Editing Excursions



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Over the past few months I have been re-editing my e-book serial.  There are no plot changes, or new chapters or characters. 

 

 

 

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I just jostled around some words and deleted a paragraph or two to make it all as readable as possible. 

 

 

 

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Another reason for editing is preparation for a potential four-in-one volume print edition...sometime in the near future.

 

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For now these new edits of DARK EXCURSIONS are only available individually for your Amazon Kindle, or Kindle-App compatible device, such as a smartphone or tablet.

 

 

 

Feel free to click on an e-book link above or browse around my AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE to check out my concise and honest bio... US   UK   Canada   Australia     (bio not available on Canadian & Australian sites) 

For more information regarding DARK EXCURSIONS, click on the following links to read the corresponding sample chapters... 

12    32    64 

Thank you for your time and support.  Words cannot fully express my appreciation.

Be Well and Freak Out,

JLH

the writer’s bend becomes a wallflower

 

 

 

"And in that moment, I swear we were infinite."

 - from Charlie's letter, dated October 28, 1991

 

April 8, 2014

Dear friend,
    I went to the video store to rent a new release.  The particular film I was looking for wasn't available, so I brought home the DVD of THE PERKS OF BEING A WALLFLOWER.  I had been curious about it since it hit theaters a couple of years ago, but other films kept getting in the way.  Now there wasn't any other film, just this one.  Suffice it to say, after watching it twice I knew I had to read the book immediately.

    Thankfully my public library had a copy of Stephen Chbosky's 1999 novel.  While checking it out, I told the librarians about the film.  One said that the teens have really enjoyed the book.  She didn't say this in a mean way, as if I should feel stupid reading teen-oriented fiction as an adult.  I think she just wanted me to know that people have said positive things about it.

    Well, it didn't take me too long to read this insightful novel.  Sometimes I related to the main character, which might be a little weird.  I don't know.  Charlie is 15 and I am far removed from that age, but maybe it shows the author touched upon some basic human experiences and emotions.

    All I know for certain is that I really wish this book would have been available when I was 15.  And that everyone could use friends like Sam and Patrick, though whomever we meet in life should be enough to make us feel infinite.

                                                                                                               Love always,
                                                                                                               John

 

Originally posted on The Writer's Bend

visiting doubt

doubt visits during waking hours
paralyzing my body
breaking open my jaw
ramming itself down my throat
choking off oxygen
and my voice
devouring my insides
until i am hollowed
staring at shadows
with nothing eyes

then i send it away
movement resuming
catching a breath
and finding my voice
filling up my interior
with whatever it needs
eyes seeing life
all too clearly
pretending everything is fine
waiting for doubt to return

 

 

 

 

 

_______________________
April 3, 2014
John L. Harmon

A Grave Situation

    He opens his eyes to dirt and darkness, but it's not darkness to him.  Each speck of dirt pressing against his hazel eyes can be seen and that's not all.  Surrounding him on all sides is life.  Underground bugs and deep burrowing earthworms, yet, there is something else.  Something waiting.  This knowledge, and an aversion to the slithering, crawling lower lifeforms, propels him upwards.
    A seemingly endless amount of dirt collapses upon him as he digs toward the surface.  There is no sensation of claustrophobia or suffocation, just a feeling of someone waiting.  He isn't sure how he knows what he knows, especially since his memory is in question, but he knows it to be true.
    Sunlight greets him as he pulls himself out of the dirt.  No, not sunlight.  Moonlight, yet he can see the surroundings clearly, as it the land is highlighted by the noonday sun.  Peculiar indeed, but what shouldn't be peculiar is where he now finds himself.  Headstone after headstone after headstone for as far as his extraordinary eyes can see.  He knows what he is, but not how he came to be.
    "Well, I was beginning to think dawn would break before you decided to come topside."
    He turns to the somewhat sarcastic feminine voice, to the one who has been impatiently waiting for him.  She is sitting on top of an old massive headstone, managing a look of extreme interest and exquisite boredom.  Her hair, tied back in a ponytail, is natural sexbomb blond and her vaguely smiling lips are as red as, well, blood.  A stunning figure cuts beneath the seemingly inappropriate nighttime cemetery-wear of a peach sundress.  Long, slender legs swing back and forth, as the backs of sturdy peach sandals bang against the name of Victor Danton.  Somewhere from the depths of his murky memory, he finds his last words.
    "You saved me?"
    Victor Danton receives a reprieve as her peach sandals come to a halt.  Typically the first words out of a newbie's mouth are "what happened" or "I'm thirsty" or just a stupidly confused moan.  This one must be something different, at least compared to her previous attempts.
    "Technically, I did save you, so to speak."
    He reaches into the murkiness once again, sifting through fleeting images, words and emotions, until he finds confusing truth.  Multiple vacant eyes approaching, staggering, mouths agape.  Dropping his weapon, giving up on the situation and life in general.
    "I didn't want to be saved."
    "True, you didn't seem to desire a rescue," she nearly whispers, vividly recalling the sullen moment.
    A few questions come to mind, but he chooses the first, "Why did you?"
    Her peach sandals begin kicking the deceased Danton again, with a nervous verve.  "I was thirsty and bored.   Why did you want to destroy yourself?"
    Snippets of images illuminate through murky memories.  A building, full of them, whoever 'them' are.  Sitting in a pick-up truck with...someone.  Then a voice, not his own and almost inaudible, "One more and then it will be time."  Suddenly, a blinding flash, followed by an overwhelming sensation of nothing to live for, nothing to push him forward.
    "I was alone."
    "You were and now you are not."  She gracefully dismounts the headstone, ponytail swishing, and draws closer, fascinated by her handiwork.  "What else do you remember?"
    "Jumbled images."  He looks down and notices his distinct attire.  "Was I a soldier?"
    "Every human is a soldier now.  Thankfully, they are not after the likes of us."
    "What are they after?" he asks, curiosity peaked.
    "The living dead."
    "Isn't that what we are?"
    "No.  We are the undead.  Zombies are the living dead."
    He recalls his suicide attempt full of vacant eyes and gaping mouths and then studies the admittedly pale, yet vibrant creature before him.  "Shouldn't we be the living dead?"
    "Living dead, rotters, zombies.  Undead, nosferatu, vampires.  Whatever.  I blame the movies."  She would roll her eyes but this is the most meaningful conversation she has experienced in...well, quite a while.  "Speaking of semantics, do you remember your name?"
    Several monosyllabic noises are made in frustrating attempts to conjure an answer to her seemingly simple question.  He finally gives up, shrugging his shoulders, "I don't know."
    "Your memory may fully restore itself or not.  Difficult to say for certain.  It is different for everyone."  She seems completely unconcerned, stepping closer and offering to adjust his disheveled collar.  "We are undead during the zombie apocalypse, so we can be whomever we want.  Just pick a name."
    "What's your name?"
    "Peaches, currently."  Her smile is simultaneously warm and wry.
    Inspiration strikes quickly and he smiles in return.  "Cam."
    She nods in approval.  "So, Cam, I trust that I don't have to hide any sharp wood from you or that you won't decide to sunbathe come morning?"
    Newly-christened Cam briefly recalls the crushing emotions as the living dead closed in and then locks vivid eyes with his maker named Peaches.  "As you said, I am no longer alone.  And neither are you."
    Peaches quickly links arms with her perceptive prodigy.  "Now let's get you cleaned up and find you someone to drink, which is not as easy as it used to be with this new world order."
    As she casually leads him away from the soulless cemetery, a lone zombie staggers quietly in the distant moonlight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Photo and story: March/April 2014

For another supernatural tale click SCAR

Be well, Readers, and Freak Out,
JLH

click for non-supernatural e-books

The Writer's Bend Visits The Attic

 

The following was originally posted on The Writer's Bend, my author page on Facebook...Click for more info.

 

 

"The wisdom of the attic was in my bones, etched on my brain, part of my flesh."  - from the chapter 'Endings, Beginnings'

Yes, it was the recent made-for-Lifetime movie that inspired my decision to revisit FLOWERS IN THE ATTIC.  Many years have passed since I last read this controversial novel from 1979 and now, older and allegedly wiser, I found a fresh perspective.

I recall during my long-ago initial read that I feared and hated the steely, emotionless grandmother more than any other character.  This time I found myself fearing and absolutely loathing the mother, a wretched creature that is the true witch in this dark tale of loss, hope, abandonment and forbidden love.  Corrine Foxworth would make an excellent wife to Guy Woodhouse from Ira Levin's "Rosemary's Baby".  The vile duo could live happily ever after selling their souls for wealth, while betraying the ones they profess to loving most.

There is one more thing I must add.  While revisiting the Dresden Dolls in their attic garden/prison, I realized how much this book influenced my own writing.  Subconsciously, Anapola Van Der Van (from "Dark Excursions") must have been partly inspired by an amalgamation of the grandmother and mother.  Damaged and harsh characters aside, there is a seed of something in V.C. Andrews that reminds me a little of myself.

 

 

Be well, Readers, and Freak Out,

JLH

click for my e-books 

 

 

DARK EXCURSIONS: Chapter 12

One year ago this week my first e-book was released.  I still recall that not-so-long-ago day as a little scary and seriously thrilling, plus filled with doughnuts!

In honor of this personal occasion, I offer to you, Readers, one of my favorite chapters from DARK EXCURSIONS: first set.  Here you will experience a meeting between a former stable boy and a Russian tennis instructor...

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Chapter 12

We now take you to a tavern...

 

    Crop Hoppins sits on a stool in a dimly lit tavern.  It is his first stop since the church, but not his first drink.  He slides the empty glass away.

    "Another?" the bartender asks.  Crop responds with a quick nod.

    "Put that on my tab, Pete."

    The husky accented voice and firm hand on his shoulder startles Crop out of his thoughts.  The broken man swivels on the stool to come face to face with Ivan.  He is amused to see that the tall, blond, muscular man is still dressed for a tennis lesson.  There is an expectation to see a racket somewhere, but one is nowhere to be found.

    Crop waves a dismissive hand, "Sorry…"

    "I do not understand."  Ivan takes a step back and studies him curiously, "You want another drink, so I buy you another drink."

    Crop stares at him with some confusion, “Luchia said—“

    Ivan, suddenly aware, interrupts with a vigorous laugh.  He then lunges forward and grabs Crop's shoulders, giving them an amiable shake.  "If Luchia does not have her way, she will say anything…” a wry grin slides onto his face, “…whether it be true or false.  My offer is a friendly gesture to a fellow comrade of Luchia's wrath."

    Crop furrows his brow in more confusion, “What has she done to you?”

    "Grab your drink and come sit with me," Ivan commands.  Crop swivels and the bartender hands him a whiskey without ice.  He then follows Ivan to a dark booth in an even darker part of the tavern.

    Ivan collects his thoughts, takes a sip of his drink and begins to speak, but not of Luchia.  "My parents left Mother Russia when I was in womb.  They wanted me birthed in the 'land of opportunity.'  In my youth, I learned tennis but never became good enough for Wimbledon or even French Open.  So, I became an instructor."  He takes another sip.  "Luchia hired me for lessons but also wanted me for sex.  I let her flirt and fondle at first, but today I was done.  I told her sex would never happen and she discharged a round of tennis balls upon me, effectively terminating my employment.”

    Crop takes a large sip and shakes his head, "To think she is going to be a mother."

    "Ah!" the husky voice rips through the tavern, "This is what your argument concerned!"

    "More or less.”

    "Are you positive the child is yours?  Luchia is not known for chastity."

    Crop, overwhelmed with the dread of permanently losing Cheryl, had not considered this possibility.  "I know for certain it cannot be her husband's.  As for another man's...maybe."

    Ivan throws his hands into the air, "If she says it's your babe, you must deal with it!"  His large fists slam the table, "Pete, another round!"  He smiles wildly at Crop and slips into his parents’ native tongue.

    "What does that mean?"

    "Drink first—action later!" Ivan loosely translates and then explains. "You need to take action against your frustrations and so do I!"  He offers Crop a business card, "If you ever need a lesson, give Ivan a call."

    He accepts the card and fully studies the instructor, sensing the double meaning in this offer.  As the bartender brings the adult beverages, Crop reiterates to himself what he had told the priest: nothing matters now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Copyright 2013,  John L. Harmon

For further information on this e-book (available for Amazon Kindle and other Kindle App-compatible devices) please click on one of the following Amazon links...

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NL

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Don't forget to read Chapters 32 & 64 and excerpts from the fourth set...
 
Be well, Readers, and Freak Out,

JLH


P.S.  Click WHIP to read about the excursion behind Dark Excursions.

A Tale as Old as 1987

Where shall I begin?   Do I begin In the 1980's with hazy recollections or do I start in 2011?  Yes, I believe the 21st Century is the time to begin this tale of a freakboy, his sister, and a television series quite different from any series on during its brief run.

In July of that not-so-long ago year, I was visiting the city of Omaha, Nebraska.  Well, visiting is not quite accurate.  Technically I was being retained for my triple-threat abilities of pseudo-nanny, dog-watcher, and house-sitter, but that is another blog entry for another day. During a moment of seriously much-needed free time I made a beeline for my favorite Omaha book/movie/music store.

Half Price Books, located on 123rd & West Center, near Hooters, is a wonderland for the avid reader, watcher and/or listener!  I was meticulously scanning the various shelves of various sections when I froze solid in front of the DVD discount shelf.  Typically this shelf is a haven of films that everyone has seen and nobody wants, but that day there were two items I knew my sister would want and how!

I reached up and removed the first two seasons of the 1980's series BEAUTY AND THE BEAST.  Even though it was the discount shelf, I was still stunned by the low, low price of 5 dollars a season!  I knew this was a purchase that must happen because my sister would love this brilliant and unexpected find.  My only disappointment was that the final season was nowhere to be found.

After my triple-threat abilities were no longer required, I headed home with Linda Hamilton as Catherine and Ron Perlman as Vincent packed in my bag.  To say my sister was thrilled would be an understatement, and she wasn't horribly disappointed that I had not found the final season.  She recalled the short third season to be underwhelming, if not completely terrible.

We immediately began watching the first season (which originally aired in 1987 - 1988).  She remembered a lot, but I only recalled the couple of episodes she had acquired on VHS, and even then my recollections were, as I previously stated, hazy.   However, I must admit that no matter how hard I struggled against it, I was being drawn into this romantic fairy tale world of Catherine and Vincent.  Each time it looked as if they were about to kiss but then hugged instead, I nearly screamed...and don't get me started about their 'souls' kissing at the end of the season!  Yet, that season-ender was not near as frustrating as the cliffhanger ending of the second season (1988 - 1989).

It would have been extremely easy to order the final season off the internet or from a store, mainly to see how the cliffhanger was resolved, but my sister chose to wait.  Her reasoning partly stemmed from her belief that the final season was less than worth it and also from the thrill of the search.  Perhaps it was the magical aspect of Beauty and the Beast that gave sense to this decision.

A few years clicked by until February 2014 innocuously rolled around and with it a little trip to Kearney, Nebraska.  A family gathering had been planned, one which would involve basketball, card tricks, chocolate turnovers, and a stop at my favorite Kearney book/movie/music store called Hastings.  Just take an East turn on the hilltop and you will find it next to Hobby Lobby.

My sister and I divided once inside Hastings and commenced with browsing.  Soon I found myself among science-fiction film titles, not looking for anything in particular.  Suddenly a flash of blue was shoved in front of my face and I instantaneously recognized the cover to the final season (1989 - 1990).  In a display showcasing how much this series got under my skin, I took off my snarky, annoying little brother cap and expressed genuine excitement and eagerness for my sister's surprising find!

We were soon involved in a viewing marathon, having decided to watch the first two seasons again before starting on the third.  As for this long-awaited final season, the first two episodes resolved the second season cliffhanger and then did the unthinkable.  Killing off one of the title characters is a risky move and I can see why my sister originally disliked this season.  The initial shock surely tainted the remaining episodes.  Yet time has a way of making us forgive, and in the end we both found the final season of Beauty and the Beast intriguing and completely worth the wait.

If you are interested, here is the opening titles to the first two seasons...   http://youtu.be/qeUhrLoMIYo

Be well, Readers, and Freak Out,
JLH


P.S.  We attempted to watch the CW remake of Beauty and the Beast, but it failed to capture either of our imaginations.