To Hell in Gasoline Raincoats

After five years in the making, Fat Duck creeping, Captain wins, screams as bones shift, Greaton Raw Power…

It’s hard to believe that the series book that I have been working on for five years is finally available. First day of ebook sales for Zachary Pill, The Dragon at Station End are also very encouraging (I think my best sales day ever, but I’d have to check with Focus House to be sure of that). Thanks so much for buying and reading my books. I hope you know how much I appreciate it and how dedicated I am to always creating the best stories and novels possible. My other books have been getting amazing reviews, and I sincerely hope that the new Zachary Pill series is equally well-received. All books require word-of-mouth sales, so I hope you’ll tell your friends and family how much you like reading my novels. People can’t read an author they’ve never heard of, so I hope you will consider spreading the word. Please, please, pleaseJ

Yesterday, my wife, youngest son and I went to visit my daughter at her new apartment. I’m pleased to say that she seems to be content and the dishes were washedJ. She also has a very cute young kitten that went crazy with all the attention. Our two cats are something like thirteen and sixteen years old, respectively, so we haven’t seen that kind of feline energy in years. All in all, it was a great visit and again makes me thankful that my children have all done so well. I have friends who haven’t been so fortunate, and my heart goes out to them and their children.

This weekend was partly a working weekend. With the new book release, I wound up with a whole new to-do list from Focus House Publishing’s in-house publicist. I’ve spent a lot of time posting stories and bio information all over the web. It’s hard to disagree with the time-investment, however, because my sales have been increasing steadily for the last three months. Again, thanks everyone who has been spreading the word about my efforts. Keep it up and I promise to visit each and every hometown as my touring efforts go further and further afield. I should be visiting the first northeast schools, libraries and bookstores in late-September or early-October. I’m really looking forward to it.

After visiting with my daughter yesterday, I took my wife and youngest son to see Captain America, The First Avenger. If you like superhero movies, you will not be disappointed. We liked it. Be sure to stay until after all the credits have rolled, because like most of the Marvel movies there is a bonus Avengers scene at the very end. That Avengers movie, by the way, comes out next year and the previews look good.

Part of my weekend was also spent doing some landscaping around my home. I have to say it has been a lot of work, but before the season is out I will take photos and let you see what all the effort has been about. Overall I’m pleased. A friend of mine is also helping me to transform an old chicken coup (part of the old farm we hadn’t gotten to yet) to a gazebo. He spent an hour or more here earlier today and helped me plan the project. He, of course, asked where Fat Duck was, which lead me to realize he was still hiding up on the porch (60+ feet long, 10 feet wide and filled with tables, chairs and a swing—plenty of places to hide). My wife came out and herded Fatty off the porch, so he of course flew over to see what we were doing. Fatty was especially funny because while we talked and hung around near his corner of the pond and brook he hid behind some bushes. But as the conversation continued, we noticed him creeping closer and closer. He never got quite within petting distance, but it was obvious that he wanted to be part of the conversation. Of course, I intend to hire him as lead foreman when the work commences on that building in a few weeks. I’ll keep you posted.

I’d like to thank Recluse and Mary G tonight for all of their help of late. Mary G. was especially helpful in the development of the Zachary Pill… cover text, and I am really pleased what Focus House did with her advice. If you haven’t seen that cover yet, please take a look. You can find it on Facebook, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and even Smashwords, which has sold a few more copies than usual today.

It’s been a great week, thanks to you all. I really appreciate your readership and your friendship. It means so very much. I’m going to end with the prologue to Zachary Pill, The Dragon at Station End followed by another very much appreciated review of From My Cold Young Fingers. First the prologue…

The orc held him from behind, its hot stinking breath making him want to gag. Helplessly, Zachary watched as hundreds of orcs streamed out from the dark tunnels all around them. The tall muscular creatures had already captured Robin and her baby brother, and others were chasing Bret. Gefarg the Troll bellowed from the center of the huge underground room.

Zachary suddenly realized he and his friends were about to die.

Knowing he didn’t want to transform into a monster but seeing no other way, he yanked at the cord around his neck. It didn’t break. The orc’s muscular fingers were digging into his shoulders. He struggled to free himself and ripped at the cord again. This time the rawhide snapped and the wizard medallion fell into his hand.

Like a roaring locomotive, pressure rushed into Zachary’s head and pushed against his skull. A prickling sensation raced across his shoulders and sent goose bumps down his arms. Feeling an inexplicable sense of freedom, Zachary flung the medallion across the room where it struck a tapestry and fell to the floor.  A primal scream passed his lips his joints erupted in pain. He could feel his limbs contorting and stretching. From the bottoms of his feet to the top of his head, bones shifted and made cracking noises as they grew and bent at odd angles. Both arms shot out and the flesh around them swelled with dense muscle and newly formed scales. His joints burned in agony, and his fingers grew long and curled with knife-like claws sprouting from the ends. He saw his skin harden into a golden red crust.

He heard himself screaming as his clothing tore and fell in shreds onto the floor. His neck pitched forward and his cheeks grew wide and long. His gums ached as rows of pointed teeth erupted from his upper and lower jaws. He felt thick slabs of muscle filling in the area around his cheeks and sensed he had enough power to chew through stone. Zachary tried to run his tongue over the new teeth, but it flicked out beyond the end of his snout and forked into two snakelike ends. His knees were forced into a crouch by flesh that thickened like tree trunks around his thighs. When he moved, the claws on his toes scraped the floor.

Just when the pain of morphing began to fade, a fiery itch erupted from behind. It felt like something was trying to crawl out of his back as two additional limbs sprouted and unfurled like huge kites behind his shoulder blades. Within moments, a pair of golden red wings thickened into layers of muscle that rippled like eels beneath his scales. He stretched the new limbs and felt a glorious sense of power. For the first time, Zachary realized that the orc no longer held him. He could see its legs pumping toward one of the exits.

Zachary roared and spewed fire across the room.

He was now a dragon!

Thanks, Recluse, for your exciting review of From My Cold Young Fingers (Amazon). His review…

««««« (five out of five stars) Simply Incredible, July 19, 2011     

By recluse "reclusive thinking..." (Copiague, N.Y.)

A truly stunning book. I haven't felt this kind of visceral emotional impact since I first read Harlan Ellison! Tim Greaton's raw power totally floored me! A brilliant dark carousel of pain and loss and love and hope. After this, Mr. Greaton's fans will follow him into the fires of Hell in gasoline raincoats. I know I will!

Dark Fiction in its purest form.

My Thanks: I once dreamt of writing for a living. Though a lot of my time is spent writing for nonprofit corporations and charities around the country, work that is incredibly fulfilling and that I will continue to do long after it is required on my end, each and every day more of my income comes directly from readers of my books. Please know that I couldn’t be more sincere in my appreciation.

THANK YOU ALL FOR GRANTING ME THIS LIFE, THE LIFE OF A WRITER!

Fat Duck the Gunslinger...

Attack of the plastic hand, Dragons fly this week, presents on the porch, a leaner blog…

Thanks so much for all the amazing support, and for following my blog these past few months. I apologize for the delay, but I have been going through a bit of a re-crafting of where and how my internet time is best spent for you. I’ve been seeking feedback on what you’d like to see more of (or less of) and the picture is getting a little clearer. We’re all busy, and many of you have indicated that you really enjoy updates about Fat Duck and stories about my personal life, and that you’d enjoy a regularly scheduled time for those. I’ve heard a lot of pros and cons about my news articles and about my reviews of other projects so, for the time being, we’re going to leave those behind or put them on some other forums. For the time being, I will be moving to a much quicker format for you all to read but with the ingredients that you want to know about most.

I’m pleased to say that Zachary Pill, The Dragon at Station End early release version is just around the corner. Focus House Publishing is telling me the ebook version might hit some sites as early as tomorrow. I spent nearly five years working side-by-side with Zachary Pill, the boy wizard who turns into a dragon, and I have to say I’m personally very excited for you all to see what I worked so hard on. It’s dark but fun and funny at the same time, and I believe it is the perfect launch for a long-running series. If you all enjoy it even a tenth as much as I enjoyed writing it, it will be well-received in the market. Please buy it fast and send all of your friends. The more sales we see, the better chance it will have of reaching some bestseller lists by Christmas. I need your help.

I have some special friends that I’d like to be sure to thank this week. Priscilla Burnette and Suzie at the Mistress of the Dark Path website have both been phenomenally supportive. If you’re not aware, you two ladies are at the top of my favorite people list. Unfortunately, I have the strangest feeling that neither of you intends to let me forget thatJ.

Tim’s first experience with gay people (no it’s not quite what you think): Until I was fifteen, I don't think I had ever personally met a gay person...at least not to my knowledge. But when I got my first job at a restaurant as a dishwasher, little did I know that it was populated almost entirely by gay employees. I was pretty much full-grown, 5'10" and about 160 pounds. Within the first hour I had worked there, I had been whistled at, complimented, and propositioned at least a dozen times by a dozen different men. All were smiling and friendly as they did it, but I was terrified. For someone who had never met a gay person to suddenly be the center of attention...well, it was almost beyond my ability to endure. For my first two weeks at that job, I had an actual cramp of fear in my stomach every time I went to work, and I remained terrified for however many hours it was before I had to leave. But, I've always been stubborn, and I refused to quit.

Sometime about two weeks after I began working there, I arrived at the restaurant tense as a spring (as always). I entered into a small employee coat room and was greeted by a gay waiter who immediate dropped to his knees at my crotch. He pointed at my large brass KISS (the band) belt buckle and said, "It does say 'kiss." Simultaneously, another gay man used a toy hand (you squeeze the handle and the toy hand at the end of a foot long shaft opens and closes) to grab my butt from behind.

I was like an exploding bomb. I grabbed the waiter in front of me by the shoulders and pitched him through a pair of double swinging doors as I bellowed, "I am not gay and never will be gay!"

Had I been fully in control, I wouldn't have done it...but my fear just sent me over the top. Fortunately I didn't hurt anyone, and for the rest of that night and week the entire crew of several dozen gay waiters, bus boys, etc... all came into the kitchen and apologized. "We were just having fun," they said, "and didn't realize you were so upset." They were so sincere that I believed them and immediately began to relax.

I worked there for maybe a year, and it got so that whenever anyone in the restaurant was having a party my girlfriend would be the only female there. It was a great experience, because I’ve since worked with dozens of gay people over the years, and they appreciate that I’m 100% comfortable and completely non-judgmental.  

Of course, we have to talk about Fat Duck this week. He continues to be an interesting and ever-changing character. This past week, he has been sneaking back onto the porch during the day and hiding under a table on my porch. Most of the time, I’ve caught him and have shooed him back down into the yard with the other ducks. One day, however, I got so busy with phone calls and projects that I forgot to check. Sure enough, my wife informed me that Fatty had apparently (judging from his many presents) spent the day on the porch. It was about 5pm and still a few hours to pen time, so I shooed him out into the yard. Unfortunately, this aggravated him a tad because by 9pm I realized Fatty was still sitting out on his hay bale in the dark. I went out to herd him in, but this time I got quite a bit of attitude. I crowded him, tapped him on the back, and even gently shoved him…but he refused to get down off the bale. It wasn’t until I actually pushed him right to the bale edge that he finally hopped down onto the ground and waddled back to the porch and up into his pen. The way he guzzled down several beakfuls of cold water, it was like watching a gunslinger swigging down a couple of shots in the saloon. There are days I’m happy Fat Duck doesn’t carry weaponsJ.

Death and the Bully…

A dangerous night, feathered revenge, the dragon cometh, beauty could not save Bad, midnight madness, a Scottish opinion…

Update on ARC (Advance Release Copies) of three new Tim Greaton novels…

Thanks so much for all the excitement and support regarding the upcoming early release novels. Ripped…From My Cold Young Fingers is now available in ebook on www.smashwords.com. It will also be available soon at Amazon and Barnes and Noble, as soon as Focus House works out some last minute formatting issues.

Zachary Pill, The Dragon at Station End will also be available shortly (likely this week J).  Ancestor is only a week or two behind the others. I’m really looking forward to your feedback, because the folks at Focus House will be determining the priority of my projects by your emails and sales figures.

If you have any thoughts you’d like to share, please don’t hesitate to contact me directly at: tim-at-greateastdevelopment-dot-net.

Tim’s going to spend more time on Twitter: Starting this week, I will be dedicating at least a few evening hours to Twitter. I haven’t a clue what I’m doing, but I hope you’ll all follow me there and ask me to follow you. I’m really looking forward to this new avenue of conversation between usJ. I also think I’m going to drift toward the new Google+ system. I think I’ve been invited but I haven’t gotten around to linking up yet.

Fat Duck has a few late nights alone and teaches me a lesson: This has been an incredibly busy week for me, and several times I’ve been out until late evening. Each night I’ve driven into the yard after dark to find Fatty sitting what I thought was patiently on the porch waiting for me to put him in his pen. Of course, it’s hard to know exactly how Fat Duck feels about being left out that late, but it’s possible he did seem a little somber at least one of those nights.

That brings us to the one steady day of drizzling rain we had this week. That rain either confused poor Fatty or gave him a chance to get back at me. Several times that evening I looked out the side windows to see if he was up on the porch and ready to be locked safely in his pen, but each time I wouldn’t find him until I went to the front rain-splattered windows to see him sitting out on his hay bale. Finally, it was pitch black, sometime after 9pm and still raining when I decided it was too dangerous for him to be out there. It’s hard to know if he enjoyed watching me traipse through the puddles to get to him, and I couldn’t really be sure that he was stalling as he ever-so-slowly allowed me to herd him across the yard and up onto the porch. All I know is that dozens of times I’ve seen him waddle much faster and that this rainy journey might well have been one of the longest slowest marches of our relationship. I was completely drenched by the time Fatty sauntered up onto the porch and into his pen.

He snorted as I sloshed into the house.

Patsy the Dog is sure to drive me insane: I doubt I have to say much to convince anyone that I like animals. I think they deserve our kindness and our protection…and I’ve even been a vegetarian for more than fifteen years now. But I swear my dog Patsy is going to drive me bonkers. She’s a sweetheart of a dog and is quiet 99% of the time…but when she sees something of interest in our yard or at the end of the driveway she has an ear-piercing bark that makes me want to either pitch her outside or cover my ears with pillows.

When Fatty spent all of his time in the yard, I appreciated her middle-of-the-night warnings of a fox in the yard so I could run outside and scare the duck-eater away for a night or three…but since Fatty started spending his nights in a safe pen, I really could do without all the ruckus, especially at night.

I’ve tried to sit down and have a reasonable discussion with Patsy, but all those attempts end the same way: she wiggles, wags her tail and tries to lick my face…

Then she runs to the window and barks like a raving lunaticL

Benny the bully gets a motorcycle: During my teenage years, my father started and ran a very successful autobody repair shop, and during my last couple of years of high school I worked with him. This might well have been one of the most informative periods of my life, because my dad tended to surround himself with some interesting characters. Though we could spend lots of time talking about the shysters, thieves, and equal numbers of war heroes and friendly policemen that used to come and go from my father’s shop with equal treatment and comfort, but instead I thought we’d talk about one particular employee and the summer of hell he put us all through. Let’s call him Benny.

A year older than me, Benny was easily one of the brightest people I had ever met up until that time. Though my parents never believed in IQ tests or allowing their children to be advanced in school (I later learned that the school system had tried multiple times to jump me and two of my siblings forward a grade) I knew I was pretty bright, but Benny made me feel downright stupid much of the time.

I’ve since come to believe that books could be written about Benny’s personality, but lacking an expert opinion I can only describe him as two-thirds bully, one-third genius. At the time, Benny was in his late-teens or early-twenties and though he was over six feet tall, he was also stick thin, which didn’t allow him a lot of occasions to be a physical bully—though he later became all that and more. In the meantime, however, he had to rely on his mouth to antagonize and bully everyone around him. I can’t think of a single instance or example to offer at this time, but I imagine he might have looked up facts in an encyclopedia just so he could ask a few questions the next day and wipe all the other garage employees’ faces in his superior knowledge. But it was more than that because on the few occasions when a tricky repair or other problem came up at the shop, all the employees sought my father’s uneducated but intelligent advice and experience first then turned to me for straight-up creative solutions. I would often come up with something, but Benny— who nobody liked, respected or listened to—would often come up with something even better.

Benny thought an awful lot of himself and spent most of his days letting the rest of us know how great and important he was, while simultaneously letting us know just how small and insignificant we were. Of course, his attitude made him an absolute target of the other four to six employees in the shop…but, because we weren’t nearly as mean-spirited, we were seldom able to get through his sharp-tongued defenses.

Of everyone working at the shop, Benny was not just the meanest, he was also the most broke…as in the one with the least amount of money. He would get paid on a Friday afternoon and by Monday morning would have blown his entire check and be borrowing money from my father for coffee and a sandwich. Even I, a kid in high school and working part-time and summers, had more cash than he did. Broke as he always was, Benny decided one day that he HAD TO have a trail-riding motorcycle. Of course, he had no money nor the ability to save any money, but he somehow worked out a deal with a motorcycle dealer who let him buy a used motorcycle with a blown motor for weekly payments…but the deal was though Benny could use their garage a few hours each Saturday to rebuild the engine, he couldn’t take the bike until all the payments were made.

Now, I could tell you that the entire garage spent six months making fun of Benny because after adding up all of his payments, we figured out he was actually paying more for his broken, used motorcycle than he would have paid by simply buying a new one. I could also tell you that Benny had never rebuilt an engine in his life and that he wound up rebuilding that one two or three times before he got it to work. But the only thing that matters is what Benny pounded into our brains all day, every day, for the duration of his many-month payment agreement. “You wait until I get my bike,” he would say. “I’m going to tear up the streets…Once I get my bike, I’m going to run this town…I’ll be like the wind with a mad engine between my legs when I get my bike.”

Over and over, day after day, we heard him carry on about the powerful rocket he would soon have between his legs. We were all so sick of it that we all began to pray for the day he made his last payment and got that godforsaken vehicle on the road or trails or wherever it was going. We just didn’t want to hear another single thing about it. And then it finally happened. After months of being harangued about how we peasants would forever be glued to our tired sad vehicles while Benny would take over the world with his insanely fast, motorized throne.

And then the day arrived. Benny had been in especially fine form that entire week, but that Friday he was like a mouthpiece from Hell. As we filed out of the shop, we each went home hoping and praying that it was over. That finally we wouldn’t have to listen to the hopes and dreams of the pompously insane any longer. Sure, he would come back bragging about his many adventures, we knew, but at least it wouldn’t be the same drivel over and over again.

But then as we were settling down in our homes that Friday night, something amazing and wonderful happened on the seven o’clock news. There, beneath a scene of flashing police cars, Benny’s name was printed. Like victims at a trial, we watched as the camera zoomed in on two policemen questioning Benny and a bedraggled friend, then the scene switched and showed a tow truck pulling the wreckage of a motorcycle down from an overhead railroad bridge. It turned out that Benny had been riding with his friend on the back of his new motorcycle but when they crossed the railroad bridge, he somehow didn’t notice that a train was coming. Scarcely two hours from the time he had picked his motorcycle up, Benny was forced to leap from his motorcycle and duck under an iron railing as his motorized throne was chewed up and spit out like so much bad spaghetti.

Of course, Benny was always late arriving to work so that next Monday morning we were ready. Sitting in a circle in the office, we laughed, retold and relived that glorious moment when each of us had seen Benny’s pale face show up on the news screen. We were all locked, loaded, and ready to tear into the skinny creature who had been torturing us with stories of his upcoming greatness astride that motorcycle.

Finally, we were going to get revenge. As one, we held our breath as we saw him cross the parking lot…on foot. The time had come. We were finally going to get ours. We were going to get the best of the bully. The door opened and he came through the door with a grin.

“Yep,” Benny said. “I kicked death in the ass once again!”

It was a hard line to beat.

My Review of Bad Teacher (2011) starring Cameron Diaz, Justin Timberlake, Lucy Punch and Jason Segal

My rating « ¶¶¶¶ (one out of five stars)

Wretchedly terrible teacher..., 17 July 2011

It’s true that I’m not a huge comedy fan. I like to think that I’m more discerning than some or that maybe my writing background gives me a little deeper understanding of the writing craft behind a good joke, but the truth is that I just like what I like…and when it comes to comedy the bad list is longer than the good list. However, that said, Bad Teacher is just a “bad movie.” It’s not funny, it’s not logical, and it’s populated with some of the least believable and most terribly acted characters that I’ve seen in a very long time.

Diaz plays Elizabeth Halsey, a down-on-her luck Chicago teacher who supposedly gets away with swearing, drinking, and doing drugs—all in front of her students. When her rich fiancé breaks up with her, she then attempts to snag the new, apparently wealthy teacher Scott Delacorte (Timberlake). However, forever cheerful teacher Amy Squirrell (Punch) wins his affection and leads us into a mostly pointless series of events occasioned with quips and barbs made by the gym teacher Russell Gettis (Segel) from the sidelines.

I can’t even claim this story was predictable (though the basic plot was) because it was so nonsensical that it would have been impossible to imagine any similar direction. It’s even harder to believe any self-respecting screen writer would have imagined this to be good film. We also can’t excuse this flimsy excuse for story on the need to tell a great series of jokes, because the film just wasn’t funny…not a little…not even a tiny bit.

I remain a fan of many of the talents involved with this project…but the project itself definitely has my vote as a DON’T SEE!

Thanks Chris Longmuir for taking time out of your busy schedule to review Bones in the Tree (Smashwords)

Her review…

««««« (five out of five stars)

A satisfying read, July 12, 2011 :     

This novella was a really satisfying read. I enjoyed Karen's take on life after a marriage breakup, followed her on several disastrous dates, and loved her relationship with Bones. I really felt drawn in by this character and shared her anguish at her role in the loss of Bones's home and rejoiced with her when she found happiness.

A lovely satisfying read which I read right through without stopping.

Chris Longmuir is a Scottish novelist, winner of the Dundee International Book Prize and the author of three great novels: Dead Wood, A Salt-Splashed Cradle and Night Watcher. See her work here: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=chris+longmuir&x=20&y=18

In the next blog (Sunday July 24th): my review of David Baldacci’s Camel Club, why you should never have eleven geese,  a moment when I realized how tough my dad’s life was, more comments on the newly released Tim Greaton ARC’s and more…

My thanks to you: I once dreamt of writing for a living. Though a lot of my time is spent writing for nonprofit corporations and charities around the country, work that is incredibly fulfilling and that I will continue to do long after it is required on my end, each and every day more of my income comes directly from readers of my books. Please know that I couldn’t be more sincere in my appreciation.

THANK YOU ALL FOR GRANTING ME THIS LIFE, THE LIFE OF A WRITER!

A Foreman With Wings…

Important Announcements, more chick lit, bones around the world, new release this week …

An announcement from TJ (Thomas John) at Focus House Publishing…

I’d like to thank all of you readers for helping us to build some wonderful momentum in the ten weeks since my staff opened this blog and asked Tim to begin populating it with his unique blend of sincerity and humor. As I believe Tim mentioned in his last couple of blogs, we had a wonderful level of book sales in the past month, and I have never personally received so many exited and even impatient emails regarding an author’s upcoming projects etc…. So, again, I hope you realize how much we at Focus House appreciate your support.

Tim writes in an astounding number of genres, and I’ve had him so busy these past few months he barely wraps up one project before I hand him another. Now I’d like to involve you fans in helping me to make the highest and best use of Tim’s time. These past few weeks, we have been examining the results of our early release of From My Cold Young Fingers. Those of you who have read it know what made it so unique is that it was released before my editors even began work on it. That novel was the final draft from Tim to the editor, but we intercepted it and published the early version while in the meantime continuing to help Tim perfect the story. Universally, however, readers loved the ARC (Advanced Reading Copy) and we heard you.

As of this moment, I have scheduled most of Tim’s projects (of which there are a surprising number) to be released in ebook ARC’s at their current stages of development. If I receive enough emails and requests, I will even consider creating special print editions of those works as well. What this means is that within the next few weeks, early versions of Ancestor, Zachary Pill The Dragon at Station End and Ripped From My Cold Young Fingers will be made available in ebook. Within the next two months, early versions of at least three more novels will become available.

Finally, I have personally asked our staff to monitor all sales, emails and other communications to determine which projects you the readers feel are most important. In short, if you are anxious for the final print release of a book, please tell your friends and we’ll make sure it is one of our top priorities. If you want the next book in a series, be sure to convince all of your friends to buy the first one and we’ll make sure it is on Tim’s long but still manageable to-do list.  

Thank you again for supporting our efforts to bring you the best storytellers. Look for Ripped From My Cold Young Fingers (Edition E-1) to be released in ebook this week.

Sincerely,

TJ Greaton, Executive Editor/Owner

Focus House Publishing

Bones in the Tree Free till 16 July2011: My Bones in the Tree novella will remain available for free at www.smashwords.com until midnight EST on July 16^th, 2011.

Thanks again for the amazing interest in that story. In less than a week it has been downloaded hundreds of times…all over the world. I have been receiving emails from far and wide, and in answer to all of them…yes, I hope to do more “chick lit” in the future J.

Fat Duck oversees a yard sale: Yesterday, we had a yard sale to help my mother-in-law eliminate so much of the clutter that she no longer has room for. Fat Duck was immediately concerned by all the commotion starting at 5am Saturday morning. By 6am, he was getting so nervous about all the activity near his cage that I had to let him go out into the yard a little earlier than usual (some foxes are still out and about a few hours after dawn).

Well, Fatty lacked only a hardhat to fully look the part of project manager. He proceeded immediately to his hay bale where he could get a good high view of all the comings and goings, and for most of the day he faced all the activity rather than looking toward the pond as he often does. He did tend to get a little excited when a few cars turned around on the grass five or ten feet from him, and one time he got so flustered that he hopped down and waddled toward the backyard. Fortunately, one of my sons realized that our sale lacked an authority figure, so he herded Fatty back and up onto his hay bale.

Of course, it’s possible my son just wanted to continue watching the angry looks on some people’s faces when the yard sale staff called out things like “Fatty, what are you doing?” or “Are you having a fun sale, Fatty?” J.

Change of blog schedule: Unfortunately, Carrie has recently asked that I start using Twitter and a number of other sites more. So to provide a little more time for that, I will blog once a week on Sunday evening instead of twice a week. The good news is it should make it easier for everyone who follows to keep up as well.  

Thanks again for making blogging such a fun and successful ingredient in my writing week J.

Thanks so much, Anonymous for your supportive review of From My Cold Young Fingers.

The review…

««««¶ (4 out of 5 stars) July 7, 2011 at Barnes and Noble

Highly recommended…

A book that absolutely needs to be on your summer reading list. A very interesting story of a nine year old boy's journey, and very quickly becomes yours as well. The author has a way of making you feel you are in the story.

In the next blog (Sunday July 17th): someone “Kicks death in the –ss,” why Patsy the Dog is going to be drive me crazy, some feedback about the upcoming advance reading novels Focus House has just slated (assuming you all provide me with some feedback J), and a humorous story from my past….

Thanks for investing your valuable time with me. I’ll always strive to make it worthwhileJ!

Murder on her mind…

A child in danger, from the depths of despair, a security duck cartoon, vigilante justice, fastest selling story ever….

A chip off the old demented storytelling block: My dad’s education ended at around the sixth grade, which was a shame because who knows how far he might have gone with more education. He was an extremely bright man with a spatial and mechanical aptitude that must have approached or exceeded genius level. Unfortunately, my dad grew up in a dysfunctional environment that bordered on insane. His dad (my grandfather) was a pretty normal man from what I remember, but his mom scared me. Because the early-1900s Maine wasn’t exactly a paradise of practicing psychiatrists, we will never know for sure if his mom (my grandmother) was just odd or really had serious psychological issues. I do know that she used to lock food away from her children who were sometimes forced to beg from aunts and uncles when they got too hungry. I also know that one day my father came home from school to discover his parents had moved without telling him. He ultimately found and was allowed to rejoin them, but what must that have been like for an elementary school kid to be abandoned like that?

I don’t remember my father ever talking about his family in an emotional way, but I wonder if some of his feelings were reflected in the stories he told. He would gather all of us children around (there were four of us then) and we would be glued as he explained how when he was a child his mother hated and wanted to kill him. He told about the time she took him up in an airplane and pushed…but fortunately he had his handkerchief to use as a parachute to float safely to the ground; how she made him climb to the top of a mountain where a bobcat attacked…but fortunately he had his pocket knife and was able to defend himself; how she threw him out of a speeding train…but he was able to aim for a soft clump of bushes and survive; how she led him into the deep Maine forest…but he spread sunflower seeds along the way and followed his path back; how she hired a helicopter driver to take him over the ocean and pitch him into the water…but he traded some baseball cards and convinced the pilot to throw out a canvas bag instead; and, of course, how she sent him into the woods to find out what was making the growling sound…but when the bear attacked he planted one of his magic beans and grabbed hold of the magic stalk that grew and pulled him up to safety.

I remember being enthralled by the heroic way my dad handled each and every challenge. He was definitely my first hero. Though those stories might seem tasteless in today’s politically correct world, I don’t believe my dad had ill intentions, a fact maybe best demonstrated when he stopped telling those stories when my grandmother died.

Fortunately my dad’s magic beanstalk continued to find imaginative uses until we got old enough to see through his fabrications. Even so, I think I was an early teenager before I finally gave up hope on having delicious fried snowballs during every winter storm. Of course, there were always reasons the snow wasn’t quite right…but the truth is I still wonder what they might have tasted likeJ.

Da, da…da, da…da, da…Watch Duck! A friend of mine runs a trucking business and dog rescue service, so he and his two adult boys tend to drive by my house just often enough to notice trends in my yard. When my friend showed up in the driveway one evening last week, he got out of his truck and asked where Watch Duck was.

“Watch Duck?” I asked.

“Yeah, the big white one that we always see sitting on the hay bale keeping an eye on things.”

I chuckled at the idea that Fat Duck might actually be serving a purpose beyond his own interests, but the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced he could star in his own comic series. He could use his fine pooping skills to battle the bad guys, but of course the city police would need to develop a new way to contact him when the city was in danger. Batman has the Bat Light, so maybe Fat Duck could have…uhmmm—a giant bread slice in the sky.

No, probably wouldn’t work because he prefers his bread broken into small pieces.

Yes a Watch Duck comic would definitely be fun, but in real life Fatty has to stay right where he is. If he were off fighting crime, we’d lose our dual purpose Watch Duck and lawn ornamentJ.

My Review of Without Remorse by Tom Clancy

My rating ««««« (five out of five stars)

So bad and yet so good..., 6 July 2011

Tom Clancy has long been a hit and miss author for me. I should say that a lot of it has to do with his incredibly detailed and dense descriptions of everything military. He earns a lot of kudos for his intense knowledge of his subject matter and his ability to base his fiction in frighteningly realistic circumstances, but there are times when I just want to get on with the story and not learn about a firing pin and its historical significance to military maneuvers in the east pacific along the way.

However, Without Remorse is a book so deeply drenched in character building that it swallowed me up with sympathy, empathy, and then a deep personal need to see Mr. Clark succeed in finding revenge and yes “justice” for the many wrongs that had been done to him and his. I, like many of us, had met Mr. Clark in other Clancy tales, where he was a cool and efficient military liaison to our government. But within the pages of Without Remorse, Tom Clancy brings him to life. Mr. Clark is soon revealed as a man with a history filled with flaws that maybe forgivable but are nonetheless frightening.

Back when he was called Kelly, Mr. Clark endured the loss of a wife and then another woman who was very important to him. Unfortunately for the men responsible, he wasn’t prepared to accept that second loss. A man with hard-earned military skills, Kelly/Clark moves, no sweeps, through this story and leaves us with a sense of nobility as he deals with some of the most revolting segments of our society.

Is vigilante justice right? And can a man with the skills earned through U.S. military Special Forces actually beat law enforcement? The answers to those questions are sure to surprise you. But please don’t assume this novel is about revenge, because it’s not. It’s really about how a man changes in the face of severe personal adversity, and about how even the most righteous of causes can somehow get all twisted up.

All these big issues aside, rest assured Mr. Clark is a man worth meeting and spending time with. His story isn’t an easy one, but I, for one, would be pleased to learn that men like him are standing watch all around our world today.

Bones in the Tree, update: It’s finished and available for free (at least for the time being) at www.Smashwords.com. I should mention that we have another first: Bones in the Tree was downloaded more times in the first twenty-four hours than any other story I’ve ever released. Thank you all for continuing to support my journey and the characters I’ve created along the way.

Bones in the Tree short description…

Her parents dead and marriage over, Karen returns to Maine to rebuild her life. An irritating furry neighbor and tombstones in her backyard play surprising roles as she endures one disastrous date after another.

Extended description…

What were her parents thinking when they opted for burial in the backyard? Karen didn't know but finds herself talking more and more to their tombstones as her personal life descends into chaos.

Her marriage in flames and dating life little more than one catastrophe after another, she finds herself turning to a furry, acorn-throwing neighbor for solace.

Can the fresh air and slow pace of life in Menyon Falls heal her broken heart, or will returning to Maine be the biggest mistake of her life?

Come find out in this quirky and surprisingly emotional novella from "Maine's Other Author"^TM Tim Greaton.

13,500 words (41 pages)

Thanks J.C. Allen for your incredibly kind review of The Santa Shop (Smashwords)

Her review…

««««« (five out of five stars)

From the Depths of Despair and Despondency, June 15, 2011

The Santa Shop by Tim Greaton was a poignant and uplifting story about one man’s journey from the depths of despair and despondency to the dawn of redemption and recovery. Skip Ralstat lost his family in a fire. He blames himself for not being there to save them, and his guilt leads him to plan his own suicide by jumping from a bridge called Christmas Leap. Along the way his plot gets hijacked by the “Santa Conspiracy”.

Well written and edited, Mr. Greaton has a wonderful talent for making his characters real, the dialog believable, and the locations familiar. You feel his pain and grief, you stand on the bridge with him, and you experience his awakening and hope. A beautiful story.

My thanks to you my readers: I once dreamt of writing for a living. Though a lot of my time is spent writing for nonprofit corporations and charities around the country, work that is incredibly fulfilling and that I will continue to do long after it is required on my end, each and every day more of my income comes directly from readers of my books. Please know that I couldn’t be more sincere in my appreciation.

THANK YOU ALL FOR GRANTING ME THIS LIFE, THE LIFE OF A WRITER!

"Bones in the Tree" 41-page novella is available for Free on Smashwords

Good morning, Everyone. "Bones in the Tree" 41-page novella is available for Free on Smashwords. It'll be available later today on Amazon and B&N. The blurbs go like this:

Her parents dead and marriage over, Karen returns to Maine to rebuild her life. An irritating furry neighbor and tombstones in her backyard play surprising roles as she endures one disastrous date after another.

Extended Description:

What were her parents thinking when they opted for burial in the backyard? Karen didn't know but finds herself talking more and more to their tombstones as her personal life descends into chaos.

Her marriage in flames and dating life little more than one catastrophe after another, she finds herself turning to a furry, acorn-throwing neighbor for solace.

Can the fresh air and slow pace of life in Menyon Falls heal her broken heart, or will returning to Maine be the biggest mistake of her life?

Come find out in this quirky and surprisingly emotional novella from "Maine's Other Author"(TM)Tim Greaton.

13,500 words (41 pages)

A Serial Killer in Our Midst…

Another murder tonight, Transformers’ Doofus of the Moon, like a cemetery resident, a unique thriller, lonely on the threads, Violins and Frogs…

Our best week ever AGAIN in digital book sales! I can’t tell you how thankful I am to all of you who keep mentioning my name, leaving reviews, and generally help me to get the word out about my stories and books. Once again this week, we had our best-ever in digital sales. It was also our best month ever in digital sales. We may also have had our best month in print sales, but those numbers typically aren’t available for several months.

What do I mean by “Our” best week over?

That’s easy. I mean you and me. During the contest, Priscilla Burnette posted something about “Team Greaton,” and that’s exactly how it feels. I couldn’t do any of this without the support of my many readers.

So, THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOUJ!

Bones in the Tree: It’s hard to imagine, but this story has turned into a novella, of which I just completed the second draft. It now runs over 40 pages and is over 13,500 words. What that means is after having just completed the 2^nd of at least 4 drafts, I have already invested over 33 hours in this tale. I’m hoping another 10 hours will wrap it up, but rest assured either way it will be published TuesdayJ.

Once Upon a Stradivarius wins first place! This flash fiction story of exactly 600 words won first place at the Musings of the Mistress of the Dark site. Thank you to everyone who voted! You can find the story listed under the Short Stories tab at the top of this blog as well as read it and the other two finalists at Mistress’ site: http://mistressofthedarkpath.wordpress.com/2011/06/29/and-the-finalists-for-the-writing-contest-are/.

Other new stories this week: In preparation for the Mistress’ writing contest, I also wrote two additional stories. Violin Intentions and Violin and the Frog Motion. Both run about 600 words and will soon be available under the Short Stories tab at the top of this blog. You can also read those stories and some great stories by other authors at

http://mistressofthedarkpath.wordpress.com/2011/06/26/writing-contest-test-your-skills/

Zachary Pill, The Dragon at Station End: As you can see above, I got caught up in the long-delayed Bones in the Tree novella and wound up investing quite a bit of time and energy in the other three stories as part of the Mistress’ writing contest this week. That means I have not yet begun the first Zachary Pill, The Dragon at Station End edit review, but rest assured I will begin sometime between now and Wednesday. Focus House is still shooting for an August release date on this one. Wish me luck J.

Here’s another Zachary Pill excerpt…

Zachary couldn’t help thinking the old nurse was like a set of bones you might see standing against the wall in science class. If it weren’t for the pulsing blue veins beneath her pale skin and the graying strands of hair that she continually stuffed like dead grass beneath her white nurse’s cap, she could easily have been a cemetery resident. Her skeletal hand gestured for him to sit up on a long padded table in the center of the small x-ray room. A large machine with a single robotic arm stood beside the table. The end of the arm looked like a huge camera with a moving platform below it.

“Go on, get up!”

Zachary slid onto the padded table where she promptly yanked his sling loose. Agony ripped through his mangled arm as it twisted and fell into his lap. Zachary tried to stifle the scream, but a tiny yelp still escaped his throat.

“’More of a weed than a tree,” the nurse said.

Zachary supposed it was an insult, but his arm throbbed so badly he could barely think. Suddenly, the nurse reached out and pulled his wrecked limb onto the platform below the x-ray camera. Every nerve in his arm screamed in agony.

“You’re trying to kill me!” Zachary exclaimed.

“Quit your whining or I’ll yank it again!”

She belongs in a horror movie!

Why hadn’t Nurse Nightshade let him to Dr. Gefarg’s office first? He couldn’t have been any worse off than spending time with Nurse Pain! Even as he thought it, bony fingers bit into his skin and pushed his arm to the side. He swallowed and tried to calm his pain-wracked nerves enough to speak.

“Just tell me…where you want my arm. I’ll do it myself.” His body still quaked from pain.

“Wouldn’t be so much fun,” she said, no smile on her pinched face. “Now stop moving, or I’ll have to adjust it again.” 

Becoming statue-like, Zachary was determined not to give her any excuse to put him through that again. She laid a heavy pad on his lap then retreated behind a glass window to one side of the room. A whirring sound came from the x-ray camera above his arm. When the nurse came back she, of course, reached out as though to jerk his arm again.

Zachary flinched. Daggers of pain shot straight into his brain.

“Maybe I was going to be gentle,” the nurse said, her transparent skin stretching over a skeletal grin.

Zachary glared at her.

Gray lips thinned and eyes narrowed, but the old nurse was more careful as she repositioned his arm the second time. She then ducked her behind her glass window and let the x-ray machine whir again. Coming back, she said, “That’s it.”

“I can go?”

 She gave him a full smile―a sight better suited to a Halloween party than a clinic—and said, “Unless you’re having too much fun.” Her grin widened, and for a moment Zachary could have sworn he saw fangs….

Slugger the Cat is a serial killer: I fear that I might get some hate mail for pulling our animal segment away from Fat Duck long enough to focus on Slugger the Serial Killer. Rest assured, Fat Duck has had a great week, though he was a little frustrated when I hosed the dried grass off his beak after seeing it stuck there for over an hour yesterday. Next time we’ll discuss how a Fat Duck’s local fans is trying to change his name to Watch Duck J.

But in tonight’s blog I’ve decided to introduce (or maybe reintroduce) Slugger. Imagine a huge yellow tabby, sort of like Garfield but not quite that fat, who weighs about 12 pounds. He’s about fourteen years old now, and is most known for his willingness to endure any torture as long as the net result is people attention. I typically have to throw him off my chest several times while trying to get five or six hours of sleep, and I suspect both my sons also have to send him packing multiple times a night.

Slugger, like most cats, spends much of his time relaxing, usually on top of someone in the family, but sometimes he just sprawls across a windowsill, chair, or bed. However, once he steps through his cat doors to the outside, he turns into a first-class predator…well, if lazy and first-class can be part of the same predator package. A few years back, he used to bring in at least one mouse a day, and sometimes as many as five.

Because I’m the original don’t-hurt-anything-if-you-can-help-it guy, I have yelled at him thousands of times for attacking and dragging these poor helpless mice into our house. Now, either because he doesn’t like to be yelled at or because he enjoys letting them loose and playing with them more than killing them, more often than not these days he doesn’t kill them. Last week, my wife and dog cornered one mouse in the kitchen where I was able to slip a bowl over it and set it free outside. The same thing happened tonight. Unfortunately, only the second mouse survived tonight. The first one was DOA on my dining room floor. I since also found entrails in the basement so it looks like it was two dead and only one survivor tonight.

So, yes, Slugger is a lovable ball of fur, but once outside “Jack…” might be a better name.

My week: This has been one for the record books. Several of the charities I worked with received sizable checks this week (in the tens of thousands). I finished four stories and won a writing contest. The folks at Focus House Publishing made some amazing improvements to my blog (I helped a little J). I have been signed up for at least six new social networks; Gather is one of them, but I forget the rest offhand. It will take several weeks to get even the basics established but I hope you’ll scout me out and friend me everywhere (Twitter, Gather, Facebook, Myspace). At several of the sites, I have little to no friends. It’s sad L.

I didn’t get to as many home projects as usual this week. We did get the last three flower pots hung on my porch, and I have the rest of the flowers to plant around the well (maybe tomorrow) but really it has been such a busy professional week, I had little time for anything other than helping one nephew move. I was really pleased to see what a beautiful new yard he has for his children.  

News – Shia LaBeouf: Bad Boy or Nitwit? I should first point out that I try very hard not to write incendiary or personally disparaging pieces, not about average people and not typically about celebrities, either. So, I should say in advance: Shia, if we’re ever sitting across from each other on a production one day, please know I tried not to make any more offensive statements about you than you made about yourself this past week.

Of course, with the new Transformers: Dark of the Moon movie coming out this week, Shia and all his onset cohorts have been out spreading the word about their latest special-effects laden action masterpiece (I haven’t seen it yet). I have personally seen at least a dozen articles about Shia as well as several of his onscreen interviews. For me, a couple of issues have come to mind.

First, I really don’t believe that even celebrities should discuss their relationships, past or present, without the full permission of those partners. You’ll note that I don’t ever mention personal conversations or even personal information about the many people I come in contact with each day. So, when Shia decides to reveal all the women he has supposedly slept with, even while they had other boyfriends, etc…, I find the comments to be in very poor taste. If you ever liked someone enough to sleep with them, it only seems reasonable that you’d respect them enough to shut up about it…or so I think.

I also have to wonder what makes Shia think he’s physically all that. I’ve seen a lot of movie stars over the years, and Mr. LaBeouf, while reasonably healthy, is not nor ever has been the picture buff maleness. When you make statements alluding to your heightened muscularity, etc…, it’s probably best that you actually have a few muscles showing when you slip into a tight tee shirt.

Finally, I know a lot of people are impressed when a talented star like Shia asserts that he’s not going to make any more blockbusters. Instead, he is going to go off and make pictures that he can be proud of, that can stretch his talents, that will allow him to explore his…blah, blah, blah. Okay, I get that the Transformers trilogy has likely padded Shia’s pockets to the tune of tens of millions of dollars, and I also get that he will continue receiving royalties on those movies for the rest of his life, but what about all the other people that depend on filmmaking for a living?

Every time a big star removes himself or herself from the box office rolls, two things happen: first, their popularity and box office clout shrinks almost overnight closing their window. Second, many of the big blockbuster movies with the big budgets DO NOT get made, which in turn means less profit for the studios, less jobs for all actors, and less work for all people in the filmmaking industry.

Shia, rather than attempting to repeat Warren Beatty’s career (which I heard you say this past week), how about following Will Smith’s trajectory for another decade or two? Will Smith has blockbusters lined up from here to the end of time. He’s making another Men in Black, another I-Robot, another Hancock, another I am Legend, and another Independence Day, not to mention the dozens of other secondary movies and projects he and his family are involved in. I’m not impressed with how much money Will Smith is making, but I am super-impressed with how much he is doing to keep so many studios, actors, and movie crews in the black.

In short, Shia, you’re not all that…but I believe you could be. I hope you’ll rise to the challenge.

Why am I so fascinated with The Santa Conspiracy? By now, most of you know that I grew up in a difficult environment. My way of coping was to lock myself away with stacks of novels. I was reading YA books by the time I was 6 and adult novels by the time I was 7. In the thousands of books I read as a young person, what I sought out over and over again was a hero. I don’t know if I wanted to actually be that hero or wanted one to come solve all my childhood problems, but either way I always gravitated towards the hero’s journey. When I read a book or watch a movie, I want a good guy or gal to root for, and I want—no, insist—on a happy ending.

So for me, The Santa Conspiracy was the heroic journey taken to a whole new level. What if entire neighborhoods, entire hidden societies existed not to tear down people down, but to build them up.

When I dip into book two of The Santa Conspiracy, it will be with an eye toward the legal system and how heroes might be working right under our noses to make our world a better place.

Wouldn’t that be a nice change of pace?

Thanks so much, Cynthia for your positive review of From My Cold Young Fingers.

Her review…

««««¶ (4 out of 5 stars) July 1, 2011 at Smashwords 

A Unique Thriller

This was definitely a unique thriller with many twists and turns. The creation of the "underworld" brought a new perspective of life after death. Definitely suspenseful, heart-wrenching at times but well worth the read. Thank you, Tim.

In the next blog (Wednesday July 6th): has Fatty spawned a new Watch Duck cartoon? How do you make fried snowballs, my grandmother attempts murder dozens of times, and more….

Thanks for investing your valuable time with me. I’ll always strive to make it worthwhileJ!