Local Author Fair – After the Curtain Call

Posted on December 15, 2013 by R. Richardsson

To be fair, this image was taken ‘outside’ the Local Author Fair.

It was everything I expected it to be, and it was not. My first booth was stationed just inside the entrance to the library.

I was originally going to share my table with another author, but due to the weather, she wasn’t able to make it.

The check-in time was between 1-2pm, and having arrived exactly halfway between those times, the hour and a half wait was excruciating. I’m thankful that my wife was able to attend the event with me. Not only was the small-talk nice, but she got a chance to see the world that I have become a part of.

Even though there were a handful of tables just inside the circular entrance of the library, we were the last authors seen as people moved into the main section of the library itself. (From where I’m seated and to my right.)

Reactions were mixed. My first visitor was a devout Christian from a local Baptist Church. Drawn to my table by the graphic cover of my novella, he quickly began to question me; first about my book and then about my faith.

I immediately sensed that he wasn’t interested in my book. Even though I described the synopsis, the protagonist and the reason for the stigmatic Jesus on the cover, he was more interested in my soul than in my work. The more I talked about my book, the less he listened until finally, I answered the one question I had been avoiding, (which he asked each time after “What’s it about?”) Whether or not he was satisfied by the answer, he beat a hasty retreat and I only saw him from afar for the rest of the evening.

For the next hour, and until the 3pm start time, I passed out many business cards but not a single book.

Now, I should mention that there was also a Novice Writers Forum which was offered to a limited number of people. A small handful of Best Selling Authors spoke before a small group of people about the publishing and marketing process of one’s book.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to attend this but I did get a chance to speak with a few authors, as well as those aspiring to be, as they exited the meeting. One woman in particular stayed at my table for several minutes as she asked about my experiences as a self-published author and expressed her desires to do so with her own work.

I wish she would have shared her name with us while she was there. I asked, but I’m not sure she heard me.

She was an elderly cancer survivor, writing as her energy allowed her to, who came to the Fair to speak with published authors and discover what she could about the finishing process. She made her way around the library via electric wheelchair and when she spoke, you really had to make the effort to listen. The natural acoustics of the building, combined with the dozens of people making their way through it, made it difficult to hear.

We spoke for ten minutes and after taking a card and leaving the promise to read some of my online work, she made her way to next table.

Next to me were two authors.

One, a Bob Fraught, was the first author I spoke to who was a part of the Fair itself. This was also the first of two times that night that I showed just how nervous I was.

I had seen Bob and his wife arrive earlier that night, she even introduced herself as he was setting up their side of the table, but hadn’t paid very close attention as he was removing his coat and scarf. As a result, when he came to my table, I inadvertently asked if he was part of the Fair as well.

“Yeah, dumbass, he’s right next to you,” says my inner voice as he confirms this in his own words.

Open mouth, insert foot.

But at least he remained friendly about it. He asked about my work and also described his as well. If you have a chance, click on his link and see if his work interests you! It describes his journey through various major surgeries. He’s a man with a SUPER positive outlook on life and one I’m happy to say I had the pleasure getting to know, even if my skills for observation were a bit off.

He returned to his chair when his table-buddy, Tad Pritchett, arrived and began to set up on his side, but more on him later.

It was 3pm, time for the show to begin!

The library was abuzz as people began to trickle in to support their favorite [local authors]. We three thought we were sure to see some major traffic at this time, but as they came through the main doors they turned and entered the hall where the majority of the authors were stationed.

And so the first hour came and went without so much a single person. Bob and Tad stood off to the side visiting while my wife and I did the same at our table. Because we were stationed across from the checkout counter, we did see many familiar faces as they were leaving, but they were there for the sole purpose of borrowing and not buying.

Eventually, an events coordinator came around and invited us into the main hall, where there were several open chairs from authors who had either left early or hadn’t arrived (also due to the weather), and soon we were part of the cool kids crowd.

Okay. I apologize if this isn’t easy to see. Getting a clear picture uploaded to my computer wasn’t the easy task I envisioned it to be.

I soon found myself seated at table next to an ex-FBI agent; Mark Bouton, who was selling a number of books that day. We exchanged pleasantries, as well as talked about our books for a bit, before settling in for the last half of the event.

There was a lot more activity during this hour than the first. Of course there was! We were just inside the door and a couple of tables in! If you look at the first map, this new seating is in a hall off to the left of the round room in the Rotunda. We were seated at the left end of table 27, Tad moved to table 26, while Bob and his wife had table 15 to themselves.

As I mentioned, there was a lot more traffic in here. What I have yet to tell you is that by this time, they were only there for the children’s books, history books and one erotic novel (which I seen tucked under every person’s arm as they walked by!) Actually, it was my wife that pointed it out to me, but from that point on we counted seven of them traveling by! The verdict? Mommy porn wins the day!

Okay, that might not be true. Another author, Charles A. Silvestri, seemed to be pushing the books out faster than anyone else on our side of the room!

By this time, Mr. Tad Pritchett came by the table for a visit. We talked a bit about our books, after which he expressed his interest in my own, despite his phobia of vampires, and mentioned that he would like to buy a copy. He also expressed an interest in self-publishing and mentioned having some questions he would like to send to me, to which I more than happily agreed.

So it would come to be that Tad and I would exchange books. By the time I was able to get my own copy a week later, he had already finished mine, and with some very complimentary words to boot! We’ve since agreed to exchange reviews on each other’s work and I am happy to have had the chance to meet him.

The Local Author Fair was coming to an end. The events coordinator made her rounds to each table, explaining that they were closing the hall soon and we began to pack our things together. I had only sold one book, but I left with something much more meaningful.

From Tad, I have a book about the Battle of the Bulge, from the words of those who fought in that war.

From Bob I found that despite how much pain and suffering one can or must go through, there is always a silver lining.

And from Mark I received an offer to join in a local author’s group that meets regularly to discuss their current work and share samples of their writing.

No, I didn’t successfully share my book as much as I would have liked. What I did was meet some wonderful people and gain some very lucrative opportunities. And I say lucrative, because a writer can only stand to profit from an author’s group, as well as the open invitation to return to next year’s Local Author Fair, right?

Of course I can.

This review was written about a book signing I took part of on December 8th for my first book; The Rise and Fall of John Rizzerio. Information about this novella can be found by clicking on the Dusty Tomes menu tab on my website.

R. Richardsson

She Has A Pretty Face Though (Part XXXII)

Posted on December 8, 2013 by R. Richardsson

Disclaimer

The following is one of many installments for a story designed specifically for my blog. While it does step out of my usual genre, there are some things still not suitable for a younger audience. Violent/Graphic descriptions, strong language and sexual situations may be found through different sections. Each entry will tell a small portion of the story during different times and may not directly follow the one prior to it.

This story follows the direct interactions, as well as the deteriorating thoughts of a young man who is struggling not only with the relationships he has with those around him, but with the relationship he has with himself as well.

Finally, all work is strictly fiction and does not reflect the views of the author. Any resemblance to actual person(s) is only a coincidence.

If this isn’t your cup of tea, then avoid these excerpts and hopefully I’ll see you around my other posts and webseries!

———

It had happened as if in slow motion. His hand desperately reaching for her. He saw every ripple of flesh that spread from the point of impact. He screamed for an eternity as she fell from sight.

Scott fell to his knees, landing on the hardwood floor at the exact moment that she impacted with the first floor. He slowly crawled over to the banister, even as his mind replayed Tippy’s final moments, terrified of what he would see.

He could hear the dog’s high-pitched cries. It had shrieked as much in terror as it had in pain and had nipped at his hands when he tried to help. It knew that it was going to die and fought with its last dying breaths.

He couldn’t believe that it would be this easy with another person. He hadn’t even meant to do it! He was only imagining…

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“It was YOU,” he screamed. “YOU did it!”

The voice erupted in genuine laughter, It was an evil sound, true, but it was so full of amusement that had it been him, he would have been doubled over and holding his sides. It picked at his sanity, bouncing around the confines of his consciousness, and threatened to push him over the edge. Just when he could take no more, the entity began to taper off into silence.

“Not this time kiddo. That was all you right there.”

“…no,” he wailed softly.

“Oh yes indeed! YOU planted your foot in her ass and YOU pushed her over the banister. You killed her Scott and YOU are one murderous son of a…”

“…no-no-no…” he mourned soulfully as he clutched the sides of his head. “…you made me do it…”

“I did no such thing. I only showed you what you wanted to see. This was all you, bucko.”

From the first floor, a weak groan interrupted their internal debate.

“She’s…”

“…still alive?”

Scott grabbed onto the banister, pulling himself up so that he could look over and confirm their suspicion. As he peered over the rail, his mouth fell open as he watched her rise to her knees and begin crawling toward the door beneath him. As her feet disappeared beneath him, the other began to shout;

“The phone you idiot! She’s going to the phone!”

“…so?”

“The police! You have to stop her!”

He wasn’t totally committed to the idea, but he rose to his feet and ran to the stairs. As he was going down, he turned and looked in the direction she had crawled in time to see the kitchen door swing shut.

“Maybe she just wants something to eat,” he asked inappropriately, but the joke was lost on the other who had begun to gibber wildly in its frightened state. At first it annoyed him, but it didn’t take very long for the emotions to transfer to his own. Suddenly it mattered what was going to happen to him if that phone call were allowed to happen.

His heart thundered in his chest as he all but fled from the second floor, He jumped the last four stairs and landed on the carpet with a thump. For the second time, his mouth fell open when he saw that she had landed on one of the end tables.

The end table was a cheap piece that she had once explained having ordered from an LTD magazine. Four brass legs decoratively wrapped around a thin piece of glass, each connected by a shelf beneath the surface, giving it the illusion of being sturdy. When she landed upon it, all but one leg had buckled beneath her weight. The fourth and remaining must have impaled her before snapping off. A trail of blood, nearly a foot wide, led from the wreckage to the room where she now hid.

“Niiice. I bet that hurts like a motherfucker,”

From behind the door he could hear the sound of her voice as she sobbed.

“You’re crazy Scott! You’ve lost your mind,” she yelled.

“…I’m not crazy,” he muttered, hurt.

“YOU PUSHED ME OVER THE LEDGE!”

“YOU punched me in the face,” he said with more conviction. “You don’t hurt the ones you love. I…I HAD to do it. Don’t you see? I was afraid. I didn’t want you to hit me anymore!”

She continue to sob from behind the door.

“What else was I supposed to do,” he finished.

“That’s very convincing Mr. Vali, but would you please tell the court MORE about these voices you’ve been hearing?”

“…but,” she said with confusion, “I wasn’t trying to KILL you!”

“No,” he answered slowly, “but I would have never done that to you. You brought this on yourself, bitch.”

As he pushed the door open to enter the kitchen, she called out one final warning. It was only a single word, but if he had heeded to it, there might have been a different outcome on the other side.

“Stop!”

The Box (Part XIV)

Posted on December 8, 2013 by R. Richardsson

There was a deep burning sensation in the empty cavity where his eye had once been. It felt as if a thousand ants were feasting upon the newly exposed flesh, breaking it down piece by piece to return to their nest for later consumption. Added with the dull ocular throbbing of the broken nerve, he found himself struggling to remain conscious.

It had been several minutes since the sorcerer had passed through the cavern below but he didn’t yet feel strong enough to continue. He needed some time to think.

Oramiir had betrayed them! His magics had lured the Destrachan from the depths of the underdark for the sole purpose of getting them out of the way!

It had been pure chance that he was alive, but the poor elf hadn’t stood a chance. Even now, the creatures were gnawing at the bones of the once proud warrior. The sound of the teeth scraping against them sent shivers down his spine. One would occasionally lift its head as if scenting the air, but they seemed content to laze near their dinner.

Another blast of hot air passed through the junction, reminding him that even as he perched above the elf’s remains, the sorcerer was drawing ever closer to the lair of the dragon.

“Perhaps it’s time I use some magic of my own,” he spat venomously. Below him, each of the four creatures turned their heads in his direction, suddenly interested in the small bag of fresh meat dangling from the ceiling. One of them whistled softly, testing for a reaction from the small hobbit, but he seemed to be paying them very little notice.

As they continued to ‘watch’ him from below, he reached into one of his many hidden pouches and removed a small crossbow. Unlike the hand-crossbows of the Drow, this small folding instrument had very little use as weapon. He’d had it specially crafted some years ago as a tool to aid him in his more discrete activities.

A flick of his thumb and the tension bar snapped into place. With his other hand, he reached into another pocket and carefully removed a small cloth bundle. Careful as to not drop it or the contents inside, he opened it and loaded a small bolt into the small crossbow before replacing the bundle into the pocket from whence it came.

His stomach gurgled once again, a painful reminder that he was missing yet another meal, drawing the attention of the creatures back to his position. He needed to find a way out of this junction, soon, before his presence became enough of an annoyance to them that they decided to do something about it.

Moving slow and deliberately, he shimmied out from his perch and along the wall. It was over a half a dozen yards to the floor, but he was never one to be bothered by heights. Even as the creatures began to stir beneath him, his toes and fingers were expertly digging into even the smallest of cracks that only he could manipulate.

It was painfully slow going. There were a couple of moments where the hold he had gained crumbled, nearly sending him tumbling to the ground, but several minutes later he found himself resting outside of the junction. The Destrachan had either decided that he wasn’t big enough to be a threat, or were content to remain with their meal, and he was able to breath a sigh of relief.

He fished through his pouches before finding a suitable enough snack to placate the angry grumbles in his midsection, but his heart wasn’t in it. He slowly chewed on a bit of rabbit jerky as tears fell from the corners of his eyes, and he mourned the loss of his friend.

Every so often, he would look in the direction the sorcerer had traveled and absently touch the handle of the crossbow now hanging from his belt.