Upcoming Interview

Posted on November 5, 2013 by R. Richardsson

In just a few short days, I will find myself with an opportunity that is bigger than I can possibly imagine.

For those of my readers who have yet to read my post regarding my book signing, I invite you to take a few moments to go check it out.

Are we all caught up?

Good! So then you know about the photographer I met while there? Excellent.

I took his advice and contacted the news reporter and with-in a couple hours I had a delighted response and invitation!

Just so we’re all clear here; I will be appearing on a local news station, for an onscreen interview, regarding my vampire hunter trilogy!

This is unheard of for me. When I sent off the email, at best I expected to be politely let down. I figured that a reply would find its way into my inbox, at the end of the week, explaining how they appreciated my candor, but this wasn’t something they weren’t interesting in doing at this time. Imagine my surprise when I was proven wrong a short time later!

There are a million questions running through my mind, but, am I nervous? Years ago, I participated in a trombone trio that went to State, as part of my band class. I had to perform before two thousand of my peers and the judges. I’ve given a few speeches to small crowds of people, mostly family, but also before my peers in Speech class. Of course, and most recently, I spent an evening describing the plot and story of the my first book to several interested readers. In every instance, once I got in front of the mic, everything else fell into place.

The question remains. Am, I, Nervous?

A little, admittedly. But it’s not like I will be speaking before a huge audience. At most, it will be myself, the interviewer and the cameraman. It will be in a comfortable setting that will make it seem like the interviewer and myself are having a friendly discussion, so I’m not to worried about the pressure. Of course, I don’t know what will be in the panoramic that isn’t seen from the viewer’s point of view, but that shouldn’t be too bad.

It feels more like I’m preparing to give exactly what it is; an interview. He will have questions, I will have answers, and before I know it we’ll be shaking hands and parting ways.

Do I have concerns? Of course I do. This is the first time that anyone in my immediate family will appear on TV for a good reason! *laughs* Okay, in all seriousness and joking aside, this is something that has a lot of potential to get my work out there.

Sure, I’ve sold some books. I’ve also donated some to the Little Free Libraries around town! Add in the signing and I have had a fairly good run these last two months. My concern is as to whether or not I am able to be concise, and more importantly, professional about the work I’ve invested so much time in creating. This is, after all, going to be my first author interview!

My plan is to treat it as if the reporter interviewing me is an interested reader. Since I will be speaking to him about the trilogy, I simply need to give my best synopsis, offer the baited hook and hope he takes a bite. If he believes it, the rest should fall into place, right?

Oh, but we shall see, won’t we…?

For now, I try to make sense of the hurricane in my mind, capture my thoughts as they are violent whipped to and fro and start writing some notes. I should prepare my best synopsis, practice reciting it and go from there.

Wish my luck, my friends.

——-

R. Richardsson Interview with Ralph Hipp, WIBW Channel 13, 4:00pm Central Time, November 11, 2013

For those unable to view the program, I will be later capturing the video and uploading it to my YouTube Channel.

The Box (Part XI)

Posted on November 5, 2013 by R. Richardsson

Oramiir walked through the eye of the storm, his robes rippling gently with each carefully placed step. He walked in large strides, with his right hand horizontally clenched before him. From afar, it might appear as if he were looking down the back of his forearm, lining up his path over his knuckles, but what one wouldn’t notice from any distance greater than five feet were the small crimson lines that ran out of either side of his fist.

Small drops of blood fell from his hand, but never reached the stone ground below. The sorcerer’s eyes glared over the back of his knuckles, deep in concentration as he focused on the magical dweomer from a ring on his middle finger. As each crimson drop fell from his hand, he called forth the powerful magic to send the sticky substance far ahead of him, where its scent would drive the creatures into a maddened fervor, snarling with an insatiable lust for the blood that now seemed to be all around them.

The flow began to thicken and he sighed as the ring’s power finally exhausted. For a few moments longer, he watched with a bemused expression as he hand shook wildly, before slowly lowering it to his side. The dark arts of the blood magic were taking its toll on his body much sooner than he expected. Even as he pondered this, the hourglass dipped before him, falling ever so slightly from where it had been hovering.

With a predatory grin, he watched a the last few sands fell from into the bottom of the container. Quickly, he lifted his hand once more, opening it to catch the enchanted item as its magic also exhausted, causing it to fall to the ground. Thankfully, his reflexes didn’t betray him and he caught it with ease.

In the same instant that the item’s power was no more, there came a low rumble of thunder as every item’s sound rushed back to their source. The sounds moved so quickly that for a split second he felt as if it were that fateful moment before the heavens opened and the flood-rains came.

Though he knew he was alone, he was still momentarily startled when he found himself surrounded by the sounds of frenzied battle. Elladuer’s battle cries dominated the sounds of the Destrachan, which were horrifying enough on their own, but he thought he could also hear the weak cries of the hobbit as well.

His lips curled even higher, lifting his cheeks and turning his features into a visage so terrible that to look upon it would send any lesser creatures fleeing at its sight. As the battle began to wane, decidedly in the favor of the Destrachan, he threw his head back and cackled insanely.

From its hidden perch nearby, a large bat opened its eyes and watched distrustfully as the man passed beneath it. It’s first instinct was to attack the creature that dared disturb its slumber, but the evil which radiated from him sent it fluttering down the tunnels in the opposite direction to seek a safer place to rest.

She Has A Pretty Face Though (Part XXIX)

Posted on November 3, 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!

———

“Fucking bitch,” he muttered angrily. His words were muffled and barely recognizable, as if he were speaking through a mouthful of cotton. His hands shook with rage and from somewhere far away, he could hear the cold laughter of the ‘other’ mocking him.

It had only taken him a few minutes to get dressed. He had done so carefully, without once removing is eyes from the enormous mound of flesh on the bed. His heart hammered in his chest, pounded relentlessly in his ears and it was everything he could do to keep from betraying his actions with a careless gasp for air, but he was able to dress without so much as disturbing her.

He was hurt, on the inside as well out.

It seemed like it was so far away; that day when he sat across from her at Dewie’s Drugstore. It had been like a dream come true. Of course, he had known that she was there for a reason other than what he was thinking, but he had been unable to control his imagination. She had been wearing a white, short-sleeved blouse that was obviously a couple of sizes too small. It had clung against her skin, barely containing her bosom and he it was all he could do to keep his eyes from wandering too far down.

She had given him a friendly hug when he arrived, but he had been powerless to return it. His arms remained limply at his side, while other parts of him did not, and he would still feel her skin against his for many nights to come.

And it was that look in her eyes. After she had stopped Tommy from putting him in the hospital that day, she had thrown him a single, flirting glance before they were gone. Her smile had been like the sun, and combined with the effect of the one playful finger at her lips, he had thought there had been a promise of something more.

“Fat fucking Lucy Winters,” he had screamed afterwards. How his chest had ached! As he sped away on his bike, it had barely contained the remnants of his broken heart and he would have been none the better had Tommy just flattened him instead of pulling abruptly before him.

“More like Crazy Fucking Lucy Winters,” he growled.

He couldn’t believe he had been so gullible. Not only was she a complete and utter tease, but she was no better than the shitbag that she was dating. She came at him, trying to be his friend, but in reality…

“Oh get over it already,” the other whispered from his thoughts.

…she was setting him up. It wasn’t enough that they talked about him behind his back. They couldn’t simply be happy continuing to stare and laugh at him every time he walked by. Apparently, even the occasional ass-kicking was no longer any fun! Even worse, it was probably her idea. Only a woman would think of a way to completely destroy her enemy; heart, mind and soul.

“…don’t ignore me Scottie. I’m the only friend you’ve got.”

He stood silently across the room, lost his in his thoughts and staring at the sleeping form before him. His skin crawled as he remembered the feel of her against him. His skin was still damp from the light sweat that coated her, and smelled faintly of sweat and stale Fritos.

He felt like he was going to be sick.

“Some friend,” he countered silently. “Do you really think that there’s any way in hell I would have stayed after what she did to me?”

“Do you think you would have gotten what she did to you from anywhere else,” it answered sarcastically.

“SHUT UP,” he screamed. He raised his right hand, balled it into a fist and punched it through the wall next to him. The effect would have been no less devastating had he swung a hammer at the wall instead. The plaster gave beneath the force of his blow, folding inward and belching a light cloud of dust around his wrist.