Did he think me gone?
The irksome fool. I may not be where he could see me, accost me, but I would never be gone. It would be too much of a kindness if I merely ceased existing, to let him go on in peace. No, he has wounded me too deeply for me to submit into nothingness. The idea that I do not even trouble him as a passing thought torments me on a daily basis. How can he live in peace while I continue to suffer at the mere sight of him? Continue reading
I know I’ve been eagerly awaiting Part 2 of Charles F. French’s Blogtour interview, and I am happy to share that the wait is over!
If you didn’t catch Part 1 of the interview, be sure to click here and see what you missed.
Charles is a fellow blogger, professor and author. His novel, Maledicus: The Investigative Paranormal Society Book I, has been released on Kindle, and the print version will follow later this month. He was kind enough to answer some questions I had regarding his writing process and his novel:
Q: Can you give me the backstory of some of your characters?
Roosevelt Theodore Franklin is the protagonist of the novel. He is a retire Marine Corps officer and a retire History professor who lost his beloved wife, Sarah, to cancer a few years before the story begins. His two closest friends, Sam and Jeremy also have lost loved ones to death. Sam is a retired homicide detective, and Jeremy is a retired antiques dealer. Sam’s son, when he was a teenager, committed suicide, and Jeremy’s partner, died in his arms while the two were attending a gallery opening.
Please enjoy the first of a two part interview with Charles F. French. Charles is a fellow blogger, professor and author. His upcoming novel, Maledicus: The Investigative Paranormal Society Book I, is going to be released later this month. He was kind enough to answer some questions I had regarding his writing process and his novel:
Q: What was the main inspiration for your novel?
Several ideas for novels have come to me in what might be considered an odd way, although I do not mind that at all! I had an image one day of a tall, older, dapper gentleman, dressed in a tailored old-fashioned, British wool suit, with short hair, and I wondered who he was. Slowly I worked with him, and the idea for the story emerged. In terms of inspiration, I certainly can point to several novelists, all of whom have influenced me with their thematic concern of the necessity for ordinary people to confront evil: Bram Stoker, John Connelly, and Stephen King.
You have the special ability to see the cause of death of the person you look at. For most of your life, you chose to not pay attention to it, but now everyone you look at has the same cause of death
When I was a child, I thought I saw demons trying to possess people. It only happened when I looked into their eyes, and if my gaze lingered a few seconds too long. Sometimes it looked like I was looking at their present self and their future self at the same time. I could see that person both as a young person and an elderly person at the same time. Those were the tame versions. Other times I would see fire and skin turning black and crack to reveal the raw flesh beneath. I’ve seen faces shatter into little pieces, I’ve seen them spew blood from every orifice. As I grew older I was convinced that some part of my brain was broken and if I told anyone about my hallucinations they would lock me up in padded room and throw away the key.
You go to the supermarket to get a watermelon, but they are all out of seedless watermelons, so you decide “I’ll just get one with seeds and deal with it”. But this watermelon contains something more than just seeds.
“You know seedless is a lie, right?”
I glowered at my friend, wishing for once that Russ wasn’t a cynical bastard at any and every given moment. I drummed my fingers along the watermelons displayed before me from a store’s last attempt to sell them to the public. They were half price, but the catch laid in the fact that they were no longer considered seedless watermelons. Inside the hard green balls before me would be an army of black seeds waiting to attempt to assassinate me by means of asphyxiation. I frowned, an expression I directed at my friend who was in possession of the money needed to purchase the much desired food. “But it’s half off.”
“I don’t care if they were free,” He shrugged and slipped his hands into the pockets of his green pull over while giving the fruit a contemptuous look. “It’ll just end up rotting on the counter.”
I grabbed one of the smaller melons and held it to my breast as if shielding the melon from the careless words, “What if I ate it all today.”
“Out there, in the wilderness, we discovered the bones of a god.”
Arthur couldn’t believe his luck. He never thought he would be given the grant from the beginning, and when the project had been approve to conduct a dig in the remote jungle of the Amazon rainforest. Most of it was protected, but the Brazilian government had given them a very small window of opportunity for him and other archaeologists and somehow Arthur had squeezed out ahead of his competitors. He didn’t even care that he didn’t have high expectations of what he might find, or that his moves were shadowed by men with guns. This project was a once in a lifetime opportunity and it gave him bragging rights over his peers, right he planned to invoke at every inopportune moment in the future.
While Arthur expected to find bits of pottery and tools of past civilizations, maybe even a few skeletons that were consumed by the voracious jungle, Arthur never thought he would find more. At first he thought he might have discovered the skeleton of a dinosaur, but as more and more of the bones were unearthed, it became clear that the skeleton was something else. It was almost human, almost. The feet were split with two toes on either side that appeared to be more prehensile than a man’s. The creature’s back curved forward and the torso produced four arms instead of two. The skull was disturbingly human aside from the fangs.
Prompt: “The butler did it!”
Dinner parties were always dull in my opinion, but my wife loved them. She either hosted them or dragged me along to one of her friends’ house for a night of mind numbing small talk. I loved my wife, I truly did, but for some reason she thought I was gentleman that wouldn’t dare put a whoopee cushions under the elegant seat cushion of one the dining room chairs in a game I called fart roulette. The memory of the mortified looked on my wife’s face when she had sat down on the wrong chair continues still makes me giggle. My wife has yet to forgive me for that one, and she also had not planned another dinner party at our house because of my antics.
I had been a jokester since my days as a young boy. If a desk belonged to a girl, it would eventually house a frog. If someone left their laces undone, they would soon find them tied together. Nothing had changed throughout the years, and even college didn’t dampen my spirit to prank my nearest and dearest. My wife and I had met by the means of a rubber snake and a fishing line, and that was before we even started to date. I loved to play jokes on her. Despite the years that should have prepared her for my weekly pranks, it always caught her by surprise.
[Prompt: Use these seven words in your story: smug, substantial, meddle, slink, ethereal, artisanal, convolute ]
Clara really wanted to slap that smug look off her ex-boyfriend’s face. He had no right to meddle in her affairs. They had broken up over a month ago and she wanted nothing to do with him and his ‘artisanal’ ways. Stupid hipster. What she ever saw in him she might never know, because it certainly wasn’t his convoluted arguments about how he thought she was mediocre. If he found her so below his expectations, she had to wonder why he was bothering to harass her. He had purposely stalked her while she was on a date so that he could ambush them later and bait her into a heated argument until her date awkwardly fled the scene. She had been so embarrassed and all her ex could do was grin victoriously.
[Prompt: One day at home you are dusting off your pictures on the wall and you notice in all of the pictures there is a tall elderly man in a black button down suit standing in all of them but you’ve never noticed it before ]
Kristen paused in her Sunday ritual of cleaning house to closer inspect the pictures on the wall. She had been dusting the frames when something strange caught her eye. In each of the photographs an old man could be seen standing in the back. He was dressed in a black button down suit, his face sallow, and his hair nonexistent. Checking each of the pictures, Kristen saw him in the background in the newer pictures as well as ones from before her time. Kristen knew for a fact that he had not been there last Sunday when she had dusted.
[Prompt: It came from our dreams ]
Sasha felt the warmth of the morning sun kissing her cheek before she reluctantly opened her eyes. Blinking slowly, she let out a deep sigh and stretched the sleepiness from her limbs. It took a moment for her mind to transition from the fuzzy dream state and into reality. She was a slow riser, minimal responsibilities lent her the precious extra time required. Rolling to her side she glanced at the digital display on her night stand.
“Shi-“ she didn’t finish the profanity, too distracted by the realization that she was late. She didn’t typically have to be anywhere in the morning, but today was different. It was her eighteenth naming day.