Happy Sunday Publisher’s Edition

Here it is! It was a long journey and a tough one. I am a published author !

It is amazing how many people want their book in print and in their hands!

This is why self publishers need to consider publishing both:  print and eBook versions.

The Demon Chronicles

The Print Book is right here.

The Kindle Book is right here.

I have written the second volume and it is now in editing mode. The series will carry on through seven volumes. In the process of doing this, I learned some things that can help other writers who plan to self publish.

The first tip:  Go ahead and Self Publish.

Not self publishing is the biggest roadblock to self publishing. This sounds stupid, but is  actually very wise.

When a person publishes even a small book of short stories, poems, inspirations or photographs, a huge and exaggerated emotional barrier comes down for good.

The lessons are learned, the self defeat evaporates and the road to more self publishing is wide open!


Now I have to work on summarizing my series. This has not been easy!

It begins with three fractured, damaged and reluctant heroes who are dragged deeper and deeper into a world of love, more love, demons, stealth and crimes.

The demons are people who started role playing as demons and then forgot that they were once human. They have gone around the bend and are starting to cause a lot of havoc.

The series begins with the most shocking  murder scene in fiction, makes the reader fall in love with the great characters and hooks the reader on the twisting plots.

What is the scary part? We can’t rationalize this  grown up horror tale away.

While the people in this story are not real demons, the fake demons in this story are  real people.

Those people may live and walk amongst us, and that is enough to keep us awake at night!

Doing a series of novellas is different than putting it all into one book!

The second volume was harder because I had to refresh the reader about Volume I while carrying on with the story and adding in new characters.

Why did my characters come to love each other so much and to love with such a twist? Who are all these new people and why are they together? Did I just read that this one loves that one…and that one too?

I had to keep up with the main themes of love, more love, stealth demons and crimes that started in the first book  and will carry all the way through to the seventh book.

It is important to wrap up or continue all events, developments and characters. It is very easy to start a side story or a new character, then forget all about them! Seven Basque imps? Fallen angels? Yep. If there are demons, then those creatures are likely to be part of the mix too.

It gets important to remember every number, quantity, relationship and action, because the writer can forget exactly how much money, how many crates, why, who did what to whom,  and when who did it!

The FBI agent illegally looted an extra 24 boxes or so of evidence? Another FBI agent runs errand for the mob? Of course it can happen. The delicious task is for the writer to create a good reason why or how it happens.

Readers will not forget those details and they will not miss the mistakes, so neither should the author!

How to build a very  easy website:  This was part of my amateur book marketing and writer’s benefit project, so Here is my example.

I did not want my site to be just for hawking my book, so visitors  will find a couple of great articles on how to do a book cover and how to find a web building site!

I needed a website and kept balking at getting bogged down in such a tough project.

I found out that websites are now  as easy as setting up this blog.  Amazing.

My website is built with jimdo, which is the highest rated, but there are many other website builders. Do shop around and find the best website builder for your needs.

As always, make sure that you are dealing with a reputable site and that you actually need a set of features before you pay for anything!

Happy Sunday! I hope I have inspired at least one person to go ahead, realize that dream and get something copyrighted and published.


Our Lovely Halloween Buffet!


Shut UP, buffet…you didn’t need that eyeball…think of it as your sacrifice to the 2 percent!






The Strange Theaters of the Old, Old West

This is the tale of two grand theaters in Old Sacramento. The physical theater now lies under Old Sacramento in California’s capitol city. The theater of the bizarre was acted out just before the city of Sacramento was raised a few stories in height to prevent the frequently overflowing Sacramento River from washing over the most important part of town.

The “Excelsior” Theatre was the scene of many a wild penny opera and more than a few murderous brawls. One poor soul was whipped to death in full view of a horrified crowd. The whipping was carried out by an itenerant gold prospector who believed that he had been unfairly divested of his gold coins in one of the rigged poker games that went on in the upper rooms of the Excelsior Hotel.

The poor victim was flayed to the bone, but suffered for days before he expired. It later turned out that he had no part in the purloining of anyone’s gold, so the murderer was hanged a few days later.


A Spooky Tale: The Theater of the Evergreen Stroll

The Theater of the Evergreen Stroll

Every day, the women of Chancellor Orville left their homes to shop and to stroll down Evergreen Street.  The Evergreen Stroll had been going on for a hundred years, and the crowds never ceased to grow large between noon and three PM.  After three PM, the odd, harried singleton would show up on Evergreen Street, do hurried and perfunctory business, then leave.

In the evenings and at night, Evergreen Street came alive with diners, drinkers and revelers who always had the reason or the resources to celebrate the existence of their comfortable lives.

No one knew who really started The Stroll. There was no organized group of high living hausfraus who held a meeting to establish anything. There was no popular community cheerleader who rounded everyone up. There was no campaign put on by some ancient version of a Chamber of Commerce.

But somehow, there was an ever changing array of shops, restaurants and services that had kept Evergreen Street in a state of flourish through three centuries and a change of millennium.

Housebound people could dress up, fix their hair and wear their latest outfits.  Some of them could dress up their smaller children and use them to add interest to the theater of the stroll.

Others could find a source of gossip to supplement the news that was dutifully reported in the Chancellor Orville Chronicle.  Early rising retirees could find their requisite doughnut shop or breakfast joint before they moved on to putter around in their gardens and home workshops.

Some would make their way to the stroll in order to work an agenda or to work a deal. There is always someone available to employ a place like Evergreen Street in order to work a deal or to gratify a need.

After a time, word spread about Evergreen Street. Visitors  showed up to add to the crowd, to broaden the scope and to introduce entire new plot devices. People came from as far away as Sacramento and Reno, towns that were at least an hour and a half away.

Sometimes a famous personage or an entertainment icon would show up and attempt to privately mingle in. Each one would discover that their fame had reached farther than they had imagined.  But celebrities were generally left alone, since it was entirely against the undefined rules of The Stroll to act a fool around a famous person.

Perhaps Evergreen Street was a lasting success because of the town of Chancellor Orville, which nestled next to the vast Tahoe National Forest and was miles from any major freeway.  Most towns of this type would be crumbling and wrecked by the descendants of failed Gold Rush entrepreneurs, Dust Bowl and civil war refugees and other generational losers who were ruled by gaggles of rural feudal overlords.

But Chancellor Orville had grown into a haven for those who did not mind a long commute to Sacramento or to UC Davis in order to maintain their fortunes. There were internet moguls who lived in modest houses and installed enough servers and equipment to run a nation. There were retirees who drew large enough pensions to enjoy the rural and forested life when they were not traveling the world.

As a result, there were streets in Chancellor Orville that Hollywood site surveyors lusted after. Some streets were models of 1940s era architecture, with their craftsmen and mock Tudor delights. Other streets looked like the Deep South in the 1950s with their shaggy boundaries, water runoff ditches, and lack of anything resembling a sidewalk.

There were a couple of trailer parks that once hosted no end of troubles until they were bought out by retirees and turned into overly landscaped havens for somewhat moneyed senior citizens.

The fringes of the town had become a curdled mix of over sized luxury homes and two or five acre historical ranchettes. The ranchettes had been passed down from generation to generation and never made the MLS because they only sold through word of mouth.

Perhaps it was the nature of the city fathers of Chancellor Orville. The current Mayor was a multimillionaire who once served as an adviser to a President of the United States. He and his wife had interesting hobbies.

The city council was populated by retired doctors, lawyers, chemists, law enforcement leaders and educators, several of whom had even more interesting hobbies than the Mayor and his wife.  It is not difficult to think of such people as a “dream team” of small town leadership.

Perhaps Chancellor Orville could be so far off the beaten path, yet host a booming, active downtown on Evergreen Street for other reasons.

Like the Mayor’s hobby, human taxidermy.

No, no! Come back! Don’t leave!

The Mayor was a forensic pathologist who prepared technical samples and bodies for scientific research.  All on the up and up, his business was.  He did this most of the time, with a few diversions to complete “special projects”.

Or perhaps the town thrived because of the City Council President’s post retirement gig as an “expert witness”.  He was a top expert in the field of missing persons. He busily worked both ends of the field of missing persons.  He was highly sought after as a consultant in court cases, investigations and “special projects”.

It could have been the internet entrepreneur, who always wore a strange, slightly distracted smile when having conversation. He collected ancient torture devices and kept them in his attic.  He loved to talk about his ancient torture devices, especially the replica of the Brazen Bull that, with cunningly designed tubes and pipes, would convert the screams of the person being roasted inside the hollow, metal animal into the melodic braying of a live bull.

Despite the harmless hobbies and vocations of prominent residents, most newcomers would still leave after a few weeks, made uneasy by some inexplicably disturbing vibe to the place.  Most of those newcomers were quite mentally ill and left in the middle of the night, leaving most of their possessions behind.

Even the drug cartels stayed outside of a ten mile unofficial “perimeter” around Chancellor Orville.

Perhaps it was the absence of crime, the serene and satisfied people and all of that regularity of life on Evergreen Street.  Maybe that is what drove newcomers away from Chancellor Orville.

Some speculated that the newcomers fled because there was none of the intermittent murder, psychopathic crime, weapons abuse, or other chaos that happens in less wonderful places these days.

Others claimed that it was the nature of The Stroll itself, but they could not nail down a particular problem. People just could not figure out what was wrong with that Stroll.

Perhaps the newcomers were uncomfortable with the “totems” that were always being nailed to doors or handed around without any explanation.  Some joker had been telling the newcomers that the “totems” were the shiny bones of people who had been roasted to death in the internet entrepreneur’s Brazen Bull and the rumor lingered, even after the joker got lost while hiking through the Tahoe National Forest and was never found.

At any rate, Chancellor Orville thrives to this day and the Evergreen Street Stroll is alive and well.

Come and visit sometime!

A Spooky Tale: The Dead Ringers

She danced to the music of off-the-wall songs, such as “Express Yourself” and “Another One Bites The Dust”. She was a dancing star who had developed a loyal following that included mayors, A-list celebrities and godfathers. There was no personal or physical contact with the followers. There was no buying and selling of any more of her time or services. There was nothing but the dance and there was no one who could perform the dance but her.

But on one fateful, dark and stormy night, her heart was ransacked and the contents stolen by a man who was so smooth, so worldly, and so urbane that she would dance her last dance (in public, anyway).

He was not a handsome man, but he radiated heat like an acute back injury. It was obvious that he came from a good background. because his top and bottom teeth lined up perfectly with each other when he smiled. His smile was actually a frightening smile, since very few people knew the details of what he did for a living. Whenever a person became too persistent in their inquiries, he simply would flash that smile and his eyes would go very still. No one would persist after receiving such a disturbing, yet genial signal that no more information would be provided.

She danced deep into the night and studied Law during the day. Not one person who knew her could ever have put the two parts of her life together. She had been that discreet and effective in hiding one disgraceful world from the other, respectable world.  Even law enforcement could not have put her in both places on the same day. That is, no one would be able to piece it all together unless she died under suspicious circumstances and the contents of her safe deposit boxes were released.

She did not die under suspicious circumstances, though. She was just a dancer who retired early and who had a splashing success in marriage, in her law career and as a mother. Over the years, she came to be regarded as a perfect example of a woman who could balance marriage, child rearing, and a career with no failure in any part of her overall life program. She worked for a law firm that handled legal matters so esoteric and ethereal that no one could understand it all if they studied for a thousand years.

He came and went.  (It was the nature of his work, you know). He was a doting husband who never complained about the kids, the cost of this, or the interest on that. He just came and went for about a week at a time. One day, he would be gone. A few days later, he would return, behaving as if nothing special or momentous had happened while he was away.

Their lives went swimmingly and without turmoil until that dark and stormy night when a low level mob wannabe decided to track down his favorite dancer who, back in the day, would never so much as waste any spit on him. The woman danced, then she was always hustled back stage, protected by the club owner’s goons. No one got close to her if she did not want them to. The mob low life never explained how he came to believe that America was ancient Rome, where women of low standing could just be snatched and forced into a life of servitude to men.

The low life was never allowed to explain much, having died after hours of torture and in a horrible way.

After breaking into the couple’s home and attempting to have his way with the helpless woman and her children, the mob wannabe discovered his mistake. He had figured that the husband would not be part of the equation, since all of the neighbors and other locals had volunteered the information that the man wasn’t expected to be home for another three days. After suffering the consequences of such a mistake, the low life’s body was tossed into a raging wash of flood water and was not whole when it was found.

The problem with the low life’s plan was that the husband had canceled his trip. He was a contract worker who was employed by a shadowy organization. He carried out missions and worked for higher powers than anyone could comprehend or know of.  Raging storms had caused all flights to everywhere to be canceled and there was no rescheduling going on. As a result, the husband decided not to rearrange the weather, but rearranged his travel projects instead.

Thus, he happened to be at home, rewiring a new home theater system by flashlight on that night.

The mob wannabe’s subsequent “disappearance” did not bring the expected response of “who cares?”  Instead, the disappearance became the ignition source for a mob war that was destined to happen if anything happened to him. As low as he was, he was the son of a major player. The battles spread to15 cities and then infected the gangs. The battles went on for weeks, with neither side ever gaining a clear understanding of what could have possibly triggered such a war.

With the mob wars, no one was as concerned that it stayed dark or that it stayed stormy for two whole weeks.

Amazing. It was the most catastrophic weather event in a hundred and thirty five years, yet  there were so many murders and gun battles going on all over the nation that the weather was the least of the nation’s problems.

What happened to the man and the woman? They lived together for another fifty years then “moved on”.  Both of them treated the catastrophic storm as if it never happened. Both of them remembered the previous storm of its type, 135 years earlier. Those two had either experienced or created all forms of natural disasters, including the separation of the continents. They “reproduced” by stealing and rearing other people’s children.

When one body wears out, they carefully choose new bodies. They thrive in countries where people go missing by the thousands every year. Whenever they grow too old to live convincingly in one community, they move on and start new lives. In such form, they have developed the patience of the centuries, the wisdom of the very old, and the gifts of being able to “do it all over again”.

Some times, they grow tired of starting over and spend some time in the form of pure energy for a while. We call them ghosts when they are on vacation.

Once every ten years, they attend a vast reunion and meet with the millions of others like them who live among us and who have always lived among us. We know when we have encountered one of them and we never realize it. We call such encounters “mistaken identity” and move on.

The Dead Ringers are the reason behind our lingering doubt and unsettling thoughts when we think that we have seen someone who we know.

Halloween Part Four: I Don’t Get No Respect!

Wow! Great crowd tonight!

It’s great to have a crowd that I can’t eat for a change!

Yeah! This “Monsters of Comedy Tour ” is Hot, Hot, Hot!

Good evening, Ladies,  Gentlemen and Things!

I’m Gordon Gorgon!  Thank you! Thank you!

You know, when I was born, people said that I had a face that only a mother could love.

Mom clammed up and wouldn’t say a word.

Continue reading