned, that was as close to Sci-Fi as I was ever going to get. I could not—would not—appreciate the genre. It wasn’t until my late 30s that I decided I was going to give Sci-Fi another chance. After all, I was now a huge jazz fan--something that was finally able to tear me away from my punk rock and metal roots. I do this with music sometimes--give certain bands a chance about every five years or so. I do this with Grateful Dead. I give them the opportunity a few times per decade and they fail to impress every time. I don’t think I’ll ever get it. But with trying to rediscover Star Trek, by this time there was a certain retro nostalgia for me.
So about 6 years ago when I saw that Netflix had all three seasons of the original series (or the TOS as the Trekkies…excuse me, Trekkers call it), I went at it. I watched an episode, and then another. And then another. I was smitten. The writing was fantastic. The characters, memorable and real. The choreographed fighting…hilarious. And the captivating story lines certainly made up for the low budget effects. It was refreshing to finally have those old scales fall from my eyes, revealing a whole new world where I could fully appreciate this five-year mission (well, three-year mission). And what fan hasn’t had a man crush on the testosterone-fueled Captain James Tiberius Kirk? However, I think it was Mr. Spock in particular that helped me appreciate this long overdue experience—the mysteriousness that surrounded Spock and his Vulcan ways. Years later, and now knee-deep into Star Trek: The Next Generation, it’s clear that the character, Data, was created to fill the void left behind by Mr. Nimoy and his character, Spock. Shoes that will never be filled. Today I pay homage to Leonard Nimoy and the character that helped turn this hater into a lover. I would even go so far as to say that Spock and the gang made that muppet show that is Star Wars, much more palatable for this reformed Sci-Fi guy. Living 83 years on this earth isn’t bad. I’d say he lived long. And indeed he prospered. In anticipation of my anthology, Night as a Catalyst, today I released my two-story collection, Two Before Dawn. This e-book is the first in my "double feature collection," which will be made available exclusively as e-books, complete with notes for those interested in bits of trivia involved with the creation of the stories therein. In celebration of the release of this small collection, I thought I'd give a few copies away for free. The winners will also receive a free Kindle version of One for the Road. And here's how to enter: You're only eligible if you have liked my Facebook page here, and from there everything else is just one more drop in the hat: *Share the announcement of the contest via Facebook or Twitter (tag me in it so I'm able to see it). *Follow me on Twitter @ChadLutzke. *Sign up to receive Write-Brained Leftover announcements by entering your email address to the right, then checking your email and clicking the verify link in the body of the email. For each one of these you'll be entered once (twice for signing up to receive Write-Brained Leftover updates). The winner will be chosen at random and announced on my Facebook page this Sunday, March 01, 2015. This weekend's drivel discusses some potentially dangerous situations involving sexual exploits. Perfectly Organized and Purposeful Chaos
At first glance, the yard—adorned sporadically with large, colorful children’s toys and playhouses—spoke white trash. It was void of any grass secondary to years of small, scuffling feet hard at play in the children’s trove. It screamed disorganization, yet everything was in its perfect place. A chain link fence kept the good safe and the bad out. The van in the driveway confirmed there was always a little people party going on. “You kids go and have fun but don’t touch Mama’s flower’s, now.” Only one block away, an old small building stood. In days past it housed sexual debauchery in the basement—the live action kind. Bring your 18-plus-year-old boner and your wallet; the back parking lot speckled with hidden cars of shameful slaves to their loins. The building now stands as a tobacco and head shop. When the kids break free from the fence one day, they can get their first colorful glass pipe to match their old broken toys instead of a good old fashioned STD. Twenty Dollar Bill “I slept with a hooker last night” the dark-haired boy told his best friend. The best friend sunk in the car seat unable to digest what he’d heard. His friend was always a momma’s boy. And save for the nicotine habit, he did nothing wrong. There was a vacuum in the car and the night sky turned darker. There was a demonic presence with the confession. The surrealism of the moment sent the best friend into near panic mode, like what he had heard triggered some sort of impending apocalypse. “Why?” As he asked the question, he could feel the respect for his friend diminish. “I don’t know.” He began to cry. “You can’t be doing that, man! Now you’ve got a new nickname.” NEWS UPDATE: Today (February 21, 2015) is the final day you can download the Kindle-friendly version of my story "One for the Road." If you enjoy it, please consider leaving a sentence or two stating so on Amazon and/or Goodreads. Also, within the next day or so I'll be making a pretty cool announcement. Now Reading: Famous Monsters of Filmland issue 278 The Night is Long and Cold and Deep - Terry M. West From today until February 21, 2015, I am offering my story "One for the Road" for free on Amazon. If you've read it, download it anyway--for two reasons. I've revised it recently complete with new cover and as an overall better read, and also it ups my Amazon rankings which certainly helps build my platform. Know what else helps? Reviews and spreading the word. If you enjoyed One for the Road, I would encourage you to take the time to leave a sentence or two stating so on Amazon and/or Goodreads. If you're still not convinced then check out the trailer below. Thank you ahead of time for taking the time out of your busy schedule to support me. You are a great blessing, and I hope you enjoy the story half as much as I enjoyed writing it. ~Chad Week 2 of my micro pieces. A completely different side of my writing--the therapeutic, artsy side.
Testosterone The newlywed wife ran screaming out of the house—slowed down from all her extra weight. "Help me! He's trying to kill me!" She pleaded at the oncoming truck as she ran from her yard out into the street. The truck told her he didn't want to get involved and then drove off leaving her standing alone desperate in the street. Who felt more like a man that day; the guy fleeing or the guy choking his new wife? Pink Ain't Lady Like The power went out. Usually it was secondary to a storm or some fool hitting a telephone pole with their car. This outage, however, was the result of failure to pay. The home owners sat in the dead silence, as though parts of their brains had now been unplugged. The next few minutes were filled with questions and cursing and with brain-unplugged actions, like attempting to switch on a light in order to look for matches to light a candle so they could see better. Yes, parts of their brains were unplugged. The electricity executioner stood on the front steps attaching a bright pink note to the door; a beaten leather tool belt wrapped loosely around her soiled jeans. The home owner spotted the executioner as she marched her boots back down the front steps. "Ma'am. Did you turn my power off? "Yes, I did. But I left you a pink note." Now Reading: *Carus & Mitch - Tim Major Nothing to see here but a quick update. Upon awakening yesterday morning, I received an email from the only indie publisher I currently trust with the release of my book. While waiting to hear back from said publisher regarding any kind of "yay" or "nay," I had gone ahead with obtaining blurbs, a cover, final tweaking, etc. with the intent of self publishing right away if denied. The email I received was a request for more. This means two things. I'm closer to getting my book published through them, but farther from a release date. I've sent them four pieces and now it's back to the waiting game. This could take until mid spring before I hear anything. That being said, Night as a Catalyst will not be released this month. During the wait, I will be focusing on my contributions to Horror Novel Reviews, proofreading for Crystal Lake Publishing and others, and more than anything: Writing an abundance of stories and/or the novella series I've been waiting to water.
Thank you for the support with your feedback, your comments, your reviews, and your spreading the word. Every bit of this helps more than you know. Currently Reading: *Chazown - Craig Groeschel *Servant of the Red Quill: A Baker Johnson Tale - Terry M. West Though I've written notebooks full of songs--and even straight up poetry--poems aren't something I'm normally in the habit of writing. I don't dabble too much in the that type of literary romanticism. And I'm not a big fan of reading it. Poetry can be so personal at times that no one else but the author can truly appreciate it. Do take note. I'm not bad mouthing it. There is, however, a type of flash fiction that I enjoy that I would consider almost poetic. And I suppose you can either see the beauty in it, or maybe it'll just fly right over your head. Last year I wrote a blog entry (read that sucker right here) where I used the traffic view on Google maps to help jump start my imagination. What resulted was my own made-up scenario based on evidences observed in a panoramic view on Google maps right in my home town. That particular form of writing is far reserved from what I normally do, but I find it both therapeutic and entertaining. It's a very satisfying form of art, if you will. I'd like to start sharing some of my pieces here on the weekend in a little segment called "Day-Off Drivel." I suppose I would have to credit author/actor/speaker/opinionator/punk rock icon Henry Rollins for inspiration. He's written some books with a similar style. I hope you enjoy the micro pieces. Who knows, maybe one day I'll publish a little book full of all this drivel. Hope you enjoy it! Not Quite Six Feet Deep But Deep Enough "Dig it deeper." The drunk man commanded the two boys. The man's dog had died earlier that day lying in the sweltering sun. Insects had started to find the corpse attractive; the sun helping lift the scent of death to their senses. The hole was already 4 feet deep—a ridiculous depth for a pet. But the grieving man's judgment was clouded with an alcohol-fueled paranoia, that one day people would move into the house he was renting and dig up his precious dead dog. He would most certainly not have that. Later, while the dog rested under the weight of 4 feet of soil, the man would treat the boys to BBQ for their suffering and sweat. Facing a Wasteland
You knew painting your door red would show the world how mad you were; that painting your lawn with the blue petunias would show the world how sad you were. And though you’d never let us see you, the dolls in your windows and your stone garden figurines told tales of your loneliness. Keep your curtains closed and your bricks stacked tight. It’s a mad, wild world. |
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