I'm back, better than ever

I took an extended break from marketing and updating my social media for personal reasons but I feel the time is right to once again join the digital world. While I have been quiet I've still been working hard behind the scenes and I'd like to update you on some of the wonderful new things that have been happening professionally. My first fantasy series, "The Witchcraft Wars", is currently undergoing a complete revamp and I'm very excited at how that is turning out. I'm hoping the new editions will be on the shelves later in the year. I've also been working on the follow-up series, tentatively titled "The Verex Saga" that takes place about twenty-five years after the end of "The Witchcraft Wars". The first book in that series, "The Barbarians' Sword", will also hopefully be available later this year.

Additionally I'm working on a paranormal/mystery novel that will likely turn into a series of novels, however, I'm only at the first draft stage so it will be some time before that book hits the shelves. And just to stretch my writing muscles a little further I'm trying a real genre jump with a new piece that follows one mans journey from a chaotic, scarring childhood and eventually to being incarcerated for 15 years for a crime he didn't commit, in his quest for justice, peace and redemption. Which brings us to todays topic; the first sneak peek at what I'm calling "21st Century Gunslinger". I really hope you'll enjoy it but I am looking for honest feedback and critiques as this is a genre that's very much out of my comfort zone so your help, thoughts and opinions will be invaluable.

21st Century Gunslinger

Rodney ‘Rowdy’ Parker walked towards the last of the gates separating the prison from the outside world. He’d already collected the clothes and other items that had been in his possession at the time of his arrest, along with the requisite government cheque back at the office. This was his last stop before freedom. The bored looking guard handed him the clipboard with more paperwork to sign and with a smirk said, “I suppose we’ll be seeing you again soon”. Rowdy didn’t bother to answer. What was the point? The brands he’d worn since his youth were deeper and far more visible than any of his multitude of tattoos. Only he knew those scars had finally begun to truly heal. He wasn’t whole yet but he was well on his way to finally becoming the man he’d always meant to be. Whether or not the rest of the world knew was irrelevant; he knew and that was all that mattered.

He handed the clipboard back to the guard and hoisted his backpack onto his shoulder and walked out into the world without looking back. There was a bar he’d been told about while inside that was a couple of blocks to the left of the prison. The guys had also told him not only would it already be open by the time he got through all the administrative paperwork of being released but that the bartender there was usually happy enough to cash the cheques the released prisoners received; for a small fee of course. Even though it was barely ten in the morning Rowdy wouldn’t have minded a cold beer but that was the way backwards; he turned right instead. The morning sun felt good on his back as he walked towards the bus stop. Better perhaps than it had ever felt before because it shone on a new man. Well, perhaps not a new man; the morals and principles he believed in so deeply had always been there. His mistakes had been made out of ignorance, drugs, alcohol and the scars of his childhood trauma. He couldn’t change the past; he’d finally come to that realisation, but he could, and would, rewrite his future.

A lot would’ve changed on the outside during the fifteen years he’d spent behind bars for a crime he had never committed. He knew the paltry amount of cash in his pocket, made up of the few bucks he’d had when incarcerated plus the balance of money that had been on the books for the commissary, would not go far but it would go far enough till he could find somewhere to cash the cheque; he hoped. Arriving at the bus stop he counted the number of stops it would take to get him to Woody Point and figured he would have enough for the fare with a small amount left over. Checking his watch Rowdy saw he had missed the previous bus, which left him close to an hour before the next one arrived. More than enough time to walk to the store across the road, enjoy a cold drink and maybe catch up a little on the happenings of the outside world before he had to be back to catch the bus. As wonderful as it felt to walk free in the sunshine, the blue jeans and long-sleeved shirt he was wearing, the clothes he’d been arrested in, didn’t really fit the early summer weather. And it would feel good to drink something ice cold as a free man with the whole world in front of him.

Stepping into the air-conditioned shop out of the rising heat he felt a moment of pure joy and he paused for a moment just to enjoy the sensation. The guy at the counter looked to be in his late thirties or early forties, close to his own 39. The attendant barely looked up at his entrance before going back to reading the newspaper in front of him. Rowdy wandered to the back of the shop to the line of fridges and realised a lot more had changed than he’d expected. Three bucks for a small bottle of Coke? He wondered what on earth he’d be charged for a pack of cigarettes. He wandered through the rest of the store, checking prices of different items and reading the headlines on the newspapers and tabloid magazines. Although highly intelligent his chaotic childhood had left him with little more than a fifth-grade education, something he had only begun to remedy during his last couple of years in prison. As he walked to the counter and purchased his drink and smokes, outrageously priced though they were, he was still so new to freedom that even that small act felt like a momentous act.

Back at the bus stop he waited, smoking and drinking his Coke for the bus to arrive. He was eager to start his new life. He just hoped he had made the right choice; a mistake now would set him back in a way he wasn’t certain he could ever come back from. On the advice of the shopkeeper, he’d purchased one the new cards that were used for all forms of transportation so that when the bus finally arrived, he was ready with his card to pay the fare. Ironically, the fare wasn’t as high as he’d feared it might be after seeing the various prices in the store. He sat in the seat directly behind the driver, closed his eyes and tried, not very successfully, to empty his mind. As much as he hated it, he found his past flowing before his closed eyelids like a projection on a movie screen. And with the memories came the all too familiar hatred.