Writing Annie Blaine, Vampire Hunter, LLC.

Dismembering the story for a look inside.

I sat down with a few vague ideas that included story location and the ending.

A rainy dismal day evokes a similar dreary emotion. Old unused railroad tracks tell of a forgotten past. A railroad station once the center of a community, when abandoned often houses the homeless, the castoffs.

Enter famed vampire hunter Annie Blaine. Her name sounded mundanely American, a woman one might meet at work, or a library, or on campus. The name would not draw attention to her. Therefore, she must find a way to accomplish that using wits, intellect, skill, guile, courage, and if all else fails boldness in the face of certain death.

Of course, since I did not want her to be an extrovert who stood out in a crowd. Omitting a detailed description allowed a certain vagueness to define her. Obviously, physical fitness was necessary for a woman in her line of work. That was when I decided that I would not reveal more about her. Let her actions and personality do the defining.

I watched as Annie entered a forest that she'd never before visited, following railroad tracks to a place where she would kill the last vampire. Or so she thought.

Along the way, she dealt with doubts, stubbornness, rashness, ingenuity, and a few obstacles she should've seen, should've understood, but failed to do both.

The story peaks when she is injured, and rides that crest until she accomplishes her primary goal: finding and destroying the last vampire.

The disturbing concept that vampires were frequently considered helpless wimps easily trapped and killed, or worse, desperate for love, played into how I wanted the story to conclude.

When Annie succeeded, she learned that she also failed.

The story marches relentlessly to the ending I had pictured. I'd like to tell it to you, but I've done that already. If you're interested, read the story.

http://www.scribd.com/doc/17252906/The-Demise-of-Annie-Blaine-Vampire-Hunter-LLC

____________________________________________________________________________
Technorati Tags:
writing a short story, horror fiction, science fiction, mystery, fiction, writing, write a book, science fiction writing, write, mysteries, science fiction writers, science fiction book, vampire, horror book, vampire lover, vampire hunter, historical fiction, murder mysteries, Goth, gothic, Gothic vampire novel, vampire novel
Add to: | Technorati | Digg | del.icio.us | Yahoo | BlinkList | Spurl | reddit | Furl |

Vampire Life Part 5 – Breaking the News After a Successful Turning – The First Kiss!

Vampire Life Part 5 – Breaking the News After a Successful Turning – The First Kiss!

Creating the Vampire Edwin Blutleer

Who did I want him to be and what were his plans and goals? For me, that was the starting point of characterization and the heart of the story's plot.

I knew he was a vampire, and an ex-Templar Knight. In many ways they are opposites and yet synonymous. Both killed without remorse. Both considered their enemies infidels, unworthy of life. Templars were reputedly fearless in battle, loyal to a fault off the field of combat.

Vampires, the living dead, were fearless period. They had nothing to lose, but much to gain. They conquered. They manipulated and walked into the darkness of night without a shadow to mark their passing.

Think about immortality. Think about knowing you would live forever unless you were extremely careless or downright dumb. Immortality was Blutleer's defining trait, which divided Blutleer from his Templar past and contemporaries. 600 years of life, experience and infiltrating societies that changed with each passing war. No vampire with such knowledge would fall prey to any hunter, if such a mortal fool dared approach him.

Moreover, he had medieval combat skills honed under the duress of repeated conflict. Templars trained constantly, knowing a simple injury might end their lives. Additionally, Blutleer struggled with medieval morality, chivalry, and sense of honor.

Then, there was Templar magic. What was it? Blutleer knew it was transmutation, teleportation, and matter manipulation. He learned to use it and the power such magic provided, which allowed him to best any foe or to survive if entrapped without opportunity for escape.

Blutleer was a complicated man due to his history, his experiences, and his well thought out thirst for revenge.

Further complicating his decisions, I chose to have him physically stand out from his contemporaries. Since he was of Germanic ancestry, I selected the classic Nordic appearance of Northern Germans of Scandinavian descent. He was six feet tall, which was well above average for the time of his birth and for the late 19th century.

Of course, he needed an Achilles heel. A weakness that several times in his long life deferred the conclusions he desired. Regardless of all else, he was a man. Enter the Penderfield women. They were a paradox for him and he was the same for them. Neither could resist the other, generation after generation.

In Chapter one, we experience the death of Lilith, a Penderfield woman. In chapter two, we meet Amanda Penderfield Willington and the plot twists like a knife in the heart. Those caught in the middle, well, read the story.
http://www.scribd.com/doc/16391295/Templars-Fire-A-Gothic-Vampire-Novel

____________________________________________________________________________
Technorati Tags:
science fiction, mystery, fiction, writing, write a book, science fiction writing, write, mysteries, writingworkshops, science fiction writers, writing contest, how to write a book, writing competitions, writing contests, science fiction book, vampire, horror book, vampire lover, historical fiction vampire hunter, goth, gothic vampire novel, gothic
Add to: | Technorati | Digg | del.icio.us | Yahoo | BlinkList | Spurl | reddit | Furl |

The origin of Templar's Fire, a Gothic Vampire Novel

When I began writing the story Templar‘s Fire, a Gothic Vampire novel, I started with an image that stuck in my head. I kept seeing this eerie looking guy hiding behind a stone altar peering around the corner as if he was waiting to attack someone. Didn’t know why, but the picture stayed with me.

Since my interests at the time were in researching the Knights Templar due to a Templar ancestor who died while fighting alongside them (in Egypt of course), that eerie guy transformed into an ex-Templar.

Before all of this, I had worked on science fiction stories, with an occasional horror tossed in and really wanted to write a vampire story. However, I wanted my vampire to be closer to the classic style vampire and I wanted him as close to invincible as possible. Since the Knights Templar allegedly knew dark magic, I decided that the Vampire Edwin Blutleer needed those skills.

By then, I had begun writing his tale and knew that he was the guy looking from behind that stone altar. I placed the altar in a fictitious old church in Cornwall, England not far from where an actual Templar church still stands. Who but a vicar would be entering the church early in the morning? The confrontation was set, and I let the characters guide me from there.

Download a copy here: http://tinyurl.com/Templar-s-Fire-Gothic-Vampire
____________________________________________________________________________
Technorati Tags:
science fiction, mystery, fiction, writing, write a book, science fiction writing, write, mysteries, science fiction writers, science fiction book, vampire, horror book, vampire lover, vampire hunter, historical fiction, murder mysteries, Goth, gothic, Gothic vampire novel, vampire novel, Acosta, Maria, Atwater-Rhodes, Amelia Baker, Nancy, Baker, Trisha, Bergstrom, Elaine, Briery, Traci, Brite, Poppy Z, Davidson, Mary Janice, Gallagher, Diana G, Hambly, Barbara, Harris, Charlaine, Hill, William, Jones, Stephen, Meikle, William, Miller, Elizabeth, Mitchell, Mary Ann, Simmons, D. N., Somtow, S.P., Stine, R L, Thorne, Tony, Yarbo, Chelsea Quinn, Stephenie Meyer, anne rice, Rachel Caine, L. J. Smith, Lynsay Sands, Rosemary Laurey, Richelle Mead, Cynthia Eden, Rachel Caine, Trisha Telep, Diana Laurence, Ellen Schreiber, Kresley Cole, Kerrelyn Sparks, Akihisa Ikeda, Joss Whedon, Georges Jeanty, Katie MacAlister, Jade Cooper, Hideyuki Kikuchi, Saiko Takaki, P. C. Cast, Kristin Cast, Catherine Jinks, Matsuri Hino, bram stoker
Add to: | Technorati | Digg | del.icio.us | Yahoo | BlinkList | Spurl | reddit | Furl |

The Origin of Golf

Ian McAndrews walked his sheep deep into the meadows of 16th century Scotland. He was unhappy with his flock's appearance. Their once lustrous coats seemed dull and had a bad case of split ends.

Thinking some wild animals hid amongst the thistle, thereby terrorizing his docile lambs, he went out at dawn with a McDonald style walking stick ready to defend himself and his sheep.

Now, a McDonald style walking stick is a cane really, carved to look like a long flat snake with a crook below the head where a man might clasp it. Otherwise, the shaft is bent and twisted several times ending with a fine point suitable for stabbing, should the need arise. The top is the shape of a flat-surfaced knob about the size of a small boy's fist.

As the pale yellow sun lazily rolled over the horizon, Ian McAndrews felt shocked by his discovery. The meadow, his meadow appeared dotted by the most curious white mushrooms he had ever seen. They outnumbered the thistle three to one and that's saying something.

When Ian McAndrews spied his sheep bobbing their shaggy heads as they devoured the offending Disambiguation, his eyes grew wider. For all he knew, they were slowly poisoning or intoxicating his herd, his livelihood.

After a sharp whistle brought his Sheepdogs running, he watched as they corralled his flock into a safe cluster away from the heaviest concentration of mushrooms.

Satisfied with the result, he went to the closest mushroom and whacked it with the pointed end of his McDonald cane. The outcome was dissatisfying. Ian McAndrews was a man for whom outcome was everything so he flipped the cane in the air, snatching it by grabbing the point end and took a mighty two-handed swing at the aberrant mushroom.

The head of the McDonald's cane cut into the top of the stem and sent the round mushroom head fifty feet away from where he stood. With a loud victorious laugh, Ian proceeded to the next one and the one after that.

In the meantime, his shepherd neighbor Patrick McDougal, heard his shouting, and hurried out -- kilt flying behind him like a deflated sail-- to learn if his oldest friend might be in trouble. When he saw Ian knock the head of yet another mushroom, he was shocked, and then decided he might as well just join in and assist his neighbor in clearing the land.

By noon, the men were wagering to see which of them might drive the round white heads the farthest.

Moreover, within two days, men from the nearest village began gathering to have a hand at it, or to bet on who would prove to be the best driver, as shepherds were sometimes called.

Unfortunately, within three weeks, the dry season dropped on them like a draught, and the mushrooms disappeared. However, it could never be said,that Ian McAndrews was not an innovator.

He and his neighbor Patrick worked through the summer until they created a small white ball about the size of the mushroom head. Although, since one of Ian's complaints regarding the mushroom was that it smashed on the first blow, they made their balls firmer, with a nice snug cowhide covering.

Getting their wives to stitch the skin over their balls took some doing, but bribery was not outside the realm of Ian's skills. A little imported French wine, and the best Highland Scotch Whiskey, a few well-placed kisses and caresses, and voilá, their balls were finished. (Sic)

The following autumn, after the shearing, slaughtering, and selling, Ian and Patrick organized the very first round of golf; called a round because they needed to walk around the stream where the now famous footbridge crosses at Saint Andrews to collect the balls accidentally driven over the waterway.

And where did the name Golf originate? They mimicked the sound that the head of the McDonald's cane made when it solidly contacted the first spring mushroom. Originally pronounced "Guf" with a Highland accent.
_____________________________________________________________________________
Technorati Tags:
golf, golf tee, golfing, golf ball, scotland, sheep, shearing, history of golf, driver, putter, crook, cane
Add to: | Technorati | Digg | del.icio.us | Yahoo | BlinkList | Spurl | reddit | Furl |

Excerpt from Templar's Fire, a Gothic Vampire Novel

Quiet footfalls traced a path up the steps from the downstairs sitting room, along the abbreviated hallway, and into the Vicar's bedroom. The nearer to the bed they got, the more softly they fell.

Slowly becoming aware of the intruder, he struggled to gather the remnants of his composure. He felt movement on his bed. The vicar sat up violently, tears still wetting his face. He fumbled for the candle on the small table next to the bed. And although only seconds had passed, the vicar felt the dread of one expecting to meet death before the next breath. His hand quaked and he knocked the candle on the floor.

Fingers lightly brushed his arm. He heard himself shout, "No. Not yet.” He held his breath, now afraid exhaling would be the signal, and waited for the end.

The hand on his arm patted him too softly for it to belong to Blutleer. Willington still held his breath. Slowly, he started to black out.

Mary timidly called, "Peter?”

The vicar sucked air noisily. “My God, Mary, you frightened me beyond words.”

“I'm sorry if I did. I felt so alone and heard you moving about. I thought maybe we could talk, or something ...”

The vicar kicked off the blanket and swung his legs over the side of the bed as he moved to get the candle from the floor. Before he finished he felt a tug on his nightshirt.

“Do we need candlelight?” Mary whispered. “Isn't the moon's light enough, Peter?”

The vicar turned to her, reached out, and touched her warmth. Mary had worn a light cotton nightgown. He watched her rise from the bed, walk to the window and he gasped as she opened the curtain. The moonlight silhouetted her, penetrated the gown, and illuminated a shadow within its embrace. As she walked to him, the gown both hid and revealed her youthful figure.

“Please, Mary. You don't understand what you're doing.” His words sounded feeble, and he knew it.

Mary did not immediately respond. She continued to walk to him and stopped when she stood very close, knees touching his knees. Her hands found the edge of her nightdress and very slowly began lifting.

“No,” The vicar said, weakly and too late. His eyes took control and coaxed the rest of him to follow their lead. He felt his heart rate increase. His breathing became shallow. No longer resisting, his hands reached for her as the nightgown cleared her shoulders. His fingers moved and traced the lines of her collarbones then down gently etching her sensitive flesh.

“I want to lay with you.” Mary's words slid out to caress him. She lifted the cotton sheath over her head and reached to drop it on the mattress. The night air shimmered on her flesh with a gentleness that matched Willington's touch.

His stare followed her hand as she let the gown fall on the bed and lifted both slender arms overhead. His eyes, fully accustomed to the darkness, examined all the details her movement brought to his attention, the swell of her round breasts, her hips, and the flatness of her stomach and the vee tuft of red hair between her thighs. His hands slid down from her breasts to her hips. Her skin was warm responsive silk.

He groaned as a light caught his eyes.

The gold medallion he had hung on the doorknob sparkled with illumination that seemed to spring from within the Willington coat of arms. He stared, transfixed, as the illumination concentrated into a thin beam, shot across the room, and bounced off the crucifix he had hung above the bed. The thin ray lit only the head of his Savior. Looking over his shoulder, the vicar ignored Mary.

The Messiah cried red tears.

“Oh, good Lord. No.” The vicar pushed Mary from him, his hands on her breasts. “I can't do this now. God help me, I can't.” He looked at her and back at the cross. The light had expanded and he saw the droplets run down the tiny body. They dripped from the crossed feet onto the headboard, and then splashed against his pillow.
____________________________________________________________________________
Technorati Tags:
science fiction, mystery, fiction, writing, write a book, science fiction writing, write, mysteries, science fiction writers, science fiction book, vampire, horror book, vampire lover, vampire hunter, historical fiction, murder mysteries, Goth, gothic, Gothic vampire novel, vampire novel
Add to: | Technorati | Digg | del.icio.us | Yahoo | BlinkList | Spurl | reddit | Furl |

Combat Memories Shape Life

We never know when to expect them, if they'll haunt, hinder or aid us, but memories from combat never disappear.

* * *

The fire still blazed, but standing directly before the hearth was insufficient to warm me. Again, I rubbed my hands on the seams of my blue jeans, but that wasn’t enough to get the feel of her off my flesh. After washing up, I changed into clean clothes.

Stella waited by the fireplace, came over when I approached, and stood behind me, put her arms around my chest, and held me as if I was more important to her than any other man alive could be.

I wanted to suggest that she make a more appropriate selection, that I just might be the man who would live to bury her. However, I drew a deep breath, held in the air, exhaled slowly, put my hands on hers and closed my eyes. I felt as if I'd experienced more than one lifetime's horror.

Death is the ultimate test of faith, I thought and wondered why I remembered my CO at that moment. Captain James Todd Wright led with his presence. When the war began, he was an enlisted man from Savannah, Georgia. With time, diligence and due to extreme bravery, he quickly earned the rank of staff sergeant. After a string of catastrophic battles along the path through Europe to Germany, he became a field-commissioned lieutenant. By mid ’44, he was our company commander.

By then, I’d already fought with him for over a year and remained a friend despite the fact that I refused to climb into an officer’s uniform. I gained the rank of platoon sergeant, felt grateful I lived long enough to gain that honor, and never desired higher accolade. I would have been fine dying with three stripes sewn to my sleeves.

As the Battle of the Bulge ground our company into memories and remains we would never identify, Wright must have sensed the cloaked demon that caressed his neck as it accepted him.

We had hunkered down in a bomb crater running low on ammunition and hope. He turned to me during a lull and after we both lit cigarettes, said, "You know, Marlowe, my minister back home once stated in a Palm Sunday sermon that death is the ultimate test of faith. I think by now I’m ready for that test, how about you, my friend? Together, we've watched a lot of good men die."

"My faith ran dry a few months ago, sir," I said without revealing the surprise I felt, and cupped the ember of my cigarette to pull in a long drag of smoke without illuminating our location.

He laughed lightly. "That’s what I appreciate most about you, Marlowe. You never bullshit anyone for any reason. Hope you never change. I'm getting the ammo I see laying over there. We're both getting low." He pointed at a fallen GI and moved five feet to the right. His head crested the edge of the crater, and a German sharpshooter drilled a neat hole through the center of his forehead.


The fire snapped and a log rolled to the edge of the hearth. I moved Stella’s hands and used the brass tongs to place it back in the center of the flames.

This from Sunset Orange Water, the second Marlowe Black Mystery, seeking a publisher. Inquire within. :o)
_____________________________________________________________________
Technorati Tags:
science fiction, mystery, fiction, writing, write a book, science fiction writing, write, mysteries, science fiction writers, science fiction book, vampire, horror book, vampire lover, vampire hunter, historical fiction, murder mysteries, war, combat, returning home
Add to: | Technorati | Digg | del.icio.us | Yahoo | BlinkList | Spurl | reddit | Furl |