writing ideas – David Burton's What if? And Novel Writing Blog

Windhaven 18

Looking for Beta readers for a vampire thriller (4th in the Blood Justice series.) Interested – dcburtonjr@gmail.com

Don’t forget to checkout Girl at Sea, a different coming-of-age story.

“Girl At Sea is a beautiful, dark, but ultimately triumphant book about recognizing evil that exists within some people, but also accepting the goodness that can be found through genuine friendship, lovers, and family. Only then can the albatross fall from our necks and we can truly be free. ” Julie Sara Porter — full review here.

Or – Fear Killer , a different psychological thriller.

WhatIfs –story ideas.

What if a woman from the future shows up to prevent the assassination of a president. After the present president was killed the VP became a cruel and greedy dictator who destroyed the country’s democracy and forced millions into poverty, and became her father. Working with rebels they created a time machine to send her back. She teams up with an FBI agent who believes her. Together they are able to stop the assassination, meanwhile falling in love. The thing is, if the killing never happens, she never exists. Will she just disappear? How deep is their love of country compared to their love of each other?

What if

What if a male vampire and a female Immortal hooked up and fell in love? How would their story play out? Maybe the vamps hate the Immortal. They can’t kill her so what do they try? What if a male Immortal is obsessed with her? Would he team up with the vamps to do…? Maybe the couple would move away. Could they have a baby? Maybe adopt an abandoned/abused kid. Maybe the obsessed Immortal tracks them down, discovers the kid and forms a demented plan to make the woman fall for him.

Talk about love that will never die.

Windhaven is all first draft. Be kind.

To start Windhaven from the beginning go HERE

Windhaven 18

After Noah managed to go below and get some rest, Leigh stayed on deck. She walked the long cockpit surveying the damage, thinking she’d start to clean up, but quickly abandoned that idea. Up forward she wandered the deck with a flashlight, inspecting the damage, all the while shaking her head and muttering “Fuck, man. What the fuck? Are you shitting me?” The muttering and shaking kept her from thinking that they were totally alone, with thousands of miles to go and could expect no help. Though she had a reputation for being tough and competent and optimistic, she was scared and beginning to doubt herself.

She barely knew Noah. They had been on different watches, but he seemed to be competent and level headed. That was good, she would need him. Deep down she really thought she could survive and get the boat to safety. Taking care of Thomas was another thing. That, she could not do alone.

XXXXXX

By mid-morning they had made little progress sorting out the night’s disaster. They had secured the boom and some of the rigging so they could move around. The steering still worked, though the wheel had a large dent. The extra compass had not been found.

They made a plan to put up some sail. Putting the plan in action necessitated someone had to climb to the spreaders and rig some lines. Because of Noah’s injuries it had to be either Leigh or Leigh.

Hands in pockets, they stood side by side, gazing up at the mast remnant.

“We can throw a line over the spreader, pull up a block with a line in it and I can winch you up. Easy.”

“Yeah, easy.”

Neither one made a move.

“You know there’s something else we need to do. Not easy.”

Noah blew out a breath. “I know. It’s just… that… I can’t see myself doing… that. Cutting through. It’s very possible he’ll die on us.”

“I know, but if we don’t….”

It took Noah a minute to say, “I’m terrified to do this.”

“Me too.”

Noah shut his eyes tight. He didn’t like the visions he saw. Eyes open, he turned to Leigh.

She followed suit.

He gripped her shoulders, she held his arms.

“It has to be done,” Leigh said.

“Now,” Noah said.

They touched foreheads, taking courage from each other.

“Thomas?” Leigh said.

Thomas lay still, eyes closed, breathing shallow. “Are you the Grim Reaper now, Leigh?”

“I hope not,” she said, all serious. “We need you to climb up what’s left of the mast.”

He reached out and took her hand. “Before or after you cut off my leg?”

“Jesus, Thomas. Were you eavesdropping again?”

“Didn’t have to. Knew it was coming.”

“Right. Well, now’s the time. Take these pills. They should knock you out.”

“It’s going to hurt, isn’t it?”

“At some point, I expect so.”

With some difficulty, he swallowed the pills one by one.

“Noah?”

“He’s collecting the… tools.”

“I’m here, Thomas.” He took his friend’s hand. “You know what’s happening?”

Thomas gave a weak squeeze. His voice a rough whisper, he said, “For another ten minutes. You’ve been a good friend, Noah. Know this is hard on you. Nice knowing you.”

“We can talk about that later. It is and will be nice knowing you.”

“Right. Thanks for trying.” Thomas sighed and slipped into unconsciousness.

“We didn’t just kill him did we?”

Hands washed and gloved, scalpel and hacksaw retrieved from boiling water, bungee cords and quarter inch line for a tourniquet, and curved needles and thread for stitches gathered, Noah and Leigh gathered themselves and started.

Leigh held the scalpel over Thomas’s leg six inches below the knee. Her hand shook slightly. Noah gently held her hand and nodded – let’s-do-it.

Leigh, her hand steady, made the first cut across the bone. Then she cut through the flesh and muscle and tendons. No hesitation now. Slicing, slicing down to the bone, reaching under to cut up, reaching over to extend the cut all the way around. After a short burst of blood the tourniquet held the blood to a slow seep.

Noah pulled the flesh down so she could get completely to the bone. Once the bone was exposed, their expressions grimly neutral, Noah took the hacksaw while Leigh pulled the flesh tight to the knee. Noah, as if sawing a pipe, cut through the Tibia then quickly through the smaller Fibia.

The now free leg dropped away. Both of them breathed deep tension releasing breaths.

Leigh held out the scalpel.

Noah gingerly moved the dead leg away then with the scalpel made a deep incision in the left and right side of the flesh below the knee. The top and bottom flaps overlapped the bone stubs by an inch. When pressed together the bones were completely covered and the there was a closed seam all the way around.

“Is he still alive?” Noah asked.

“So far.”

“Should we release the tourniquets a little? Make sure there’s blood to the end?”

“I don’t know. Probably. A little.”

Leigh held the flaps together while Noah loosened the bungee cord then cautiously loosened the line tourniquet.

“Shit. Come on blood,” Leigh muttered.

Nothing happened for a few seconds that felt like minutes. Then, a few drops seeped out. Leigh loosened her grip. “That’s it, blood. Come on out.” Once blood colored the whole fleshy seam she tightened her grip and Noah tightened the tourniquet.

“Okay, let’s sew it up before I throw up,” Noah said.

“Fuck, man. You and me both.”

Noah held the skin together while Leigh sewed the two parts together from one end of the cut to the other. Her stitches weren’t pretty, but they did the job.

Shoulder to shoulder they watched as the skin gained a little color and blood oozed out the very end. “Doc,” Noah said, hand on her shoulder, “I can’t believe we actually did that.”

Leigh leaned against him. “Do you think he’ll survive?”

“I don’t know. I say we pour alcohol on it, clean up the blood, bandage it and get some fresh air. That’s all we can do.”

Fifteen minutes later from the cockpit they surveyed all the work needing to be done, searched for the sun in the thickening clouds and shared one of the few remaining beers. With little ceremony besides a few words from Noah they consigned Thomas’s leg to the sea.

“Weather’s coming,” Leigh observed.

“Of course it is.”

Thanks for reading. Suggestions and comments are welcome.

Reviewers rule.

READERS

We all want a good review, no matter what we do. Authors especially. I know you all have bought and read my latest two books, Blood on the Water and Soul Retrievers, and are just taking a little time to come down from the high you got from reading them before writing a five star review for Amazon, Goodreads, etc. I thank you for your review ahead of time.

All reviews are helpful, the life blood of authors and readers looking for a good read. We court reviewers, critics and bloggers by the hundreds. Beg them to read our work and write a positive review. They can make or break a career. Or so I’ve been told. I’m still a non-bestseller, non-award winning, non-famous writer. Reviewers, and that includes readers, have the power to help a little bit, should they choose to use it.

But, What if there was a Reviewer who did have absolute power to make an author famous, wealthy and loved around the world? One who’s merest word would make any product – book, movie, coffee, car, diaper, hotel, soft drink, or vegan food into the most desired (or undesired) of its kind on Earth. He, or she, could shape the world as he saw fit. Politicians would be in or out at his whim as he reviewed their performance. Economic systems implemented or abandoned with a few words on late night TV. Always assuming he was psychologically fit himself.

What if he was depressed and didn’t like anything? Nobody would buy anything and there might be a world depression. Manic on the other side, he might like everything and the world goes into massive debt because they spend all their money buying everything. His paranoia might be good for the bodyguard/mercenary business, not so good for the civilian guns trade with a particularly scathing review for the NRA. If he smoked a bit of weed to dull the paranoia, that might be good for the fast food and munchies business.

Obviously, his reviews would be sought after. A good review would be like money in the bank. But what would he want for one of his Golden Reviews? Money? At first, but soon he’d have more money than most countries. Power? He could topple or create governments or mega-corporations. But what about us little guys, the struggling writers and entrepreneurs? Maybe he was a struggling writer who never made it and so had a soft spot for us non-bestselling, non-award winning authors. For a token payment he’d post a good review of your book on Amazon. Heck, I’d slip him a hundred bucks for a review of Blood on the Water or Soul Retrievers. Not that the reviews you’re working on for me don’t matter. They do. They hold the same power as the Super Reviewer’s will when he finally makes himself known. So use your power for good.

WRITERS

What If The Reviewer is a lone alien trying singlehandedly to take over humanity for his own grandiose, but demented, I-want-to-rule-a-world dreams, or as an advance softening up before an invasion, or as a way to get humanity to build a ship to take him home? But, some humans are always immune to what might affect the rest. Maybe one, who’s a super used car salesman, realizes what’s going on and posts an anti-Reviewer blog. And the blog-fight is on!

What If The Reviewer is supernatural in nature? God or the Devil trying to reach humanity for their own reasons using the latest tech, social media, for their own agendas. Maybe a God vs Satan blog fight for the future of mankind.

What If The Reviewer was just a regular guy who was trying to help out a woman he liked with her first book and he discovered he had the Gift and things got a little out of hand and it took the woman to figure out who he was and bring the world back from the brink – and incidentally find true love.

All Readers have the power to kill or resurrect a writers career. Please review wisely.

Recycling is Dangerous

Sorry I haven’t posted in so long, I know you’ve been worried, but I’ve been on the run for a few months. Hiding out in friends’ basements, sleeping in homeless shelters, under bridges, making contact with other recyclers. I tried to cross the border, but they were watching.

I had to keep moving. They’re relentless! They stop at nothing. The fate of the people who have helped me is unknown. They’ve vanished! But I’m tired of running without telling my side of the story to the public.

Okay, I’ll admit it, I did the deed. I couldn’t help it. It was just laying there on top of the trash, calling out to me, “Recycle me. Mister, please recycle me. Don’t throw me out with the other trash to slowly and painfully deteriorate for a hundred years or more in some stinking landfill.” I admit I felt sorry for that No. 1 plastic bottle.

It knew the right thing to do. So did I. So I took it, and damn the draconian rules against recycling at my work place in a camouflaged office building tucked into a far corner of Area 51, right next to Area 52, that state, for no logical reason that I’ve heard, “Do not touch recyclable plastic bottles or aluminum cans. They are trash, worth money and environmental points, but you deprive them from their place in the landfill AT YOUR PERIL!”

So, yes, I took it. I was weak. But I took that one lonesome bottle and stashed it in my roller trash cart. Sure I was scared, but it felt damned good, doing the right thing, helping a plastic bottle, and not even one of those ubiquitous flimsy little water bottles – it was a full-size Gatorade bottle – to it’s rightful environmental place. I was a proud Green Warrior, defying the nonsensical proclamations of those on high who drive gas guzzlers, take long, hot showers, never turn off the lights when leaving the room, and deny Global Warming.

That courageous feeling lasted until the next afternoon when Sir called me into his office. Without a word he tapped a key on his computer and played a video of me holding the bottle in my hands, squaring my shoulders and putting the bottle in a bottom pouch of my trash can. “You’re under arrest for recycling,” he said, pronouncing “Recycling” with the same tone he’d accuse one of murdering his mother.

I was busted. What did I have to lose? “You’re a smart guy,” I said. “You know that the Ban Recycling Decree is, as everyone I’ve told has responded, ‘A stupid idea.’ Right?” I followed his glance out the window. Two burly Recycle Agents, or as they’re colloquially called, the Plastic Police, strode toward the office door. I didn’t have much time to decide what to do.

“That’s the law. It’s my job to enforce them, not question them.”

I stood up. Leaned on his desk. “Your laws go against Federal, State and City environmental and waste reduction programs. When this gets out, and it will, it will be you running from the Storm Troopers. I hope they make you all dig up all the tens of thousands of bottles and cans from the landfill, and the thousands of dollars you forced us to throw away are used to repay us for our pain and anguish at having to follow such a crazy law.”

Sir cocked his head and squinted at me. “Running?”

The front door slammed and I heard the hobnail boots click – clack on the tile floor. I grabbed a half-full water bottle off his desk. “Running.” Then I spun around and dashed out the door. I had no idea where I was going. All I knew was I had to stay free and expose this travesty of misuse of power to all the good people of the land. So now you know what’s happening here. I beg you, please, for the sake of all the plastic, numbers 1-7, and aluminum cans big and small that yearn to be recycled, speak up, question, demonstrate. Don’t let one more bottle or can linger for hundreds of years in an anonymous landfill.

BTW – If someone can arrange a clandestine trip out of the country to an anonymous location (preferably tropic) free from pursuit, I might know a thing or two about what really happens in Area 52. Just saying.

IDEAS

What if there was a logical, from their point of view, reason to put the plastic in the landfill? Maybe Area 52 was a special landfill keeping alien worms captive and they only ate #1 plastic. These worms were telepathic and the Feds were experimenting on them to learn how to be telepathic. And maybe if someone was on the run and hid under the tarp he might make a deal with the worms – He helps them escape to their hidden ship and they will make him telepathic – a useful ability for a man on the run.

What If plastic was a rare commodity in the galaxy? And after we almost exterminated ourselves by ignoring Global Warming, Earth was discovered by aliens and they found the rich deposits of plastic in our old landfills. Then, they either enslaved the surviving humans to mine the plastic, or they ignored the pesky survivors who asked them for help. Then, what if another alien race, no friends of the first, discovered the precious deposits. Maybe, in the ensuing Plastic War, the humans took advantage, helping the aliens destroy each other, allowing the humans to appropriate their technology and head for the stars with ships full of plastic wealth.

What If in some future world a powerful wizard was being hassled by the Powers That Be (PTB). To get even, get revenge, get free, get power, the wizard makes a golem out of ancient plastic found only in the Abandoned lands. Maybe he needs an apprentice to help him, or a soldier, or a guide. Of course Golems have a reputation of being unpredictable.

So, please speak up against onerous anti-recycling rules. Hiding in strange basements and sleeping in boxcars is only fun the first time. I’d like to go home.

Just got a great review from Vampireforums.com for my book Blood Justice. Check it out – http://vampireforums.com/blood-justice-book-review/

For links to my latest mystery novel, Passion Street, please go to: http://dcburtonwriting.wordpress.com/passion-street

Or, go to: http://dcburtonwriting.wordpress.com to find all my books and stories.

What was that? Oh, man, I got to g….

My Earth, All Mine

“Happy Holidays?” Had enough merriment and good cheer? Tired of “Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays and Happy New Year?” Too much generosity and good cheer for you? How about some doom and gloom? This is the time when loners feel their lonesome the most. Give them a little love.

So there’s loners and there’s LONERS. What if you were in the latter group and you didn’t want to be just left alone in your cabin in the woods or your little apartment in the city. You wanted to be the only human on Earth. How would you go about it?

You’d want to consult with Gaia first. I’m sure she’d be glad to be rid of the human pests, but you wouldn’t want to piss her off by screwing with her plans for us, would you?

I’m not talking about evil super villains who want to have all the money and rule the world. They need people to lord it over. The same with religious fanatics. They need people to listen to them preach doom and gloom, fire and brimstone, and you’d better have sex with me or God’s going to be mad at you. And political despots. They need somebody to enslave, harangue, and be paranoid about. Without people they’re just crazy dudes ranting at themselves.

The main problem of eliminating humans from the planet is getting rid of them without killing yourself. What good is having a planet of your own if you’re too dead to enjoy it? Inciting a nuclear war probably isn’t so easy now days. And if you could, say, obtain the launch codes for all the missiles in the US or Russia and set them all off and create a full on nuclear winter killing most everything that lives, that doesn’t sound very agreeable. If you’re going to be alone, having warm, secluded beaches or pleasant woodland walks would be a necessity. Whether 8 billion people crowd the planet or none, what difference would it make if you’re shut in your bomb shelter for the next 1000 years?

Mosquitoes are your friends. They inhabit all the earth except Antarctica. They infect hundreds of millions and kill millions every year. All you’d have to do is cook up a big batch of a human specific virus or bacteria, infect a few million mosquito eggs, and distribute them around some of the busiest airports. Within days of hatching, your personal little pandemic would have spread throughout the world. Then, all you’d have to do is sit back with your beach towel and umbrella in hand and wait for the beach to clear out. Assuming you thought to immunize yourself against your private plague.

Or, you might want to learn how to sail before hand. Once you let the little monsters loose a long cruise into the ocean while the sun, bacteria, insects, and animals dispose of the dead would be nice. If you’re smart, and watched too many horror movies, you made sure that the dead stayed dead. It wouldn’t do to come back to shore and be greeted by a few billion hungry Zombies. That could be just as bothersome as a few billion regular folks. Vampires could be a problem. There’re already dead and they’d be really hungry. Better stock up on holy water, silver bullets and learn how to use a sword.

Of course, with humans gone the world will start fixing all the damage we’ve done to it. This includes the return of wildlife. I imagine Bigfoot will sigh with relief not to have all those little humans stalking him with cameras. With small wildlife expansion comes the revival of the big predators; bears, big cats, wolves and the like. So, while you relax on that empty beach best keep an eye out. Those big cats only respect you for your food value, not your desire for solitude.

IDEAS

What If? there really was (there probably is, tucked away in some government vault) a virus/ bacteria that was capable of wiping humans from the planet? Then some group in a simple steal it/ransom it operation successfully steals it. But, just before they were to get their millions, one of their own, a stealth religious fanatic, steals it from them for his own highly misguided, God, Jesus, Mary Magdalene-told-me-to- do-it cleanse the earth scheme. Suddenly the bad guys and the good guys have to work together to save all of humanity. Of course the good guy leader is an attractive woman, and the second in command bad guy is an attractive man (or vice versa) and they have to work together, close together.

What If? somebody did wipe humanity from the planet and was enjoying their solitude when he/she came across a group of aliens intent on taking over the Earth. Well, he went to a lot of trouble to depopulate the world so now he has to fight the aliens for the planet. He wins and once again enjoys his solitude when a group of astronauts who have been on a long space journey returns. Our single inhabitant sighs, “Can’t a guy get a little peace and quiet on his private beach?” A series for sure.

What If? you were in a group of astronauts returning from a long mission and you found the only survivor of the Great Plague that wiped out humanity. You fight him at first, but he/she kidnaps one of your people and finally decides you can stay. But, the nasty bug is still around and the only way you will survive is if he gives you the vaccine, but it’s across the country and you may or may not have time to get there. Who will survive the journey? Surely not Adam and Eve – that would be too cheesy.

So, whether you’re a loner alone or a loner in a crowd find a bit of Christmas spirit and don’t vanish humanity, at least until after New Years.

Check out and share my first attempt at a book trailer for my story Heartbreak – http://youtu.be/NNLTJNUgYHs

My website (such as it is) with information on my books and stories is: http://dcburtonwriting.wordpress.com

Feel free to comment and Please share.

dcburtonjr@gmail.com

Nowhere

Pulling the idea out of nowhere, I think a blogger is supposed to put all their promotional material at the end of the blog. Probably because by the end you, the reader, are supposed to be so enthralled by the brilliant writing and incredibly useful and timely information that you’ll buy whatever their selling or go wherever they want you to go with a smile on your face and your heart and wallet wide open. But what if you, the mightily intelligent and astute reader that you are, doesn’t (gasp!) read to the end? Not this blog, of course, but those other ones. You’d miss all the clever calls to action they got from a list touted on some other blog. What then? Think of all the opportunities and cleverness missed and/or wasted! To that end (wouldn’t want you to miss anything) – Go to. Click on. Buy! Jump! Buy! Share. Like! You’ll be amazed how much smarter, how psychologically stable and emotionally cleansed you’ll feel after you Buy!, and read these incredible (may be based on real persons) e-stories. And if you (deeply generous person that you are) share these links with others, why in no time, Overnight! you’ll have thousands of likes, friends, followers, money, happiness and success. I promise. You trust me, don’t you? So just to help you out, here are —- The first two stories in the Ancient Mariners Story series:

Ancient Mariners series – https://www.smashwords.com/books/byseries/9146

Heartbreak –

Amazon – http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00FNWB8LA

Smashwords – http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/363624

Beth, 14, and Silas, 42, have lost their families to violence. Now, sailing together, they have found a home and a new family in Mexico. But Death has other plans for them – This is the first step on a journey to revenge that will set them free.

First Kill

Amazon – http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00FP1Q6PM

Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/364885

“I thought we were spared for the events fourteen days after my sixteenth birthday. When I killed my first man.” – Beth, 16. — Beth and Silas enjoy a beautiful tropical night aboard some new friends’ yacht. Until it goes bad and Beth has no choice but to make her – First Kill.

YOUNG BLOOD – An Accidental Vampire Series – https://www.smashwords.com/books/byseries/6 0 17

Smashwords-http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/362496

Amazon-http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00BGLZZLQ

Young Blood is the third story (a 29,000 word novella) in the An Accidental Vampire series.

In 1648 France, Simone Gireaux, a Young Blood vampire, is persuaded to help find the truth behind a Duchess’s murder.

Okay, got that out of way. You wouldn’t have wanted to miss that, right? Right? I’ll take that as a, “No. Of course I didn’t want to miss all that, even though there wasn’t much cleverness to it.” Now, where was I? You’re probably thinking – Nowhere. Ha.

Speaking of Nowhere, where is nowhere? Does it exist? Everything is somewhere relative to something. Even in space. You may be 2.68 parsecs from the planet Gigglbot surrounded by Dark Matter and nothingness, but you’re somewhere, even if you don’t know exactly where.

There is Limbo, which is, depending on the story you’re writing, either a dark void or, like in my sometime forthcoming novel Blood on the Water, a white room with no entrance, no exit, and no time that exists but doesn’t exist. It makes that old saw – “You can’t get there from here,” a true statement.

Maybe the only real Nowhere is in your mind?

“Where are you in your investigation?”

“Nowhere.”

“Where are the car keys you’ve been looking for for half an hour?”

“F&%$*@ing nowhere.”

“Hands on the wall, scumbag. Where do think you’re going?”

“Nowhere.”

Speaking of nowhere, Limbo, and space stations, Nowhere is where the occupants, vampire and mortal, of the space station Haven hope the Sunvamps who have taken over Earth think they are. Orbiting 400 miles over Earth is not nowhere, but, “Out of sight, out of mind,” works for the people of Haven – until it doesn’t. — Down Home is a An Accidental Vampire Series novella waiting for a second draft.

Lost in limbo, consigned to oblivion, stuck, ennui, neither here nor there = Nowhere… unless… something out of your control happens and gives you hope that in your mind or physical being you can change nowhere, whether self-imposed or circumstance-imposed, to somewhere. (See Down Home)

“Can’t get there from here” works the other way, too. Once you get to nowhere it can be hard to get back, mentally or physically. Physically, magic helps. Just ask Teresa of Blood Justice and Blood on the Water. Mentally, a goal to focus on can pull you out of your ennui and get you back on the road to SOMEWHERE. (See Down Home)

IDEAS

What If someone or something you wanted was trapped in Limbo, or the like, and the only way to get to them was by magic, but you didn’t happen to have a witch or sorcerer in your social circle? Where would you go to find one to help you? Maybe that homeless guy who for some reason nobody messes with and never seems to get wet in the rain or cold in the winter and has that I-know-something-you-don’t look. Or that palmist in that little rundown house on the edge of town your friends swear is dead accurate? Or maybe there’s something in that old book your uncle everybody said was wizard (yeah, sure, ha ha) left you. And where would that journey lead you?

What If you were nowhere in your mind? Lost, confused, discombobulated, having done something BAD but now with nowhere to go and no way to get there? You were just walking, when – “Hands on the wall, scumbag. Where do think you’re going?” – “Nowhere.” – So they put you in jail (somewhere!) on suspicion of murdering somebody who needed murdering. But, of course the cops wouldn’t see it that way even though they agreed he/she should have been killed in as long and painful way as possible. Cops got to do their cop thing. In the next cell is a strange person who calls him/her self a Journey Agent. This agent promises you a wonderful life journey if you do something for him/her. Not caring, you agree. Maybe you do his task (that didn’t seem too bad) right away or maybe later. In any case you lead a wonderful life – great spouse, kids, house, job. If you haven’t done the task maybe it comes due. Maybe you have to choose between doing something bad or losing your family and happiness. Maybe you end up sacrificing your life and end up dying by lethal injection – it was all a dream. (Lame) Maybe you figure it out and find a workaround, do the task but live. (Better) Maybe you find the Journey Agent and…? (Best)

What If there really is a Middle of Nowhere, and it’s in the ocean a thousand miles from land (been there, missed it) and you sail right into it and find yourself in Nowhere Land an amazing place of….

What If what happens in Nowheresvile stays in Nowheresville? Maybe you die and go to an alternative Vegas where the winner of the big Poker Game of Life gets to return to life and try again. Of course you’ll be playing for high stakes against people who will do anything to get back to Somewhere.

So don’t be a nowhere man, be on http://dcburtonwriting.wordpress.com for links and excerpts of other books and stories.

Overcoming the Monster

Okay, first things first, (which is a majorly obvious statement because whatever is first is first so it’s actually a wasted 16 bytes (17 if you include the comma to satisfy all the grammar snobs out there) and we all know there’s a limited amount of bytes (would I kid you?!) in the universe and the internet is gobbling them up like a doper with the “munchies” inhales peanut M&Ms, so forget I mentioned that saying, aphorism, idiom, expression, motto, slogan, colloquialism, phrase, archaism, etc., or whatever it is and go right into the shameless promotional moment you were hoping for).

Okay, the first thing (or is it now the second thing?) is a shameless promo for my novel Hell Cop which is now available in paperback for the e-reader impaired or those of us who just like to hold a damn book in our hands, sniff that new book aroma, and turn real pages. Plus, isn’t it more comfortable with a real book lying open on your stomach when you fall asleep? Not falling asleep with my books, of course. Just all those other hacks. However, if you’re fully digitized, go to http://dcburtonwriting.wordpress.com for links to all my bytes, vampire and otherwise.

I wouldn’t bother to tell you about these books, but I’m looking out for your well being. I want you to be prepared when the zombies attack, which it seems could be any day now by the number of books, comics, TV shows and movies about them. You wouldn’t want to be trapped in that ancient, leaky bomb shelter for months or years without a good book or two because that (safe?) genetically modified killer virus escaped and wiped out most of human kind. And no good books for all those years while cowering in that high mountain cave after the whole globe turns into a deadly environmental disaster area because global warming (that’s not happening, according to some____(fill in your own naughty word)) kicked into high gear–Oh please, no. BTW – If you don’t believe in Global Warming feel free to buy that beachfront property that seems so cheap.

Monsters? What monsters? Oh… yeah, them. I’ve been rummaging around the 720 page, 500+ words/page (whew) book, The Seven Basic Plots by Christopher Booker. The first one is Overcoming the Monster. There’s plenty of monsters out there — Medusa, Cyclops, Grendel, Mr. Hyde, Moriarity, supernatural nasties by the score, ex-wives/husbands/boyfriends/girlfriends, vamps, and, okay, okay, zombies. According to Booker, since stories began thousands of years ago, Overcoming the Monster stories have 5 stages– Spoiler Alert! — If you’re a reader you might want to scroll down a bit. You don’t need to know how stories are written. It might take away some of the mystery and excitement that are my books. And… well… maybe a few others.

1. The Call – Anticipation stage

2. Initial Success – Dream stage

3. Confrontation – Frustration stage

4. Final Ordeal – Nightmare stage

5. Miraculous Escape – Death of the monster.

Most all overcoming the monster stories follow this pattern. It seems to be in our genes. What struck me was that, though it was finished before I read the book, I found my latest novel, Blood on the Water, (at the publisher, sequel to Blood Justice , paperback here) – naturally followed the 5 stages. Do yours?

Ideas

What if your monster was your ex-wife/husband. Your divorce seemed amicable enough, but your spouse was not happy, carried a grudge, and was slightly (majorly) unhinged by it. You’ve moved on, found your princess/prince. The Ex seemed to have moved on, but hasn’t. Then your princess disappears. (Call to action) You’re down and out but rally, search about and discover that the Ex has taken her and locked her in the attic, basement, pit, cell, cave, high tower. (Initial success) You man up, confront the monster, but the princess is gone and you get the shit beat out of you. (Confrontation) You despair, want to give up, but your love rallies you, and win or lose, doing whatever you have to, you once again confront the monster (final ordeal) You’re up, you’re down, you fight through and finally rescue the one who makes you whole (miraculous escape) The monster is defeated and you and your princess/prince live happily ever after.

What if you were a kid and instead of monsters under the bed, in your closet was another world. Not a magical one with talking lions and such, but your world, only different. In it you are someone else, a nice person, with a nice boy/girlfriend. You like these people. They’re happy, you’re happy. Then, tragedy. The b/gfriend is murdered. You’re a witness. They’re after you. You run. You see the date; it’s tomorrow. Back in your bedroom you freak out. Parents think you’re high, big sister thinks you’re crazy. What the hell? You have a name, know their school, know somebody who knows somebody there. You go, search, just miss them. You saw where it happened, but don’t know where it is. You look for someone to help you. You find a nice (very) goodlooking person, with a great smile and sympathetic eyes who doesn’t think you’re nuts. Together you search for the coming murder scene. There it is! There they are! “Stop!” Bam. A car hits you. You’re hurt. Doesn’t matter. Running, limping, you chase after. There’s the killer, the monster. Only one thing to do…. Your new friend with the eyes and the smile is very proud of you.

What if there really was a monster that was guarding an artifact that would bring you unlimited riches and power over the world? So you and your evil henchmen go to the desert, mountains, jungle, city, underwater, space after it. It’s a tough slog. One by one your men are lost. You don’t care. You want that power, damn it. Hurt, starving, you come across a poor family. They show you kindness. Local bad guys are harassing them, stealing food, taking their daughter. They don’t ask for help, but for the first time you’re willing to give it and you take care of the bad guys. Finally you confront the monster, and being an evil genius you defeat it and gain the artifact. The family knows of the artifact and advises you not to use it. Of course you don’t listen and head back to civilization to put it to use. –End of the book in the series.

My monster is promoting, marketing my books and stories. Reviews, likes, shares, and word of mouth would all help slay that dragon.

Watch for Programed for Murder a mystery available soon. In return for a review I’d be happy to send you a PDF of the book.

A preview of the novella Young Blood is available here. I’d appreciate any comments and answers to the three questions.

Website – http://dcburtonwriting.wordpress.com — Find info and links on all my work here.

Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/DBurtonWriting

Vamps in Space!

First, a shameless plug… hustle… ah, notice of importance. My novel Hell Cop is now available in print from Amazon.

I’ve been thinking lately (always good to try something new) about what happens to vampires in space. Why am I thinking about that, you ask. And you should ask, because who the hell thinks, or cares, about the physiological effects of space on vampires? Except for Vampires and those who want to round them up, send them up and Good-fracking-bye paleface bloodsuckers.

It all began a long time ago, but never mind that. What matters is that I recently sent off the sequel to my novel Blood Justice — tentatively titled Blood on the Water. So, fool, glutton for punishment, and/or masochist that I am, I’m already thinking about the next book in the series. There has to be a next book because two isn’t a series — it’s a couple of books looking for a third for gin rummy, a night of kinky pleasure, or maybe just a chaperon. I already have an idea for that all important third; but what about the next and next and next? If you keep going far enough you have to go up to space or down to Hell.

Hell — been there — the Hell Cop almost series (2 1/4 and counting) — and plan to go again, but vamps have to go up. So what are the rules up there? Think a space station, inside and out, no suit.

No air – No problem. Vampires don’t need to breathe, except to talk. Though if one got shoved out an airlock they could beat on the door all they wanted but would certainly prove the truth of the phrase – “In space, nobody can hear you scream.” (Thank you, James Cameron)

Vacuum – Problem, sort of. Explosive decompression will do to vamps what it did to all those mortals in all those B Sci-Fi movies when their helmets got cracked – Phump, all nasty inside the faceplate. However, slow decompression they can handle, though not without a lot of grimacing and uncomfortableness in the nether regions. Their quick healing can counteract all that cell and gas (yes they have gas, too) expansion.

Cold – Even the toughest already dead vampire will be a stone-cold vamp way before getting close to absolute zero (0° K, 273.15°c,459.67° F) By -50°c, they’re getting creaky. By -100° C they’re barely able to move. Below that for any time and they’re likely to be stone dead and not coming back a third time. Even vampire healing can only go so far. Although that might depend on whether they’re a good guy or bad guy and the state of alien technology . (See below)

Heat — For you, much time over 115° and you’re done. Vampires, 130-140° and their super repair faculty can’t keep up with the damage. From vamp to mummy real quick.

Sun — Big Problem. We (unless you’re a hard core Buffy buff) all know that a Vampire has a maximum 30 minutes in the sun until they’re ash and dust. At 15 minutes they are praying for the immolation agony to be over. That’s on Earth where they get some shielding from the atmosphere. In space — 15 minutes max and they’re dust in the solar wind. No repairs. No redos.

With a proper space suit (a mortal one will do) they would be good to go for a long time. That sounds good until you get kicked out an air lock and are flung out into space to drift to the next star. You’d get mighty lonely floating out there for years, ravaged by a Blood Hunger that can never be fulfilled.

IDEAS

What if a vampire was ejected, intentionally or accidentally, into space for decades or years or even a really long time and was picked up by some aliens and rejuvenated, reconstituted, reanimated, revived, or whatever. What would they think? What would he or she think? What if the aliens were at war with some nasty invaders — like humans? Who would the vamp fight for? What would humans be/look like by that time? Would the long lost vampire finally find romance in an alien war?

What if a vampire was a security chief on a huge Ark ship on the way to ____? He would have to solve murders, find stolen goods, locate missing people (whether they wanted to be missing or not) in a sort of Hardboiled/Spock/Sherlock H. kind of way. But who would be Watson?

What if the Earth was invaded by aliens and they were winning. There was one last escape ship ready to go with lots of important people — scientists, engineers, women, children on board. No vampires allowed – they’re being blamed for the invasion. The last group (the ones who know how to run the ship and where to go once they get away) race toward the ship. A group of vamps want to escape, too, and they know that one of the last group is an agent for the aliens. Would they be able to stop him/her from boarding? Of course not. So, how do they get onboard and find the spy before the Ark ship is blown up or captured, the humans enslaved, tortured or eaten? Whew!

Makes me hungry just thinking about it. And thinking about eating, unlike zombies, not all vampires are bad. And you don’t have to be an immortal dead to read about some. Go HERE at vamp speed, not zombie speed, and check it out. In the UK go HERE.

Pleasant dreams.

“Repent, Harlequin!”

–said the Ticktockman. That’s Harlan Ellison’s classic story, “Repent Harlequin,” said the Ticktockman, in case you missed it somewhere between 1965 and now. Not to spoil it (how many of you are going to actually read the story, if you haven’t already) but the reason Harlequin was called to repent was because he caused the schedule to be off by six minutes. And that threw off another schedule, and another, and another, causing chaos in all the world’s schedules. No wonder the Ticktockman was pissed. Six minutes off? Oh, the horror. But nothing should be scheduled that close.

If the Ticktockman,who was in charge of the world’s TIME, was going to be so anal about six minutes, he should grab a brew, put his feet up, and chill, baby. Nothing needs its corsets pulled that tight. Failing to chill, he should be able to stop time and fix it.

I’m sure TTman would know this, but what actually happens if you stop time? Does everything, meaning EVERYTHING, except you (otherwise what would be the point) stop? Do you have to weave your way around frozen people, cars, bicycles, and dogs as you go about your business of robbing banks, doing research for that report you had a few too many happy hour drinks to do last night, wander through a NFL team cheerleader’s (or players if you swing that way) locker room, or perform those experiments that would get you locked up if the universe wasn’t frozen. And if it’s frozen, how would you interact with it. Would water flow, electricity spark, the air itself move? Those things move through time. It takes time for a drop of water to move from the faucet into a glass so you can drink it. If all time is standing still, that can’t happen and you’d better have had a two liter bottle of Mountain Dew in your hand when you flipped the switch. And maybe a large SCUBA tank on your back, too. (See below for a possible solution)

If you touched somebody (hey, you there, mind out of the gutter) would they be hard like a statue or soft like a real person? Could you move them, say out of harm’s way? If you could move them, would they stay where you put them when time started again? Would saving them screw up the future, or fix it?

That all seems much to complicated, forget stopping time, how about going back in time to fix those six minutes. Being an obssesive TTman you go back a week to try to stop the Harlequin from his dasterly deed. So what’s it like when you jump back there? Do you appear like a ghost, moving about but not affecting anything, not noticed by anybody (remember, no locker rooms)

but able to see all? Or do you pop into existence, just another Joe or Jane Doe among the masses. Except now you’re in Paradox Land. There’s two of you where there should be one, breathing extra air, drinking extra water. What happens if your new twin sees you? What if you touch? Do you, the interloper explode, fade away, pass right through, get sent back to your own time (and stay there you evil doppelgänger)?

Whatever happens, just by being there, you’ve created a new time line, different from your original time line. Say you find your six minutes, reset the clock, realign your precious schedule and it’s time to go home. But, now you are in a separate time line, one that you’ve affected, one that would not exist except for you. So, if you flip the switch, push the button, click your heels to go home, where do you go?

Because you’ve been gone for two hours, your original time line (TL) has changed and is now a different TL. The TL you’re in is the one where all is right timewise, to you. Your original has moved on without you and is still missing six minutes. If you stay where you are, there’s the doppelgänger problem, and, being the obsessive power-hungry Ticktockman that you are, how is that going to play out with your twin TTman? And, if you flip, push, click and leave there you might go back to a third TL where you were gone, and came back – but would the six minutes be there when you got back?

Who knows? Who cares? It’s all too complicated so all you Ticktock men and women – take a toke or three, eat a pizza, eat the six minutes, and take a time out, man.

IDEAS

What if you went back in time and everything and body was frozen, except you and anything inside a ten foot diameter bubble around you? People inside with you could walk with you, after you answer their, “What the hell is going on and who the hell are you?” questions and they don’t punch you out. This could be a pain in the ass, especially if you walked too close to moving car. But it would be good if you went back to save somebody from some nastiness. Or were planning on robbing a bank with an accomplice, assuming that accomplice was reliable. What would happen if you died in the bubble? Would it disappear – you’d be dead in the future so couldn’t come back to be killed in the past, so ….. ? Could it be hijacked? Would the hijacker be able to go back to the future where he’s never been? Would he have to choose between staying in the bubble (a sort of weird existence) or stepping out and freezing with everyone else? Or would those outside be experiencing a regular life and only from inside the bubble do they seem to not move? Or… or… or…? Time out!

What if instead of going back in time you went back in place. I wrote a screenplay called Time For Love where a woman invented a way to jump through space back to the position where the Earth was four years ago. She ended up going back 30 years where she met herself as a kid. They were afraid to touch fearing the adult would be zapped back to her time. But was that right? She went back in space, not time. She physically went back, in some beam me up metaphysical disassemble reassemble way. How would going back that way affect the future? You’re going from a fixed future to a fixed past, it shouldn’t affect the future that’s already happened. So, would there be two Earth’s? Or… or… or…? Paradox time out! (if you’re interested in my screenplay, drop me a comment)

What if you were 40 and went 30 years back in time and suddenly you were you at 10 years old, knowing what you know now. Ah, the possibilities.

Whenever you go, no matter how you get there, time marches on so enjoy it while you got it. Be the Harlequin, not the Ticktockman.

Hey, Gaia, how hot is it?

Maybe it should be, how hot will it get? Whether you deny the reality or accept the fact – it’s getting hot outside. And I know why. Well, we all know why, hydrocarbons, human inventiveness, cow farts, all that. But why is all that and more making the Earth hotter every year? Because we have an enemy whose sole aim is to destroy humanity.

The enemy is not aliens bent on making Earth uninhabitable for humans so they can move in because they need a new planet and Earth looks pretty good except for the 7 or 8 billion pesky humans running around taking up valuable real estate. And they already made their own planet hot and uninhabitable, and know how to do it so what chance do we have? No, not them.

Nor is it some supernatural entity who wants to make the surface of the Earth available for all demon kind who are tired of living down under. (Not you Australia, farther down) Of course, even among the average Joes and Janes of the supernatural entity masses there will be some who resist change (meaning they would have to accept logic and facts) no matter how good it might be for the people as a whole, or their descendants. Though some might think differently if the Greenhouse Gas oven we are building cooks the humans to a delectably putrid state. Yum. No, not them, either.

No, it’s Gaia (that’s the Earth in case you missed that day in your mythological geology class because you had to spend half the night before figuring out how to update your Facebook status from straight and sober to a loosey goosey high, and back) herself. I have it on no particular authority that long ago Gaia recognized that humans would be bad for her so she put together a short (in geological time) plan. She knew, with the prescience of 5 million years experience, that in a few thousand years even though the new hairy beasts only used two feet instead of four, they’d leave a BIG messy footprint.

So she created oil (you do not want to know where that really came from – zooplankton, algae, dinosaurs, leaves and twigs? Oh please.) figuring they’d figure out how to burn the stuff irresponsibly, causing the atmosphere to heat to uninhabitable levels. Then, in a short 5000 years or so, they’d all die off from flooding, famine, heat stroke, wars for the few remaining resources, or high temperature viruses and bacteria; or figure out how to leave the planet altogether. Either way, what does she care, peace and quiet at last.

IDEAS

What if you were an astronaut and were sent to Mars with the idea of moving all the remaining humans to that cool red land? There, you meet the God of Mars, Gaia’s younger brother who she tormented endlessly when they were young just forming planets. Mars realizes what you are planning and wants nothing to do with an invasion of immigrants. He also knows some of Gaia’s secrets and sees a payback opportunity. So you make a deal; Mars will spill his secrets and help you return Earth to a habitable state, if humans stay away. You, being a shrewd wheeler-dealer, negotiate the rights to develop one crater as a resort. What a deal. Except we all know what happens when you let a few humans in the door.

What if Gaia has a brain? And you find it while lost deep in a cavern. But the brain is under attack by a virus that had mutated due to the excessive heat on the surface, and even Gaia can not control it. If the brain dies, the power of Gaia dies and the Earth will spin apart destroying all. But, you are a doctor and you cure Gaia’s brain fever. You also convince her that some humans respect the Earth and deserve to live. Grateful, Gaia agrees, but a limited number only, one billion, the rest must go. She gives you the power to choose. You must mark the areas – cities, states, countries, islands, continents – for destruction, or all will be destroyed. How do you choose? Who do you choose? Do you choose? Will absolute power corrupt you absolutely? Will humanity, a billion of them, anyway, be saved? Will you be seen as villain or hero?

No matter how crispy it gets outside, keep your cool and think about why it’s so hot. Then do something about it.

I’m hot under the collar, (or would be if I wore shirts with collars)those people put another of my stories up in their little contest. This is my first and final plea – Please vote for An Accidental Vampire at www.voteformyebook.com. It’s hot!

And the loser is…

Me. The loser? Okay, last time I was working on being a winner, but I was a loser. Second place! Can you imagine my embarrassment? I begged and groveled for votes. I browbeat family, friends, and acquaintances new and old. I even had a meeting at a crossroads ready to make a deal with the big D, but I guess my soul wasn’t worth much because he only sent a minor minion to negotiate. The kid (he could have at least sent an adult minor minion don’t you think?) said I’d have to bring another soul with me to make the deal worth it. Now that’s embarrassment. Though I did run through a short list of possibilities. Don’t bother asking if you were considered. I’m not .

www.voteformyebook.com You probably have this link memorized by now, I put it up only for the newbies. Don’t be offended.

In any case, the brains(?) behind the contest took pity on me. They said I put up a good fight, though I lost by a sneaky last hour 8 votes. (My attorneys are consulting with the FBI about voter fraud infractions. I’ll keep you informed. You may be called as a witness.) So, in their infinite sadism, they put up another of my books, Fear Killer , a psychological thriller, for the December contest. So, after I got through punching the computer screen while screaming, “No! No! Please, not again. How much humiliation do you expect me to take?” once again I’m searching, gently, with the utmost respect for your political, religious, and moral beliefs, computer expertise, the dark secret (that you actually read this blog) you hide from your spouses, BFFs, and strangers who talk you up at the bar you hang out in at odd hours, (hmmm, another secret?) and oh, I almost forgot, your time. www.voteformyebook.com If I win, then I, and you, won’t have to go through this again and I can go back to shameless hucksterism of my books (did I mention a Hell Cop Bundle?) and you can go back to ignoring said hucksterism. Now that’s a deal!

By the way, I’m not the only loser out there (whew, misery loves company.) There must be a hundred, maybe even (gasp) a thousand of us, and I think we should be shown a little appreciation by all those gloating winners swimming in their vaults full of cash like Scrooge McDuck. After all, without us losers there wouldn’t be any winners. So I think they should share some of their fraudulently (I mean, really, how could those shlubs have won all those millions, or cars, or a literary consultancy critique, over me without a little fakery going on) gotten gains. 5% sounds fair, don’t you think?

IDEAS

I have no ideas for loser stories. I mean who wants to read about losers? Even about ones who are having a beer in a bar and meet another guy having a beer who was just dumped by his girlfriend who happens to work for the Lottery people. Before he was dumped, because she thought he’d never amount to anything, she showed him how it all worked, so he tells loser 1 who happens to know a genius loser girl who knows something about everything, and they have a few more beers and call loser 3, the girl, and pretty soon they have a plan involving magnetics, sex, stolen lottery balls and the like, which they actually attempt. What do have to lose they haven’t already? Hilarity, mayhem, sex and romance ensue. Of course the plan doesn’t quite go so smoothly, but of course they all end up amounting to a great deal. Who’d want to read that?

As necessary as losers are, I’d rather be a winner. It’s that Season. Won’t you help a poor starving writer who hustles his wares on a cold, blustery sidewalk just down from a Salvation Army Santa where he hopes snag a little of his generous HoHo Ho spirit instead of the spirit of indifference endemic of the general public?

Have pity, Sir. Have pity.