About R. Richardsson

Author and father of four, I dream of a day when my livelihood is my writing. My breakout work is with the 'Ballad of John Rizzerio' trilogy; the story of a vampire hunter who, through a tragic turn of events, loses everything he holds dear. It will take more than a few prayers to bring him back from the the brink of despair in time to defend humanity. I enjoy working with the Horror Genre, but will soon be spending a lot of time with Medieval Fantasy. I enjoy both genres and will always have one foot in the door of the other, depending on my project. All of my work is fiction, and will remain this way, with the exception of an up and coming memoir. If you want to follow my progress, feel free to like my FB page, follow me @Cryptic_Dude or add me to your circle on G+ as well!

Book Signing

Posted on November 17, 2014 by R. Richardsson

Last year, about this time, I had already attended two signings and was gearing up for number three; an event geared towards publicizing upcoming writers and local authors.

As most of you, or at least those of you who follow my occasional ramblings, know, I was met with some success at said event. While my books didn’t fly off the shelves, (due to the blizzard raging outside), I made several great contacts and had the chance to meet some awesome readers!

This year has been somewhat frustrating for me, what with the delays, setbacks, and other such business, so this couldn’t come at a better time. I need this. I am ready for this. I only wish I could say that I’m walking in with my completed trilogy.

Oh, don’t get me wrong! I have two books waiting to be released. J.R. van Helsing was met with great interest in September by a publisher whom I have spoken at lengths about a possible partnership. (I’m currently waiting on a response once they have fully reviewed my work.) The Darkness Defines Us is also finished, however, I am waiting on the cover art to be completed.

There have been some hassles with the latter, but I believe I have found an answer to my problems. With this title, I wanted to do a local promotion; ‘Local Author & Local Artist Combine Talents For Book’, or some such thing. This wasn’t an idea I was first willing to run with, but after meeting with artist who volunteered her skills, it soon grew on me.

Unfortunately, I think she didn’t know what she was in for and had to bow out of the project a month later. It’s only too bad that I had to find out a month later!

I found another who wanted to try his hand at the project, and I offered it as a passing when he showed some interest in getting back into the art world, but he, too, had much more on his plate than he could handle.

Finally, I ‘think’ I have found someone with the time (and gumption) to get the job done. I’m keeping my fingers crossed, but if this works out it will be very cool for both sides of the party. His work will represent my book, and I can help spread the work of a musician/artist at the same time!

That being said, I wanted to share with you my upcoming book signing. I realize that most of my readers won’t be able to attend, however, in my excitement I couldn’t help but to share!

I will be at the Topeka & Shawnee County Public Library (1515 SW 10th Ave, Topeka Kansas, 66604), at their ‘Great Writers, Right Here’ Event on December 6th from 1-5pm CST.

Trespasser (Part VIII)

Posted on November 14, 2014 by R. Richardsson

As time is wont to do, Summer became Fall, Fall became Winter, and Winter became Spring once again. During these long months, the people of Bryer Street had become very accustomed to seeing their new neighbor, whom they came to know as Andy.

Andy was like ole Sammy D. in some ways. After his first steps into the sun, it was more and more common to see him out for an evening walk. At first, he would offer an awkward nod or smile as he passed. Sometimes he muttered a shaky “Hi” or “How ya doin today”, but unsure of how to follow-up, he would make a clumsy excuse and shuffle on.

He knew more about cars than any of the residents would have ever suspected, he looked more the type to specialize in some form of computer technology, and would occasionally remark a ‘spot on’ diagnosis of a problem based on the sound an engine was making.

He gained a bit of admiration amongst the men. It was nothing they spoke of openly, but whenever he passed, they greeted him a bit more honestly. The women were cordial, but their trust wasn’t to be earned so easily. They continued to watch him with wary eyes whenever he passed and their smiles only masked their true expressions as they studied his every move.

Andy was very much like Sammy, in that he quickly grew to be a fixture in the community. Everybody knew of him within hours of his first appearance. Each person had their own story to tell about the strange young man from up the street.

“He knows so much about cars. It’s like he’s got the gift…”

“How can he afford to pay for that house when he never leaves for work?”

“He’s good with the children. They seem to like him too…”

“He’s sick. That must be why he stays home all the time!”

There were many different stories about the strange, young, Andy From Up The Street. Some were darker than others and none were more creative than those of the wives, told on rainy days from behind the safety of their curtains. Others were hopeful, with such imagined histories that included untold fortunes or entrepreneurial genius.

Though they spoke of possibilities, no story could be so much farther from the truth. They spoke of vast fortunes, and while he did not possess such a thing, he did have enough money to satisfy his particular needs. They spoke of illness, and much like the pipe dreams of hidden wealth, this, too, was not completely true. Though he was ‘as fit as a fiddle’, as the previous owner of his house might have once said, there was a certain something about him that wasn’t quite right.

Andy From Up The Street, because his neighbors didn’t yet know his last name and they were coming to accept that the previous resident was truly gone, was indeed, very sick. There was an itching inside of him that occasionally needed scratched, a desire that had to be catered to, and it had been far too long since he had given in.

Trespasser (Part VII)

Posted on October 17, 2014 by R. Richardsson

Several days passed without further incident. Though put off by the anti-social behavior of their new neighbor, they weren’t yet willing to give up on him. Many discussions were held over the phone by the wives. The men stood in their garages, visiting over a beer and an open hood, contemplating the implications of what had transpired that day. All agreed that maybe it was just nerves. Maybe he was unused to his new surroundings and needed some time to adjust.

This seemed to prove true when, less than a week later they got their first good look at him.

He was short and somewhat on the thin side, some might even say scrawny, at what looked to be only five and a half feet with his weight barely into the triple digits. When he first appeared on his front porch, it was without flair, and had there not been at least one of the wives gossiping about him that morning, he would have gone unnoticed.

He stooped slightly as he walked and from a distance he might have been mistaken for a much more advanced age than he actually possessed. His steps were deliberate, one might even say methodical, and he seemed to be weighing the pale faces that watched him from their homes below. He could have been anybody’s teenage son, for his boyish features betrayed the appearance that distance had told.

His features were unremarkable. While he wasn’t pleasant to look upon, nor was he the opposite to behold as well. If it wasn’t for the newness of his presence, or for the fact that he was filling some pretty big shoes by moving into this particular house, they might have quickly forgotten all about him.

He stood with his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his black slacks, occasionally rocking from heel to toe where he stood, seemingly enjoying the fresh cool breeze coming in from the north. Hanging from the upper body of his gangling frame, untucked and blowing lightly in the wind, was a white, and very wrinkled, dress shirt.

His hair hung limply over his face, obscuring most of his features but for a slice of the right side, and what did show was smiling ever so slightly. He knew they were watching. He had seen the moon-shaped face of the woman who had approached him with her husband. Even now, she attempted to hide behind the curtains of her kitchen window, her mouth excitedly jabbering into the receiver of her phone. There were two others as well, one watching from where she knelt as she picked weeds from her around her flower bed, and the other from where she sat on her front porch swing.

His teeth appeared from behind his lips and the latter curved upward, revealing a toothy grin that could easily put a wolf to shame, which in of itself wasn’t very far from the truth at all. Making no effort to hide himself, he formed an ‘O’ with his lips and tonelessly pushed out the notes to ‘Pop Goes The Weasel’ as he tucked his shirt into his slacks.

One by one, the faces turned away from their windows, back toward the flowers they should have been focused upon, or into a magazine that just happened to be sitting close by, all suddenly uncomfortable as they realized they were the ones being watched. When he came to the part of the verse that required a pop, instead of acknowledging the sound, he tightened his lips together and sucked in noisily as he blew a lewd kiss in their direction. It was all he could do but contain his laughter as those remaining in his line of sight squirmed uncomfortably, and it took every ounce of control to finish the last few notes as he turned to walk back into his new home.