Latest Insane Idea

Halloween is one of my favorite days of the year. It carries none of the sentiment other holidays do. People get to act wacky and break from the routine of being their "normal self" for the day. That character from that movie I've always loved? Tonight I get to pretend I'm them for a few hours. It's a lot of fun. And I love a good scary movie too, though good scary movies are difficult to find.

Anyway, I'm toying with the idea to write a horror novella and release it on Halloween.

Yes, today is October 20th and I have not written a word of it, nor do I even have an idea of what it would be about, so it's an absolutely, utterly ridiculous idea.

But, ohhhhhh, is it tempting.

I love giving myself random challenges like this. And in this new world of indie publishing, I could do it too. It's possible to write, edit and release a novella in 11 days on Amazon.

Could I do it?

I think so.

Should I?

That's another question, with probably a different answer. Or at least, a much more nuanced answer.

Going to give this a lot of thought today ...

If you like post-apoc / prepper fiction...

Check this out.

New Short Story Out!

I just dropped a new short story on Amazon, Last Night at the Video Store.

It's a funny little romp and quick read about three college students slowly drifting apart that takes place during a twenty-minute trip to the video store. (Remember those?)

I usually don't talk about process because I'll bet most readers find it boring, but the development of this story might be of interest, so a quick digression from the normal blogging here...

I actually wrote this story years ago, when I was fresh out of college and looking back with ambivalence about my time as an undergraduate. Showing wisdom beyond my years, I put that draft away to let some time pass so I could come back to it with fresh eyes.

When I did read it again, I was disappointed. The story dripped with sentiment and the existential quarter-life crisis the protagonist faced was, for lack of a better term, little more than navel-gazing.

I came back to it recently and thought the premise was good enough but the execution was lacking. So I took it through a few more iterations, excising most of the protag's inner reflections and focusing more on telling a quick, funny, heartfelt slice of life story. The draft went from 10,000 words to 6,000 after several passes and eventually I got it to this point, where I felt comfortable hitting PUBLISH.

Who knows? It might still suck. Authors are usually the worst judges of their own work. I'm sure readers will let me know if it's horrible ;-)

But enough about process...

One thing I did want to mention. If you had signed up for my Newsletter, you would have gotten a free copy of this story last night before it was even available on Amazon.

Just saying.

And I'll probably do that from time-to-time, send my Mailing List random free stuff. It's just the kind of guy I am.

My "latest" short story

Hey folks. Just re-released a short sci-fi story set on Mars in the near future, Frontier Justice. I wrote this a few years back and tidied it up recently. It's a fun, fast read in a universe I might expand at some point in a larger work.

I've always been fascinated with the notion of terraforming and it was actually the subject of my sixth-grade science project/presentation. Philosophically (I won't go too deep, I promise), I strongly believe the human race needs to expand and colonize other worlds for a number of reasons. I hope that I live long enough to see man set foot on Mars, it would be an amazing achievement.

Here's the blurb on Frontier Justice--

Smith races against time to get the murderer, Ganston, to Oz, the Joint Penal Colony whose location on the Martian frontier is a well-guarded secret. But there are men intent on rescuing Ganston and killing Smith.

Visit Evan Ronan at his website: www.ronaniswriting.blogspot.com.

And they’re closing in.

But little do they know Smith has other plans for them, and for Ganston too…

Frontier Justice is a ~5,000 short story set on Mars in the near future.

Effective Immediately

GET IT HERE

FREE TODAY AND TOMORROW

GET E FOR FREE TODAY AND TOMORROW

E will be FREE on Thursday and Friday

Grab your free copy later this week.

Of if you can't wait till then, E is only a dollar here.

What is E? Who is E?

No, we're not talking about that cable channel with the bad reality shows and nauseating red carpet specials. We're talking about my latest short story, E.

I know I always say this, but this story is a little different. (That will be the epitaph on my tombstone, for sure.)

E is a short story prequel to a fantasy serial entitled Kwahlah. I plan to release Kwahlah in weekly installments next year. If I was pitching it to Hollywood, I would call it Harry Potter meets Ender's Game, as written by Friedrich Nietzsche.

See? I told you this one was a little different.

Right now it's available on Amazon for $0.99. Check it out and let me know what you think.

*** Please ignore the random HTML in the Product Description on Amazon. I don't know why that's showing up but I'm trying to get it removed. Changes to product pages on Amazon can take anywhere from a few minutes to a day to be processed, so please bear with me. Thanks ***

Here's an excerpt from E:

 

0

 

The Teacher was looking for volunteers.

“Anyone?”

The Teacher started up and down each aisle, stopping to look at each student. Everyone avoided her gaze.

Everyone except E.

E wasn’t really her name. It was just the letter they’d assigned her when she’d been enrolled in this school. She didn’t remember her name anymore—wasn’t allowed to remember her name as a matter of fact. They’d burned it from her memory somehow. They could do things like that.

E waited. The Teacher was still walking down the next row, looking at each student individually. Finally, when the Teacher passed by, E met her stare.

E had learned about reverse psychology and hoped by doing the opposite of everyone else, by projecting confidence (which she didn’t feel), the Teacher would select someone else.

E wanted—had—to avoid getting called on today.

E was terrified of being in front of the class under normal circumstances. She always got lightheaded, dizzy, and her knees went weak. And that was under normal circumstances, when she just had to stand up there and summarize some topic or do something she was okay at. But today was different.

Today the Teacher wanted someone to create.

She wasn’t good at that.

No, she was worse than not good. She was bad. The worst in the class.

The Teacher smiled at her and continued down the row and went on to the next one, looking at each student as she went by. E hoped it had worked and the Teacher would call on someone else.

“Anyone?” the Teacher said again.

Creation was really hard. The Teacher hadn’t given them any instruction on how to do it. One day she’d simply called B to the front of the room and told him create a piece of paper using just his mind. At first E thought the Teacher had been making a joke. But then she’d looked around the room to see if the other kids had had the same reaction to the Teacher’s request.

They didn’t. They just watched B like they expected him to be able to do it.

It was on that day that E realized the other kids were much more powerful than her. They could do things she didn’t even know were possible.

That night she’d gone to her room and practiced, though she had no idea what she was doing. She couldn’t ask anybody for help. That would just be more ammunition for them to make fun of her. Every night for a month she tried to create something in her room.

And couldn’t.

But then she’d gotten lucky.

In a rare occurrence, the Teacher had permitted the class ten minutes of free time. They could study, or talk, or practice, or do homework. Everybody used it as down time.

But not E.

She had begun to develop a friendship with C, a boy her age. He was tall and socially awkward, like her. He’d offered her advice the day before on telekinesis so she walked over and asked for his help on how to create. After giving her a few pointers, E tried different things. They used up the whole ten minutes of free time and at the end she’d only been able to create an inferior replica of the paper airplane C had created just as an example for her. He’d done it in less than two seconds. One moment there was nothing, the next there was a paper airplane in his hand.

Her airplane took her a minute to create. A full minute! And hers couldn’t even fly, while C’s glided easily all the way across the classroom, pulled a 180 degree turn, and flew back to him. C had used the opportunity to show off his telekinetic powers, which admittedly were impressive.

She had appreciated his help but the exercise had been humiliating. She hadn’t been able to create one of her own ideas and the copy of C’s plane hadn’t even worked.

C had been encouraging, like always. But the other kids had tormented her. Because her paper airplane sucked, because she couldn’t throw her voice, because she couldn’t even move a pencil with her mind…because a lot of things. They constantly ridiculed her, both in and out of the classroom.

E was good at one thing. But she couldn’t tell anybody. Her hidden talent was her One Big Secret and she’d never share it. Not with C. Not even with Mom and Dad.

If only the other kids knew what she was capable of…they wouldn’t make fun of her at all. Not even K.

K was the worst. She was a couple years older than E and everybody feared her. She was powerful and always knew exactly the worst thing to say. Just last week, K had called her a talentless, ugly moron.

E had gotten so mad, she was ready to punch K in the face. But all the other kids were there, laughing at her. E’s overactive anxiety had kicked in and she’d passed out before she’d gotten a chance to even throw a punch.

E had woken up to face the added humiliation of fainting, with all the other kids calling her weak, or a coward, or other awful things she hoped she was not. Complaining to the Teacher only invited more torment as the Teacher would not intervene and as news of her tattling would inevitably get out.

The Teacher knew all of this. Knew of E’s fears and must have known E was far, far behind everybody else. Knew E had failed at the last two things. There was no way she’d call on E. She couldn’t.

The Teacher finished walking up and down the aisles and returned to her desk at the front of the room.

“Anyone?”

Again, everyone kept their eyes down. Everyone except E. She looked right at the Teacher.

“E, you’re looking eager,” the Teacher said.

Reverse psychology hadn’t worked.

E felt her heart kick into second gear. And her mental display confirmed it. Her heart had gone from an already-nervous 100 beats per minute to 115.

She started sweating.

“E, everything okay?”

Not really. She was wondering what would happen to her if she failed at demonstration. The school had very few rules in place, but one of them was the Rule of Three. She shuddered at the thought of it.

“Ye-ye-yes, Teacher.”

Everyone snickered. The Teacher smiled at E innocently, as if this were all a game and everyone in the room was friends.

But E had no friends, except for C.

She didn’t know why the other kids tormented her. Perhaps because she was a soft target, a concept they’d learned about in Warfare. But she’d never teased or taunted or bullied or talked behind anybody’s back.

But it went beyond torment. Deep down, E knew she was hated. Not by everybody, but by most. She didn’t know why, but assumed they hated her because she was different. She was never on the inside of any jokes, never the first to know some gossip, never privy to what the other kids planned on doing at recess or after school before Principal sent everyone to their rooms for more studying and the usual five hours of sleep.

“Come on up, then,” the Teacher said.

E pushed her chair away from her desk and stood. She was self-conscious of how she looked. She’d hit a growth spurt and now her uniform was two inches too short. The other girls, especially K, looked good in their uniforms. The Teacher kept all of them in great shape, but still, some girls looked better than others. It all came down to genetics and what you were born with. E wasn’t as pretty as the others and her uniform just didn’t fit right. Short in the legs, long in the arms, wide in the hips.

Everyone else had been through braces but E’s teeth were bad so she still had hers. And the worst part? She had to wear glasses. Visual improvement surgery worked for 99% of the population, but of course E fell into that other 1%. That was how her classmates saw her. That was how she saw herself.

As an other.

The Teacher waited patiently while all eyes tracked E as she headed to the front of the class. K stuck her foot out nonchalantly, but E saw the trip coming a mile away. Normally she’d just step around it, but today she was in no mood.

She stepped hard on K’s toes and pretended it had been an accident.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t see your foot there,” E said.

K called her a dirty word, but of course the Teacher did nothing. The kids got away with anything, up to and including murder. There was no punishment, like in the regular school she used to go to. E spent her time at recess with her back on a wall, or looking over her shoulder.

E hated using dirty words so instead she made a face.

K just smiled. “Rule of Three.”

E pretended like she hadn’t heard K, but her words were like a knife twisting in E’s stomach.

E had never seen the Rule of Three enforced. But the Teacher had referenced it on a number of occasions. And the thought of it terrified her.

Fail at three consecutive tasks, and you’ll disappear.

Most people thought the disappeared were just expelled, but E wasn’t so sure. She got the feeling this school was top-secret. The kids weren’t allowed off the grounds and weren’t allowed to communicate with the outside world, the rare exception coming when Mom and Dad visited or called her through the internet.

She didn’t know exactly what happened to the disappeared. But whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.

And E was one step away from violating the Rule of Three. She had failed at the last two consecutive tasks. The first, remote viewing. No matter what she tried, she couldn’t see into the adjacent classroom. The second, pyrokinesis. She hated fire. It scared her. One of her earliest memories was of the fire in her house growing up. She’d been trapped in her room. She’d always thought she’d accidentally started it by thinking about fire. The fireman had rescued her through her window though, and Mom and Dad had never spoken of it again. But deep down, she knew. She’d started it.

E reached the front of the classroom. Her heart was pumping 120 times per minute like she’d done hill sprints in gym class. The walls of her vision seemed a little narrower. She could feel it happening. She was going to pass out unless she calmed herself.

Deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

She couldn’t fail.

E knew from C that creation was easiest when you came up with your own, clear idea of what you wanted to make. It was better to form a detailed image in your mind, rather than relying on some vague thought to generate a new thing.

Also, smaller was easier. So E kept the idea simple. She pictured a pen. She was always losing her pens so it’d be useful to make more. Useful was also good. It gave you a reason to make something. What was that saying?

Necessity was the mother of invention.

That was the general idea. Easier to make something you needed than to imagine some new kind of unicorn. That was all the other girls always made, magical creatures, robots, jewelry (which they couldn’t wear, anyway).

“Okay, E. Stand right here and face your classmates.”

E did. Another deep breath.

Her classmates were all smiling wickedly, waiting for her to fail. She kept picturing the pen in her mind, giving it more and more detail. She picked a color. Blue. Then she further refined the color. Sky blue, midnight blue…she settled on teal. She could do this. She could make this pen. She just had to talk herself into it.

Heart beats per minute was now 130. Her vision got a little narrower. K was on the edge of her seat, just waiting for E to mess up. E wanted to smack that evil smirk off K’s face.

But E wasn’t going to mess up. She was determined to create a working pen with just her mind. Something out of nothing. That would show everybody she could do it.

“Thank you, E. Now, class, let’s think of something for E to create.”

Oh no. No. Not that. She was ready to make a pen. She had an idea already. It was always easier to create your own idea rather than somebody else’s. This was bad.

She had always failed at telepathy, but she tried it now anyway with C. 

Say a pen. Say a pen. Say a pen.

SAY A PEN.

Amazingly, C was the first to raise his hand. Had her telepathy worked? That would be a first.

The Teacher called on C.

C said, “How about a plate?”

Okay, so the telepathy hadn’t worked. But at least C was trying to help. A plate was an easy thing to visualize and theoretically an easy thing to create.

“That’s good but pretty straightforward. Any other ideas?” the Teacher said.

K raised her hand.

Beats per minute: 140.

K said, “A hairy tarantula.”

“Ohhh, creepy. I like that,” the Teacher said. “Anyone else?”

K’s best friend, M, raised his hand. “A hairy tarantula with lots of eyes!”

“Good!” the Teacher said. “Vivid. Anybody else?”

K shot everybody else a look that said, No more ideas, let’s force her to make a tarantula.

E shuddered at the thought. She hated bugs. She knew spiders weren’t technically bugs but that was a minor, unimportant detail. They’d studied tarantulas and poisonous spiders in science class, up close and personal. They were usually hairy. They all had fangs.

They totally grossed E out. She could barely look at the things inside the terrarium. And then K had picked one up and stuck it in her face. Its legs wiggled and she swore she heard it hiss. K went to put it down E’s uniform but thankfully, for once, she passed out before that could happen and the Teacher had intervened (for once also).

The Teacher said, “Okay, E. Hairy tarantula it is.”

K couldn’t hide her smile. Neither could the rest of the class. C watched in horror, the skin around his eyes crinkled.

E said, “Okay.”

There was no way to create something without visualizing it. Without studying it in your mind first. She pictured all those eyes watching her. The mandibles. The seemingly hundreds of tiny moving parts. The eight legs. All of them jointed. All of them hairy. There were 900 species of tarantula, all of them disgusting. Female tarantulas could live up to forty years, some of them surviving on water alone for two years.

She formed the image in her mind. This tarantula was black and orange and had a big round abdomen.

“Come on, E, you can do this,” the Teacher said.

E squeezed her eyes shut and felt the cold sweat on her back and brow. She tried to ignore her vitals, but the mental display made that impossible. Her beats per minute were up to 155. She felt like her head was going to explode.

Then K started the chant.

“Rule of Three! Rule of Three! Rule of Three!”

The other kids jumped in.

E tried to block out the noise, but she couldn’t. All she could hear was their chanting, their laughing, and now the insults too.

Fat.

Stupid.

Slow.

Weak.

Powerless.

The Teacher didn’t stop them.

E could feel her pulse throbbing in her head. Her beats per minute spiked to 170. Her chest heaved. If she kept this up any longer, her head might explode. She focused every ounce of her being on the spider forming in her mind. It was just an image, still flat like she’d drawn it, and immobile. It wasn’t real until it moved. She had to get it to move.

“You can do it!” C shouted.

Brave boy. She was grateful for the encouragement, but then she heard K.

“He’s got a crush on her!”

And everyone was laughing at C now. And her. Both of them. They sang that ridiculous song about two kids sitting in a tree together. The Teacher did nothing.

E got mad. She got mad as hell. Madder than the last time K had picked on her. E had never hated anybody in her life.

Until now.

She despised K. She wished she could use her power to hurt K instead of creating a spider. It felt like a waste of energy when she had such a better use for it.

As her anger rose, the tarantula took shape. It flexed its legs and then molted. It popped out of its skin and grew in size. It had impossibly many eyes. Those eyes watched her. It made her skin crawl. It was huge, it had ten legs instead of the usual eight and its mandibles were chewing on something. It was big. Bigger than any normal tarantula. And she heard K laughing. Always laughing. Always.

E couldn’t take this.

Heart beats per minute: 75.

How was that possible? Dropping by 100 beats per minute?       

The walls of her vision closed and the world went black...

GET YOUR FREE COPY OF IN THE BLOOD

HERE

When I wrote In The Blood, my intention was to tell a simple, standalone story about a family driven apart by a viral outbreak and the difficult decisions they were forced to make to survive while trying to retain their humanity. I had a blast writing it as I got the chance to tell some of it from a zombie’s perspective. To me the story wasn’t about whether the Robinsons reunited as a family. What was more important was exploring the decisions they made along the way, so that at the end of the story the reader could fill in the blanks and come up with what they thought happened next.

Lo and behold, readers enjoyed the story enough that they started asking me for a sequel. In my mind that was an interesting hypothetical—I’d never intended there to be one. But the demand was there, so I sat down and started thinking about where I could take the story and characters and the larger world next.

And I came up with a few ideas...

So enough with me burying the lead, what I'm really here to say is THERE WILL BE MORE SHORT STORIES SET IN THIS UNIVERSE.

Two of which will be out in December.

I have to thank the readers, because without your urging, these stories might never have existed.

Pretty cool, huh?

All of this has got me jazzed to write a bunch of connected short stories that, when all is said and done, will hopefully form a big sweeping story that spans years and dozens of characters.

At least, that's the plan anyway ;-)

But I can only do that if there’s interest, and the best way to let me know there’s an interest is to leave me a review HERE.

Grab Your FREE COPY of MORALE WAS DOWN

Free on Amazon today and tomorrow, here's what early reviewers have to say about Morale Was Down:

"This is, without a doubt, the most profane and utterly hilarious short story I've read in a very long time."

"And you read it again. And again. Because "Morale Is Down" is so funny. And so realistic, like your own office. And that writing style of Ronan's is so fast paced and breezy and tongue in cheek that it even gets the Amazon reviewer to write a review in that exact same style."

"This is a quick, fun read while traveling on the Metro heading to your office. You'll open the office doors, step in, and resolve to improve the morale by telling a story ... this story."

"Oh hey, looking for gifts for your cubicle friends? Need something for the office white elephant exchange? Have friends who still talk about the movie, The Office? They will get a chuckle out of "Morale Was Down.""

"We get to follow a hapless middle manager turned sleuth as he tries to use techniques he learned from TV crime shows to grill suspect coworkers. Will he solve this crime wave before COB? You will certainly enjoy a few laughs as he blunders along."

"I have to say that it was the funniest book that I have read!"

"Hilarious short story that reminded me a bit of the movies Office Space and Clockwatchers. Nice spoof of an investigation, with all the ridiculous office politics and corporate banalities mixed in. Quick read!"

"I defy anyone to sit thru a reading of this story without soiling themselves laughing."

LAST DAY TO GET A FREE SHORT STORY

Pick up your free copy of In The Blood today. Tomorrow it'll be back to $0.99.

FREE SHORT STORY TOMORROW

Pick up your FREE COPY of In The Blood tomorrow on Amazon.

FREE SHORT STORY

Limited time offer:

Grab In The Blood for free on Friday and Saturday HERE.

Here's the blurb:

The virus has spread. A father becomes infected and his daughter must go on alone. After parting ways both struggle to hold onto that most important thing: their humanity.

Told from the perspective of the father--now a zombie--and a daughter--now forced to be a savage--In The Blood is a violent, moving short story about what it means to be human.

Who's With Daryl?

Looking forward to tonight's The Walking Dead. I have no idea who Daryl has with him.

If after tonight's episode you didn't get enough zombies, check out In The Blood. It's a quick read.

FREE SHORT STORY

Thanks, folks, for grabbing so many free copies of The Unearthed. The book is seriously trending on Amazon right now!

The Lost is also discounted right now through Halloween.

ADDED BONUS: If you leave an honest review of The Unearthed (or its sequels) on Amazon over the next month, I'll send you a free copy of my comedic short story, Morale Was Down.

"This is, without a doubt, the most profane and utterly hilarious short story I've read in a very long time."

This quote comes from the latest 5 star review of my short story, Morale Was Down.

Big shout-out to Birdie Tracy! Thanks for:

-giving a new author a chance
-taking the time to leave such thoughtful reviews
-giving me the opportunity to connect with a reader

My WTF Writer's Moment

Once upon a time, someone stole my lunch out of the office refrigerator. Whether they ate it or not, I have no idea. It was such an absurd experience (who would steal someone's lunch?), I thought it the perfect anecdote to capture the essence of office life. So being a writer, I naturally cashed that experience in to use as a premise and then drew from my time in Corporate America to populate the rest of the story. Just to make things a little more interesting, I wrote the story in the second person.

The end result? Morale Was Down.

This 11,000 word short story will normally be priced at $0.99 on Amazon. However, I am offering it for free on 10/23 and 10/24.

Fair warning if you've read my paranormal thriller series, The Unearthed: this short story is quite a departure from those books. Morale Was Down is meant to be a little tongue-in-cheek, a tribute to the bumbling detective story, and a comedic reflection on the daily grind.

And yet, most of the events in this story actually occurred in real life. So while it may seem silly at times, it has a very solid basis in reality. For example, I've known no less than three dudes that talk on their cell phones while they're in the men's room doing their business.

At 11,000 words, this is a quick read that every Corporate American can appreciate. If you give it a try, please leave me an honest review and if so inclined feel free to share your own crazy office stories. The old saying is spot-on, truth is stranger than fiction.