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!

Trespasser (Part V)

Posted on August 6, 2014 by R. Richardsson

He came like a thief in the night, stealing away the property that had once belonged to a very different man than himself. There were no moving trucks, nor were there any friends with his things loaded onto the back of their vehicles. He simply arrived in his nineteen eighty-seven Cadillac Coupe Deville, unloaded an overstuffed suitcase, and went inside.

All along Bryer street, curious eyes watched for any sign of their new neighbor. The women were the first to witness his arrival and within seconds, plans were being made to make him feel welcome. Marsha Rowen called Keesha Robinson, who in turned called Dottie Hammond, and soon the three were chattering away. Before any of their husbands ever knew of their neighbor’s arrival, a small barbecue had been thought out down to the very last detail.

While their children were still at school, they rushed to the local supermarket and procured the ingredients that they would need for their feast. They’d chosen nothing too complicated; some hamburger and hotdogs, eggs to be deviled, some cabbage to make a slaw from and an apple pie from the bakery. Normally this would be baked fresh, but they were quickly running out of time!

Marsha agreed to pick up the children from school while the others returned to begin preparations for the party and calling their husbands to inform them of the evening’s festivities. Though the latter were tired from their day’s labors, they readily agreed to their wives’ plans. Anything that gave them an excuse to fire up their grills and drink a cold one was okay with them!

The women had thought of everything. Davie rolled out his custom made smoker, and the meat was soon cooking beneath a blanket of hickory smoke. John Rowen and Bob Hammond kept the children busy until one of them could be relieved to go invite their new neighbor over. It was going to be a perfect barbecue.

Or, at least it would have been.

From behind closed blinds, a narrowed pair of eyes watched the people of the neighborhood as they went about their business. He saw the curious glances that were cast his direction and watched the men who stood around the smoker, drinking beer, talking and occasionally gesturing at his new house.

The women had thought of everything, that is, except for the fact that maybe, just maybe, their new neighbor had no interest in the adults in his new community at all.

C’mon, Book Marketing Isn’t That Hard

Posted on August 3, 2014 by R. Richardsson

There haven’t been very many articles about book marketing that I’ve found to be as informative as this one. A definite must for any aspiring author! Very well written, and I look forward to rereading this as I seek to improve myself in this area!

QA Productions

I see and hear about a lot of writers wanting to sign an agent and go for a traditional deal because, “The agent and publisher know how to market my book and I don’t. It’s too hard.”

Nuh-uh.

Here’s how it works: Agents know how to market to certain editors; Editors know how to market to their editorial heads and marketing departments; Marketing departments know how to market to retail distributors. What none of them know (or maybe they don’t bother with) is how to market to readers. That’s the writer’s job. Trad or indie, if you don’t know how to market, your books are sunk. In fact, if you don’t have a marketing base before you submit to either an agent or editor, your chances of even getting a second look are slim to none.

What’s a poor writer to do? Panic is not an option. Truly, marketing is…

View original post 1,668 more words

The Morelli Bros. (Chapter 1, Part I)

Posted on July 29, 2014 by R. Richardsson

Lightning split the sky apart with the precision of a skilled surgeon, illuminating the surrounding area for only a fraction of a second before vanishing as fast it had come. Seconds later the silence was shattered by the force of the molecules returning to the place they were so suddenly removed from. Windows rattled as the thunder rolled on, though not many noticed it at this late hour.

Even this deep in the Bronx, most of it’s residents were fast asleep, while those remaining souls who weren’t sought out what protective cover they could find. In most cases, the eyes that looked out from the shadows were cold and apathetic. They belonged to those poor souls who had lost everything, that’d had nothing for years and had given up all hope.

They were the hungry ones. They wanted what they didn’t have, but had nothing to offer in return. They were the forgotten. They had lost their homes, their families and friends, and have been out of the system for more years than they were ever in it. They were the hated. They were looked down upon because of their social status. People were afraid to look in their direction twice, and only at a glance if they must.

They weren’t many, but they were more than most cared to admit to knowing about. The city refused to acknowledge they were there, instead focusing on more important things such as building parks for the children, or recognizing public officials for all the hard work they’ve done for the city. And, for the most part, everyone bought into the propaganda.

The media directly influenced the public opinion by providing it only with stories that would create positive feelings. Images of the city’s darker side were purposely edited to further the illusion being created and life continued as it had for as long as any could remember.

Awake and ever watchful, however, were two sets of eyes peering out from the safety of their red and green B-300 Dodge van. Though the sun would not be coming up for another two hours, there was much to be done if they were going to tackle the day head on.

“It’s-a gonna be a wet one day, eh Mario,” the younger of the two asked.

“Yeah,” the elder answered somberly.

His mood was dark this morning. He had been looking through their savings, a meager pittance of thirty dollars, and was facing a rather difficult decision; they could either put the money into their gas tank and go without food today, or they could have a good breakfast and risk not being able to make their rounds.

“Did you remember to call the uniform supplier,” he asked his younger brother.

The other nodded as a smile lifted his rather bushy mustache.

“They should be ready by lunch,” he gushed.

“That’s-a good Luigi,” he replied. “Maybe our luck will turn around?”

It was only speculation, but there was much riding on the decision to invest in these uniforms. They had given up over two weeks of the hard earned cash in order to not only buy matching garments, but to have a sign made for their van as well. If this didn’t work out for them, they faced another decision that neither one of them wanted to make. They would have to give up their trade.