Tag Archives: WIP

WIP Sneak Peek

The following is a sneak peak of the WIP for the next Braeden Wolf paranormal/cyberpunk book. Yes, I am working on one.

There comes a point in everyone’s life when they ask themselves just how they got to where they were.

For me that day came in a grimy alleyway on a cold autumn night many years ago, wracked by tearing pains, alternating between shivering and sweating. The answer, when I could think straight, was obvious. I had turned left when I should have turned right. A simple mistake, the most recent in a long line, but a critical one as mistakes go.

Rain was blowing in off the harbour, humping down hard across the city, whether the gleaming heart with its skyscrapers or the sprawling slums that ringed it. I had been huddled up beneath a greatcoat in the lee of an overflowing skip bin, its garbage added to the accumulated detritus that swirled about, trying to avoid the worst of the weather as my body shudder; it wasn’t from the weather that I suffered that affliction.

Something ran across my foot; a rat, or worse. My foot kicked out instinctively and the animal squeaked as it shot through the air, impacting on the far wall with a solid thud. The sound of cracking bones carried to me. Normally such a thing would have gone unmarked but my hearing had been swimming in and out, hypersensitive to the least change, adding to the pains that had torn at my mind.

The rat’s body fell to the ground and the fresh, sharp scent of warm blood rose in the air, a scent that should have been drowned out by the rain and the stench of garbage.

It awoke in me a terrible, tearing hunger, ripping through my innards. It called out for release, to simply give in, to succumb and seek the sustenance to take the edge of it.

Except I didn’t know what it was that I had desired, and all I could do had been to whimper and try and fight it off. Each minute I resisted though made the hunger worse.

A shaking hand reached into a pocket and from it I removed a small flask. Trembling hands fumbled at the lid with difficulty but then it came off and I took a quick swig of the burning liquid within, one that scraped the throat clean and brought water to the eyes. It took some of the edge off the hunger though it didn’t last long, and by that stage the flask was all but empty.

My eyes had remained shut the whole time. Like my hearing I had no control over my vision that took in light and magnified it tenfold, even the softest of light lancing through my eyes and into my brain.

My hands gripped the top of my head, squeezing tightly as if it would contain the tearing pain in my head. My hands had slid down across my face, and in my pain and misery I had scratched and torn at it. The skin would not break beneath my nails, and nor could any blood be drawn.

Something was badly wrong with me and at the time I had no idea what, nor could I remember what had gone before. My head hammered back into the wall, trying to drive the pain out.

A burning hunger I could not satiate, hypersensitivity of sight and hearing and smell and skin that would not break. What had I become?

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New Reviews, And Ongoing Work

I got some new reviews on Amazon, ones that make me wonder if the reviewer read a different book than I wrote – she makes them sound far better than I remember them being 🙂

Head on over to my Amazon page to check them out.

I’m also busy at work trying to finish off the third book in the series – it really should have been done by now. The good news is that it is already longer than the first two. The not so good news is that it still has some time to go to finish.

Still, If I knuckle down and work hard it may be done some time.


Too Many Ideas, Not Enough Time

There are days I wish that I didn’t have to sleep.  Like everyday.

The problem is that I never seem to get enough writing done; between the everyday rigmarole of living, poor work ethic and sleeping I just seem to run out of time.  Those extra few hours I could use if I didn’t have to use them to sleep would be so handy.

I’d love to be one of those prolific writers who can whip out a novel in three weeks.  I know I have it in me, I just seem to lack the willpower to do it.

As it is I’m only slowly getting through the current projects on my plate without even starting the new ones I’d like to do.  There is Novella Three of Braeden Wolf, as well as the ongoing short story serial The Blood Games, plus the novels/novellas/short stories of my real ego (yes, Ash Stirling is a nom de plume – wasn’t that obvious?)  And then I also want to get started on the Vikings on Mars idea, plus hack out a sci-fi soap opera style series, inspired as I have been by playing Mass Effect recently.

I really need to sit down, knuckle down and just write, ignoring everything.  Like twitter, email, forums, youtube, etc and so on.


Sneak Peek: Book Three

The following is a sneak peek from the early draft of book three of the Braeden Wolf series that is still in the work. It still needs completing and of course a polish and edit.

There are few pleasant ways to be woken up after a big night out. A cellphone blaring fit to wake the dead first thing in the morning is not one of them, and I know a thing or two about waking the dead.

My hand groped for the phone even as my eyes stayed shut to try and contain the raging ache throbbing away in my head. The tangle of sheets and limbs didn’t help matters trying to reach for the phone, nor the fact I was in an unfamiliar room.

Finally I reached the phone and answered it, mumbling a reply that might have been along the lines of ‘morning.’

“Not for the last few hours.” The voice on the other end of the phone was female; excessively so. Her voice could wake the dead in a whole different manner of speaking. Her name is Angela Grey, though I only ever call her Honey.

I sat up sharply and instantly wished I hadn’t. I creaked open an eye to look at the clock beside the bed. There was no blurring of vision; when you have tin eyes replacing the flesh ones certain foibles of the body are no longer an issue.

The clock read 2:43. Of the PM, not AM.

Okay, so it wasn’t morning but it was close enough, or at least that was what my body told me.

“What can I do for you, Honey?” I mumbled.

“I need your help Braeden.” She had her game voice on, all intense and authoritative, the one she uses when working. This was serious.

“Now?”

“Now.”

“Okay give me the details.”

She rattled off an address of the Docklands district of The City before hanging up. I really could have done with some more sleep followed by a whole jug of coffee but that wasn’t going to be. When Honey says jump I can’t really so no to her. I have that problem with most women, but more so with Honey. It’s a long story; let’s just say that the only chance I’ll have to get with her is if I go along with what she wants. That and my charm. It is worth all the hassle.

I tried to slip out of the bed but that is not easy when you are all tangled up. The other occupant stirred. I think her name is Nikki or Niccole or Nicola. Anyway, something like that. I’m sure its starts with N. Not a whole lot of last night really stands out in the old memory bank. I do remember there was drinking. Lots of it. Somewhere along the way I hooked up with Nikki, or whoever she was, and ended up back at her place for some more partying. There was a vague recollection of not a whole lot of sleep happening.


I Got Covers!

The covers have come back for the first two Braeden Wolf novellas and here they are!


In The Works: Book Three

While all the final work is being done on the first two Braeden Wolf books I have been busy working on book three, a project that doesn’t have a title yet.

So far I have done more than 10,000 words on the first very rough draft. Going on previous efforts when the time comes for rewriting it, it should increase in size by 50-100%.

The story is less than half told as well so it should be a decent length by the time it gets around to being finished.

In the book to date Braeden has run into vampires, zombies, a ghoul and something dark lurking beneath the city, though he is unsure what it is.

And now he is about to meet his dad.

It is funny how many characters of a like with Braeden have lost their parents, often brutally. The whole point seems to be to give them something dark and angsty in their past. That isn’t going to happen with Braeden. In fact I will go so far as to say that I am never going to kill Braeden’s Old Man. He’ll stay in the background, a minor character, but he will be there.

And now back to the writing.


Sneak Peek: A Pocket Full Of Spells

And now for a sneak peek at my upcoming novella ‘A Pocket Full of Spells’, due December 1st from LazyDay Publishing.

I fired at the vamp as I moved towards her, two shots thudding into her chest. She span towards me, mouth wide open and her fangs displayed. A hellishly fast kick snapped out. It caught me on the wrist and sent my .44 spinning away to slide under a table.

She was small and exquisite, with flashing green eyes, like a tiny red haired fairy but one with a bite; in this case quite literally. I’d have been tempted to have a grapple with her in better times but having someone try and chew your face off can tend to put a dampener on your ardour.

I have been told it is not polite to hit women, and I generally try and live by that rule. There are times when you just have to make exceptions, like when you run into vamps or succubi. That is when you have to make a choice. Would you rather chivalry or yourself die? Me, I’d go with chivalry breathing its last every time.

She aimed another kick at me, this time going for my head. Given the differences in our height it was extraordinarily flexible. My hands snapped up, grabbing her ankle and stopping the kick just fractions of an inch in front of my face. Before I could pull her off balance she leapt up into the air and twisted, kicking her other foot into the side of my head. I lost hold of the grip on her as my head rang and vision spun. She landed lightly and whipped around to face me again, balanced and bouncing on her feet.

I stepped back, trying to regain my composure, reaching for one of the 9mm handguns tucked into my belt. The aim was to give her a face full of lead. It wouldn’t kill her but it would certainly hurt her and slow her down.

She wasn’t having any of it, darting in to chop down on my arm almost before the gun cleared my belt. The blow numbed my arm and the gun clattered away to join the first one.

The vamp was proving a dangerous and annoying opponent, freakishly fast and hard hitting, and what is more one with obvious training in the arts of unarmed combat. Me, I’m a street brawler. No finesse, no style, just a vicious no hold barred approach to the contest. It put me at a disadvantage in this fight.