As R.W. does a virtual book tour with Goddess Fish Promotions, he
will be awarding a $25 Amazon or Barnes and Noble gift card (winner’s choice)
to a lucky randomly drawn winner. To be entered for a chance to win, use the form below. To increase your
chances of winning, feel free to visit his other tour stops and enter there,
too!
My
infatuation with writing was born before I ever took my first breath, somewhere
on the rural plains of Eastern North Carolina, nourished by the adventures of
my grandmother’s childhood. From the time I was only four or five years old,
her memories gave flight to my imagination and fuel to my curiosities. Her
stories widened my eyes to the fascinatingly bizarre in the everyday.
As
a young girl, my grandmother would bring her puppy with her to stalk rabbits
every morning. The two of them would chase an unlucky long-eared rascal until
it escaped into a hollow at the base of a tree, and she would run a stick
around the inside of the opening as though churning butter. The spell of the
sound and vibration would lure the rabbit out of the tree and into her hands.
Good
fiction, inventive and provocative fiction, reverberates in readers and
spellbinds them. It can spur surprise, delight, discomfort, and revelation and
defy reason. As a storyteller, I strive to help others solve their problems by
sharing things that I have read about, heard about, and seen. But I also prize
the look on people’s faces when they hear the brilliant punch line of a joke,
or when they experience an epiphany that knocks the logical wind out of them.
These are the reactions that I live to inspire in my audiences when I write
paranormal thrillers.
My
obsession with the extraordinary in my writing might also, ironically, stem
from my 20-year career in the U.S. Army. I can allow my mind to wander in the
extraterrestrial sphere while my love for my country keeps me grounded in
domestic affairs. Of all of my accomplishments, serving as a paratrooper in a
Special Forces Group and a Field Artillery outfit during Operation Desert
Shield/Desert Storm claims high rank. Few situations force a person to confront
his humanity as painfully as going off to war, and this experience taught me
both to accept accountability for my actions and to trust others. Eventually, I
became a successful Army Recruiter and Station Commander, earning the Top
Recruiting Station awards in Dallas and Seattle Recruiting Battalions. North
Carolina Central University granted me a Public Service Award for my work in
the local community. And currently, I serve fellow veterans as an HR Specialist
for the Department of Veteran Affairs.
Other
passions of mine include playing chess, traveling, and indulging in my
contrarian nature by instigating debate. Spending time with my wife tops the
list of my life’s privileges, however. Whether I am entertaining her with my
emulation of Laurence Olivier as Marcus Crassus or protecting her from an elk
during one of our photography excursions in the wild, I treasure her
companionship and affection.
When
I was twelve years old, I announced to my Aunt Becky and Cousin Tony that I
wanted to write a book. They stared at me in astonishment. The world of
publishing was an enigma to simple country folks in Beaufort, North Carolina in
1982. These days I am achieving my dream with the ebook, a medium through which
I can express my individuality without sacrificing my voice to expectations of
marketability, popularity, and deadlines. My goal is to create an opportunity
for escapism that is bold and absolute.
A little
bit about the novel:
Metamorphosis:
The Trey Parker Story, the first novel in a three-part paranormal thriller series. A
young male is forever changed after a near death experience. His incident invites
the attention of a covert government agency. A gritty detective remains
diligent in discovering the facts of the incident and encounters opposition
from the unlikeliest of places.
Excerpt from Metamorphosis:
Ten years have passed since Trey’s
question went unanswered, the sacred practice of attending church Sunday
mornings now a distant memory. On a cool fall Saturday night, Trey’s thin,
six-foot frame stands in the doorway of their small apartment. His mom is
asleep on the brown suede couch, and he can overhear the faint sound of arguing
neighbors next door. The aroma left from a well-cooked pot roast lingers and
competes with Tracey’s smoldering cigarette in an ashtray on the floor, inches
from the remote control—another failed attempt at quitting. While the ceiling
fan does a poor job circulating warm air throughout the dimly lit apartment, it
works wonders for the smoke.
Red, green, and blue lights from the
television flicker on and off Tracey’s face while she curves into a ball in her
blue scrubs. Above her on the wall is the blown-up picture of Nana and the
family when it was still together: Toni still in Tracey’s stomach and James’s
arms holding his wife and son tightly, Nana beside him.
Laughter from a discontinued sitcom
cries out from the television—another episode of Three’s Company and Chrissy
misunderstanding something she overheard.
Trey decides to go through with his
plan. He pushes his silver-framed glasses up on the bridge of his nose. Heart
pounding, he sneaks into the kitchen in search of his mother’s gun, bumping the
table and almost knocking over a glass of water beside Tracey’s nursing books.
Plowing from right to left through
the wood-finished cabinets, one after another, the anxious Trey can barely
breathe from the pain in his chest. Finally, in the last cabinet above the
refrigerator, he finds a scratched and dented blue coffee can without a lid.
Trey pulls the coffee can down with
two trembling hands and peeks inside, then glances at his mom through the
cutout to make sure she is still asleep. He sets the can on the counter. He
grabs hold of the cold pistol—his shaky hand causing him to almost drop it in
the process.
Trey fumbles with the right-handed
pistol and is unable to shake the awkwardness since he is left-handed. He holds
the pistol in his right hand and struggle to hold it firmly as he uses his left
hand to pull the slide and peer into the half-cocked chamber to check if it’s
loaded—it is. Another glance at Tracey. She pulls the red throw closer to her
face and rolls over on the couch.
The pistol’s magazine is full and
several loose bullets tumble over into the can. The refrigerator’s icemaker
clanks out a few more cubes, which breaks Trey’s gaze on the bullets. Trey
packs the gun at the small of his back. After a half-stride, the gun slithers
down onto his buttocks. He goes perfectly still, repositions the pistol, and
tightens his belt.
Trey scampers out of the kitchen and
across the living room. He stops at Toni’s bedroom door. Shaking, he pushes it
open, and get enough light from her night-light to make out her ten-year-old
silhouette. Trey sees his sister curled under the butterfly-covered blanket
Nana spent her last days on earth stitching. When Nana found out she was dying
and would not see Toni grow up, she organized a box of gifts for her
granddaughter, to be given at special occasions. The first gift was that
butterfly-covered blanket and Toni cherishes it.
Links:
I really enjoyed your comments and then I read the excerpt. What an exciting and mysterious excerpt.
ReplyDeleteWhich famous person, living or dead would you like to meet and why?
ReplyDeleteI enjoyed your sharing of yourself. Thank you!
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