Oct 13, 2015

Feeling a little of that discouragement that creeps up on you, often times when you forget to eat and you are wondering why your stomach is making that weird noise.

My deadline has 34 days left in its funding goal of 1,000 copies. Inkshares does not make it easy, does it? You know what though, it shouldn't. Books take time, a lot of time to invest--drafts that are outlined, worlds are created, and hours are collected, and fused into something miraculous. This--takes--years.

If everyone's book was published, then the magical terror of that would be lost. I have 207,  hypothetically speaking, followers reading these words in the next couple days to come. 

Have a look, a real good one at the two stories I have written, both at the same time, interlocking different realities, for yes...A Long Time. If you have already pre-ordered I ask you  look into the possibility of ordering again, or liking excerpts, highlighting your fav passages, commenting on what could use work. I am very open to criticism. 

It is at this point, I am wondering if the book deserves to have a spot among the published books that Inkshares has and will bestow upon our society. Will this doubt flutter away? I sure hope so. If there are those of you who have not hit the button under 'Hazard Lights' or 'Dead End Ahead' to add another book to your shelf, I hope you are moved to do so. 

Below is a little behind the veil of a cop on the edge a few years back before our story begins, caught up in the world of botched criminal proceedings. 

Checkmate and Rummy my Dear Gladiators!

           O'Collins continued on, taking big gulps from his 24 oz date for the evening, "one day, I'm gonna go up to that pile of robed shit and tell him exactly what I think of him." Unfortunately, Officer O'Collins was a man of conviction who stood by his words, and one day waited outside the Judge's house and shot him.

            He was drunk and his aim held stupid. He got him in the arm, and he may have escaped it for a bit, but the officer was heated and drunk, and he came out of hiding. "You like that? Not so tough behind your stand huh?" He got right up to him, passing some parked cars, people running like greyhounds chasing their animatronics rabbit in opposite directions, single file. "Where's your gavel?" He punched him. ""Where's your gavel now?" He punched him again, the gun in the other hand falling away from him, and then his pals arrived. Being a member of the black and blue, the arriving officers on scene allowed him one more 'kiss goodnight' before asking him to freeze. "Overruled!" O'Collins dropped his reeling fist, breathing like a cornered dog that still had half a cat's paw sticking out of its haggard mouth, and obeyed. He knew the order of criminal takedown and he followed the steps, this time from the other end, and he had his fellow officers haul him up and take him to HQ.

            The trial was another story, one with just a sad ending. No lawyer would handle the case. They could have been too scared, some of them were, others were just not willing to sully their name with a drunken cop's bloodlust for a member of the higher courts. Bonds though, he was hard for it. He wanted to take the defense for O'Collins, but Bonds was the last person he wanted on his side, so he said his 'f@!k yous' and pleaded guilty. "I'd rather rot in jail, then spend a couple long afternoons burning in hell sitting next to your rank ass." O'Collins had a mastery of the English language."