Gamble's Run is on schedule for a mid-July release.  Hard to be believe that its seven year journey to publication is nearly complete.  Of course, a new journey starts...sales, marketing and promotion.  Here's one last excerpt before its released, from chapter 5.

“I know that Melody needs my help,” said Garrett.  “I know that whoever or whatever John Gamble is, he stole a big chunk of my life.”  He met Melinda’s eyes and suddenly realized that he had just made his decision.  “And I know that I’m going to get her back.  I don’t care what it costs me, Melinda.  I’m going to save her.”  Melinda looked away again.  Garrett pressed his advantage.

“Who is John Gamble?  I know how much you hate me, but you must know that I’m going to do everything I can to save her.  Who is he, Melinda?”  Melinda gripped the bat until her fingers went white.  Garrett could see that her hatred of him was going toe-to-toe with her fear for her daughter.  He waited, but before she could answer, a black Volvo came screeching to a halt behind him.  He turned, knowing exactly what he would see.  Sure enough, Darrin Chance was climbing out of his car.  His eyes were blazing, and his mouth was etched into a feral snarl.  He slammed his door shut and stormed toward him.

“I warned you,” he shouted, pointing at Garrett.  “Now I’m going to take you apart.  Mom, go inside.”

“Stay where you are, boy!”  Darrin jerked to a stop. 

“Get inside, Mom,” he said again.

“You stay right there,” ordered Melinda.  “I mean it now.  Don’t you come any closer.”

“Mom…”

“Hush,” snapped Melinda.  She turned her attention back to Garrett. 

“You save my baby,” she said in a low, dangerous voice.  “You give me your word.”

“I’ll save her,” said Garrett.  “Not for you, and not for me, but for her.  I love her.  I always have, and I always will.” 

“LIAR!”  This was from Darrin.

“Shut up, boy,” snapped Melinda.  She turned back to Garrett.

“You’ll have to go back to Florida,” she said, “back to where you were.”  Garrett nodded.  He knew as much. 

“Why?  What’s down there?” 

“Our past,” whispered Melinda.  Garrett could see that she was struggling with the words.  It was as if something was fighting her.  “And our future.  I thought that when she came back, she might…but now…” 

“I don’t understand.”

“You will,” said Melinda.  “When you get there, look for…Gamble’s Run.”  Sweat was starting to bead on her forehead.

“‘Gamble’s Run’?  As in John Gamble?”  Melinda nodded, and then winced.  She rubbed her chest.  “Are you all right?” 

“Gamble’s Run.  Do you understand?  Find…Gamble’s Run.”  She backed away, gasping for breath.  “That’s…all I can tell you.  Now get out of here, and don’t you ever come back.”  Garrett opened his mouth, but Melinda had already shut the door.  He stared after her for long seconds.  Then he turned to leave.  Darrin was still there, and he was still angry.  Garrett eased down the porch steps, hoping that the oldest Chance son would have the good sense to leave him alone.  Of course, he did not.  As Garrett made to pass him, he grabbed his arm.

“My turn,” he growled.  His other hand curled into a fist, and he pulled it back, ready to strike. 

What happened next would haunt Garrett for the rest of his life.  The instant Darrin touched him, he felt the darkness seethe.  It boiled up, triggering a kind of anger that he had never known.  Then a small part of it flew out of him.  He could almost see it as lanced away and flew straight into Darrin.  Part of him was horrified, but another part was grimly satisfied.  He felt his mouth curl into a sneer.

“Don’t you ever touch me again,” he rasped.  Darrin probably did not even hear him.  He released his grip on Garrett’s arm and stumbled away, his hands clawing at his chest. 

“What did you do to me?” he screamed.  “Dear God, what did you do?”  At that instant, the door flew open.  Melinda stood there, only now instead of a bat, she was holding a shotgun.  She pointed it straight at him. 

Gamble's Run is still on schedule for a July 2018 release.  The cover art should be done soon and I'll be sharing it here.  In the meantime, here is a short excerpt from my short story, The Slave Canal.  This is the story that eventually became Gamble's Run, although the  main character, Toby Gamble, does not appear in the novel.  Also, for anyone looking for some good stories, might I recommend Shopping List 1 & 2 from Hellbound Books.  I have the distinct pleasure of having stories in both volumes along with several other excellent writers.  They're worth checking out.
http://www.hellboundbookspublishing.com/

Anyway, here's a brief look at The Slave Canal.

      The water bubbles.  It’s a sickly gurgle, like mucus sliding down a sick man’s throat.  It might be a gator, but I doubt it.  I’ve got maybe thirty minutes of light left.  After that…

     Sinkholes…got to remember the sinkholes. 

     My name is Toby Gamble.  I have a research grant from the University of Florida where I also teach history.  My one claim to fame is my great, great, uh, (one two, James, Jebidiah, three), great, great grandfather.  John Gamble was a rich and powerful man in north Florida during the mid 1800’s.  It was old John who commissioned the digging of what became known as the Slave Canal, although there have been recent efforts to rename it the Cotton Run Canal.  Slave Canal is considered by the snot nosed bureaucrats at Tallahassee to be offensive.  (Stay on task, Toby!) 

     Okay, I’m good. 

     John Gamble, along with some of his cronies, wanted a short cut between rivers to get their cotton to market faster.  Now that I’m here, floating in the actual canal, I can only imagine the agony his slaves must have endured digging it.  How many of them died here, left to rot in the water?  How many unmarked graves am I floating above?  I’ve got a pretty good idea. 

     The canal, as it exists today, is only about thirty feet wide, and in some places barely a foot deep.  It failed big time.  The railroad came and took over transportation duties.  Not long after, the civil war broke out, and that took care of the slaves...the ones still alive at any rate.  The canal was abandoned, but it's still there, for anyone who wants to find it. 

     I’d heard stories all my life of course, but I never had the desire to see it.  As far as I’m concerned, that part of my family history is best forgotten.  Then my boss got the idea that it would be grand for me to publish a paper on it.  You can put a personal spin on it, Toby.  Something like that could get you noticed.  Get the department noticed, that’s what she meant.  Carol Grady, Ph.D., was always looking for ways to boost her funding.

    I decided to paddle the canal for a day, just to get a feel for it.  After that I would dig around in my family archives.  I had no doubt that I’d find plenty of letters from and about old John...enough to reference a fairly impressive paper.  Misgivings aside, Carol got to me.  The idea of a little attention from the academic community sounded nice, so I packed some food in a knapsack, rented a canoe and took off.

     It took me hours to find it.  There’s no sign that says ‘Exit HERE for Slave Canal’.  The entrance is clogged with vegetation, and from the main river (the Wacissia, if you’re interested), it’s practically invisible.  I launched my canoe at seven in the morning and finally found the canal at around two.  I almost gave up.  God, why didn’t I just give up?

     The Wacissia wasn’t crowded...it never is this time of year...and the canal was completely abandoned.  It’s a favorite for day trips during the summer, but the tourist trade dies down after November.  I had a jacket, but by noon the temperature was over eighty.  Thank God for Florida winters.  I discovered the entrance and forced my canoe through. 

     I didn’t know exactly what to expect, but I was totally unprepared for the sheer beauty of the place.  Even in the winter, the banks were covered with lush green undergrowth.  Spanish moss hung from the trees that lined both sides of the canal.  The water was crystal clear, thanks to the springs that continuously fed it.  As I entered the head of the canal, I could not shake the impression that I had somehow slipped back through time.  The world I knew faded, although every now and then a passenger jet would trace a line across the cloudless sky.

     I got in.  I couldn’t get out.  Am I getting ahead of myself?  Probably, but the light is fading faster now.  I spent the day navigating the canal, and when it was time to go home, I found out that I was lost.  Understand; the canal runs in a straight line.  There are no mazelike passages, just a single wide thoroughfare.  I paddled a few miles, turned around and came back. 

     That was two days ago.  I can’t find my way back to the Wacissia.  The more I search for the way out, the more confusing everything gets.  I can feel the way out.  I know it's there, but I’ve come to understand it is now closed to me forever.

     I’m really scared.

 

Here's another brief preview of Gamble's Run, coming soon from Hellbound Books Publishing. http://www.hellboundbookspublishing.com/

     

     Garrett. 

     Now he did cry out, only this time in pain.  Everything seemed to go green.  It only lasted for a second, but then violent purple and green spots exploded before his eyes.  The light show was followed immediately by the sensation of razor thin needles stabbing into his forehead.

     Garrett.  You have to concentrate.  I…don’t have a lot of time. 

     The green flash came again, followed on its heels by the searing pain, although now both seemed to fade a little faster.  He realized two things;  the voice was in his mind, and it was not his own.

     “Wh-a-at?”  It was all he could manage.

     Help me, Garrett.  Please help me. 

     “Who…who are…”  Then he managed to match the voice in his mind with one in his memory.   “Melody?  Mel, is that you?”  He superimposed his memory of Melody’s shape over the dark figure.  It was a perfect match.  His terror fled, replaced by pure joy.  His wife had come home!  He struggled to get out of the chair.  “Oh God Mel, I’ve missed you so much!”  Something pressed hard against his chest and forced him back.

     Garrett, find me.  He’s…he’s eating me alive.  Please, help me!  The flash and the pain came again, but now Garrett barely noticed.  He struggled against the unseen force that was holding him down.   

     “Melody,” he gasped.  “What’s happening?” 

     Oh God, he’s here.  There was panic in the voice now, and terror.  Find me, Garrett.  Please, if you ever loved me, find me!  The scream echoed through his mind, once again accompanied by both light and pain.  He grabbed his head and screamed as well.  Through the hurricane of agony came Melody’s final message.  Gamble!  John…Gamble! 

     “MELODY!”  His vision cleared and he looked toward the door.  The figure…Melody…was writhing in agony.  She jerked back and forth, held in the invisible grip of something both powerful and terrible.  Her arms were flung outward, as if she was trying to grab the door to keep from being dragged away.  Garrett lunged forward, struggling to get out of the chair.  “MELODY!"  The force that was pinning him to his chair pushed him back, hard.  He wheezed, trying to gulp in another breath.   

     “STAY.”  This voice did not come from inside his head, and it did not belong to Melody.  It was loud and male and vile.  The picture on the table went flying across the room.  It crashed into the wall, shattering both frame and glass.

     “STAY.”  Garrett had no choice.  Whatever was holding him down was relentless.  He heard Melody scream again, only this time she seemed impossibly far away. 

     “M-m-mel…”  It was all he could manage.  Incredibly the weight increased.  It forced the air from his lungs.  He did not have the strength to take another breath.   

     “STAY.”   He gagged.  He thrashed about in the chair, fighting to get free, but it was useless.   

     “STAY.”  He could not even scream as he tumbled into a deep, dark sinkhole that led straight to oblivion.

I spent a large part of  the past three days proofing Gamble's Run.  Granted, the editors at Hellbound Books Publishing have given it an excellent scrubbing but this was my last chance to make any changes. 
I finally finished a few hours ago with a mild headache and a list of 23 corrections.  I was tempted to read it again but there comes a time when you have to walk away and let your work stand.  If I had started another round of editing I would have started second guessing myself and re-writing things that did not need to be changed.

  It's time to let it go and leave it in Hellbound's capable hands.

I did a very 'authorish' thing today.  I grabbed my favorite booth in my favorite lunch spot and spent the afternoon going over the Gamble's Run galley proof.  I've never done anything like that before.  It was a blast.  I also got a lot of work done.  I usually like quiet when working, but the steady ambient noise of people talking, the clatter of plates and the smell of good food seemed to help me focus.  If you are in the Tampa Bay area, or plan on visiting. Trips Diner is a great place to hang out.  The people are friendly and the food is good.  My thanks to the staff for letting me hang out.  https://tripsdiner.com/

Just got the edited galley proof for Gamble's Run.  Getting very close. 

So you write your novel, rewrite it, rewrite it again, and polish it until it gleams.  Then you put together a proposal and send it off to a publisher.  They ask to see the completed manuscript so you give it one final polish and submit it.  Its accepted and you do a happy dance, convinced that you and you alone have manged to compose the perfect manuscript... 
...until you get the edited manuscript back and see hundreds of red marks denoting corrections.  When I first thumbed through it I had a serious flashback to grade school, namely getting my spelling test returned with the same type of red marks. 
It's a humbling experience.   

I've been asked by the folks at Hellbound Books Publishing for some input for the cover art for Gamble's Run.  While I'm not a graphics artist, I am a very visual person.  My writing tends to reflect that.  Still, coming up with a concept for a cover is a little intimidating.  How do you take a 100,000 word novel and distill it down to a single image that will grab the attention of a potential reader?       

     We're just weeks away from the release of Gamble's Run.  It's been an interesting journey that is nowhere near finished.  Before it was accepted by Hellbound Books Publishing, GR  had been rejected by three other publishers.  Now when you are a writer, rejection is a part of the job description.  Its never easy, but you work though it, tinker with your work to make it better, and move on.
     Then there is that sense of satisfaction and accomplishment when it is finally accepted (Thank you James Longmore!)  That moment when you realize that someone else not only liked your work but liked it enough to take on the expense of publishing it...well, there's nothing like it.  For me, if felt like climbing an impossibly high mountain and finally reaching the summit,  Of course, when you reach that summit, you look up and see an even higher mountain waiting for you called DISTRIBUTION AND SALES, and let me tell you, that's one mean hunk of rock. 
     Which leads me to my current location in this long, difficult but amazing journey.  Any writer worth his or her salt puts their heart and soul into their stories.  When those stories are finally published there is the initial excitement of knowing that others...hopefully many others...are going to be reading something that you labored so hard to create.
     The downside to that is realizing that others....possibly many others....are going to be reading something that you have labored so hard to create.  A very personal and private part of you is now out there for anyone and everyone to see.  Intellectually you know that you can't please everyone, but you fervently hope that you will please at least someone.. And of course, there's  that gnawing fear in the back of your mind that you won't please anyone.
     I write what I would want to read.  That's probably not going to change.  I don't do trends.  I don't care for conflicted vampires with souls or shuffling zombies (although to be fair a hoard of zombies does make a brief cameo appearance in Gamble's Run).  We tend to fear what we don't understand, and I like to write about those unknown and unknowable terrors.
     To sum up, the apprehension of putting yourself out there can be powerful, but you cannot allow it to dictate what you write.  As writers, we open ourselves up to our audience through our work.  This makes us vulnerable.  Its difficult and uncomfortable but in the end its the only way to tell a good story. 
     A final thought to writers who are currently looking for a publisher.  NEVER pay to get your work published.  Granted a few have made good money by self publishing but they are the exception, not the rule.  If your work isn't good enough for a publisher who will pay you, and not the other way around, then go back to work and make it better.
     Enough rambling.  I'm going back to work.