Over the last few weeks the hits on my blog have increased dramatically. (Thank you so much! I love you all) Since reactivating it in late November of last year it’s gone from few hits every couple of days to its present 100 hits a week. I receive lovely e-mails from readers telling me how much they enjoy my blog and look forward to reading my posts every Tuesday and Friday.
But even with this dramatic increase in readership there’s been no increase in book sales or downloads. I wondered why and think I’ve come up with the answer.
I think it’s because I have two completely different writing styles. My blog posts are like chatting with someone you meet in a bar who has an interesting story to tell. My books are like walking along a dark street, you hear someone walking behind you, their pace quickens, my car suddenly pulls up alongside you, I fling open the door and yell, “Get in! Hurry!”
Since most of you are now familiar with my blog writing style, I ask that you take a moment and give a read to the first two pages of my novel “The Messiah Complex’.
Friday evening, February 4th
Hal Collins’ breath came in short, panicky gasps, his eyes were wide and his hands shook as he held the steering wheel. He was trying to calm down, trying to make sense of what happened but each time his Ford Expedition slid or lost traction on the snow covered highway, his heart jumped in terror.
He wiped at the frost gathering on the inside of the windshield. Saw the ice caked wipers slapping back and forth at top speed. He checked the dashboard sensors and swallowed in relief when he saw there were no problems. Momentarily distracted by the smell, Hal looked down at the wisps of smoke rising from his still smoldering pant leg.
They must have slipped something into my food at the diner, he told himself. That has to be it. That’s what he wanted to believe. It was the only reasonable explanation, but reasonable or not, the evidence said different.
I should have listened to those truckers. They tried to tell me, tried to warn…
He checked the rear view mirror. He could still see the fiery orange and red glow in the distance, hear the sirens.
Hold it. Is that…Is that…?
He held his breath.
No, it wasn’t.
He exhaled deeply and absentmindedly pressed the button to raise the window, then remembered the window was gone. That…that thing had…That Thing!!!
A thin film of sweat covered his brow. He glanced at the pebbled glass and the tire iron on the passenger seat.
Just keep going. Just keep going!
He was nearly a mile from the accident when his headlights fell upon a group of children ahead. They were walking toward him on the shoulder of the highway. As he drew closer, he saw they weren't children, but kids in their early to mid-teens, clad only in their underwear.
"What the…?” Hal said. “What the hell are they doing out here dressed like that? Shit! What are they doing out here at all?" He hit the brakes. The Expedition slid to a stop.
"Kids! Kids!" he shouted, jumping from the vehicle and slogging through the snow toward them.
He placed himself in their path, motioning for them to stop.
They walked around him, staring vacantly, as if unaware of his presence, their predicament or their surroundings. The wind picked up and battered them with waves of fine crystal powder. Their hair flew wildly in the breeze.
"I have a truck," Hal called out as they plodded by. "I can squeeze you all in. Please come with me. You'll freeze out here!"
One small girl with black hair and dark brown eyes looked so cold Hal took off his coat and attempted to wrap it around her. She stopped only long enough for him to place it on her shoulders, but it fell to the ground as she walked away.
"Kids, listen to me!" he pleaded, picking up his coat. "I've got a truck and..."
They continued walking toward the area he had just escaped from.
"Kids!! Wait! Wait!" Hal said, lumbering after them through the thick snow. As they got farther and farther from the vehicle and out of the glow of the Expedition’s taillights, they disappeared.
Hal searched in all directions.
He was alone.
Standing in the center of the snow-covered Adirondack Northway, Hal donned his coat. As he did the distant sirens stopped and the fiery red glow faded.
I must have been drugged. Either that or I’m out of my mind.
Trudging back to the 4X4, he felt a vibration from the ground beneath the snow. He stopped, turned, but saw nothing. He picked up the pace.
Seconds later, he felt it again and turned. Only this time, headlights snapped on.
He heard an engine rev. He began backing away. The headlights followed.
The semi! Oh dear God, it’s the semi!
As it picked up speed and drew nearer, Hal could see the tractor-trailer's hood snapping up and down, and heard the gnashing metallic sounds that accompanied it. The headlights turned into eyes, cold and blood-stained. The wheels transformed into claws and thundered over the snow and tore into the asphalt. An air horn pierced the night then deteriorated into a sound that could only be described as a mechanical roar.
“Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit!” Hal yelped and frantically galloped toward the Expedition. The deep snow pulled off his right shoe and the ground shook under the weight of the approaching behemoth. "Screw it!" he said in panic as he charged toward the passenger-side door now only a few feet away. There was a roar. Hal lunged for the handle. He almost made it.
So readers, as you can see there is quite the difference between this and my story about the Playboy club. If you want to find out what happened to Hal and those kids you can read more at
Just click on the book cover. You won’t be charged.